Apologies for the statelite-link pause in blogging - my laptop was in crisis and lost the ability to run on mains power or charge the battery. Whaaaa! I now have a laptop on loan (thank you!) and am waiting for a new one to materialise - well, be delivered. Soon. I hope. Hint hint delivery people.
It was shocking how cut off I felt without you all!!! You were missed! :)
I'm feeling quite lonely at the moment.
My brother came over from the States to visit me for a week - which was lovely. It's really nice when people come to visit me; it's just as nice to see them when I go visiting them, but it's special when they come to me. :) So we did a bunch of touristy things around London - like the Eye and walking along the river and the crack at Tate Modern and the opticians in Hampstead (What? You haven't heard of them? Huh, who would have thought...) I also took him to the hospital with me and he distracted me in the chemosuite when they were taking my bloods (not too much of a bloodbath this time, which is strangely disappointing) and he came along to my clinic appointment where he met my Oncologist (hello!); I tried to tell him that she could be scary but he is made of braver stuff than me (plus it was a rather unexciting appointment - nothing for me to report and not a lot for her to report - although I did get another tick in my notes - do I get a reward if I get a certain number of ticks? A chocolate brownie perhaps?) I was glad that he came along and saw where I was being treated and met the people who look after me. I hope it made him feel that I was in good hands and made sure he didn't feel out of the loop. I think things can be more frightening when you don't really know what's going on. Plus, he has the ability to make me laugh at all sorts of things. He went back to our old home in Leeds for the weekend and came back with this drawing of a cartoon character he'd invented way back when - Soup-Man! Who swam around in soup and had a straw for sucking it up and a propeller for manouveuring and stirring the soup around - it was hilarious - and such a wonderful example of unrestrained imagination.......
We also went to Spamalot and to see the Japanese Drummers - Yamato. Both really good - but the drumming was bloody brilliant - I was really glad he'd insisted we go (even if I did have a worrying few minutes on arrival at the theatre where I thought I might end up spending the evening in the Ladies!!!) You could feel the vibrations from the drums and it was done with such splashes of humour. We were on the 3rd row so had a really good closeup view - although from the side. So if you get a chance to see them - go like a shot!
But now he's gone home again. And I miss him. And it reminds me that I feel pretty lonely here. Which makes me sad. I end up feeling like I'm making up reasons to go out - so I just don't. What's the point? What am I going to do? Going and seeing galleries and shows and the like on your own isn't so much fun. Does this mean I should go back to work? But the Dear Other doesn't really want me to - then I'll spend less time with him and I'll have to be in London more of the time. Plus, I'm not really feeling like working. But sitting around on my own isn't good for me either. But I have no enthusiasm for doing lots of the stuff I *could* be doing. ::sigh:: Whatever.
It's hard. Life is hard at the moment. It's been worse, mind, but still not brilliant. And all sorts of things are casting their shadow at the moment - I have 2 hen weekends and consequently 2 weddings to go to over the next few months. None of them are mine. Out of all of my friends I am the person who has been with their partner the longest - so how come everyone gets to get married before me? And there's a complicated answer in there; involving the necessity for the Dear Other and I to be living in the same house in the same town and currently that means me leaving London for a place where I know even fewer people and have even less to do at my doorstep; not to mention a long way between me and the hospital and my Oncologist and her team. And I'm not prepared to move away from them - I think they're bloody good at their jobs, I think they care fantastically for their patients, I think they're incredibly patient with me (I'm not known for being easygoing) and why would I leave a top London teaching hospital with big name Doctors for one in a Midlands market-town (which is perfectly adequate, I'm sure).
So, no, I'm not the one in the flouncy dress (not my style anyway - I'd probably be a bit more imaginative and personal. Plus, I currently couldn't wear pretty shoes because my feet would die and fall off - getting married in trainers wasn't quite the effect I had in mind.) Blah - all irrelevant anyway - apart from the shoes bit - I *will* have to wear shoes to go to other people's weddings. Maybe my feet will die and fall off anyway.
What a long and very wingey post this is turning out to be - sorry about that.
BTW - I'm linked to in a Blogher post for my Letter to My Body post - I'm very honoured but I suspect that it's not the sort of thing people want to read. This is quite a depressing blog at times and cancer is a scary topic - I guess I don't blame you for avoiding it - I understand the discomfort and fear that even the word 'cancer' can evoke; but remember, if you do avoid or ignore this blog, you're ignoring me and I'm real and what's happening to me is real and I'm afraid it doesn't become any less real if you don't read about it......
Time to stop blathering now - thank you to all you people out there who read me all the time, through the good and less good and the frankly awful - you're the tops and it really makes my day when you drop me a line or comment to tell me you're there and then I know I'm not so alone.
Showing posts with label Contemplating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contemplating. Show all posts
Friday, March 28, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
A Letter to My Body
As per BlogHer:
Dear Body,
I don't really like you and I used to like you and it's not all down to that usurper: cancer.
I used to revel in my body; it looked pretty fancy without much effort, it brought me pleasure, allowed me to feel good. The breasts came in a little early and I could have done without nasty people pinging my brand new brastraps. But perhaps it's good that they did because it gave me a little more time with a full pair before the mastectomy at age 28.
Didn't you know body, that you weren't supposed to let cancer in? That it was a baddie who you ought to have fought? I know I didn't go in for playing cops and robbers when I was a child, was that what you needed to teach you to fight baddies?
You did bad, you let me down, you're responsible for the lopsided mess that is now my bosom and yet you still didn't learn because you let Mr Cancer come back and set up residence in my bones and lung. How did he sweet-talk his way back in? Was a year's worth of hideous treatments not enough to teach you to attack Mr Cancer?
It's so hard to hate you, body, because you are me and hating you means hating me - but I do. I can't really bear to be with myself a lot of the time. I look away from the bathroom mirror when getting into the bath. I struggle over what to wear that won't show off a non-existent cleavage. You've cheated me - because the world out there thinks that women have *two* breasts - it's in the magazines, on the Television, in films, in fashion, it's instilled into every baby being breast-fed; it's on every woman I see walking down the street. You've turned me into the Non-Woman.
And not content with all this, you sweat all the time; you've turned me into a sweating, hot-flushing mess. You insist on punishing me for the lack of hormones - which, actually, is all *your* fault - if you hadn't let the cancer in, *I* wouldn't be having injections to shut down those hormones. And then, perhaps I would feel like a human being with all those aspects that are ruled by hormones. I might *feel* something instead of feeling sad or nothing.
And how can you let Mr Cancer move into my lungs - I'm a singer. I need those lungs. I've trained them and honed their function to fulfil my needs. You *know* how important they are; but you sold me out. I can still sing, but you still dissed me.
How can I stand to live with you when you don't seem to care about me? When you're prepared to let me die? If I could exist without you, body, then I would. Don't you love me? Don't you want to be here? Don't you think I deserve to be here? Am I not good enough? I never treated you badly - there was that broken arm once; but it got fixed, and it wasn't deliberate. I just don't understand you and I want to be that woman I was - I want to walk down the street with confidence, with the knowledge that people look at me and see a beautiful person. I want to enjoy my body again; I want to enjoy being in it, using it and not see myself as a diseased, broken, useless thing. I want to be a woman again - able to do and be the things that make one so. But you, body, have excluded that.
You know what?
Screw you.
Dear Body,
I don't really like you and I used to like you and it's not all down to that usurper: cancer.
I used to revel in my body; it looked pretty fancy without much effort, it brought me pleasure, allowed me to feel good. The breasts came in a little early and I could have done without nasty people pinging my brand new brastraps. But perhaps it's good that they did because it gave me a little more time with a full pair before the mastectomy at age 28.
Didn't you know body, that you weren't supposed to let cancer in? That it was a baddie who you ought to have fought? I know I didn't go in for playing cops and robbers when I was a child, was that what you needed to teach you to fight baddies?
You did bad, you let me down, you're responsible for the lopsided mess that is now my bosom and yet you still didn't learn because you let Mr Cancer come back and set up residence in my bones and lung. How did he sweet-talk his way back in? Was a year's worth of hideous treatments not enough to teach you to attack Mr Cancer?
It's so hard to hate you, body, because you are me and hating you means hating me - but I do. I can't really bear to be with myself a lot of the time. I look away from the bathroom mirror when getting into the bath. I struggle over what to wear that won't show off a non-existent cleavage. You've cheated me - because the world out there thinks that women have *two* breasts - it's in the magazines, on the Television, in films, in fashion, it's instilled into every baby being breast-fed; it's on every woman I see walking down the street. You've turned me into the Non-Woman.
And not content with all this, you sweat all the time; you've turned me into a sweating, hot-flushing mess. You insist on punishing me for the lack of hormones - which, actually, is all *your* fault - if you hadn't let the cancer in, *I* wouldn't be having injections to shut down those hormones. And then, perhaps I would feel like a human being with all those aspects that are ruled by hormones. I might *feel* something instead of feeling sad or nothing.
And how can you let Mr Cancer move into my lungs - I'm a singer. I need those lungs. I've trained them and honed their function to fulfil my needs. You *know* how important they are; but you sold me out. I can still sing, but you still dissed me.
How can I stand to live with you when you don't seem to care about me? When you're prepared to let me die? If I could exist without you, body, then I would. Don't you love me? Don't you want to be here? Don't you think I deserve to be here? Am I not good enough? I never treated you badly - there was that broken arm once; but it got fixed, and it wasn't deliberate. I just don't understand you and I want to be that woman I was - I want to walk down the street with confidence, with the knowledge that people look at me and see a beautiful person. I want to enjoy my body again; I want to enjoy being in it, using it and not see myself as a diseased, broken, useless thing. I want to be a woman again - able to do and be the things that make one so. But you, body, have excluded that.
You know what?
Screw you.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Pretties
So, apparently you're not going to let me have the 'Idiot Grrrl' t-shirt....you're *no* fun. Can I have one that says 'Sometime Idiot Grrrl'? No? You're obviously all too nice to me! Thank you. :)
My papa bought me some flowers to cheer me up (I should have taken the picture of them when they were at their zenith - I failed to do so - but I still think they look pretty):
Papa's are pretty great.... :)
I had to shoot off to my Hometown-in-the-North last week to attend the funeral of an old friend's mother - very sad and sudden; but I was glad to be able to support my friend. As I said to her 'of course we [all our old friendship circle] would be here'. The following day I went home - to my old home, our old house. And just walking through the door reduced me to tears - it was the smell you see. It still smelt the same. It smelt like home. I cried for days gone by, I cried for who I was, I cried for the family we used to be - all in the same place. That house felt lonesome - as if it were an abandoned being. It used to be alive and full of us but we aren't there any more, but neither has it become home to some other family. It's a little bit like we just all walked out one day; it's a snapshot of lives. In my room there are part-used bottles of shampoo and toothbrushes - as if I expected to be back at any moment. Similarly, in the bathroom there are some of my mama's perfumes and make-up. When I was younger, a favourite book was "Return to Gone-Away" by Elizabeth Enright - and the story centred around a long shut-up house that was put back to rights; and I loved the descriptions of the house; because it was still full of the belongings of the former owner - it was historical and romantic (I don't mean slushy romance - the other kind). And here, I have my own version of the Villa Caprice (I think that was its' name) - and I find it sad, not exciting.
So, I just walked around the house - it was like I was really seeing the space for the first time in a long time; and the memories were strange. I felt like I was seeing ghosts; echoes of myself; but not me. Like I was a foreigner to myself. I looked at the little things; smelt the distinctive smell inside the drawers of the big...(gosh, I don't know what you call it - but on the bottom it's like a chest of drawers then it has a sloped, fold-down desk-top with little drawers and pigeon holes inside and finally on top of that is a glass fronted cabinet. Anyone know what I mean???) I don't know why it has a particular smell; but it does - and I just opened the top two drawers a crack to smell inside them (why yes, I do do some strange things.....). And I went upstairs and the feel of the banister under my hand reduced me to tears - so familiar and known. I could recognise that feel blindfolded - I would know it. And the height of the steps - they're shallow, shallower than any other stairs I'm familiar with. And I sat at the desk in my room, I shut the door and sat in there for the first time in years - like I spent the majority of my teenage years - and I sat there and conjured up as many memories as I could - and of course I cried some more. I think of those high-school years as pretty terrible, but there were good times too. A birthday sleep-over with a cake that my dear friend, Jo, made for me. Decorating the collar for "Akhnaten" (have I mentioned my Youth Opera days? I don't think I have - I sang opera for around 7 years growing up. We were ambitious - which is why I have the sung the role of Meritaten in Philip Glass's Akhnaten. The majority of the opera is in Egyptian and Hebrew - it's pretty fantastic music though. Anyway, end diversion.) And endless reading - I'll confess I didn't have highbrow reading tendencies - the Chalet School, the Famous Five, Malcolm Saville, Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew.
So, t'was all strange and also cathartic. I've been quite trepidatious about visiting before; but I feel...clearer now....less like it's a weight around my neck. Which is good, because I'm going to have to clear out my room eventually....
But! Have just remembered the point of this story (brain, come back, all is forgiven...) I brought back my rabbit picture. My mum drew it and I think it's beautiful. I don't know why I haven't brought it back long before now - it was as if it had never occurred to me that I could bring things out of that museum...... My mama is so talented, I think you'll agree:
My papa bought me some flowers to cheer me up (I should have taken the picture of them when they were at their zenith - I failed to do so - but I still think they look pretty):
Papa's are pretty great.... :)
I had to shoot off to my Hometown-in-the-North last week to attend the funeral of an old friend's mother - very sad and sudden; but I was glad to be able to support my friend. As I said to her 'of course we [all our old friendship circle] would be here'. The following day I went home - to my old home, our old house. And just walking through the door reduced me to tears - it was the smell you see. It still smelt the same. It smelt like home. I cried for days gone by, I cried for who I was, I cried for the family we used to be - all in the same place. That house felt lonesome - as if it were an abandoned being. It used to be alive and full of us but we aren't there any more, but neither has it become home to some other family. It's a little bit like we just all walked out one day; it's a snapshot of lives. In my room there are part-used bottles of shampoo and toothbrushes - as if I expected to be back at any moment. Similarly, in the bathroom there are some of my mama's perfumes and make-up. When I was younger, a favourite book was "Return to Gone-Away" by Elizabeth Enright - and the story centred around a long shut-up house that was put back to rights; and I loved the descriptions of the house; because it was still full of the belongings of the former owner - it was historical and romantic (I don't mean slushy romance - the other kind). And here, I have my own version of the Villa Caprice (I think that was its' name) - and I find it sad, not exciting.
So, I just walked around the house - it was like I was really seeing the space for the first time in a long time; and the memories were strange. I felt like I was seeing ghosts; echoes of myself; but not me. Like I was a foreigner to myself. I looked at the little things; smelt the distinctive smell inside the drawers of the big...(gosh, I don't know what you call it - but on the bottom it's like a chest of drawers then it has a sloped, fold-down desk-top with little drawers and pigeon holes inside and finally on top of that is a glass fronted cabinet. Anyone know what I mean???) I don't know why it has a particular smell; but it does - and I just opened the top two drawers a crack to smell inside them (why yes, I do do some strange things.....). And I went upstairs and the feel of the banister under my hand reduced me to tears - so familiar and known. I could recognise that feel blindfolded - I would know it. And the height of the steps - they're shallow, shallower than any other stairs I'm familiar with. And I sat at the desk in my room, I shut the door and sat in there for the first time in years - like I spent the majority of my teenage years - and I sat there and conjured up as many memories as I could - and of course I cried some more. I think of those high-school years as pretty terrible, but there were good times too. A birthday sleep-over with a cake that my dear friend, Jo, made for me. Decorating the collar for "Akhnaten" (have I mentioned my Youth Opera days? I don't think I have - I sang opera for around 7 years growing up. We were ambitious - which is why I have the sung the role of Meritaten in Philip Glass's Akhnaten. The majority of the opera is in Egyptian and Hebrew - it's pretty fantastic music though. Anyway, end diversion.) And endless reading - I'll confess I didn't have highbrow reading tendencies - the Chalet School, the Famous Five, Malcolm Saville, Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew.
So, t'was all strange and also cathartic. I've been quite trepidatious about visiting before; but I feel...clearer now....less like it's a weight around my neck. Which is good, because I'm going to have to clear out my room eventually....
But! Have just remembered the point of this story (brain, come back, all is forgiven...) I brought back my rabbit picture. My mum drew it and I think it's beautiful. I don't know why I haven't brought it back long before now - it was as if it had never occurred to me that I could bring things out of that museum...... My mama is so talented, I think you'll agree:
Friday, August 31, 2007
The illumination, the earthquake and the Andes
Well, I'm home again.
I feel like I've been gone a lifetime and come back as someone else.
Someone else with Peruvian alpaca yarn.
Peru was an experience. Travelling with a group of 16 young women was a fantastic experience. Fantastic humour and courage and tenacity. We had illness and tears and hilarious laughter. I had some moments when I wanted to leave and come home; when I didn't think I could manage the responsibility - but of course, I did - we did. We had Peruvian hospitals and doctors; and we had copious amounts of vomit.
I have comforted so many tearful people and exuded empathy and sympathy from every pore for nearly 3 weeks. Guess what? I'm pretty good at that. If you'd asked me what I thought were my strong points before I left I wouldn't have thought to include that. In fact, I think I might have thought that everyone could do that in the way I can - but I guess not. Perhaps that's why I've had so many problems in the world - I truly haven't realised that not everyone can feel/see what others are feeling. I can. But I also discovered that I was stronger than I realised - I thought I would be overwhelmed by others pain - and I was at times - but actually I could cope with it in the moment. I could comfort and reassure through pain and fear. I could see and read and guess fear. I used my knowledge to guess where others felt frightened and I was right. I have skills I never knew I had. And it may have been exhausting but it was good. I said many times that I didn't mind people crying and being fearful and sad - that I would just be there for them and that I wanted to try and make people feel better; or at least, not alone. I think I managed some of that. I think I'm finding where I need to be.
I'm not sure what that's going to translate into but it's a better feeling than I've had for a long time. What I think I felt to be a flawed aspect of my personality - caring what people thought and how they felt - being aware and frightened of sadness and fear and anger; well, I think I now realise that it's an asset. It's something that not everyone has to the same extent.
I just hope this isn't a flash in the pan. Yet another wild dream of a moment (Yes! I want to be a fighter pilot! - No, I'm kidding; I never wanted that. I'm too much the pacifist for that.)
I think I've also come home realising how much I want to be married and a mother. I've been fighting my mothering instinct for a long time and it's not necessary.
I'm quite frightened now I've written that - and I want to shout 'no! no, I don't! It's a lie!'. But that would be the lie. I run away from making decisions. I haven't seen enough of decision-making around me. I've watched a 10 year wait-and-see scenario and I've allowed that to teach me not to make choices. I don't know how I'm going to make some choices but I'm going to have to try.
I feel like I've been gone a lifetime and come back as someone else.
Someone else with Peruvian alpaca yarn.
Peru was an experience. Travelling with a group of 16 young women was a fantastic experience. Fantastic humour and courage and tenacity. We had illness and tears and hilarious laughter. I had some moments when I wanted to leave and come home; when I didn't think I could manage the responsibility - but of course, I did - we did. We had Peruvian hospitals and doctors; and we had copious amounts of vomit.
I have comforted so many tearful people and exuded empathy and sympathy from every pore for nearly 3 weeks. Guess what? I'm pretty good at that. If you'd asked me what I thought were my strong points before I left I wouldn't have thought to include that. In fact, I think I might have thought that everyone could do that in the way I can - but I guess not. Perhaps that's why I've had so many problems in the world - I truly haven't realised that not everyone can feel/see what others are feeling. I can. But I also discovered that I was stronger than I realised - I thought I would be overwhelmed by others pain - and I was at times - but actually I could cope with it in the moment. I could comfort and reassure through pain and fear. I could see and read and guess fear. I used my knowledge to guess where others felt frightened and I was right. I have skills I never knew I had. And it may have been exhausting but it was good. I said many times that I didn't mind people crying and being fearful and sad - that I would just be there for them and that I wanted to try and make people feel better; or at least, not alone. I think I managed some of that. I think I'm finding where I need to be.
I'm not sure what that's going to translate into but it's a better feeling than I've had for a long time. What I think I felt to be a flawed aspect of my personality - caring what people thought and how they felt - being aware and frightened of sadness and fear and anger; well, I think I now realise that it's an asset. It's something that not everyone has to the same extent.
I just hope this isn't a flash in the pan. Yet another wild dream of a moment (Yes! I want to be a fighter pilot! - No, I'm kidding; I never wanted that. I'm too much the pacifist for that.)
I think I've also come home realising how much I want to be married and a mother. I've been fighting my mothering instinct for a long time and it's not necessary.
I'm quite frightened now I've written that - and I want to shout 'no! no, I don't! It's a lie!'. But that would be the lie. I run away from making decisions. I haven't seen enough of decision-making around me. I've watched a 10 year wait-and-see scenario and I've allowed that to teach me not to make choices. I don't know how I'm going to make some choices but I'm going to have to try.
Friday, July 13, 2007
we
::sigh::
Compression 'garments' really don't go well with hot flushes.
It's currently taking all my self-control - including muttering to myself under my breath - to stop myself from ripping them off before I explode.
Deeply unattractive - just to add to how great I feel about my body, and they itch. Itch, itch, itch.
The following are some things I'm mostly writing down to remind myself. I'm not sure what they are or if they're 'right' - in general, or for me. We'll see.
We are alone in the world
We want meaning, a place, validation
Our identity and reality is defined by our personal beliefs and ideals - we make our own meaning
We cannot depend on others for our validation
We are free to make our own choices
We are personally responsible for the outcomes of those choices - there is no-one else to blame
Choices come with anxiety - fear of failure, fear of death
BUT
We are also free to make new and different choices; to reinvent ourselves
We are the architects, builders and planners of our own lives
"we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams"
In other news - one more Zoladex injection to go!! Then, hopefully within a few months my body will revert to having hormones and stop having endless hot flushes. I could try and calculate how many I've had in the last two years but the numbers might get a bit ridiculous.....
Say, 15 a day for 2 years - how many is that?
10,950
That's quite a lot.
Any further questions as to why I am a mixed-up, crazy being??
Compression 'garments' really don't go well with hot flushes.
It's currently taking all my self-control - including muttering to myself under my breath - to stop myself from ripping them off before I explode.
Deeply unattractive - just to add to how great I feel about my body, and they itch. Itch, itch, itch.
The following are some things I'm mostly writing down to remind myself. I'm not sure what they are or if they're 'right' - in general, or for me. We'll see.
We are alone in the world
We want meaning, a place, validation
Our identity and reality is defined by our personal beliefs and ideals - we make our own meaning
We cannot depend on others for our validation
We are free to make our own choices
We are personally responsible for the outcomes of those choices - there is no-one else to blame
Choices come with anxiety - fear of failure, fear of death
BUT
We are also free to make new and different choices; to reinvent ourselves
We are the architects, builders and planners of our own lives
"we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams"
In other news - one more Zoladex injection to go!! Then, hopefully within a few months my body will revert to having hormones and stop having endless hot flushes. I could try and calculate how many I've had in the last two years but the numbers might get a bit ridiculous.....
Say, 15 a day for 2 years - how many is that?
10,950
That's quite a lot.
Any further questions as to why I am a mixed-up, crazy being??
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Tell it like it T-I-is
La la lal alala
Tomorrow I'm talking to 130 cancer doctors from 27 different countries. Yes, I'm not sure why I agreed to that either....
I'm going to tell them that, gosh, having cancer is crap and it makes you feel pretty blue. I'm pretty sure they will have noticed that, which is why I'm going to be whining about the depersonalisation of treatment, the loss of identity, the attempts at trying to live as a one-breasted woman. Officially my title is "The physical, psychological and social consequences of breast cancer; a younger woman's perspective" - wheee! Get me! Speaking at a medical conference! Maybe I'll put up my 'talk' here once I've given it - although I don't think it'll be new to most of my readers! I f*cked up over it because I was supposed to write it a couple of weeks ago and send a draft to the woman who's organising the conference but I just have not had time until this week to really sit down and get my thoughts in a logical(ish) form. But I definitely ballsed up because I should have contacted her to let her know instead of just continually hoping and saying 'I'll do it tomorrow'. I've been feeling *really* guilty about that since I spoke to her on Friday - I hate it when people promise things and don't do what they say they will or let you know that they can't - and I've just done exactly that.....sometimes I really hate how I behave. However, it's written, the beloved has listened to it and given it the OK - I think it's fine - I'm not saying anything controversial or offensive; I've made it clear that it's my personal experience and I think it'll sound pretty good. And at the end of the day I can only say what I know and think - and letting someone else read and criticise it really might have broken my heart. Sadly, I've agreed to sit through the majority of the conference tomorrow - I'm living in fear that I'll hear something I really don't want to hear. Actually, it's more likely that I'll hear lots of stuff I don't understand!!
Keep your fingers crossed for me at 3.30pm GMT (Summer time) tomorrow!!
Tomorrow I'm talking to 130 cancer doctors from 27 different countries. Yes, I'm not sure why I agreed to that either....
I'm going to tell them that, gosh, having cancer is crap and it makes you feel pretty blue. I'm pretty sure they will have noticed that, which is why I'm going to be whining about the depersonalisation of treatment, the loss of identity, the attempts at trying to live as a one-breasted woman. Officially my title is "The physical, psychological and social consequences of breast cancer; a younger woman's perspective" - wheee! Get me! Speaking at a medical conference! Maybe I'll put up my 'talk' here once I've given it - although I don't think it'll be new to most of my readers! I f*cked up over it because I was supposed to write it a couple of weeks ago and send a draft to the woman who's organising the conference but I just have not had time until this week to really sit down and get my thoughts in a logical(ish) form. But I definitely ballsed up because I should have contacted her to let her know instead of just continually hoping and saying 'I'll do it tomorrow'. I've been feeling *really* guilty about that since I spoke to her on Friday - I hate it when people promise things and don't do what they say they will or let you know that they can't - and I've just done exactly that.....sometimes I really hate how I behave. However, it's written, the beloved has listened to it and given it the OK - I think it's fine - I'm not saying anything controversial or offensive; I've made it clear that it's my personal experience and I think it'll sound pretty good. And at the end of the day I can only say what I know and think - and letting someone else read and criticise it really might have broken my heart. Sadly, I've agreed to sit through the majority of the conference tomorrow - I'm living in fear that I'll hear something I really don't want to hear. Actually, it's more likely that I'll hear lots of stuff I don't understand!!
Keep your fingers crossed for me at 3.30pm GMT (Summer time) tomorrow!!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Where's autumn gone?
It's 5.30pm and pitchy black out, now that the clocks have changed for winter. It's at times like these that I wish I had a quilt under my desk so I could curl up and not have to get home in the dark. To be truthful - it's unseasonably warm, so it could be worse - although, of course, my perception of temperature is less than reliable....so maybe it's freezing really....
The leaves are clinging on to the trees for dear life but the wind today has made some of them start to fall. Quite a few are still spring-green though. I've been enjoying the cooler weather too - cooler nights and that nice cool when I step out of the door in the morning.
There were no conkers on the tree at the back of my flats this year - the heat of the summer meant that they didn't mature properly.
Do you know what a conker is?
The fruit of the horse chestnut tree - their prickly shells are in direct opposition to their shiny, smooth surfaces. And each year I collect a few and carry them in coat pockets because I love to feel the smoothness of them. When they first come down they're really shiny and smooth and as they dry out they crinkle and shrivel. But I don't have any this year.
I did have an acorn for a while, but it didn't last as well as a conker....
Even though it's rained quite a bit recently there isn't that damp, autumn feel. I wish I could capture that smell and feel to share it with you. The smell of woodland decay - leaves and barks and seeds gently settling for the winter, and yet - the result of that decay will be ready to feed the new growth in the spring. It's sad; I oddly miss cold winters and damp and dreary days - is the world dying? It's changing, that's for sure - in so many ways - I've changed, but it's changing too. I worry about what we're doing to the world - yet here I sit at my computer, consuming electricity and metals and plastics that will kill the world a little bit more. Will the world and I go down together? It's odd - I sit here and sometimes think that it would be better if we had never gone down this path of consumerism, of great technology - the search for new and bigger and better and how and why - that the simple life was better. But, of course, without all of that - or at least some of that - I would have died from cancer and wouldn't be here to think those thoughts.
Odd.
The leaves are clinging on to the trees for dear life but the wind today has made some of them start to fall. Quite a few are still spring-green though. I've been enjoying the cooler weather too - cooler nights and that nice cool when I step out of the door in the morning.
There were no conkers on the tree at the back of my flats this year - the heat of the summer meant that they didn't mature properly.
Do you know what a conker is?
The fruit of the horse chestnut tree - their prickly shells are in direct opposition to their shiny, smooth surfaces. And each year I collect a few and carry them in coat pockets because I love to feel the smoothness of them. When they first come down they're really shiny and smooth and as they dry out they crinkle and shrivel. But I don't have any this year.I did have an acorn for a while, but it didn't last as well as a conker....
Even though it's rained quite a bit recently there isn't that damp, autumn feel. I wish I could capture that smell and feel to share it with you. The smell of woodland decay - leaves and barks and seeds gently settling for the winter, and yet - the result of that decay will be ready to feed the new growth in the spring. It's sad; I oddly miss cold winters and damp and dreary days - is the world dying? It's changing, that's for sure - in so many ways - I've changed, but it's changing too. I worry about what we're doing to the world - yet here I sit at my computer, consuming electricity and metals and plastics that will kill the world a little bit more. Will the world and I go down together? It's odd - I sit here and sometimes think that it would be better if we had never gone down this path of consumerism, of great technology - the search for new and bigger and better and how and why - that the simple life was better. But, of course, without all of that - or at least some of that - I would have died from cancer and wouldn't be here to think those thoughts.
Odd.
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