She works in the same building, on my floor. We talked at the staff Xmas party two years ago. She cycles to work along some of my route and so we exchanged our delight with the chestnut trees and the snow and the horses and cycling through a mature forest after work. Occasionally, she brought one or both of her (pre-)teenage daughters to work.
Last week she phoned me. She had been asking about me having not seen me around for a while and was told I had something serious.
She told me that eight years ago she was diagnosed with cancer. That she spent months in the same clinic I was in after Easter. She spoke about isolation wards, face masks, multiple infections after chemotherapy, hoping and waiting for a bone marrow donor, her five years of treatment and her annual check up days back at the clinic. She told me about her fear of big crowds, of infections, her lack of energy that renders her unable to work fulltime and of her joy of being alive.
She told me that I will get better.