Claire Gilbert is the founder director of the Westminster Abbey Institute and has been living with a cancer diagnosis for a number of year. Claire will be chatting to Gillian Straine on The GoHealth Podcast later in the year. Here Bishop Stephen Platten reviews her latest book, ‘ Miles to go before I sleep’. exploring her bleak diagnosis and how to live [ed.]
Miles to go before I sleep, Claire Gilbert. Hodder and Stoughton, London. 2021.pp.x + 292. Hbk. £16.99
‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost’s elegiac lines from his 1923 nature poem form the title of this book and capture its theme perfectly. Left hanging in the air, they refer not to any random journey, but to a far wider understanding of destiny. Looking to an ultimate destination there is ‘promise’ to be encountered on the way.
The book begins ‘I write, because I’m going to die.’ Claire learns from a routine health check that she has a rogue protein in her blood. Soon after this discovery, comes the unwanted diagnosis that she has a myeloma, an incurable cancer of the blood. In the prime of life, at the age of 54, she may have weeks or months to live, or decades – perhaps even a normal lifespan. It is the medical response to this and more profoundly, her own reaction, which lie at the heart of this searing diary of faith and fear.
With courage sharpened by realism she faces the challenge of an extraordinary ordeal of chemotherapy followed by a devastating course of stem cell treatment. As she faces the challenge so she stumbles on the thought of writing regular letters, generally weekly, to a group of friends in a mode she styles ‘Dear Reader’. There are no holds barred and her ‘Dear Readers’ cannot afford to expect protection from all that follows. The bodily impact on her is told, sparing nothing – from emetic to enema – and including their effects. But, at a different level, it tells of the impact on her psyche and her faith.
Alongside the trauma and struggle, remarkable reserves pour forth: we are invited to share her enhanced perception of nature – her riding, walking, swimming and her reflection upon these; Julian of Norwich, on whom she wrote her doctoral thesis, offers rich sustenance. Alongside her own resources, her interlocutors contribute poetry, music and philosophy (Claire herself is a moral philosopher and theologian directing the Westminster Abbey Institute). None of this, however, avoids the central crisis of life, death and meaning which lies at the heart. One tiny extract gives some idea: ‘…because I have compromised kidney function my body won’t tolerate Melphalan (a chemotherapeutic drug)….and the issue for me, the consultant says, will be nausea’ (p.171) but, as months go by, far more than nausea will fashion the future, not least the unexpected pandemic.
So many strands combine to carry Claire through this terrifying ordeal. These include her own inner strength and faith, the support of her partner, and the listening and responses of her interlocutors. This amazing diary is not for the timid or faint-hearted. For all, however, who live with her sufferings and triumphs, the rewards are great. In her brief introduction, she quotes Francois Mitterrand noting ‘death is an accomplishment’. There are echoes here of Margaret Craven’s powerful novel I Heard the Owl Call My Name, within which the central character, a young priest, unbeknowingly has not long to live. His bishop hints that all life, all ministry, is about preparing ourselves and others for our death. There is much here to ponder:
‘(For)..I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.’
Stephen Platten. February 2021. Berwick-upon-Tweed.