Hot Tea and Apricots
A Memoir of Loss and Hope.
About the Author
For many years I worked as an industrial psychologist consulting to some of the top manufacturing businesses in South Africa on International Best Practice. At 40 my husband brought me breakfast in bed wearing nothing more than an apron. My naked chef left me speechless. Within a month I was diagnosed with spasmodic dysphonia, severe laryngeal spasms and told I would never speak again. I wrote on a piece of paper: “I will speak again. You don’t know how big my God is, how determined I am and one day I will have a story to share”.
During my 12-year journey from voice loss and cancer to full recovery, I found my voice in writing, capturing moments, emotions and incidents that have now given rise to my first book, Hot Tea and Apricots: A Memoir of Loss and Hope, and opportunities for motivational speaking.
“A vulnerable and beautifully penned account of the power of family, friendship and faith in the face of unbelievable odds. Kim recounts her experiences masterfully, the severity of her situation balanced with incredible wit and humour. It is an unputdownable, jaw-dropping, love-filled read that will challenge,inspire and uplift you.”
— Nikki Bush, Award-winning Speaker and Best-selling Author
“For every person out there, who has suffered an inexplicable health trauma, this one is for you. I loved and feared this book because it resonated so strongly with me; its pages echoing weeks after completion. It is an honour to have read her story.”
— Laura Bergh, Chief Enabler, The Greenlight Office
“Kim's journey has been such an inspiration during these tumultuous times in our country, speaking to one of the greatest challenges we face, that of healing and transforming our inner wounds. A truly inspiring story.”
— Nomfundo Mogapi, CEO of the Centre for Mental Wellness in Leadership
Rob walks me to the lift. I stand inside, my back to the cold mirror. How quickly is this going to settle and when can I get on with my life? Chronic. The word is irritating me.
I touch Rob’s arm and mouth, ‘Chronic. How long?’
Rob looks away, avoiding eye contact. I touch his face and motion ‘How long?’ Again, he looks away. Why? What is he not telling me? Panic starts to rise and grips my gut. He kicks at something on the floor. Finally, he reaches for me, cups my face and runs his thumbs along the dark circles under my eyes.
‘Kim, chronic is forever. There is no cure.’
My stomach drops as my world involutes. What does he mean there is no cure? I can’t possibly never speak again. How do I live with constant laryngeal spasms, coughing, retching, unable to breathe and these rabid sounds that come out of my mouth? My mind cannot comprehend what he’s just said. Is this me for the rest of my life? I want to scream ‘This can’t be happening to me!’
I move away from Rob and slump against the cold, clinical lift, numb, helpless and devastated. How can this be? I have no idea, but I know, deep inside, that I cannot give up hope. Somehow, I will beat this disease, breath by breath, spasm by spasm. I will beat it moment by moment, hour by day by year. I don’t know how but I will. My God is surely bigger than this and I will speak again. I have to. But how? The prof just said I never will.
The lift opens. I step out into the magnificent sunshine, into a future, uncertain and forever changed.