I’m not exactly an athlete, but I’m fit and healthy. I can run and swim and have always enjoyed high-intensity exercise. Never did I think that I’d be going to the doctor, aged 30, with chest pain. My chest hurt when I was lying down, when I was sitting up, when I was relaxing. Mild-to-moderate dull aches, intermittent yet persistent. 

This carried on for many months, and for many months I worried about it and dismissed it as my body expressing some tension, possibly related to my extremely precarious career. I’d been to see a doctor before, but it was at the end of his shift and he fobbed me off. I went again, and I was lucky this time. I had a doctor who asked lots of questions, who was kind and sympathetic and who listened. She sent me to the hospital and it was pretty scary, going alone and fearing a bad outcome. But they couldn’t find anything, and they sent me home. It was a bright, sunny day and, resolving to take pleasure - just in case - I sat at the front of the top deck of the bus, relishing the quintessential childish pleasure and enjoying the view as we pulled in and out of traffic, towards the park and the playing fields.

As I walked the final part of the journey home, I passed my local florist. I don’t usually go in, but I wanted to treat myself to something. Something easy to look after; something that would remind me to look after my health and, when necessary, to take courage. They had a few peace lillies at the front of the store, their dark and deep leaves a much-needed horticultural antidote to my anxieties. The lily only cost a couple of pounds - it was nothing at all special, to begin with - but as I walked home, carrying it nestled high up on my hip like a baby, I felt infinitely happier than I had earlier. 

And a few weeks later, my lily flowered. Four off-white blooms, which, to someone who’d been worried about her heart for several years, meant something. It meant I was going to be okay, that the chest problem would pass, eventually. And in a way, that’s correct. I was diagnosed with costochondritis, a condition that’s pretty mild most of the time. Nothing life threatening, or life changing. I’m thankful. 

My plant has bloomed a few times since then: each time it’s a surprise, and each time I’m more grateful than before - for this burst of life and spectacle and hope, right here in my home.

Go to the Poetry Foundation website to read Cathy Smith Bowers’ poem Peace Lillies.