Cancer takes many things away, but it gives too – and one of its gifts is sleep. Lots of sleep. Surgery-induced, chemo-induced, tired-of-trying-to-fight-this-induced sleep. It is not always the most restorative rest, and one wakes still weighed down with a fatigue beyond description, but sleep can bring its own gift: dreams.
Since being ill, I have dreamt vividly and often. My dreams are so beautiful that I dread waking from them. I dream of walking for miles beneath big skies, with warm sunshine on my face; I dream of riding a motorcycle on open roads; of riding horses on wild expanses of moorland; of running and playing with my dog on glassy, tide-swept beaches. These are all things that I’ve done with relish in real life, although some of them not for quite a while.This makes my dreamland an extra special place to be.
In my dreams, I am always travelling, moving, getting away; escaping. In my dreams, I am strong, energetic, healthy. My body isn’t scarred by surgery, punctured and bruised from chemo infusions, blood tests and daily injections or poisoned by chemicals. In my dreams, I don’t have cancer.