I've been packing all afternoon. At 3.45am we leave for Gatwick airport. We're off to Switzerland for a week's skiing (if there's any snow!).
This is the holiday I thought I'd never get to take. I'd expected to be hooked up to the chemo machine, waving goodbye, bravely, to the rest of the family.
But I'm going, and I can't wait!
I read back over my post back on Day 29, the last time we were in Switzerland (click here). It feels like it was written by a different person.
Since then I've clocked up another 9 months sober. I've been through a cancer diagnosis and 2 months of tests and treatment. I've looked death in the face and stared it down. I've grown up.
I'm not at all worried about staying sober on holiday, because I've done it before. And whilst I have lots of memories of amazing, drunken ski holidays, my most recent memories are of a fabulous sober one.
The reason, I think, that the first year sober is so hard is because it's full of 'firsts' - first sober parties, first sober holiday, first sober Christmas, etcetera. But once you've done something sober once, the subsequent times become so much easier (see my post on Muscle Memory).
In the 'old days' I would have found packing for the five of us to go away incredibly stressful. I'd have drunk my way through it, and left something crucial behind - like my underwear.
This time I've been super calm.
But, you know what? I'm a bit fed up of being calm, of being grown up, of being brave.
What I really want to do is to spend a week being childish. Silly. Over excited. I want to throw snowballs, make snow angels, career down slopes and play practical jokes. I want to eat lots of chocolate and melted cheese. I want to toast marshmallows on the fire and swan around in a onesie.
And the incredible thing is, as I sat here, writing that list, picturing all the things I want to do, none of the images in my head had me clutching a glass of vino.
Isn't that amazing?
Love to you all,