Early Warning Systems

It is quite amazing that our bodies have built in early warning systems. In this instance I am referring to what happens when you are asleep and you’re dreaming that you’re a fireman putting out a fire. You uncoil your hose (steady!) and start spraying the flames then you increase the water pressure and it is at that moment when you wake up in a sweat realising that you’re actually an accountant, not a strapping fireman with a good length of hose, and that you are about to pee in your bed. I had a similar dream last night except that I dreamed that I was not feeling well, as in feeling like I was going to be sick. In my dream, I had dragged myself to the loo and was sitting on the bath draped over the bowl (I think we have all been through this after a night on the tiles) but I didn’t actually get sick in my dream (thank goodness). I felt it building up and that’s when my early warning system kicked in and I was able to roll off the bed and grab the dirt-bin nearby. Fortunately, it was a false alarm but I did lie there for ages too scared to go back to sleep as the nausea was quite extreme.

Pleasant reading so far? I sometimes wonder, when I’m writing this blog, if I should say what I’m thinking or really feeling, or if I should filter out things that others might find be uncomfortable reading. Actually, having allowed myself to be open to all sorts of emails, chats, advice, comments etc from friends over a range of topics (such as the future of my soul, my stupidity for eating meat when it clearly (?) contributes to the cause of cancer) I think fair is fair and if I can take it, then I can give it back. I want this blog to be a reflection of my current views on things past, present and future. I retain the right to change these views as I either grow up more or learn more about life. I also hope that you will all continue to share your views and thoughts with me as I embrace it all in the spirit in which it is offered whether I agree or not.

The word learning has triggered off another train of thought. I love coaching one client in particular at the moment because she is just growing as a person and professional from session to session. She is opening herself to learning more and more. Anyone who knows me well will know that I love learning. I am curious about so many things that if I had a brain big enough (several CT and MRI scans have squashed this ambition), I would study a huge range of topics and languages, and maybe even learn some maffs (maths) while I am about it. I use to love the way my inner-city pupils would say “maffs” or “I live in For’en Heaff (Thorton Heath)”. Anyway, while looking at different goals my client was surprised when I asked her to list three types of goals: Achievement Goals, Learning Goals and Enjoyment Goals. She had no idea that Enjoyment Goals existed. How often do we actually plan to enjoy ourselves, whether it is during the week, the weekend, month or year? Or do we just leave it to chance? I know that this weekend is going to be sunny but I haven’t actually decided what I am going to do for fun. I have a scan on Saturday afternoon but that’s hardly going to be the highlight of my weekend! Well, I should hope not! There is a possible braai (barbecue) at Rob and Alex’s on Sunday (email me if you want directions haha), a visit to Vojtech in Brighton on Saturday before or after the scan but what if I planned something special for myself, like a jaunt along the Thames, an outdoor concert/gig? What I mean is an hour or two of me time! Time that I spend alone enjoying my own company, whether outdoors creating havoc or indoors eating a sneaky magnum in my special spot in my home...

I am finding myself becoming increasingly protective of my time and hesitate to accept long-term arrangements. I am also enjoying having those moments when I can be alone to do something, no matter how trivial, on my own. I am turning off my mobile more often (I could never have done that before) and no longer feel guilty about not always answering my telephone every time it rings. Friends leave messages, salesmen don’t, and even my mother has overcome her maternal instincts and allows me to not reply immediately to texts or messages. This is a huge turn around on my part. I was always quick to freak out at people who did not answer their mobiles or who did not respond to a text within a “reasonable” time (“what is the point of having a mobile phone if you don’t bloody well answer it?” I used to scream at the offending person, very often Adam!). I still respect appointments and do use my phone to ensure that pre-arranged events take place as planned, but I am realising that I had become so attached to this device and that it was no longer just a tool designed to help me communicate better, but had become an instrument of intrusion. I have no intention of throwing away my mobile or of not using it regularly, I’m just saying that if you text or call me and I don’t reply or answer for a day or two, don’t be alarmed. If I am ill or gone to be with the budgies in the sky, there is a mechanism in place that will alert you to this fact so don’t panic.

Okay, let’s talk about the big C. Not going to lie to you, I have HATED the last 10 days. Chemotherapy on both Wednesdays has brought the usual challenges. To the extent, however, where I know for certain that I no longer want to do this. I hate the person I am forced to become through the side effects caused by chemotherapy and while I know that it is doing me good, I simply and plainly do not want any more of it. I am having a chest and abdomen scan Saturday afternoon and am seeing my oncologist on the 10th of May. He will make a decision, based on the scan, if he is going to complete the six cycles or stop after this one, the fourth (which I have just completed). I will leave the decision entirely up to him and will not let him know how strongly I am against the treatment because I know that that will influence his decision (he has made that clear in previous appointments). I do not feel strong enough to go through another 4 weeks of chemotherapy. You might think and believe that I am strong enough and yes, I can and will do it if I have to but I must warn you, I shall be kicking and screaming my way through it. The oncologist will decide if having the last two cycles will do more good than bad (my liver and kidneys do not enjoy chemo) and if that is his professional view, then I will abide by it and see it through. But, let’s all hope it isn’t and I can say that I have done with chemo for a while!

I am itching to travel. My weekend in Germany and Belgium courtesy of friends has got me started. Interestingly, Morse (the parrot) has suggested to his friends John and Richard that we should go to Spain for a long weekend in May. Morse is still working on it (he has to repeat things several times before John and Richard learn) so fingers crossed! I have never been to Spain and would love a cheeky weekend away in some sunshine. I have whipped out Tony’s “Spanish in 60 seconds” dvds and should be fluent before you can say "bob’s your uncle". This reminds me of a time when I was forced to teach beginner Spanish (having no clue about Spanish). I learnt on the wing, so to speak (actually, I am not sure about that expression but I think it is as close as I’m going to get), and practised before each lesson. Two problems: firstly, no-one told me that the Spanish don’t say the letter “v” (which becomes “b”) so fortunately, I stopped our counting lesson at number 19(!), and secondly, come parents’ evening, a Spanish mother rattled off at me in Spanish and I had to confess that I hadn’t a clue about what she was saying, although I did say "si, si" a few times! The kids knew that I couldn’t speak Spanish (it was a 6-week taster course to help the students decide which foreign language they wanted to choose) but this particular sprog later confessed that he told his mom that Spanish was my mother tongue just to see me squirm. Anyway, Polish in 60 minutes, Spanish in 60 seconds, Farsi in 60 years, bring it on. I want to speak them all!

Back to travel, I want to fly to Nice to see Sue and Errol and a budgie-yellow loft room with a quick train trip to Antibes to sing and dance with Pam. I want to go to Amsterdam, to Paris, to Brussels, to Berlin and Cologne, to Glasgow, to Oxford, anywhere that involves an adventure. I also want to stay at home a lot and visit locally. A lot of this is brought on by the sunshine. Excitement is in the air. Elections are coming up, volcanic ash is dispersing, babies are being made and being born (I am watching one friend’s flat stomach with growing interest), people are smiling again in London, I saw our brand new tube doing its trial run through Norwood Junction, the tree outside my property is flowering and my chilli tree is coming alive again, producing green chillis. Unfortunately, the African Violet has finally given up the ghost and cannot be revived but I have plans to put some multi-coloured flower-thingies (have no idea what flowers/plants are called) in the bowl instead.

I am raring to go; I am keen to purge myself of this toxic waste and move, live, fly, learn, laugh, cry and only then, die!

Thank you for reading

All my love and respect

Goose