The book is Talk Before Sleep, and is evidently written out of her experience, both as a nurse, and having a close friend die of breast cancer. Added to the emotionality of the situation this morning was the reporting by Paul Bevan of the illness of Pavarotti apparently reaching a near-terminal phase. All this talk of death then made me think of my own mother's death - which, although she is not apparently suffering any life-threatening illness, can't be too far away now that she's 81. (After all, I don't think anyone in my immediate family on either my mother's or my father's side has lived into their 90s for a number of generations. We're not a long-living lot, the Miles-Lees.) I'd like to help make her experience of dying to be as good as possible, in terms of her aims. Mostly that means to be living at home as long as possible, I think.
I ran 15 km this morning. The hamstring was kind-of-OK most of the time, and the early showers had cleared away by the time I hit the city, so I did my 'queer course' . Slowly. I needed to do the 15 km because, as often occurs, I ate too much last night. Having scrounged an apple tea cake from a bin on the way home, I didn't get enough takers to eat it at home, so I ate too much of it myself, despite having earlier promised myself that I would only eat one small slice at a maximum. When this happens, part of me says "Don't ever have temptations like this around the house. You know you'll fall for them." But another part of me says "What are you? Weak? Aren't you self-disciplined enough to control your eating habits?" I haven't reconciled those different perspectives yet, but I hate myself when I am weak and end up eating too much. I think I'd feel better if I removed the temptations from my sight.