‘You’re a bit anxious I expect,’ he said as he noted the numbers on my chart. He scanned the notes from Liverpool again. ‘There’s no history of high blood pressure in your family is there?’ With some puzzlement I said that there wasn’t, as far as I knew, and wondered whether it was the fact that he was so fancyable that had excited me. He did the test again a few minutes on, and looked perplexed as he wrote the numbers down. Then he got someone else to do it and it was higher again. It levelled out by the middle of the afternoon at 180 over 120… and that’s where it hovered for the three days that I stayed in the hospital.

I was depressed for about a month after my attempt to donate was aborted. Of course, Krista and Phil were gutted to have come so close, only to have all their hopes thwarted, but they were so nice with me. Rhun was wonderfully tender and kept assuring me that despite the thoughts in my head and the desires of my heart, my body finally said a very definite no… and that that was alright. I became preoccupied with notions of failure and for the first time in my life I questioned whether it was indeed better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all. By the middle of October my blood pressure settled back down at 130 over 80 and I went back to work. People were kind and I tried to get back to normal.

Rhun must have said something to Krista and Phil about those bleak days. She sent me a letter, which arrived one austere November day.

You must think about what you have given to me and Phil, and not think about what couldn’t in the end be given. I’ve grown used to being let down by my body over the years. Count yourself lucky that the way in which your body let us all down hasn’t caused you any long-term physical harm. I know that you’re upset, but please know and understand that the gifts you gave me this past year are priceless. You renewed my faith in the depth and breadth of friendship, you restored my trust in loyalty, you showed us kindness the like of which is never forgotten… and most of all you gave me something to hope for.

Rhun took another slurp of wine and reached for my parents’ Christmas card, which I’d shoved towards the bottom of the bundle. Their Christmas gift to us, a cheque for five thousand pounds, fluttered to the floor as he opened it.

‘I thought you said there were no surprises this year,’ he said with a hint of accusation.

The View from Sasso Fermo

The View from Sasso Fermo