First Past the Post

I'm two and a half years post chemotherapy and a year and a half post radiotherapy, officially 'In remission' of this constant, and in my case, incurable, disease.

Mostly I am well, often very well and everybody smiles, all is good in the world. I don't know how it is for others, many suffer much more than me, but I'm never out of touch with my reality. So many bad things in this world, so much hardship endured, by so many, I have nothing to complain about...."there's always someone much worse off than you", but I do sometimes sink into a self pity of which I am ashamed.

So when those neuropathy pains return, unabated, uncontrolled by simple painkillers or my hands won't work properly or my mind muddles in a post chemo way that can  only be  known by a fellow suffer, then I get down. Its not an all invasive 'down', not a deep hole, an empty pit, just a common or garden overwhelming sadness. That and a frustration for things not going away, not getting better all the time.

I see the look in my husbands face, his anger at the world for treating me so and I want to cry! These are tears because I don't want to hurt those people I love so dearly, those who give and will always give everything they can to help me...its as though I'm letting them down, making them angry!Voices on the phone asking how I am, willing me to be cheerful, be well, caring and uncertain...I want to soothe their fears not dissolve into tears.

And then there are those suffering other difficulties who post meaningful quotes on social media,  this isn't a competition as to who has the worst woes, its about sharing and supporting each other. But perhaps the hardest to bear are those who are ' The Cured'; they've known all the fear, had all the procedures, endured all the symptoms and side effects and finally have the 'all clear'. You'd think they would be the most compassionate, the ones to know how that axe head hanging over you feels, to understand the fragility of life and rejoice in giving back. But not always so it seems.

Perhaps its fear "will it come back, am I really cured, dare I even talk about it?") Perhaps its the exhaustion of enduring, no more energy left to give to others, Or perhaps its simply a survival strategy ("I'm out of the deep dark water & I never want to go near it or think of it again"). But you are the very ones who can do the most, you can offer the hand, sit down and really ask how we are. You know what it feels like, you've been there, we are still!

So the pity fades and the short lived tears abate in the light of those who really care. My husband hugs me, holds tight and kisses me gently on the forehead, my son reassures me with humour , my daughter with anecdote and my elderly father with resolution and pathos. The real friends are those who stay close; not many words, not flurries of emotion and certainly not an air of challenge or ignorance. No you are all the ones near and far that say one small thing, give one short glance, ask honestly, unavoid, even stay quiet, but I know you're there...each of you. And my heart sings!

Time passing, relativity ......early disease progression

It's been several months of family tension and minor turmoil since my mothers death early January. I firmly believe there's no such thing as a perfect family, we all have our oddities, our skeletons in the cupboard, our conflicts, but whatever they are be sure that they will not go away because someone special has died. Quite the opposite, the jealousies, the greed, the thoughtlessness and the fear are all magnified and all on full raw display.
My husband has often referred to nuclear family as the Eternal Triangle, even the Bermuda Triangle; emotions and actions bounce around, get stuck in the vortex or simply disappear. So, from all that care, to all that thoughtlessness; from those who travelled time & distance and those who didn't; all that attentiveness to all that neglect, people don't change. In short  it has been a difficult time.

And strange things too; a photo of my mum at twenty, an engraved cross...memories of many years and life long past. My brother fixated on detail, "Make sure there's no money in any of the pockets, check the drawers", that will be the underwear drawer? Son so strong and logical trying to keep the factions together long enough to sort out the world that exists when someone exits this life. And Dad, over forty years divorced, remarried and widowed, so emotional. Now this is not the Mills & Boon story ending, what might have been but his sense of guilt and loneliness, all a little bizarre considering the past.
But past must pass and triangles loose their strength when their sides are added to or taken away and so, as ever life moves on.

I struggled with resilience, physical  vulnerability, embedded in the past three years of my cancer journey. Fatigue, infections, insomnia, nervous debility, all froze me to the bone. I know we all have our worries, our sadness's, our grief to bear, but I found the wall I'd built to try & keep my positivity strong in the face of inevitable mortality, stopped me, stalled me, exhausted me. Those close have helped, uncertain how and worried I was vulnerable and I am much improved, much more stable now.

For those who are on this cancer journey, particularly when you know there's no cure, its hard not to look at life around and feel removed. Inside a voice is screaming, "they have no idea", "they don't have to live with this", "they can pretend it will all be OK". Truth is  we can't live with that constant fear, that lack of innocence that certain death endows. So I've lifted my head and set my gaze back to that horizon, that hope for the future, that light in the distance.

There was an old adage,when I was teaching, regarding behaviour management, that, 'If you can't do it, (contain or control a pupils behaviour), act  as though you can' and 'Move and speak  slowly and think quickly' and recently, these have come to the fore. So I've acted it, stayed calm, walked away, empathised, said little and tried to remain cool.

That is until yesterday when I opened a letter. I've always tried to face the reality of my illness and to that end have asked for copies of all reports written to my GP or other medics and this was a copy of such a letter. This was a letter from my oncologist to my GP practice outlining her findings and commenting on my wellbeing. Now we've got quiet close, over these years and this shows in her attempts to sound familiar mentioning my last holiday and my gym visits, but all embedded in the hard cold words of science.
All was reasonable as expected until I got to one phrase:
     'This means  that she is likely to have very early disease progression'.

The jigsaw shatters before your very eyes, the colours and shapes swirl into the far part that is barely vision and my security of being was shaken. We say little, reassure ourselves and then I remember that adage, act it, believe it, nothing has really changed. I have the privilege of living and learning about myself and my life and I defy anyone to do it better. And I have a wonderful friend Ron; partner, confident and love, to take my hand and will me to go on. Part of my very own Eternal Triangle a corner piece of all I take as precious. Head up girl, life is real, without pretence, life is  good, live in the moment.




And just to reaffirm this I received a message from a good friend, who has herself had to deal with a lot in life, to celebrate ' Women's Day' and it made me smile, really smile. It simply but beautifully said...

Thank you, you know who you are...

One little word is all it takes

It was a good spring and a great summer and, despite Brexit, France was a beautiful place to be. Our spiritual home and passion we have spent nearly six months languishing & working in your gentle climes and cultural by ways.

Back in the UK for autumn, the  place of our birth, we have felt somewhat isolated as though the world has moved on....we no longer belong, the jigsaw picture has been changed. And then there was the dreaded three monthly check up. First the appointment didn't come in the usual timescale, then the secretary was on annual leave and finally attendance at the Cancer Centre rather than the Central Outpatients'. None of these alone were of any real importance, but built on the nervousness  that surrounds these times, it all became a little fraught.

Now when you go to a cancer review you can never be sure what will happen. Often the medics have no more information but seem  intent, other times they have scan & blood tests and nothing to say, its all a little bizarre. As a general rule it seems that, the more people in the room the more interest and the more potential for bad news. This time I had had no scans or bloods and was not symptomatic so expected just the oncologist to be present. Two attending unintroduced medics and one link nurse plus the specialist meant I walked into a room full of rather anxious looking people.

As Id had an ultra scan done by my GP, which I had been told was all clear, I felt quietly confident that all was OK...suddenly it seemed otherwise. Its a strange feeling, your legs go from under you and your determination flounders. Like a prisoner faced by inquisitors I felt adrift, uncertain what was about to be said or done.

Apparently the scan simply showed some potential for grains in my gall bladder,hence the aching pain & nothing of any great concern and no sign of the dreaded big C. The assembled medical staff obviously expected me to be symptomatic, even unwell, but there I sat nervously healthy awaiting their judgement. Somewhat back footed they asked leading questions and then, when at last reassured by my responses, said I didn't need any treatment or tests...another three months.

Whether it was the confusion & resolution, the ease or just the moment I decided to be brave. Ive never been told directly what stage of cancer I was at and, unlike my normal forthright self I'd hidden in the shadows hoping that if I didn't know it might  not be too bad, but I felt I should be brave and ask.

Stage 4 of 4 Stages is a hard statistic.I heard the question, I heard the answer, but it didn't enter my cerebral cortext, I didn't feel anything...cold, factual, actual, empirical 4.A dark but emotionless miasma settle around me chill and damp, I couldn't think just look. It was not a surprise but the reality of the words lay heavy on my mind, made it hard to be positive. My specialist did continue to  explain that it had to be considered a four because the cancer had metastised to the lymphatic system, so theoretically it had to be Stage Four. " Can I say I'm in remission?" I asked. "Yes you can because you have not been symptomatic for over a year" she replied.

Searching for comfort & facts I said hestanttly, "Its three years in February since diagnosis, but four years in March from that initial lump, which was then secondary". My quiet oncologist met my eyes, not pity or compassion, but true consideration. "That's true" she retorted, " You  still have cancer, but its not active...we've not found a cure yet!"

Say it again YET, that's so important YET! That one little word made all the difference YET.

We skipped from that office, nothing had really changed, hard things had been said, yet my whole world had turned on its axis and I could breathe again.

'No age is a good age....'

Today was my 91 year old mums funeral. She'd had a full and  largely healthy life, but there are big family rifts, spanning years. So it was with some trepidation I put  pen to paper to write a eulogy.

It has been a difficult few weeks trying to steer a course between and across the rift that is my original, and somewhat dysfunctional, family. On Friday I return to the oncologist for feedback on my last scan; I see her three monthly, but scans less frequently, so a tense time.

We all know about the 'Stress Bucket' analogy, but I like the psychologists extension which adds, its not about how full or how empty your stress bucket is, its how long you have to hold it, at arms length. Well its been a hard five weeks since mum died and I've been holding that bucket for a long time already, so today it was an arduous task to stand up and read my piece for mum.

Don't get me wrong I'm very at ease with public speaking, rarely unsettled and happy to 'perform'; it went with the profession and the career, however, with all the emotion, that's a different matter.

But I did it clear, strong and unfaltering I spoke; shaking in every sinew as my physical body tried to contain the emotion flooding my brain, but I did it.... And  afterwards our son spoke, clearly, genuinely and so caringly; so proud of him.

All this to say goodbye to a mother and grandmother who tried so hard.

Why do coffins always look so small, but weigh so much? Not my mums frail chrysalis of a body for sure, perhaps the oak from which it was made? But I think it was the weight of all the 'loss' and the smallness of all that is physically left behind.

'Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player. That struts & frets his hour         upon the stage....'

Maybe not up to the Bard's wonderful prose in Macbeth, but here's my poem to my mum, written with all my love and care beyond measure and over all time.

                                                  

                                                             __________________

My mum wasn’t the usual mum,

The stay at home,   close as you can mum.

She was an everyday,   everyone’s mum.

Shared and sharing,    my mum.

Our mum, taught us care, fortitude, love and yes and   much more.

Love scared, love uncertain, but love forever, she knew ,  for sure.

Everyone liked her. Laughed with her….saw.

Our mum was their mum,    A friend to them all.

Our Gran ever constant, games and laughter too.

 Happiest together. Our eyes she saw through.

A walk from the bus stop,    a  chat one to one.

And holidays remembered,    those moments, not done.

A word about families,     advice on a friend.

The way to move forward, she helped many mend.

At heart always young,  in thoughts and in fashion.

She loved you all so much. Cos life was her passion.

Our mum didn’t ask much,   of life or its riches.

Just wanted a family, normality clichés.

She lived , as she died,  quietly serene.

The requiem of her life, her family I mean.

 And years past and passing, in memories be,

With laughter and loving she’ll be there you’ll see.

She looks at me now through your eyes  full of tears.

Love does not diminish,     it grows with the years.

                                                           ________

 I'd like to share a little piece  of family history

·         Victorian Valentines card:

·         OUR GREAT GRANDFATHER TO OUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER, while they were still courting

Remember me, blessed with thy love

I’ll n’er repine, what’er my lot may be.

The sweetest joy of all is mine.

If though remember'est me

To Irene....a Celebration of Life

Last week, an English friend, here in our nearby village died suddenly, after enduring for months the rigours of medicine and health care. Upbeat and loving life till the end she left a sadness of a journey but shortly shared.I tried to support in my own small way with short posts and caring words. Hoping my own  illness and thoughts would somehow help. But as was inevitable she sadly died.

I write, its how I cope, its my voice in the shadows, my hope for a picture to make sense of my 'Grey Jigsaw'. So yesterday I penned a poem, which is here to share. Not a life lost, more a life well lived and a soul well loved.

Today was the funeral, a different very French affair; secular, practical, beautiful, even delicate in how it allowed us all to morn. She was there with us, alive in our eyes, touching our hearts and each remembering....a real celebration of her life.

So here it is,

To Irene…….

A friend but just a short while, a life full and fine.

I’ll never know you better, our lives will not entwine.

You made people smile, opened up their minds.

You reached out for hope, not close the blinds.

To strive for love, to begin anew.

With courage fine your ‘poppy’ blew.

In care and humour and forthright fair,

You engaged the world, not sit & stare.

Life by its braces, lived to the brim.

Laughter and love and follow that whim.

To all who remember and knew you so well.

A sadness, a sigh but stories to tell.

And we look on now at a friend too soon lost.

A friendship not blossomed, your life the cost.

But first days of autumn will now always be,

In memory of Irene, steadfast ‘poppy’.

And as the wind blows, those dancing flower heads

We’ll remember your smile alive in those ‘reds’.

And the colours of autumn will play in our heart

Testament to your life and love not apart.

We’ll smile at the beauty, remember your name.

Alive ever constant, the memories remain.

At stressful times....

I’m feeling kind of anxious, the thoughts run on and on

I’m scared, I’m tight, I’m breathless.

 It’s gone, It’s gone it’s gone!

The edge of fear and hope lies revolving in my head,

I can’t suspend  despair,  step towards the edge.

Most days I feel no different, I go from day to day.

Then something slides apart and I can’t see any way!

And others, all around me must surely see it true,

I’m lingering and I’m struggling to see the whole day through.

It may just be a word, or uncertainty of time,

How someone else conspires, there is no reason, rhyme.

Then all about is spinning, the fear engulfs my brain.

The light is getting darker, I cannot see again.

And each and all continue, the journey of their life.

Oblivious of fatefulness, continuing the strife.

Happy in the knowledge that they know not of fate.

And smiling blind & jointly; no hour, no sigh no date.

I feel my own deep morning, a chasm of belief.

With tears of loss and longing. The floundering of my grief.

I can’t withstand the sadness, the darkness or the pain.

But just to hold you near, to have you whole again.

Im lost, Im cold, Im empty and sadness rules my heart.

I’ll love you oh forever; together or apart.

So kiss me low and loving , a childs hand to hold.

As daylight edges onward I need must soon be bold.

To lift my head and mutter, no shout out to the sky.

I live and love today, this hope will never die.

Hold on, look up and steadfast, not gone, not gone, not gone.

Not scared or tight, nor breathless. But one and one and one!

Age and Understanding.....the Sleep of Reason

It’s been difficult being back in the UK, as my ninety year old mum is struggling! Now for those of you who have close bonds with their mothers this might be difficult to follow, but my mum is a gem, , I love her dearly, shes one of a kind and liked by all, but she has never been close  and she struggles with physical proximity. Reared as an only and over indulged child, she does not make friends easily, though she has a wonderful way in being with people, so long as they don’t get close. When folks tell me their mum was or is their best friend I cry a little inside, I’d love to have that relationship.

Through thick and thin I’ve stood by her. When she got divorced forty five years ago, I moved home and spent my savings taking her on her then only foreign holiday. She has spent many holidays since, many weeks and weekends staying with us. When I was working I tried to see her every week and help in any way I could. But families are families and, unlike my father (who thankfully is also still alive) who shows affection readily, and my best efforts, mum and I are not close.

Sadly she has several age associated ailments, is getting frail and also lives on her own, but her difficulty is not so much in what is happening to her, but more about her inability to accept change. She’s built skills over the years to cope with the day to day, but she’s never stepped away from the safe or ventured into her own mind or really considered her own responses. For mum, everything is resolvable by spending money, blaming the world, buying favours or trying to control everyone.

I love her to bits, but shes become unable to accept help, afraid and in  denial as to changes. It sounds harsh, but she has no time for others; my cancer journey, my birthday are an irrelevances, she turns away. All the time she insists she’s fine but is driving the family mad. On the one hand she doesn’t want to be alone, but won’t accept help coming in or any change. She is too afraid to sleep in her bed, but insiists there’s no problem. She will neither talk to or about her difficulties, but just wants it to go away. Like a child, she is unable to understand that things change, she rejects anything or anyone who tries to help.

So each meeting, face to face or by phone is an emotional roller coaster and takes my resolve down. The social worker thinks counselling would help, the medics suggest assistance support and the family give a mixture of too much attention or not enough structure. Meanwhile, in my limbo of life, always now aware that I must needs enjoy every moment, ‘live for the day’ I struggle to help, indeed to cope.

I read a story about a psychologist explaining a concept to an eager audience. She asked someone to hold a glass, at arms length, outstretched and, as the talk continued she kept topping the glass up with water until it was full. At the end of the talk the psychologist asked the audience what they thought of the demonstration and, thinking the concept was that of the ‘Stress Bucket’, which when constantly filled, overflows, they responded accordingly.

“No”, explained the speaker, “it’s not how much emotion, how much stress, how much anxiety, that’s the water. Its not your ability to cope or offload or de-stress, that’s the glass”.

“The problem is how long you have to hold the glass full of water at an arms length!”

For me that arms length is my life to date and, I need to put down that glass  a little and breathe…

A spoonful of sugar...

Its been a while writing, a sort of apathy mixed with fear. I've spent weeks in France in splendid health isolation; cushioned from the reality of the post Brexit UK and hospital appointments.
So it was with some trepidation we returned to the UK to see the oncologist. A regular three month appointment; the mark of time in my life, my very own health metronome. A long journey, an anxious, thoughtful time and then suddenly we were there, in the hospital.
Time stops...tick, tock, tick, tock...everything on hold again!

Now criticise the NHS all you may, I have nothing but praise and that day was no exception! Arriving ten minutes early we barely had chance to sit when we were called to the next 'Sub Wait'.  This time it was straight through and we found ourselves sitting in the consultants room trying to make light, be confident, stay focussed.

"Terrible events in Cannes?" she said, " Shock about Brexit" she said, but no medical reference, no examination, no studying of notes or  muttered conversations with colleagues. Finally, in confusion, Ron said "Well what happens now" and, she looked a little confused, as if suddenly caught in a an inappropriate situation. Then she smiled and said, " Well how are you?" "I'm good, feeling tired, but fine"" That's great " she replied...."

"Well what happens next?"  Ron repeated."Well" said the oncologist, "you can go back to France" "When?" we retorted, " Today if you want" she said, smiling and completely at ease. So there it was 'not symptomatic' therefore no scans, examinations, no drugs and no treatment...just smiles...amazing!

Now in our local French town of Ernee in the Pay de la Loire is a famous chocolatier; in fact a huge chocolate factory called 'Monbana'. Before leaving we had purchased some of their exclusive chocolates as a gift for the oncologist and her team. Now seemed the appropriate time to give them to her and so with returning smiles, this is what we did.

Her response surprised us even further, but to understand you must first know her name. My oncologist, beautiful, highly intelligent, efficient and highly talented in her field is call Mrs Bhana.

She smiled broadly at the gift and thanked us, saying how very personal and thoughtful this was. Because, she proceeded to explain, in her families origins, the family name was 'Bana' and we had brought these chocolates specifically for her. 'Mon' or 'My', 'Bana '...'Monbana'! Now that's the sort of wonderful coincidence that rarely occurs. We all ended up smiling broadly at each other; each content in this chocolate triangle.

Sometimes life, it seems, has a wonderful way of surprising you, what is it they say,' life being stranger than the script of a book'. There it was, life facing us full on, giving hope  and healing in that moment of humanity

Nobody panic, nobody panic...

My Facebook  profile today reminded me of a memory from two years ago on the 1st June 2014, it read:
"Lovely Sunday Morning, but hard to remain cheerful. My legs very swollen (lymph drainage post op) and severe nausea. Today might be one hour at a time".
Well I thought, look what determined did!

Just occasionally life lets me forget how hard it has been on this cancer journey and then reminds me , with avengence, just how hard it still is sometimes. There I was continuing the daily toil, looking forward to a holiday, from our holiday home to below the Loire and the hope of some sunshine, then reality came up.

Started with what seemed like a stomach upset, over a week became worse and finally, partly by anxiety and largely by my husbands insistence, a visit to the French GP. Now anyone who has had cancer and particularly when you know its not curable, will tell you, such events go from mild  concern to real raw worry in no time. So, French in hand and determined to play this down, its only a bug & not a reoccurrence, I visited the 'Medicine'.  She examined, asked about the rash (which I hadn't even noticed before) on my stomach & chest and then said it was vital I had further tests immediately! I thought meningitis, allergic reaction, but no she asserted she needed to check my blood platelet levels. Apparently if they drop dramatically, with my compromised immune system, it could be very dangerous and an indication of cancer spread!

OK what was it that Jonesy said in Dad's Army, "Nobody panic, nobody panic, I can do it myself!". The doctor telephoned & we were instructed to go to  Mayenne immediately for further tests. " Please to drive quickly, but not dangerously" madame le docteur instructed us as she sent us on our way with, 'bon courage', ringing in our ears. We were silent to start with, both deep in thought , commenting on traffic and the town, both in another place seeking strength and not believing.

Now for those who think the UK & French medical systems are very different I disagree. having been hospitalised three times in France and twice that in the UK I have only praise for both. The reaction times, the clarity of referral and the actions are equally praiseworthy in both. Maybe in France the wait is a little less but the follow up in the UK is deeper & longer; maybe the additional support is from the outset in the UK, but in France the time/ one to one care is great.

We arrived, I  had blood tests and had a phone message with the results on our answer phone from the GP, before we got back the 15 miles from Mayenne. Apparently all was well, my platelet levels were good and my bloods were, "parfait". So we went from uncertain, to intense concern, to OK, 'I'm unwell, but its just a stomach bug".

Hence we go on, day by day, just as we should looking forward and keeping ever hopeful. And life ticks on. We looked at each other, deep in our own worlds and wondered, wondered and smiled. Its hard to understand the level of reality and inevitability this fractured jigsaw journey can take, but its sure not dull.

 And a Facebook friend commented about my memory from 2014, '...you have been so brave and courageous. You are a beacon to us all!'. Its a lovely sentiment  but I've certainly never felt brave or courageous and as to my beacon, well it certainly flickered this week, but its now reset to light my way again.
This jigsaw started with confusion, no clear picture and just the corner pieces. I've just realised that its grown from a hundred pieces to an immeasurable number; so much, so many, so far and so detailed. And now I can share some of that with others, perhaps be a little piece in their jigsaw as they are in mine.

Ode to my Grandmother and Mother...the plight of so many women. With love...

I feel it coming, I want you close,
To shield and nurture. Goodness knows.

You held me tightly and went within,

To hold a baby, that's not a sin.

You tried so hard, so cruel your fate.

Alone & lonesome. No friend , no mate.

The world conspired. Generations too.

You were not wanted, in that way true.

A Guardsman skilful, your pity took.

In lace & laughter, your world he shook. 

Then left you loveless, to fend & fear.

A child was taken. That price too dear!

T'was years later , you found your soul.

Who loved you truly and all was whole.

But babies change you. They scar and touch.

You could not give love. You'd lost so much!

And lonely child, you raised apart.

She had no friends, she stood apart.

And learned full circle, when her time came.

She couldn't cope. It was the same!

She wanted badly, she tried so hard.

But separation and bonds a shard.

Doomed maybe always, though love and care.

This damaged twosome, felt life's despair.

When love is lost and no one sees,

The pain & crying. "Just help me please".

And then you held this babe of mine.

Your heart was whole. You'd found your time.

Now he has grown and babe no more.

And lost alone, you help implore.

Stop just one minute. Be still don't cry.

I love you mother and I will try.

I cannot stop the tick of time.

To each allotted. No reason, rhyme.

But I can help you not to fear.

Be still and calm now. Comfort near.

Over time and Inspiriation

My Facebook account told me yesterday that it was two years ago that I had the third of my four cancer operations and how I then hoped it would all be over with. Little did I know then that this was merely the beginning and that I'd sit here two years on ,grateful but continuing the daily challenge, that is my life.

And every one of those intervening days I have found inspiration from some one or something. I've not always been upbeat, my own harsh internal realism makes it impossible for me to hide and the world can be cruelly damming. Yet through my journey so many and so much has lifted me up and continues to thrill my heart & brighten my day. From the flowers of spring and  the messages from friends to the continuous and ever deep positivity and love of my husband and family...pure inspiration, I thank you

And recently  I was reminded by a new inspiration, the cancer journey of others; some further along than me and some just starting that rocky road, but all inspiring. Its hard to recall the harsh physical realities of Chemo, not that you can't remember, but that your brain screens out the reality, shuts off the overwhelming effects of being slowly but effectively cured ,but poisoned! So in talking to two neighbours in France(one English & one French), both undergoing chemo for breast cancer. I was reinspired by their  human resilience and reminded that the steps towards the goal have to sometimes be very small.

For one lady it was getting the energy to achieve the smallest task and the psychological courage to go out and about and for the other, an elderly farmers wife, it was about not doing as many tasks and looking after herself. Two different ages, natioanlities, outlook and  journeys, but their determination to lift their heads and walk on was and is inspiring. Then there are the messages, sent through social media,from an acquaintance whose husband, a in his forties ,has an embolism & bleed in his brain and is in hospital in an induced coma.

Her journey is different but she continues a forty mile trip daily to sit by his bedside & talk to him. Friends, relatives and neighbours I understand are helping, stepping in to support in big & little ways, it restores your faith in human nature. With all that is bad and evil in this world  close in we step towards each other we are inspired to help.

So yesterday my elderly French neighbour, with little hair and grey palour, took the arm I offered and slowly walked up the randonne. She was tired, she said, the chemo is difficult she said, but look around you the spring flowers are all here and summer is just close. Do you have further treatment she asked me, I explained I return every three months and never know what the bloods and scans will show, but I'm good. Her old eyes turned to me and she smiled;  we must always remember, whatever the world brings, life is good she said. "Regarde les fleurs, la soleil; la vie ce belle".

I couldn't agree more!

And thank you all who give me that personal inspiration...

Three month normality, but you don't have to read this...

I haven't written my cancer blog for some months. Its not because I have nothing to say or that I have lost interest in the world, more that I feel that a state of 'normality' has settled.

You don't usually, in your daily life, feel the need to write your thoughts, examine your emotions or reassess your goals. What you do and think is 'normal', you just go on, but on the cancer journey you question everything & all is in turmoil, nothing is stable.
However for the last couple of months, in terms of cancer, all has been 'normal'.

Life's ups and downs have continued and time taken with illness in the family and elderly parents have rushed in to fill the void left by 'normality', taken the time. And so it has given me time to reflect, to dare to look back and to wonder what next, how can I use this experience.

Several months ago deep into the radiology, an acquaintance said to a friend, they were 'sick of hearing about cancer' and questioned why 'people need to air it all'. My reply and that of my friend was, well you don't have to read it. This is my 'Diagnosis Journal', the jigsaw pieces are my life and mine alone. It saddens me that fear or spite, or whatever causes such a reaction can be so harmful. These words are for me and reach out for me, if they entertain, arouse emotion or empathy along the way so be it, but they are mine!

But it made me stop and think about writing. Like many a creative person I'm sure I questioned whether this was self indulgent and, by merit of it being a medical journal somewhat attention seeking...a sort of literary Munchausen Syndrome? Then I came to the rational decision that if 'existing, loving, caring enduring, fearing, suffering, overcoming, experiencing' and 'living' were all 'normal', as indeed we all know them to be, writing them is merely an expression of that human condition. I think the person who said this and others who shy from me have their own problems and my words or actions on this cancer journey ignite their fear.


So I'm back. Back to my three month interim 'normal'. Back to my inadequacies and failings , back to my strengths and uncertain abilities and most important back in France. And I think this reflective time has given me a very special gift, I can try to give to others a little of the care & love that has been given to me.

Keep learning. Brittany v Bretagne

I write two very different blogs; this one, 'French Chalk',  about my experiences in France, in particular in relation to teaching & education, and the other ' The Grey Jigsaw', about my personal journey through & with cancer.

These are quite disparate blogs, but just once in a while the two overlap and what occurs in one is relevant and applies in the other. And his occurred this week on a visit to one of my cousins and his wife, who now live permanently in Brittany, France.

Now to explain I have to give you some background, if you like set the scene. This cousin is one of two brothers, who I am close to from my home town of Gosport in Hampshire and both brothers now own property in Brittany. Starting with a big renovation job of a country cottage over years and now a further renovation of a village town house. They have worked together, played together and holidayed together and in 2015 the eldest one decided to settle permanently in France.

Now this is a big move for anyone, with the arrangements, the legal stuff, the systems, the language and the culture, but for my cousin  and his wife this was an even bigger step as he is diagnosed with Parkinson's and she has longstanding health problems.

We arrived for our stay excited but unsure how they would be coping, its a tall order to take such a big step and challenge yourself, but what an amazing thing they have done. The house is a delight and made so homely, the plans are afoot for work and they are slowly but surely getting embedded in the local community; learning French and joining groups, it great to see!

We visited the area and its delights; had coffee in it village bars, ate in a local restaurant and puzzled at the signs written dually  in French & Breton. We had three days of pleasure in a very different part of France, a real holiday on holiday, it was lovely.

So what has this to do with education or cancer, well its all about determination and  belief. They have not sat back and thought , 'we can't do anything', ' we have to just put up with what life has dealt', no they are up and fighting. Its not easy, but they are taking on a new life and moving forward, brilliant. They are not accepting the limitations, they are seeking solutions and adapting to a new way of being.

Children learn & accept they won't get it all right, but keep trying. They immerse themselves in what needs to be done, seek solutions and eagerly engage in change. There is a fundamental conflict underlying learning; starting with not understanding and driven by and desire to comprehend, to reach stasis. The old adage that, 'conflict causes change'' is the leading reason we are motivated to learn or retract from learning. We are curious, want to conform, mature  or understand, solve a problem or feel an emotion, but all too often we let this drive stall and seek to withdraw. The young of all kinds are  endlessly drawn on, continually curious and want to grow, they are hard wired to learn.

So how great to see my cousin and his wife, despite all the problems and strains choosing to grow, to step out and question the world, make a new life, progress.
What's that other adage, oh yes........If you are not moving forward you are going backwards. And as my cousin said, "Its not me , its everyone else that's moving". Never too late to learn, we've just re-met a couple who are living proof of this.They say,'you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends', and we are proud to call my Brittany cousins both.
Merci mes amis

Glass bridges and gentle footsteps.

Recently I viewed an image on social media of a bridge in China; located in Hunan Province it is some  984 feet long &  spans a crevasse some 590 feet deep. Apparently the longest of its kind, what makes this bridge amazing is that the floor is made of glass; inch thick yes, but clear glass! So not surprisingly its called 'Brave Men's Bridge'.

Can you imagine the effect this has on people, they have to fight their natural instincts & overcome deeply held fears, just to cross it. Much like cancer I thought except no one forces them to endure it, but they do have a choice. And like cancer also the  resulting behaviour I believe is much the same.

Some choose to be led across, others freeze part way, some crawl and there are even those that close their eyes in order to across. Similarly, with the dreaded C we all react differently. For those enduring it there is no choice about having it, the only choice is how you deal with it. Do you reach out to others, take a steady hand or trust in others knowledge or do you set out alone only to freeze part way through the journey. Some move slowly, measured, hoping that their actions will alter the outcome. Still also some close their eyes and hope the fear will go away and that the terror will subside if they don't look. "I'm fine everything is normal", for them is it  pretence or self preservation?

Similarly those who support must find a way to react; head on brazen it out, avoid and just don't talk or react to it, go slowly and hope that makes the subject easier to deal with...all strategies  to cope.

 I don't judge any of  the reactions, we are each individuals and each has to find our own way over that bridge. The commonality is the journey, not the bridge, what we do about it defines who we are and that is, I believe, true of our whole lives.

As for me,  I'm someone who would avoid such a real bridge. I hate the theme park rides, bungee jumps or parachute drops indeed shudder at the thought of man made thrills. I only ever seek self controlled  danger like windsurfing, skiing and motor biking, the joy is in surmounting the fear and enjoying the ride! So I face my own glass bridge unwillingly, but my path is to look ahead, beyond the fear and fix my gaze on the end of that bridge. I'm not sight seeing along the way, I am trying to help and explain to others how it is, but I intent on getting to the other side and words help me do that.

Perhaps the thing that makes man attempt daring deeds, have great adventures or take a risk on crossing a glass bridge, is the feeling of exhilaration when then achieve that challenge, when the get to their goal and the joy success. My fear is overcome by hope. #

I hope not too falter in despair or freeze in denial, but to lift my gaze, breath in the clear air and share in the joy that is hope. After all life is one hell of an experience and hope lifts the spirits and helps us see the new day.

Where the mind leads...

Its been a long time coming, there have been a lot of tears and an abundance of caring, but yesterday I hit the jackpot.
Now it may not be the big win or the final cure, but it was life affirming and restored my hope. Close to a year since my last chemotherapy, nearly two years from that original diagnosis and a multitude of ups and downs, but yesterday was a good one.

When you spend your days and weeks wondering what those results will say, how your body will react, when the medics will take charge again, anything that gives you a measure of control, is blessed. When you march to the hospital clock and the rythmn of appointments and treatments,your freedom, is like that of a tethered dog.

But yesterday I was given a three month pass, a ticket to carefree life, ordinary and wonderful. For how many years do we take for granted the future and the hope of time? It just exists, always has and,so we tell ourselves, always will be.

So when the oncologist says she is pleased with the scan and that those days of radiotherapy have worked, you stagger with disbelief, gasp with wonder. I am not cured, its not over, but for three blissful months I don't need to think about the what ifs and my family and friends can relax and smile.

To see their faces, hear the catch in their voice, watch the sparkle  in their eyes and the tumble of their words, is a joy, pure joy. The saddest and hardest thing about cancer is the fact that you may be hurting the very people you love so much and yesterday I could lift that burden and laugh with them.

On Wednesday I took my mum for a 90th birthday Mother & Daughter Spa Day; a way of saying thank you and I love you, for all she has given in our not so easy relationship. I tried to think what  gift she would want and decided to feel young  and frivilous again and to have time was the best gift I could give and we had a wonderful day. She laughed and chatted to the beautician as though she herself were twenty two again, getting her nails painted and comparing life's stories, it was wonderful to watch.Two days later I get that gift of time back and hear her voice so pleased at what the medics say.


And my son and daughter each smiling into the phone when I ring them from the hospital corridor, I can hear the smile in their voices, the truly wonderful pleasure in their tones, its magical! Messages and calls thanking, informing spreading the good news, I am again humbled at peoples care and real pleasure.

And my husband, who can't stop smiling, fidgeting with excitement, stopping mid sentence to just stare, then smiling again, His brain full of plans and love, he can't contain his pleasure, doesn't want to, his joy is in every movement and every nuance of his expression and vocabulary.

On Wednesday, on the gym wall at that spa, I read a boxing quote and it touched me, but its only now I know the real depth of meaning of those words and I intend to stand  by them.
They read,
                         'Where the mind leads, the body follows...'

Stress, well relatively speaking...

On Wednesday I received a message from a very old friend and ex colleague. She overcame breast cancer some 24 years ago, but sadly the cancer has returned . Within the tissue around the site of the radiotherapy.

Ironic that the cure that had helped her heal had damaged the tissue and given cancer access to grow. At first this devastating news seemed very uncertain; operation, skin graft, chemo, radiotherapy.. uncertain!. But by Thursday with MRI and . scan results, it was clear that the cancer was localised and thankfully had not spread.
It's at these times you understand the meaning of 'stress'. This family have already stared into the abyss of cancer, grappled with the treatments and the fear. It seemed so unfair that they, and, in particular she, should have to face the ordeal again That's stress!

Then there was Friday morning, something and nothing in the light of all the procedures over the last eighteen months, a simple dentists visit. I'd been in August, have always maintained regular checks, but had a niggling tooth....maybe part of a filling missing I thought. Unfortunately seems I have a badly decayed molar, below the gum line and an extraction is necessary. Silly, its only an extraction, been there before, but it just got to me. Maybe its past experience; dental surgery, a broken jaw, but more self pity....my stress bucket overflowed. Single stress, not the real, double hard fear, sleep stealing with your face hard against the wall...bit it got to me.

Then Friday evening came and the news broke of the carnage on the streets and in the theatres and restaurants and bars of Paris. Innocent people, enjoying a night out, relaxing, suddenly had their life cut short, their friends and family devastated and a nation in morning. Stress on a national & international scale.

Now the thing with stress is its relative. That little word, so readily used, is always, always relative. Yes my friend is in a difficult place and has to undergo surgery and skin grafts, her family have weeks and months of worry. And yes my minor dental anxiety has to be dealt with.

But for all those families scarred forever, damaged; all those relationships destroyed, hope ended...a very different dimension to stress. We all need to remember our relativity, consider the fairness and analyse the depth.. it still feels overpowering, overwhelming and debilitating, but at least today we can get up and move, we have actions we can take.
In Paris some innocent people have lost that choice, they will never get up and move again.

Get by with little help from our friends...

I got to feeling gloomy,
No reason, just too much.
Those words, so far, not easy,
Be quiet, do not fuss.

And tired, keeping cheerful,
And smile if I can.
Above those words of medicine,
And love of this one man.

It's 'metastatic' movement,
It's 'palliative' care.
It means nothing on the paper,
To me it's everywhere.

I can't escape the meaning,
I can't avoid the fear.
I try to cover over,
And bring my loved ones near.

And bombs and guns and suffering,
All worldly woes and fears.
Above those words of freedom,
The bigotry and jeers.

Unlike those tragic victims,
My battle gives me time.
To say the words that matter,
To make a peace with mine.

But cloudy, dowdy,Sunday
And sorry for myself.
The words that clog my heart strings,
Lie dusty on the shelf

I think people have forgotten,
Its all gone on so long.
I'm  crying in the side-lines,
It surely must be wrong.

And have you seen how well she looks?
And yes she seems content.
It cant be what they say it is,
It can't be what she meant.

They cant believe or fathom,
They cant maintain the pace.
They've given hope and kisses,
They've looked me in the face.

But months and years are passing,
And now as time goes by.
We're left to keep on smiling,
And always wondering why?

So cry alone and silent,
So love can give me hope.
So much intense emotion,
So far, so near to cope.

And Paris streets are shaken,
And Syrian children cry.
And I consider lucky,
I know the reason why.

But need a little help now,
A visit or a word.
The world and we need healing,
Your  voices must be heard.

Content' and 'well' and 'happy',
The mirror can tell lies,
Just look a little closer,
You'll see it in my eyes !

So share with all a smile,
Give each a word, a thought,
Remember we're in this together,
This life, this world....or naught.




.

Time,time, time to see what's become of me

It's a sort of in between feeling, a limbo, as I wait, yet again. Finished the last of ten radiotherapy sessions eight weeks ago. Saw the oncologist after six weeks, further scan after seven...its all numbers, everything measured in time, my life counted out.

Used to be I measured time by school terms, seven to eight weeks of work to every break; booked appointments, family visits, friends activities and yearly celebrations marking the time. There were jobs to do in those holidays, people to see, life to catch up on. And all the time plan for how to achieve the next goal, make the next step, whether that be personal or professional.

Holidays and hobbies, passions and interests and plenty of good times. I cycled, skied, windsurfed and sailed. On horseback or motorbike, gym shoes or walking boots. The goals were measured in numbers and levels: how far run, what grade in karate, what wind speed, which sail size and all those numbers celebrated.

And then there was professional development; Open University, London Externals, night classes and courses. Psychology & leadership, dyslexia and behaviour difficulties, headship and lecturing. Never staying still always looking to improve, understand more, challenge and question; my time devoted to those children & young people with learning or behaviour difficulties.

And more latterly the goals have been French orientated; early retirement, renovation, learning a language & culture and setting up a small holiday business www.abientot-art.com. More goals, more chalenges, time passing tick tock, tick tock...

And why am I musing this now, well it was all about long term goals and control. Cancer has you questioning or rearranging anything long term and the control passes entirely to the medics.So here I am in between: between the two worlds of what I was and who I am and waiting, pacing time.

Hence I was fascinated when I watched a programme fronted by Professor Brian Cox entitled, ' What time is it?' With his incredible mix of science and story telling he explained in stages how time is measured in different ways and that there is no definitive answer The earth is apparently slowing down on its axis, very gradually, but slowing and  time is thus moving differently. The Myans believed  in honouring space and the movement of the planets, a balance between time and space. Brian Coxs physicists assertion that potentially 'Time made space', was intriguing and rang home with me.

Time may be segmented, currently measured intensely, but always linked with perception.The time space continuum may be complex and hard to comprehend, but endless and everlasting.

 Now that's what you call long term goals....sorted!

When you're back to your old self.

Cancer is a funny old bed mate, constantly surprising you, always reminding you and never predicable.
I suppose its the same with all life threatening illnesses, the damage and the remedies all have their own side effects, their own set of problems. But with the Big C it seems the cures are seemingly overtly fraught with their own set of side effects.

Chemotherapy, dependent on its mix  causes nausea, fatigue, hair loss, memory problems, neuropathy, taste problems, hearing loss, appetite changes, nerve damage,weight loss or gain, bladder and or bowel issues, tinnitus, nail changes and many many more.

Radiotherapy, depending on how much & where causes nausea, skin problems, fatigue, bone problems, digestive & bowel issues, burns, local hair loss, taste & smell, joint problems and many many more.

Surgery can have a vast number of side effects dependent on type & complexity and cover both physical changes & psychological issues involved.And all the while the healing process is hampered by the damage to other systems caused by any number of therapies 

But its not so much the symptoms during the treatments that cause the difficulties, its the fact that they can continue weeks or months after the actual treatment. In the words of the medics, 'It goes on cooking' and so just as you feel you are improving, things slip back. Then on top of this is, the compound effect of one treatment after another, all attacking your body to kill those cancer cells, but also attacking & damaging healthy cells, delaying or impeding  your immune or lymphatic systems. The whole body has to deal with an onslaught of chemicals & radiation.
Now I'm not saying for one moment that these treatments are not worth it, they are designed to save or improve your quality of life. But unlike most  other times in your  medical life nothing is predictable, nothing can be taken as read.

Past history tells us that operations heal, limbs mend, diseases respond and symptoms improve; you take your cure and all goes back to normal.
But not so cancer, you are never the same, never back to your old self. We all try to put on a positive face, seem upbeat, look normal and do normal. So a wonderful night out with friends and a slightly different diet and bedtime, something that's hardly a hardship, suddenly becomes two days of symptoms & fatigue. I'm not complaining, just observing and noting if its difficult for those fellow patients, its very confusing for on lookers, for everyone else. one minute seemingly fine then not. Its difficult to explain, seems counter intuitive and is frustrating for every one. Its as though you have become instantly old, no matter what age you start at, things don't work; senses & limbs malfunction, systems and fitness falter.

As my husband, a cancer survivor of some twenty five years or more put it, cancer gives you immediate access to an  exclusive club; its not one you want to join , but you are a member  and that's for life. So a pain or twinge makes us think, an area of your body that's sensitive or a random cough can become a real worry. Is it back, am I in danger? 
Pain is a part of living, without it in everyday life we would injure ourselves more, undertake riskier activities and not learn what is healthy for our bodies. We need it to tell us when to stop, when to move and mostly we don't think about it. Our autonomic system just keeps everything running and our wonderful  bodies continue their amazing self healing processes. 

Pain as a teacher is something I learnt about recently, having injured my foot some five / six weeks ago. Initially & because of the cancer, my age and the fact that I'd recently flown, I was tested for DVT, lymphoedema and infection; scanned, medicated & massaged, but to no avail. It was only when all else was checked that an X ray disclosed that I had indeed broken  the second metatarsal in my left foot. Seems that the neuropathy, caused by the chemotherapy damaging nerves, which means I have limited feeling in my foot, had shielded the fact that I must have broken & then walked on my left foot.

With cancer you have to accept your vulnerability even the potential  of your own death. Cancer challenges everything about yourself, sets new rules, breaks old boundaries and never lets you know what's next. So when a friend said recently that they'd come and visit when, "you're back to your old self", my response was short & I hope not too harsh. 

Simply, "Make it soon. I'm the same me, but will never be the old self!"