1st September

I can’t believe it’s already September! Where has this year gone?

Oh yes it was stolen from me by cancer and chemo, all my hopes and dreams, all I planned to do when I moved, new adventures, possibilities, travel and maybe even some romance!

Don’t I deserve it?

Well life is never fair and I am far too much of an optimist to be bitter.

There were times when I wasn’t so positive, after my initial diagnosis I pondered how my life could be curtailed early and all I would miss and leave behind. Especially when I was feeling so ill I almost wished it was the end.

But since chemo started, with each one ticked off my hope began to expand like air filling a balloon, breath by breath.

And now chemo is over, there’s no picc line sticking out of my arm – yipppeee!

Then last week I saw the consultant and he had my scan results – everything clear, I’m cancer free!

To be honest it was a bit of an anti-climax, it was after all what I expected. The operation got rid of all the nasty stuff, chemo was belt and braces.

So now September arrives full of new possibilities and beginnings as it always has. New things are always stirring as the autumn leaves start swirling on the wind, kids prepare to go back to school, or in my case now back to uni and this is finally MY time! 

A time of change as you can see in the garden with some plants wilting and dying in the heat of summerdays

Meanwhile my clematis has new flowers, 

the fuscia is still adorned with jewel coloured flowers and I've spotted new buds on the geranium.

It might feel like some time has been taken from me but perhaps there is a purpose, I’ve had time to consider what sort of volunteering I want to be involved in now I've moved, to really consider my options rather than rushing headlong into something.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am called to write, I need to make time for that, it has to be a priority. No more excuses and hopefully not too many distractions.

I want to travel and I would like some romance…. But I’ll consider that another day.

God has promised “I, the Lord your God will make up for the losses caused by those swarms and swarms of locusts.” Joel 2:25

I translate that as the first swarm taking my husband and second swarm part of my bowel!

I found this prayer  today from Mandy Hale, who goes by the name of The single Woman on Facebook. I guess mostly she is thinking about new relationships beginning and ditching the old ones but I think it can apply to so much more.

I'm making this my September prayer... as I positively step forward into a cancer and chemo free life. 

Dressed to Impress?

Now my chemo is over I can start making plans for my future.

A date that has been in the diary for a long time is my nephew's wedding in just over a months time. His fiance is gorgeous and they make a fabulous couple. I can't wait to celebrate their special day with them.

But what shall I wear? I haven't had time for dress shopping yet. I'm now trying to figure out when I can fit it in.  I have dresses in the wardrobe that would suit the occasion if October starts warm and sunny, but do I need an outfit for a cold snap or a soggy wet day?

I've not yet got to the having nightmares about it stage, after all I only the "giddy aunt" of the groom, I need something elegant yet understated to coordinate with whatever hair colour I decide upon!!!

As these thoughts swirled roiund my head I remembered what Andrew's aunt had worn to our own wedding, some crazy creation that appeared to have been dragged our from the back of the wardrobe.

A first line for a poem popped into my head as I climbed in the shower, always a good place for inspiration to strike.

But the words took an unexpected twist, inspired by a perculiar conversation yesterday and then the new caereer path a dear friend is now following.

So I hope you like my own crazy creation of words today and I hope they paint a colourful image.

At the church she rocked up,

                                in a musty old frock

That had obviously seen better days.

Baby blue, garish green,

                                should never be seen.

It attracted everyone's gaze,

With flowers and birds,

                             a pattern absurd,

A beady eye over one nipple.

Well she caused a commotion,

                                    a drop in the ocean,

While titters spread ripple by ripple

The celebrant started,

                                  prayers for the departed,

Trying not to join in with the laughter.

But a dress of such brightness,

                                          seams pulled in full tightness,

Is enough to shock now and hereafter!

Resonance

My previous post about being lost garnered several positive comments on Facebook and the most commonly used word was “resonance”, how my own story aligned with others.

Everyone’s story is different but there are common threads that bind us together.

Because I’m a bit geeky and like to look things up I did a Google search on resonance and came up with mostly lots of physics stuff. I even discovered what the Dopler Effect was – if you’ve ever watched The Big Bang Theory where Sheldon goes to a fancy dress party as the Dopler Effect you might just find that amusing – at least I did! And it gave me something to discuss with youngest son who has an A level in Physics!

Resonance in humanity and my writing is perhaps less defined, while one friend was drawn to the comparisons of having an empty nest for one, others connected with the lostness, and some have shared a similar chemo journey, by themselves or with others.

I’m currently reading Michelle Obama’s book Becoming. Some of her story resonates with me especially the humble beginnings of a young girl who thought she wasn’t quite enough.

She grew up in a poor neighbourhood in Chicago, in a rented apartment with a brother and very loving parents who provided for her, often going without themselves.

I grew up in a council house, and as I grew older, I was aware that other friends had different family set ups, maybe with more money, more expensive presents, foreign holidays. But my childhood was happy, loving and secure, in the same way Michelle Obama’s early days were.

But then our story deviates, her brother was older and he was the trail blazer going off to college first and in so doing giving Michelle the confidence to follow in his wake.

Suddenly she was enough, she pushed on through, working so hard to reach her academic goals.

I was the older sister who went ahead, never thinking about when I would stop my education. I always pursued that next rung of the ladder, sixth form, Polytechnic – not quite up to university standards. But then I didn’t quite believe I was enough – something was always pulling me back a bit. A little niggle in my ear, that I was the girl from the council house, not cut out for such lofty aspirations. To be honest at the time I never totally understood this brave new world I had stepped into.

And these thoughts can stay with you for years and leave you feeling bewildered for a long time.

Perhaps my journey last week was a reminder of those feelings.

But as the comments rolled in like waves on a beach, I remembered my dreams of writing. Never forgotten but so often pushed aside. I have a voice and what I write resonates and connects people. What a privilege to have such a gift!

I am good enough and my words deserve to be heard, I needed to be reminded of that once more, this seems to be my purpose.

Getting lost the other week was yet another wake up call – stop wasting time – this is your calling. Getting lost gave me the space and time to write, for pleasure but also with purpose.

Who knows where it will ultimately lead but I have to pursue this path. I have to plan and make the time, I have to focus and push away the doubts.

This world has become so fractured it needs people to find the resonance and connect us together again, seeking out the common threads rather than the issues that divide us.

Ok I might not entirely save the world or set it all alight with my sparkling prose but just a few more connections, a bit of resonance and maybe I will make a little corner of the world a better place where we become found not lost!

LOST

I’m not supposed to be here today, sat on my sofa watching TV, reading a few chapters of my book, faffing on my phone.

I’m supposed to be at a quiet day, a kind of retreat with some painting and reflection.

I was really looking forward to it. I rejoiced when I realised that postponing my chemo for a week when my bloods were low meant this day was free.

This morning I got ready and set off, the venue was a quiet country church, only a few miles away. I’d checked on Google maps last night. I like to think I have a good memory when it comes looking at maps and getting the location lodged in my brain. Left turn, right turn, where the local landmarks are.

But this morning driving along the narrow roads, I made 3 U turns believing I’d driven too far on each particular route.

I was lost, not totally or hopelessly lost, I still knew my way back home.

I could have stopped the car, got out my phone and refreshed my memory of exactly where to go, but instead I did turn round and come home.

Having chemo affects your brain, I can’t remember things like I used to.

Having chemo affects your sleep, your taste buds, your general wellbeing.

Having chemo affects your whole social life, one minute you are planning something you know you will enjoy and the next you are cancelling your plans and retreating to that safe space on the sofa.

My chemo should be finished this time next week, bloods permitting and barring any unforeseen circumstances.

It will be time to get my life back on track, this wonderful life I planned for once youngest son had half flown the nest and gone to uni.

But just like driving on narrow country roads looking for something that I’m sure should stand out proud I fear I may still be a little lost and what I’m looking for will remain obscured.

When I used to regularly go walking with a group of friends, there was always delight in spotting an arrow pointing the direction we should go in. Especially on a long hot excursion when we were longing for a scone and a cuppa!

Yes there were times we would explore and take the adventurous route for the joy of it, we’d laugh as we navigated our way over fallen trees, under branches, down steep slopes and precariously crossing streams on slippery rocks. It was all part of the fun.

Chemo is not fun, being lost is not fun, losing part of yourself is not fun.

I feel like I’ve been living in a haze, especially these last few weeks when the symptoms of chemo have cumulated transforming me into a slob moulded to fit the sofa!

OK. I’m being a bit harsh on myself there. I have actually achieved a great amount with moving only weeks before a major op. My new house is basically in order, all bar the paperwork but when was I ever on top of that since Andrew died?

Ah now that’s another loss, excuse me while we detour up a different path.

I’m an empty nester with a nest for one, I want to explore, to travel and while being on my own doesn’t bother me, I do quite like my own company. Sometimes it would be nice to share experiences with someone, to have memories to look back on together when we grow old!

Anyway back to the proper path, where was I? I’m not sure where I should be going….

Where is the signpost, which way do I take at the crossroads?

It’s alright taking one day at a time and doing all you can manage in a day, that’s been my regime for a while now, I no longer plan like I used to.

But not planning means not dreaming and my dreams have got dusty, to be honest some of them have got lost in the process of dealing with cancer and having treatment.

I know that surgery was successful in removing everything and the chemo is just a mop up, of the harshest kind, but until I see the oncologist and get the results of my latest scan you can only hope and pray.

When you go for a CT scan, in the machine a voice tells you to “breathe in and hold your breath”.

I’m just waiting for the line “and breathe”.

Then I shall consult my maps, dust off my dreams and plan something I can actually achieve – I don’t think it will be finishing the paperwork!

Maybe I’m not really lost. Perhaps I should see this as a detour and this new path will actually lead me to my destination, only time will tell…

Present Tense

What seems like a long time ago I wrote a blog called Unravelling Edges… about how my life came undone when I unexpectedly lost my husband. About six months in I wrote a post about being caught between the past and the present.

    You can read it here - Caught between the past and future tense

About six months after my emergency operation and I find myself in a similar place.

I’ve been sitting in my lounge with the French doors open in the afternoons, sun streaming in accompanied by the laughter of children bouncing on a trampoline a few gardens away.

Oh those halcyon days of laughter, listening to the bossy child who dictates the play, I recognise my younger self. Those days are long gone for me. Even my own boys are so far past this stage. I can remember clearly but can never recreate such scenes.

And then at the other end of the scale, spring is wedding season and so many friends have been celebrating anniversaries and it honestly fills me with such joy but when I bumped into someone celebrating their sixty third wedding anniversary, I marvelled and yet…. my husband never even got to live 63 years!

The past cannot be reclaimed but my future is somehow limited in so many ways.

There’s always the fear the cancer might come back for a start but then there are other things that will probably never happen for me and I grieve for a life that could have been …

I’m not saying my life is total rubbish just that I need some readjustment to get me back on course.

On a larger scale I worry about, Brexit, global warming, the rise of selfishness and violent crime.

I guess life was ever like this.

Youngest son found out the other day they are making a musical of Back to the Future.

“WHY?” he asked!!!

Being a child of the 80s and the same age as Marty McFly I think it’s a great idea.

But however great the 80s were as a teenage we lived under the shadow of the cold war, a nuclear bomb could drop any day, AIDS was the pandemic to wipe out millions, there were miners’ strikes and civil unrest.

At school we learnt in geography all about greenhouse gases but somehow that was someone else’s problem to fix, we were school children. It would be sorted and by 2017 we would all have hover boards!

Obviously, we don’t have hover boards and now it the young people leading the way – how things have changed!

And I guess what I’m trying to say is that things are always changing.

The past often looks rosy and the future uncertain. Especially as we grow older with more responsibilities on our plate.

Or maybe there are days when the past looks bleak and the future is something to be embraced!

Perhaps a mixture of the two is the best approach to take?

I do look back with fondness at the past, especially with all the old photos I’ve dug up since moving. Memories made that can never be taken away.

I do look forward mostly with hope, the cancer is gone at least for now and the countdown to the end of chemo is beginning.

Sometimes it’s the little things, a bird singing, a flower blooming, something once lost now found.

We are all caught between the past and future but in the end it’s how we live today that really counts!

The Whistler and the Bin Lady

A story partly inspired by conversations on Facebook about putting yout bin out in the early morning and some other thoughts going around my head....

   Charlie Pipe had always been a whistler. He whistled when he was happy. He whistled when he was sad.
   He whistled when he walked his dog, a grey Bedlington terrier called Terry, named after Terry Wogan.
   For many years every day had started with Terry on Radio 2, sometimes he wondered if he missed Terry more than his late wife Mona.
   Although she never lived up to her name, she was a jolly soul but the only music in his life now was his whistling.
   Once both Mona and Terry were gone from his life, he had taken to walking the dog early, whistling all the way.
   They used to stride over the hills beyond the town but these days they walked the streets at a slower pace as Charlie pondered what was going on behind the closed doors they passed.
   He didn't have to wonder much about number 43.
   Irene Bradshaw was a divorcee twice over. She had a poor taste in men, at least that was the local gossip.
   He waited at the corner while Terry did his business.
   “Good lad!” said Charlie with a wink.
   There was a rumour Mrs Bradshaw put her bin out in a most revealing lacy negligee and she had a fine set of pins on her, or so the story went!
   When he heard the rattle of the wheelie bin he started whistling Moon River as he turned the corner. She was only three doors down.
   “Can I help you with that?” he asked as she seemed to struggle with her task.    Caught unawares she pulled her pink spotty dressing gown closer to her ample breast.
   “Oh that’s Ok, there’s nowt in it really, being on my own and all.”
   She blushed a little. Then there was an awkward silence before she asked, “Do you want to drop your poo bag in, save you carrying it while you walk?”
   Charlie was taken aback, couldn’t help but stare, he’d never seen her so close up before. Her face was soft and delicately lined, her eyes a mysterious bluey grey, her nose Roman but neither too large of too small for the rest of her features. But her crowning glory was her hair, on the brassy side of blonde but caught in the morning sun it shone.
   Mona used to have auburn hair, beautiful wavy and natural. But when it went grey, she never coloured it, “just as nature intended,” she would say, “like Terry.” She would pat the dog whose coat had almost changed colour from dark to light over night the way most Bedlington terriers do.
   He hadn’t minded that so much but when he found grey hairs on the pillow, clumps in the shower and a strand in his shepherd’s pie, he found that hard, but never told her.
   The treatment was harsh and she spent her last days covering her head in a green knitted hat, not quite how nature had intended.
   He was roused from his thoughts as Irene lifted the bin lid with one hand and gently took the bag from him with the other.
   “Oh you are too kind, Terry always does his business just around the corner by the post box. But I always pick it up.” He added hastily.
   The action of taking the bag from his hand left the dressing gown gaping a little, she must have felt the cool breeze on her skin but never pulled it close.
   Charlie lifted his eyes back to her face and thye smiled at each other.
   He doffed an imaginary cap as he turned, “Come on Terry.”
   He had only reached the house next door and whistled a few notes when she called after him.
   “Hey what’s that song? The one you always whistle when you walk by.”
   So she'd heard him before then?
   “Moon River.”
   “Thought so, one of my favourites.” She waved and walked back to her front door.   She really did have a good set of pins on her.
   Charlie Pipe continued whistling with a smile and somehow the slightly melancholy tune took on a sweeter melody from that day on.  

An unfair disadvantage?

Well I learnt something new yesterday.

It started with an innocent comment as mum and dad were watching the women’s FA Cup final at Wembley on TV. ( I was sat in the conservatory trying to read.)

“Is the Wembley pitch bigger than other football pitches?”

Dad said no, and I shouted from the other room, “Don’t be silly, of course they are all the same size.”

I texted oldest son, as a sports journalist he would find this banter amusing.

“Do you think It’s because the women are naturally smaller than male players and it is an optical illusion???” I queried.

“The pitch at Wembley is bigger.” He replied

“Liar!, I’m not that gullible.”

“Looks like the joke is on you. Haha.”

Well I am well known for being gullible but as a I have a degree in Library and Information Studies I do like to check my facts so I turned to Google.

I discovered that the Wembley pitch is bigger than some pitches, all Premier teams should conform to the Wembley standard if the size of stadium allows. However 5 of the premier teams have smaller pitches – Aug 2017.

Well I was stunned!

How fair is THAT????

After all an 800 metre running track must be the same length the world over? A tennis court surely has the same dimensions in Paris, Melbourne, New York and Wimbledon, even if the surfaces differ?

Talk about moving the goalposts with football! On one pitch you can judge your corner to perfection with the slice of a boot on the ball and on another pitch your aim is too hard of too soft!

I’m shocked that our national game is not totally fair, unbiased and beyond scrutiny!

But then life itself isn’t fair.

I’ve just had another spell in hospital. My gall bladder rebelled, I don’t think it liked being blasted with chemo every fortnight, I became ill and it needed removing urgently.

So the chemo is on hold, which is great as my body returns to normality, albeit without a gall bladder, but once it starts again it will probably eat into the summer months… no certainties yet until I see the oncologist on Thursday.

There are wins and losses.

But I was reminded during my hospital stay of just how unfair life can be. As I sat there basically cancer free, others in Ebay ( no bids on any of us we are all broken!!) still live with cancer in their bodies every day, festering, growing, or perhaps the chemo is shrinking it? Working its toxic magic.

But what of those whose chemo has been stopped for good, their bodies just can’t take it anymore? At least some of the women were in this position and one younger than me – how unfair!

How unfair that we should be sat inside hospital on a sunny Easter, treats of hot cross buns and Belgium chocolates were very welcome but its not the same as being at home with your family. Able to go out for the day or just potter in a much loved garden.

As one woman remarked, “other people out there have no idea.”

Then after my op I ended up back on the ward I’d been in before Christmas, some familiar faces among the nursing staff were a joy to see.

The operation went well, keyhole surgery, no big scar this time and I am recovering very well.

But others were still waiting for treatment, waiting to be seen, waiting for a diagnosis of why they feel so ill. And sat there through a weekend with fewer medical staff on call seems unfair, when you can’t eat because of the pain.

At least I was recovering. I.ve leaped another hurdle.

And now I’m home, well back with my parents recuperating and discussing the size of football pitches.

Life as unpredictable and unfair as it ever was, both on and off the pitch!