Many of you have complimented me on my ability to keep my sense of humour throughout this rather awful illness. Well, last night (Sunday 25th), during one of my marathon pain sessions, I tried to find something humorous about what I was going through. I have to admit, I might have failed the challenge.
I woke up at 1.25 having had almost an hour and a half sleep, and as I wasn’t in acute pain yet, I thought this would be a quick change-over: have a quick pee, pop one mild painkiller and be asleep in no time. Except this time, the pain decided to move. It wasn’t where it should’ve been, i.e. down the left side of my body extending into my leg, oh no, it decided to centralise around my abdomen. If any of you has had a stomach ulcer, you will know about the type of pain I am describing. I warmed up my usual cup of milk, took 2 Tramacet, 1 Lansoprazole, a glug of Gaviscone and a couple of Rennies and lay there waiting for the pain to go. But this pain had decided to stay, and stay it did, right through to about 10 this morning. I had noticed, at dinner the night before, that I could barely manage a few mouthfuls of lasagne but put that down to my lack of appetite in the evenings. In retrospect, that was a warning sign of the night that was to come.
Why does pain seem so much more intense at night? Is it because you are so desperate to sleep and stress yourself out by thinking about this, or is it just that pain feeds on darkness. I found, for example, that every time I turned the light on and tried to read, it seemed better. The minute I turned the light off, I would end up groaning again and hunting for the light switch in the dark. A bit like when you’re a kid and there are monsters under your bed. Why do we torture ourselves by counting the minutes and the hours, by focussing on the pain, its intensity, its duration etc., rather than simply accepting that at some stage, it will pass? I have this fear of A & E, of being admitted to hospital via an ambulance and having doctors and nurses I don’t know prodding about, asking questions, and keeping me overnight in some dodgy hospital. On so many of my pain-filled nights, I have wondered why I don’t just call for an ambulance, then I think “yeah but what will you tell them and what will they do? Won’t they just give you the same painkillers your oncologist has given you and then keep you in for observation?” I guess that unless I try it some time, I’m never going to know.
Back to the sense of humour...well, if any of you has taken Tramadol or any codeine-based medication, you should know that constipation is one of the side effects. Sitting on the loo at around 3am willing something to come out...anything really, I wouldn’t have minded at all, I remembered some midwife telling a young mother who was giving birth to push down as if she were trying to make a pooh...I wondered, the lady was trying to give birth, the medical expert told her to try to have a pooh instead, so should I push down as if I were trying to give birth rather than have a pooh? Would the opposite work in my case? My giggle at that thought soon changed to a painful groan as I did indeed deliver triplets in one go! So much for the agiolax that a friend kindly shipped over for me from South Africa, granules that look like bisto gravy powder and which you MUST swallow with a whole glass of water (and then spend the rest of the day picking the remaining granules out of your teeth), designed to “soften your stool”...it used to work, except it always – without fail – chose to soften one’s stool in the early hours of the morning. This time, it got its timing right, but failed to deliver on the promise of a softened stool. I hate false advertising and can go quite insane with rage every time I see a “vanish” ad with its “stain-seeking intelligence” so when I’ve gone to the trouble of carefully swallowing a tablespoon of rabbit pellets, I expect a softened stool as a result or a toilet bowl full of rabbit droppings, not something only a mother elephant could love! And all this with no epidural or episiotomy? Still, that killed about an hour or so of my sleepless night and took my mind off my abdominal pain. Apologies to a friend’s mom who would definitely regard this as “toilet humour”.
Back in my loft I considered doing some self-portraits, nude, of course, to kill some time. I positioned the mirror carefully, adjusted the lighting to soften the edges when in fact, the soft and saggy bits like my belly probably required harsh lighting to firm them up a bit, and then abandoned this idea because I thought, imagine if you die tonight and you are discovered in full rigour mortis, 6B pencil clutched in your paw, gazing into a mirror with some dodgy self-portraits lying about? I thought that perhaps I could leave a note assuring police officers that no foul play had taken part and that in fact, it was just a bit of self-play, then that brought along more possible accusations and embarrassment for the family and couchsurfers who would have had to deny all knowledge of the fact that I had suddenly developed a penchant for drawing myself nude...I am not so good at faces but I thought that the art critiques would see the distorted faces in my drawings as a reflection of the pain I was suffering. And what would I call this series of drawings which would be discovered next to my body (which hopefully, will not have kept behind any agiolax in its system)? Fortunately, I did not get beyond position one and there are no nude sketches to be sold as the next best thing to Picasso.
Speaking of nudes, I once covered a friend in blue paint, pressed him onto three very large sheets of paper and sold the painting at an Art Exhibition for around R25 (he bought the painting himself!). My mother and sister-in-law are taking painting classes and this reminded me of my years of trying to become an artist, as in one who paints and draws, not tinkles on the piano and ‘cello. For years I have sketched and painted and not exhibited much of my finished works mainly because they were quite rubbish, but the other day, going through some boxes, I found an old sketch book with some rather good drawings from one of the life drawing classes I attended in London. Chatting to my sister-in-law the other day (my youngest brother’s wife), I encouraged her to take up Life Drawing but warned her of all the old women and men you get to draw...none of our models were under 90 which for beginners helped a bit as you just did a lot of shading-in because of shadows caused by overhanging flesh and folds and wrinkles. I took my hat off to these models who were prepared to take off their clothes and not just their hats, but while my Life Drawing skills improved, I decided against signing up for the following term’s classes mainly because the art teacher was too vague about technique and kept saying: “draw what you see”. That always got my goat because as a music teacher, if you told your students to “play what you hear”, you wouldn’t get very far...those pupils who heard multiple voices in their heads would be at an unfair advantage as they’d be playing quartets and complicated fugues whereas those who heard a single voice or sound, would only be able to play boring solo melodies. However, I never did adopt this approach with any of my pupils so I cannot claim to be an expert on that.
It’s when I cannot sleep that I miss my cousin William who sadly passed away four years ago. He was an insomniac and was always willing and keen to discuss family members (mainly their breasts) at 3 in the morning. I wondered which of my couchsurfers I would wake up if I really didn’t want to be alone and I must say that as they all work, none of them came up trumps. I guess I need another Antoine who liked dancing until 7 in the morning or Remi who loved telling stories until the cows came home. Bart has a loud warning system on his phone which screams “message, message!” if you text him and I didn’t want to wake him up during his night shift at work (yes, he sleeps through most of his night shift) and all my other friends who say “you should just call” had me wondering, should I? I was tempted to put it to the test and ring them up and say “hi, I know you’ve got to wake up in a few hours to go to work but I thought I’d ring you up and tell you how much pain I am in and how I am going crazy waiting for it to stop.” It’s a bit like that stupid question someone asks you: “are you sleeping?”
This blog was written around the 1st of August but you’ll need to read the next one because it is the sequel to this blog.
As always, thanks for reading
Your waddling
Goose
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Friday, 23 July 2010
Hospitals
My relationship with hospitals goes back a long way. When I was a child I suffered from some silly kidney issue where my kidneys produced too much protein. This meant that I spent a faire amount of time in hospital and as a young child my main aim was to get well enough to go home. I still recall the feeling of abandonment, of despair and of desperation each and every time family would visit and then have to leave me behind. The power that a doctor who popped in from time to time, had over whether one stayed or went home was a power which I felt was wielded too strongly against me. This was the “Coloured” and “Indian” hospital in Rhodesia (The Lady Rodwell, I think it was called). Nurses were dressed smartly with little white hats, white outfits, cloaks and badges and if you cried too much or didn’t eat your dinner, you were threatened with a visit from matron, who would descend upon you in her blue cloak and give you a telling off. Although I was so unhappy, I was well looked after, partially because several of the nurses, matrons and assistant nurses (they wore pink, I think) knew my parents and grandparents.
Today, hospitals have changed. I won’t even mention what Zimbabwe hospitals are like now, but in the UK, nurses wear overall type outfits, crocks or trainers and one cannot (at least I couldn’t) distinguish rank. This past Sunday, after telling my psychiatrist friend Tony about how much pain I had been in, he decided that we should go and see the resident oncologist at UCH. After Tony rang her, she rang me and said that I should come in straight away. When we arrived there, we were met by a rather unpolished receptionist whose catch line was and still is: “who are you?” I am sure she doesn’t realise how rude she is being and I was tempted, once I heard her say it again yesterday, to point this out. But I didn’t.
My visit to UCH for my operation started at 06h50 when Adam met me promptly in reception downstairs. We went upstairs, got the “who are you?” treatment and eventually, a nurse popped her head around the door and said she was making my bed. After a fair amount of time, Adam wondered if she was literally making it from scratch using steel (you can’t take these engineers anywhere). Once inside the bed area, I was handed one of those embarrassing hospital gowns and a pair of paper underwear, most certainly not Calvin Klein’s brand either. I was also promised a pair of DVT stockings which I had to wear throughout my visit and a pair of non-slip slippers...you could easily do a pirouette in a pair of those but as my bottom was exposed in paper undies, I decided not to demonstrate to Adam or the two beaten-up patients opposite me. A promising start with my throat specialist Mr. (don’t call me doctor, I’m a surgeon) Vaz, and being told I was no. 2 on the list, I thought yay, Ads can escort me to the theatre before having to go to work. However, this was not to be because by 08h40 I had clearly been moved well down the list. By 11h00 I was in agony with pain all down my left side (it has spread into my left thigh and buttock) and asked the nurse who was looking after me if I could take something for it. He said that unless I was cannulised there was no way but then another nurse in blue overalls arrived and said that I could take two tramadol with a little sip of water.
Unfortunately, the tramadol did not kick in by the time I was finally walked to theatre so I was hobbling along and just desperate to get knocked out by the anaesthetist. A nice surprise to see my sister Heather and my niece Fredalyne sitting in reception. They thought I had already been operated on but alas and alack, I was on my way. They were invited along for the walk, 14th floor to 2nd floor and were advised to go away for about 2 hours. Once in the theatre waiting bay, I was sat in front of a TV with as poor a reception as received Nick Clegg at a recent Royal do. All of us with our gowns, stockings and a few exceptions to the non-slip slippers, trying not to make eye or lower-body contact by staring at the TV screen. When I was called in, it all happened very quickly. After trying to anaesthetise me, the anaesthetist had to put a local anaesthetic into my cannula because of the pain that the anaesthetic was causing. Thankfully, he didn’t make me count down and I cannot recall anything other than waking up in the recovery room, not a pleasant place to be (although one should be grateful to actually end up in the recovery room rather than the morgue!). I was wheeled back to my ward where my sister, niece and Tony were waiting. I was still in great pain as the tramadol hadn’t seemed to kick in. I was also drowsy so my visitors didn’t stay long. Heather bought me some grapes at my request and the nurse told me that unless I ate most of them and some dinner later on, I would NOT be allowed out that night. I heard the guy opposite me being offered a snack box so I asked for one too. It had cheese and crackers, an apple and a packet of crisps. I managed the cheese and crackers and ate most of the grapes. Mr. Vas popped in to see how my voice was and it was stronger but unless it improves in the next few days, I doubt that I would call the operation much of a success. I am still dehydrated and need some strepsils so things might still improve. I know, however, that singing is out of the question. The doctor had said that he might need to operate twice and I have a review with him in 3 to 4 weeks’ time. Having eaten my hospital dinner which comprised lasagne, smash and boil the eff out of broccoli, I was allowed to go home with Tony at 7. Pharmacy, as usual, was late in dispensing drugs.
It was great receiving a huge number of texts, emails and facebook messages wishing me a speedy recovery, including one from someone with whom I haven’t connected in about 17 years. It is now 05h13 and I have done my usual cup of hot milk thing when I wake up in the middle of the night and now I am ready to go back to sleep. Today, Reinhardt and Rob have organised some renovations to my loft room and I am very excited to see what the extra space is going to offer. Next on the list is the bathroom. I cannot wait to have a decent bathroom, particularly one with a shower that allows you to regulate the water temperature!
Thank you all, once again, for your amazing love and support. Without you, I could not do any of this at all.
Your honking but not-yet-speaking
Goose
Today, hospitals have changed. I won’t even mention what Zimbabwe hospitals are like now, but in the UK, nurses wear overall type outfits, crocks or trainers and one cannot (at least I couldn’t) distinguish rank. This past Sunday, after telling my psychiatrist friend Tony about how much pain I had been in, he decided that we should go and see the resident oncologist at UCH. After Tony rang her, she rang me and said that I should come in straight away. When we arrived there, we were met by a rather unpolished receptionist whose catch line was and still is: “who are you?” I am sure she doesn’t realise how rude she is being and I was tempted, once I heard her say it again yesterday, to point this out. But I didn’t.
My visit to UCH for my operation started at 06h50 when Adam met me promptly in reception downstairs. We went upstairs, got the “who are you?” treatment and eventually, a nurse popped her head around the door and said she was making my bed. After a fair amount of time, Adam wondered if she was literally making it from scratch using steel (you can’t take these engineers anywhere). Once inside the bed area, I was handed one of those embarrassing hospital gowns and a pair of paper underwear, most certainly not Calvin Klein’s brand either. I was also promised a pair of DVT stockings which I had to wear throughout my visit and a pair of non-slip slippers...you could easily do a pirouette in a pair of those but as my bottom was exposed in paper undies, I decided not to demonstrate to Adam or the two beaten-up patients opposite me. A promising start with my throat specialist Mr. (don’t call me doctor, I’m a surgeon) Vaz, and being told I was no. 2 on the list, I thought yay, Ads can escort me to the theatre before having to go to work. However, this was not to be because by 08h40 I had clearly been moved well down the list. By 11h00 I was in agony with pain all down my left side (it has spread into my left thigh and buttock) and asked the nurse who was looking after me if I could take something for it. He said that unless I was cannulised there was no way but then another nurse in blue overalls arrived and said that I could take two tramadol with a little sip of water.
Unfortunately, the tramadol did not kick in by the time I was finally walked to theatre so I was hobbling along and just desperate to get knocked out by the anaesthetist. A nice surprise to see my sister Heather and my niece Fredalyne sitting in reception. They thought I had already been operated on but alas and alack, I was on my way. They were invited along for the walk, 14th floor to 2nd floor and were advised to go away for about 2 hours. Once in the theatre waiting bay, I was sat in front of a TV with as poor a reception as received Nick Clegg at a recent Royal do. All of us with our gowns, stockings and a few exceptions to the non-slip slippers, trying not to make eye or lower-body contact by staring at the TV screen. When I was called in, it all happened very quickly. After trying to anaesthetise me, the anaesthetist had to put a local anaesthetic into my cannula because of the pain that the anaesthetic was causing. Thankfully, he didn’t make me count down and I cannot recall anything other than waking up in the recovery room, not a pleasant place to be (although one should be grateful to actually end up in the recovery room rather than the morgue!). I was wheeled back to my ward where my sister, niece and Tony were waiting. I was still in great pain as the tramadol hadn’t seemed to kick in. I was also drowsy so my visitors didn’t stay long. Heather bought me some grapes at my request and the nurse told me that unless I ate most of them and some dinner later on, I would NOT be allowed out that night. I heard the guy opposite me being offered a snack box so I asked for one too. It had cheese and crackers, an apple and a packet of crisps. I managed the cheese and crackers and ate most of the grapes. Mr. Vas popped in to see how my voice was and it was stronger but unless it improves in the next few days, I doubt that I would call the operation much of a success. I am still dehydrated and need some strepsils so things might still improve. I know, however, that singing is out of the question. The doctor had said that he might need to operate twice and I have a review with him in 3 to 4 weeks’ time. Having eaten my hospital dinner which comprised lasagne, smash and boil the eff out of broccoli, I was allowed to go home with Tony at 7. Pharmacy, as usual, was late in dispensing drugs.
It was great receiving a huge number of texts, emails and facebook messages wishing me a speedy recovery, including one from someone with whom I haven’t connected in about 17 years. It is now 05h13 and I have done my usual cup of hot milk thing when I wake up in the middle of the night and now I am ready to go back to sleep. Today, Reinhardt and Rob have organised some renovations to my loft room and I am very excited to see what the extra space is going to offer. Next on the list is the bathroom. I cannot wait to have a decent bathroom, particularly one with a shower that allows you to regulate the water temperature!
Thank you all, once again, for your amazing love and support. Without you, I could not do any of this at all.
Your honking but not-yet-speaking
Goose
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Mind over matter
A very talented musician, intelligent and wise friend (Errol) said to me, over breakfast or dinner in France, “you have a strong mind and it is your mind that is going to get you through this challenge.” He pointed out that I have a rational mind and that while I think things through and like things “ordered”, sometimes I might need to just allow nature to take its course and not be disappointed when I cannot find an explanation for why things like pain persist. In a nutshell, he was speaking about mind over matter and the power of positive thought. This conversation came about while discussing the severe pain I have been experiencing of late, mainly lower back and kidney pain on the left side of my body. I was saying that while I can continue to fill myself with various painkillers of different strengths, I wanted to know what is causing this pain in order to treat the cause, not the symptoms. Errol’s wife Sue (ex-prima ballerina, excellent cook, baker and loving friend), a pharmacist friend Pam (brilliant song-writer and party-animal of note), and a doctor friend Robert (gentle, caring and very good at logical diagnoses), all worked together during my week in France to ease my discomfort and to help eliminate the pain that sometimes had me turning in circles, mainly in the middle of the night.
Back in England, another close friend asked me why I don’t call someone or wake someone up when I am in such pain and I explained that firstly, as there is nothing that anyone can do to help stop the pain it is simply distressing for this person to have to observe someone you care about writhing in agony and feeling absolutely helpless, and secondly, I do not want anyone to see me in such pain because I rotate my body and move about in such undignified positions in a desperate attempt to gain a modicum of comfort. My GP, pharmacist and advice from friends, have all helped me to manage my pain more effectively and I am pleased to note that I now tend to wake up around 5am and not 3am in pain. I have also decided to seek alternative non-drug pain control in order to avoid feeling like a total zombie all day long. Afternoon naps are taking the form of a coma which leaves me feeling much worse than if I hadn’t had the nap in the first place. Mild exercise is definitely on the cards and lots of vitamins and energy-boosting foods too. By focusing my mind on pain relief, I will pull through this part of my challenge.
Anyway, this blog is not meant to be about pain or trials and tribulations. It is about encounters. As those of you who read my last blog will know that I was in the south of France, Villeneuve-Loubet to be exact. Installed in the most charming loft which came with air-conditioning, I spent a lovely week resting, reading, eating amazing food, chatting to friends, and meeting the local villageois. Sue knows everyone in the village and I met most of her friends. There was Aida from Senegal who gave me a CD of songs written by her son and who said to Sue: “il est très beau” (yes, she had been to specsavers!), her grandson Tony who drew me a lovely picture, Sara, a young Arab girl, and many other villageois who owned businesses from restaurants to dog parlours. Unfortunately, with my husky voice and lack of energy, I was not able to talk the hind leg off a donkey as I usually do.
I was able to contact Robert, a doctor friend of mine thanks to Sue’s investigative skills and we had a lovely reunion in the village followed by a helpful visit to the local pharmacy for medicines. I also spent a day and night with Pam who introduced me to a lovely extended family, part Moroccan, to celebrate a birthday and watch the cup final. Turned out that their son Romain was at the Nice Conservatoire where I was once a student. And then, the cherry on the cake: Alistair Whitehair. I taught Ali French (International Baccalaureate) for 2 years at Whitgift school, pushed him hard in terms of grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation and he has been working in Marseilles for about a month now. Ali took the time to travel down to see me and we spent the day in Nice and the evening in Villeneuve-Loubet with Sue and Errol. Ali was the captain of my day House and as he was then, he is still someone of the highest quality and integrity. His French is excellent and it was indeed a pleasure conversing almost entirely in French with him for the whole day. All in all, my trip to Villeneuve-Loubet was awesome despite hearing some devastating news from one of my couchsurfers - Emilien - who had to return to Paris to face a family crisis. I am pleased to say that he is coping much better with this tragic event and will be returning to the couchsurfing fold in a couple of weeks’ time. Another set of bad news included the death of Angie Milligan, a dear and most caring and loving lady with a charming Irish accent, who sadly died of lung cancer. That really upset me as I was very close to the whole family. Angie always used to say “don’t put it down, put it away”. She made lovely chocolate cakes and quiches and full English breakfasts with black pudding, after Sunday mass.
Returning home was lovely. I was kidnapped within minutes of getting home by Alex who cooked me a lovely hot curry which we shared with the ever gorgeous Sarah. Back at 5A, I sat with my couchsurfers (one of whom doesn’t really appreciate that I use that that term affectionately but he’s decided that “squatter” is worse), catching up on their news. The next morning I had my pre-op assessment which involved answering a load of boring questions as well as a physical examination. For those of you who don’t know, the op will be done on the 23rd of July and I might have to stay overnight in hospital depending on my reaction to the anaesthetic. While I am hoping that the operation will be a success and give me all or most of my voice back, I am not particularly looking forward to it. It will be conducted under full anaesthetic, something that concerns me, my lungs being in their current state of disrepair. However, my friend John is an anaesthetist and is confident that all will go well.
Morse is whistling away from the living room, demanding his apple and other forms of breakfast snacks so I had best get out of bed and deal with his requests. He has sent John and Richard away to Portugal so that he and I can party the week away. Perhaps we’ll have some vodka shots to wash the apple down followed by a wild and splashing swim in his water bowl. I was impressed at how many CD covers he had managed to chew his way through yesterday...he clearly does not approve of John and Richard’s choice of music.
Until next time, start strengthening your mind. Focus on something you think you cannot do, and work towards doing it. Don’t let trivial issues get you down, use your mind and the power of positive thought to tackle the bigger issues. Love yourself and don’t wait for others to love you first. Lastly, if there is someone you really care about, spend the day thinking about them, willing them to call you. If they don’t, then just call them.
Love in abundance
Megga-goose
Back in England, another close friend asked me why I don’t call someone or wake someone up when I am in such pain and I explained that firstly, as there is nothing that anyone can do to help stop the pain it is simply distressing for this person to have to observe someone you care about writhing in agony and feeling absolutely helpless, and secondly, I do not want anyone to see me in such pain because I rotate my body and move about in such undignified positions in a desperate attempt to gain a modicum of comfort. My GP, pharmacist and advice from friends, have all helped me to manage my pain more effectively and I am pleased to note that I now tend to wake up around 5am and not 3am in pain. I have also decided to seek alternative non-drug pain control in order to avoid feeling like a total zombie all day long. Afternoon naps are taking the form of a coma which leaves me feeling much worse than if I hadn’t had the nap in the first place. Mild exercise is definitely on the cards and lots of vitamins and energy-boosting foods too. By focusing my mind on pain relief, I will pull through this part of my challenge.
Anyway, this blog is not meant to be about pain or trials and tribulations. It is about encounters. As those of you who read my last blog will know that I was in the south of France, Villeneuve-Loubet to be exact. Installed in the most charming loft which came with air-conditioning, I spent a lovely week resting, reading, eating amazing food, chatting to friends, and meeting the local villageois. Sue knows everyone in the village and I met most of her friends. There was Aida from Senegal who gave me a CD of songs written by her son and who said to Sue: “il est très beau” (yes, she had been to specsavers!), her grandson Tony who drew me a lovely picture, Sara, a young Arab girl, and many other villageois who owned businesses from restaurants to dog parlours. Unfortunately, with my husky voice and lack of energy, I was not able to talk the hind leg off a donkey as I usually do.
I was able to contact Robert, a doctor friend of mine thanks to Sue’s investigative skills and we had a lovely reunion in the village followed by a helpful visit to the local pharmacy for medicines. I also spent a day and night with Pam who introduced me to a lovely extended family, part Moroccan, to celebrate a birthday and watch the cup final. Turned out that their son Romain was at the Nice Conservatoire where I was once a student. And then, the cherry on the cake: Alistair Whitehair. I taught Ali French (International Baccalaureate) for 2 years at Whitgift school, pushed him hard in terms of grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation and he has been working in Marseilles for about a month now. Ali took the time to travel down to see me and we spent the day in Nice and the evening in Villeneuve-Loubet with Sue and Errol. Ali was the captain of my day House and as he was then, he is still someone of the highest quality and integrity. His French is excellent and it was indeed a pleasure conversing almost entirely in French with him for the whole day. All in all, my trip to Villeneuve-Loubet was awesome despite hearing some devastating news from one of my couchsurfers - Emilien - who had to return to Paris to face a family crisis. I am pleased to say that he is coping much better with this tragic event and will be returning to the couchsurfing fold in a couple of weeks’ time. Another set of bad news included the death of Angie Milligan, a dear and most caring and loving lady with a charming Irish accent, who sadly died of lung cancer. That really upset me as I was very close to the whole family. Angie always used to say “don’t put it down, put it away”. She made lovely chocolate cakes and quiches and full English breakfasts with black pudding, after Sunday mass.
Returning home was lovely. I was kidnapped within minutes of getting home by Alex who cooked me a lovely hot curry which we shared with the ever gorgeous Sarah. Back at 5A, I sat with my couchsurfers (one of whom doesn’t really appreciate that I use that that term affectionately but he’s decided that “squatter” is worse), catching up on their news. The next morning I had my pre-op assessment which involved answering a load of boring questions as well as a physical examination. For those of you who don’t know, the op will be done on the 23rd of July and I might have to stay overnight in hospital depending on my reaction to the anaesthetic. While I am hoping that the operation will be a success and give me all or most of my voice back, I am not particularly looking forward to it. It will be conducted under full anaesthetic, something that concerns me, my lungs being in their current state of disrepair. However, my friend John is an anaesthetist and is confident that all will go well.
Morse is whistling away from the living room, demanding his apple and other forms of breakfast snacks so I had best get out of bed and deal with his requests. He has sent John and Richard away to Portugal so that he and I can party the week away. Perhaps we’ll have some vodka shots to wash the apple down followed by a wild and splashing swim in his water bowl. I was impressed at how many CD covers he had managed to chew his way through yesterday...he clearly does not approve of John and Richard’s choice of music.
Until next time, start strengthening your mind. Focus on something you think you cannot do, and work towards doing it. Don’t let trivial issues get you down, use your mind and the power of positive thought to tackle the bigger issues. Love yourself and don’t wait for others to love you first. Lastly, if there is someone you really care about, spend the day thinking about them, willing them to call you. If they don’t, then just call them.
Love in abundance
Megga-goose
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
Poland
I am writing from a lovely loft room in Villeneuve-Loubet (France), home to my friends Errol and Sue. Many years ago when I was a student at the Conservatoire in Nice, Errol and Sue were my refuge. I was always able to escape the boredom of public holidays by popping in to see them. But this blog is about Poland, not France, so I will speak about the loft room and this trip in another blog.
Last weekend I flew to Katowice in Poland to stay with Bart (one of my wonderful couchsurfers) and his family. Until I met Bart, for me, Poland was “that place” where Auschwitz was situated and whence came all our plumbers in London. The few Polish people I had met in London hadn’t seemed particularly friendly and I must admit that I hadn’t formed a positive opinion about Polish people based on my limited experience. However, in retrospect, this opinion was not justified as I recall having spontaneous drinks with a group of Poles who were renting rooms in the same house as my German friend Patrik in Brighton and they were extremely friendly. To be honest, I think that I allowed one or two minor encounters cloud my opinion, something we tend to do too often in life: judge an entire race by one or two negative representatives.
Before leaving for Poland, I asked Bart to inform his mother that I was not a big eater. I did this because during a visit to Prague with Vojtech, I was faced with table after table of wonderful but enormous servings of food. Since stopping the steroids, my appetite has not been huge and I was worried about causing offense. Well, Bart’s wonderful mother was not to be deterred. She produced amazing food and wanted to feed me from the moment I arrived. What a lovely family: the expression “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” is so true. In London, Bart has been very caring and generous and has also shared his excellent sense of humour with us all. His family, from parents, sister, grandmother to aunt and uncle, showed the same high level of generosity, friendship, warmth and humour. Despite the language barrier (my “Polish in 60 minutes” didn’t work but only because I was too lazy and did 10 of the 60 minutes), we had many a laugh around the table. Bart was a great interpreter but was reluctant to interpret some of my comments about him to his family. I would have loved to have been able to recount anecdotes about Bart’s life in London, spin a yarn or two about him, and embarrass him a little, but alas, 10 minutes of “Polish in 60 minutes” only allowed me to greet and to say thank you! Bart’s grandmother was very much like my mom’s mother. I have been so lucky having known three awesome grandparents. I am always taken aback by people who have not had good experiences with their grandparents as they could and should play such a vital role in a child’s life. I tried to persuade Bart’s gran to come back to London with us and she jokingly agreed as long as we bought her a ticket. The whole weekend, I was spoiled rotten by Bart and his family and must say that the level of hospitality and friendliness was simply wonderful.
In terms of visiting Poland, one of my main interests lay in the second World War and the “final solution” regarding the Jews. On Saturday, Bart, his sister and I visited Krakow. After wondering around the town square by foot and visiting the market, we took one of the electric city tour cars. Both Bart and I got a little bored about the number of Churches and their history (Poland was a very religious country). From my point of view, it wasn’t that I was against all the Churches, it was just that there were so many and I was impatient to get to the Jewish quarter and to also see the remains of the ghetto that was erected to contain the Jewish people. All in all, the tour was very interesting and the story about the dragon (not to mention the statue of the dragon spitting fire), was endearing. After a late lunch we went to visit a salt mine. I recall threatening my students with banishment to the salt mines of Siberia but I had never visited a salt mine before. When we descended the 800+ stairs to the bottom of the mine, our guide was brilliant despite the rude tourists who spoke over his voice. One particularly funny comment he made was: “At this salt mine you can lick anything...EXCEPT the guide!” It was, once again, an interesting visit.
We arrived back at Bart’s home to find a barbecue in process and some of his relatives visiting. They were keen to know more about me and through Bart’s skilled intrepreting, we had a great evening of chatting, laughing and eating. We were viciously attacked by mosquitoes before moving indoors and I had a funny lump on my head where one mosquito had a go (my hair is extremely short as Adam, my barber, was not concentrating...he had also created two interesting – but very different - hair sculptures above each of Bart’s ears).
On Sunday, Bart and I woke up early for our visit to Auschwitz. The visit lasted approximately 3 hours and was everything I expected it to be. While waiting for the visit to start, I asked myself why I was there...I was thinking in terms of how people “rubber neck” when driving past a gruesome car accident on the highway. Why do we want to see the misfortunes of other people? Are we all inherent voyeurs, and was I in Auschwitz as a voyeur, someone who wanted to look in from the outside and in some way, both bask and squirm in the misfortune of millions of Jews? The guide’s opening remark put my visit into perspective. He said: “Auschwitz is NOT a tourist attraction; it is a reminder of what can and did happen. It was about one simple objective: the extermination of the Jewish race.” The guide reminded us, throughout the visit, about how cold-blooded and simplistic this objective remained. I kept my emotions in check despite the obvious evidence of the suffering and humiliation that the prisoners, both Jewish and non-Jewish, suffered. I thought about current attitudes towards the Roma, in England and elsewhere in Europe, about how we regard them with suspicion, and how the Germans extinguished so many of them based on the exact same suspicions and disdain we sometimes show for their race. It made me reflect on how dangerous racial prejudice can be in the hands of someone with power (and I am not speaking about colour, but about race and ethnicity). In fact, any prejudice for that matter. I used to tell potential couchsurfers (and in fact my students) that they had to leave all their prejudices outside the door to my house or classroom, that tolerance was my core value, and seeing the results of incomprehensibly destructive prejudice was a stark reminder to myself of the need to guard against the ever-present temptation to show prejudice, no matter how mild. We ended our tour with a visit to Birkinau, and to be honest, the open space, the barbed wire fencing and the wooden sheds which housed the prisoners, had more of an impact on me than Auschwitz in terms of being able to picture the level of degradation the Jews and other “unwanted” races had to endure. Seeing the offloading ramp/area where people were divided into groups, and seeing the communal toilets and the incinerators which had been destroyed by the Germans when they realised their time was up, brought it all home more realistically.
We returned to Bart’s home in time for a lovely lunch and sad drive to the airport to say goodbye and to fly back to London. All in all, an excellent trip, my first to Poland, and a truly great experience.
Health-wise, it has been a bit of a struggle of late. Coughing has been debilitating and back pain has been, at times, excruciating. It is all on the left hand side of my body. I saw my GP who has prescribed a stronger painkiller but we really need to get to the cause of the pain...scans a couple of months ago showed my spine and liver etc clear of cancer but I think that further investigation is needed as there has to be a reason for such pain to be present. As always, I am well looked after by friends and family, and my couchsurfers (read ‘wonderful friends’) are as attentive as ever. Good news is that I have a date for surgery on my vocal cords: Friday 23rd July. I have a pre-hospital assessment on the 14th. I cannot wait to see if the op is successful as I am desperate to get my some or all of my voice back. It has been approximately 10 weeks now that I haven’t been able to speak properly and it is tiring, frustrating and getting in the way of my desire to coach as much as possible.
Some days I feel strong and believe I can last “forever”, and others, particularly when I am writhing in agony because painkillers haven’t kicked in yet, I wish it were all over sooner rather than later. I still have plans to travel more and have no intention of leaving this earth until I have had a good trip to Zimbabwe and South Africa, as well as NYC and other places. Right now, I can look forward to a relaxing week in the South of France, being spoiled by Sue and Errol.
Whatever it is that you are doing, do it with love, passion and enjoyment, or don’t do it! As a coach, I know that even if you think you hate your job or your life, upon closer inspection, you will find that you only hate certain aspects of your job or life and those aspects can be changed or improved. Often, it is a matter of changing your perception and attitude before further positive change can take place and you can start loving what you do. It is not where you do something that matters, it is what you do and how you do it that matters. So fill your lives with love, passion and laughter and if you don’t know how to do it, find someone to teach you how. I recently said goodbye to Remi, a 21yr old French couchsurfer whose level of self-confidence and enthusiasm for life was a huge lesson to me. I learned to stop moaning about unimportant things, or at the very least, to look at them differently. Remi broke every rule within my “book of rules” yet I learned so much from him, not all good - in which case I was able to become the teacher - and the main thing I learned, was to seize the moment, to open up my mind and to live. In his last days in London, Remi told me: “I will not say no to anything that my friends or people suggest to me in London”. Alarm bells rang in my head and I tried to lecture him on the inherent dangers...blah blah blah...Well, of course he ignored my lecutring, but he also left London safe and sound, having had the most amazing experiences, all of which he recounted to me, often between midnight and 4 in the morning, and I listened without prejudice, just neutral interest and a certain amount of envy. All the worrying about his safety and possible disastrous outcomes was unnecessary.
So, once again, I encourage us all to live life with passion and enjoyment...we don’t know, each and every one of us (not only those of us who have been given a time-limit), when we will “pop our clogs” so why waste time being miserable?
Until the next time
Much love from
Megga-goose
Last weekend I flew to Katowice in Poland to stay with Bart (one of my wonderful couchsurfers) and his family. Until I met Bart, for me, Poland was “that place” where Auschwitz was situated and whence came all our plumbers in London. The few Polish people I had met in London hadn’t seemed particularly friendly and I must admit that I hadn’t formed a positive opinion about Polish people based on my limited experience. However, in retrospect, this opinion was not justified as I recall having spontaneous drinks with a group of Poles who were renting rooms in the same house as my German friend Patrik in Brighton and they were extremely friendly. To be honest, I think that I allowed one or two minor encounters cloud my opinion, something we tend to do too often in life: judge an entire race by one or two negative representatives.
Before leaving for Poland, I asked Bart to inform his mother that I was not a big eater. I did this because during a visit to Prague with Vojtech, I was faced with table after table of wonderful but enormous servings of food. Since stopping the steroids, my appetite has not been huge and I was worried about causing offense. Well, Bart’s wonderful mother was not to be deterred. She produced amazing food and wanted to feed me from the moment I arrived. What a lovely family: the expression “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” is so true. In London, Bart has been very caring and generous and has also shared his excellent sense of humour with us all. His family, from parents, sister, grandmother to aunt and uncle, showed the same high level of generosity, friendship, warmth and humour. Despite the language barrier (my “Polish in 60 minutes” didn’t work but only because I was too lazy and did 10 of the 60 minutes), we had many a laugh around the table. Bart was a great interpreter but was reluctant to interpret some of my comments about him to his family. I would have loved to have been able to recount anecdotes about Bart’s life in London, spin a yarn or two about him, and embarrass him a little, but alas, 10 minutes of “Polish in 60 minutes” only allowed me to greet and to say thank you! Bart’s grandmother was very much like my mom’s mother. I have been so lucky having known three awesome grandparents. I am always taken aback by people who have not had good experiences with their grandparents as they could and should play such a vital role in a child’s life. I tried to persuade Bart’s gran to come back to London with us and she jokingly agreed as long as we bought her a ticket. The whole weekend, I was spoiled rotten by Bart and his family and must say that the level of hospitality and friendliness was simply wonderful.
In terms of visiting Poland, one of my main interests lay in the second World War and the “final solution” regarding the Jews. On Saturday, Bart, his sister and I visited Krakow. After wondering around the town square by foot and visiting the market, we took one of the electric city tour cars. Both Bart and I got a little bored about the number of Churches and their history (Poland was a very religious country). From my point of view, it wasn’t that I was against all the Churches, it was just that there were so many and I was impatient to get to the Jewish quarter and to also see the remains of the ghetto that was erected to contain the Jewish people. All in all, the tour was very interesting and the story about the dragon (not to mention the statue of the dragon spitting fire), was endearing. After a late lunch we went to visit a salt mine. I recall threatening my students with banishment to the salt mines of Siberia but I had never visited a salt mine before. When we descended the 800+ stairs to the bottom of the mine, our guide was brilliant despite the rude tourists who spoke over his voice. One particularly funny comment he made was: “At this salt mine you can lick anything...EXCEPT the guide!” It was, once again, an interesting visit.
We arrived back at Bart’s home to find a barbecue in process and some of his relatives visiting. They were keen to know more about me and through Bart’s skilled intrepreting, we had a great evening of chatting, laughing and eating. We were viciously attacked by mosquitoes before moving indoors and I had a funny lump on my head where one mosquito had a go (my hair is extremely short as Adam, my barber, was not concentrating...he had also created two interesting – but very different - hair sculptures above each of Bart’s ears).
On Sunday, Bart and I woke up early for our visit to Auschwitz. The visit lasted approximately 3 hours and was everything I expected it to be. While waiting for the visit to start, I asked myself why I was there...I was thinking in terms of how people “rubber neck” when driving past a gruesome car accident on the highway. Why do we want to see the misfortunes of other people? Are we all inherent voyeurs, and was I in Auschwitz as a voyeur, someone who wanted to look in from the outside and in some way, both bask and squirm in the misfortune of millions of Jews? The guide’s opening remark put my visit into perspective. He said: “Auschwitz is NOT a tourist attraction; it is a reminder of what can and did happen. It was about one simple objective: the extermination of the Jewish race.” The guide reminded us, throughout the visit, about how cold-blooded and simplistic this objective remained. I kept my emotions in check despite the obvious evidence of the suffering and humiliation that the prisoners, both Jewish and non-Jewish, suffered. I thought about current attitudes towards the Roma, in England and elsewhere in Europe, about how we regard them with suspicion, and how the Germans extinguished so many of them based on the exact same suspicions and disdain we sometimes show for their race. It made me reflect on how dangerous racial prejudice can be in the hands of someone with power (and I am not speaking about colour, but about race and ethnicity). In fact, any prejudice for that matter. I used to tell potential couchsurfers (and in fact my students) that they had to leave all their prejudices outside the door to my house or classroom, that tolerance was my core value, and seeing the results of incomprehensibly destructive prejudice was a stark reminder to myself of the need to guard against the ever-present temptation to show prejudice, no matter how mild. We ended our tour with a visit to Birkinau, and to be honest, the open space, the barbed wire fencing and the wooden sheds which housed the prisoners, had more of an impact on me than Auschwitz in terms of being able to picture the level of degradation the Jews and other “unwanted” races had to endure. Seeing the offloading ramp/area where people were divided into groups, and seeing the communal toilets and the incinerators which had been destroyed by the Germans when they realised their time was up, brought it all home more realistically.
We returned to Bart’s home in time for a lovely lunch and sad drive to the airport to say goodbye and to fly back to London. All in all, an excellent trip, my first to Poland, and a truly great experience.
Health-wise, it has been a bit of a struggle of late. Coughing has been debilitating and back pain has been, at times, excruciating. It is all on the left hand side of my body. I saw my GP who has prescribed a stronger painkiller but we really need to get to the cause of the pain...scans a couple of months ago showed my spine and liver etc clear of cancer but I think that further investigation is needed as there has to be a reason for such pain to be present. As always, I am well looked after by friends and family, and my couchsurfers (read ‘wonderful friends’) are as attentive as ever. Good news is that I have a date for surgery on my vocal cords: Friday 23rd July. I have a pre-hospital assessment on the 14th. I cannot wait to see if the op is successful as I am desperate to get my some or all of my voice back. It has been approximately 10 weeks now that I haven’t been able to speak properly and it is tiring, frustrating and getting in the way of my desire to coach as much as possible.
Some days I feel strong and believe I can last “forever”, and others, particularly when I am writhing in agony because painkillers haven’t kicked in yet, I wish it were all over sooner rather than later. I still have plans to travel more and have no intention of leaving this earth until I have had a good trip to Zimbabwe and South Africa, as well as NYC and other places. Right now, I can look forward to a relaxing week in the South of France, being spoiled by Sue and Errol.
Whatever it is that you are doing, do it with love, passion and enjoyment, or don’t do it! As a coach, I know that even if you think you hate your job or your life, upon closer inspection, you will find that you only hate certain aspects of your job or life and those aspects can be changed or improved. Often, it is a matter of changing your perception and attitude before further positive change can take place and you can start loving what you do. It is not where you do something that matters, it is what you do and how you do it that matters. So fill your lives with love, passion and laughter and if you don’t know how to do it, find someone to teach you how. I recently said goodbye to Remi, a 21yr old French couchsurfer whose level of self-confidence and enthusiasm for life was a huge lesson to me. I learned to stop moaning about unimportant things, or at the very least, to look at them differently. Remi broke every rule within my “book of rules” yet I learned so much from him, not all good - in which case I was able to become the teacher - and the main thing I learned, was to seize the moment, to open up my mind and to live. In his last days in London, Remi told me: “I will not say no to anything that my friends or people suggest to me in London”. Alarm bells rang in my head and I tried to lecture him on the inherent dangers...blah blah blah...Well, of course he ignored my lecutring, but he also left London safe and sound, having had the most amazing experiences, all of which he recounted to me, often between midnight and 4 in the morning, and I listened without prejudice, just neutral interest and a certain amount of envy. All the worrying about his safety and possible disastrous outcomes was unnecessary.
So, once again, I encourage us all to live life with passion and enjoyment...we don’t know, each and every one of us (not only those of us who have been given a time-limit), when we will “pop our clogs” so why waste time being miserable?
Until the next time
Much love from
Megga-goose
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Ear, nose and throat
As most of you know, I lost my voice over 2 months ago. I kept telling myself that it would come back eventually and indeed, some days it seemed stronger than others. However, more often than not, it remained not more than a husky whisper. This has had a direct impact on my coaching...how ironic that just when I have access to clients, I don’t have a voice. I managed to do some coaching sessions but I found it rather difficult to inspire confidence in my clients when each time they saw me, I still had no voice and didn’t seem to have a medical reason for it (I haven’t shared my illness with my clients, for obvious reasons).
Today, I saw an ENT specialist at UCL. I was seen promptly at 14h40 (as per my appointment time) by a very friendly and extremely good doctor. Despite my apprehension of having a tube inserted through my nose into my throat, he put me at ease and I decided to trust him. After a quick nasal spray, he inserted his camera and all I felt was a tickling sensation and a slight pushing feeling. The trainee nurse got to have a look up my nose/down my throat too (why would you want to do that?). The doctor sang a note and asked me to imitate him. He was surprised to discover that it was my right vocal chord that didn’t move at all with my left vocal chord wobbling a bit and trying to move towards the one on the right. Both the ENT specialist and the oncologist had thought I had left laryngeal nerve palsy. The plan is now to operate as soon as possible, with an overnight stay in hospital. We agreed to try to get this done mid-July when I return from France, providing I can get a place at UCL. If the doctor I saw today cannot fit me into his own surgery schedule, I will have one of his colleagues perform the operation. He hopes to restore most if not all of my voice strength. This is good news as I really did not wish to remain voiceless for the remainder of my life!
This coming weekend I will realise a long-term wish: I am visiting Poland and will visit Auswitch. I have always been interested in German and European history and this will give me a closer look at that horrific example of human behaviour. My tour guide and translator will be Bart, one of my wonderful couchsurfers. I will stay with him at his parents’ home, my only concern being made to eat a lot. When I visited Vojtech’s family in Prague, the table was constantly covered in food and being a small eater but not wanting to cause offense, I have asked Bart to forewarn his mother that I won’t be eating large amounts! All in all, it is going to be a great weekend.
Sitting on the lawn in Berkley Square having lunch today with Adam, I mentioned to him that I need to set myself some objectives as I feel that I am becoming a little complacent, ill or not! I find that the day flies by and at the end of it, I haven’t achieved much. While I acknowledge my need to rest, I equally acknowledge my need to remain focussed and to set and to achieve objectives. That is the core of coaching, helping clients to set goals and to achieve them effectively. I have many things that I would like to achieve and do not need to sit on my laurels doing nothing about it. Getting my voice back will be a huge source of motivation. Until then, I am looking forward to a week in the south of France. I still have further travel plans and am particularly keen to spend some time in Paris as I have not seen my Parisian friends in absolute ages, years in fact!
Until the next blog, if you have a voice, sing, sing well, sing badly, who cares, just sing out loud, in the shower, in the car, in your lover’s ear when he or she is trying to sleep, just sing, tune in to Magic FM and croon away to love songs, sing with the birds first thing in the morning...as the coke advert used to go: “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony...”
Much love
Husky Goose
Today, I saw an ENT specialist at UCL. I was seen promptly at 14h40 (as per my appointment time) by a very friendly and extremely good doctor. Despite my apprehension of having a tube inserted through my nose into my throat, he put me at ease and I decided to trust him. After a quick nasal spray, he inserted his camera and all I felt was a tickling sensation and a slight pushing feeling. The trainee nurse got to have a look up my nose/down my throat too (why would you want to do that?). The doctor sang a note and asked me to imitate him. He was surprised to discover that it was my right vocal chord that didn’t move at all with my left vocal chord wobbling a bit and trying to move towards the one on the right. Both the ENT specialist and the oncologist had thought I had left laryngeal nerve palsy. The plan is now to operate as soon as possible, with an overnight stay in hospital. We agreed to try to get this done mid-July when I return from France, providing I can get a place at UCL. If the doctor I saw today cannot fit me into his own surgery schedule, I will have one of his colleagues perform the operation. He hopes to restore most if not all of my voice strength. This is good news as I really did not wish to remain voiceless for the remainder of my life!
This coming weekend I will realise a long-term wish: I am visiting Poland and will visit Auswitch. I have always been interested in German and European history and this will give me a closer look at that horrific example of human behaviour. My tour guide and translator will be Bart, one of my wonderful couchsurfers. I will stay with him at his parents’ home, my only concern being made to eat a lot. When I visited Vojtech’s family in Prague, the table was constantly covered in food and being a small eater but not wanting to cause offense, I have asked Bart to forewarn his mother that I won’t be eating large amounts! All in all, it is going to be a great weekend.
Sitting on the lawn in Berkley Square having lunch today with Adam, I mentioned to him that I need to set myself some objectives as I feel that I am becoming a little complacent, ill or not! I find that the day flies by and at the end of it, I haven’t achieved much. While I acknowledge my need to rest, I equally acknowledge my need to remain focussed and to set and to achieve objectives. That is the core of coaching, helping clients to set goals and to achieve them effectively. I have many things that I would like to achieve and do not need to sit on my laurels doing nothing about it. Getting my voice back will be a huge source of motivation. Until then, I am looking forward to a week in the south of France. I still have further travel plans and am particularly keen to spend some time in Paris as I have not seen my Parisian friends in absolute ages, years in fact!
Until the next blog, if you have a voice, sing, sing well, sing badly, who cares, just sing out loud, in the shower, in the car, in your lover’s ear when he or she is trying to sleep, just sing, tune in to Magic FM and croon away to love songs, sing with the birds first thing in the morning...as the coke advert used to go: “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony...”
Much love
Husky Goose
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Smile
Smile, though your heart is breaking
Smile, even though it's aching
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your pain and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow,
You'll find the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although tears maybe ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use in crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you'll just smile..
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile what's the use in crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you'll just smile.
I was driving to Brighton today to collect Rob and Alex after their London to Brighton bike ride in which they participated to raise money for cancer awareness (these guys are just amazing). The radio was playing father’s day requests and someone requested the song Smile. I hadn’t heard this song for ages and I croaked along in my non-existent voice and was reminded of the need to smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to find something to smile about, or so we tell ourselves, but if we’re really honest, there are so many good memories within us that we have no excuse for not finding a reason to smile. In Africa, many black children live in abject poverty, have lost parents to HIV/AIDS, have been physically, sexually and mentally abused and yet what happens every time there is a documentary on these kids? We see smiles, smiles and more smiles. If you have never seen a fat black baby smile then go out and find one today. I know that sounds racist and generalised, but while I know that there are children of all nationalities and shades of colour who do smile, I am always struck by the African child’s ability to smile through his or her tears. Children don’t need Madonna to adopt them and surround them by multimillion dollar gadgets and media, they just need a few plastic bags to make a soccer ball, and someone to give them at least one meal a day in order to get them to smile. Why do we adults find it so difficult to smile more? Maybe it is because we know better, we know what a cruel world this world can be, but that’s all the more reason for us to show some teeth and smile. It always makes us and everyone else feel better. I love drawing smiley faces, known as “smileys” on every note I leave for people...one of my friends once wrote: “As Angus would say, :)”...Sometimes my smileys really get that goofy look and other times they’re less successful; but, I love drawing smileys and putting them on everything. Two of my fellow housemates have started doing them too and it is not uncommon to find a smiley post-it hidden in my pocket or hidden in my laptop when I open it. It never fails to make me smile when I receive one, particularly when they are there as a surprise.
I sat through the last of my chemotherapy treatments last week Wednesday. My chemositter was Brent, a friend from Cape Town. Like all my previous chemositters, he got to see me at my worst, hating every minute of it and just wanting to get out of there. Brent has re-named me, giving me my new Xhosa name of “Patience”! Clearly, I am lacking in that department and demonstrated it by wanting to connect my own bag of flush and de-cannulise myself as I couldn’t wait any longer for the nurse. I just wanted to get out of that hospital as quickly as possible but also had a bit of a wait for my medication to come down from pharmacy. I will go back sometime this week to say a proper thank you to the nurses who looked after me as they have been truly amazing. The side effects have been at their worst but at least it was the last treatment and it can only get better, if even only for a short while. The plan is to see the ENT specialist on the 30th about my voice (been almost two months now without a voice) and then see the oncologist on the 2nd of August for a review. Insh’Allah, I will not have to have any further treatment for at least 6 months although I think I am being rather optimistic there. I have a nebuliser now and have already had requests for it to be used as a hubbly-bubbly! The nebuliser has been helping a bit with the shortness of breath so that’s another positive thing to add. All in all, I am looking forward to no more chemo in my system. I am a completely different person when not under the side effects of chemo.
My travel plans are all coming together. I am off to Nice on the 6th of July for a week, then Germany on the 2nd of August for about a week too. New York is still being planned and there will be other short trips, depending on my health. I am still able to see one or two clients from time to time but it isn’t great as I have no voice and this influences the dynamics of our coaching sessions and is not really ideal.
Someone asked me the other day, “How do you cope being at home all day? How do you stop yourself from getting bored?” I guess that I have had to find other ways of occupying myself. I write a lot, I read, I learn languages (Polish in 60 minutes!), I make scrap or “memory” books filled with photos and stories and other “stuff”, I take care of the house, I play piano and ‘cello (not much though), I write material for coaching, visit people and receive visitors, and more importantly, I prepare for the “end” in terms of trying to get everything in place. I don’t often feel bored or depressed, I somehow manage to stay busy and occupied. Having worked and studied at the same time all my adult life, the last three years have taught me to be more resourceful with my time and to set objectives and plans for the days or weeks ahead. It is a rare privilege to be able to plan your own time without the constraints of a daily job and I am well aware of that privilege and therefore make the most of it.
So, the thought I’d like to leave with you this time is: smile more and work and stress less! Create quality time for yourself and make the most of every free moment you have.
Thank you for reading
Much love
BoodaGoose (an adaptation of an Algerian footballer’s name) :)
Smile, even though it's aching
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your pain and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow,
You'll find the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although tears maybe ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use in crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you'll just smile..
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile what's the use in crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you'll just smile.
I was driving to Brighton today to collect Rob and Alex after their London to Brighton bike ride in which they participated to raise money for cancer awareness (these guys are just amazing). The radio was playing father’s day requests and someone requested the song Smile. I hadn’t heard this song for ages and I croaked along in my non-existent voice and was reminded of the need to smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to find something to smile about, or so we tell ourselves, but if we’re really honest, there are so many good memories within us that we have no excuse for not finding a reason to smile. In Africa, many black children live in abject poverty, have lost parents to HIV/AIDS, have been physically, sexually and mentally abused and yet what happens every time there is a documentary on these kids? We see smiles, smiles and more smiles. If you have never seen a fat black baby smile then go out and find one today. I know that sounds racist and generalised, but while I know that there are children of all nationalities and shades of colour who do smile, I am always struck by the African child’s ability to smile through his or her tears. Children don’t need Madonna to adopt them and surround them by multimillion dollar gadgets and media, they just need a few plastic bags to make a soccer ball, and someone to give them at least one meal a day in order to get them to smile. Why do we adults find it so difficult to smile more? Maybe it is because we know better, we know what a cruel world this world can be, but that’s all the more reason for us to show some teeth and smile. It always makes us and everyone else feel better. I love drawing smiley faces, known as “smileys” on every note I leave for people...one of my friends once wrote: “As Angus would say, :)”...Sometimes my smileys really get that goofy look and other times they’re less successful; but, I love drawing smileys and putting them on everything. Two of my fellow housemates have started doing them too and it is not uncommon to find a smiley post-it hidden in my pocket or hidden in my laptop when I open it. It never fails to make me smile when I receive one, particularly when they are there as a surprise.
I sat through the last of my chemotherapy treatments last week Wednesday. My chemositter was Brent, a friend from Cape Town. Like all my previous chemositters, he got to see me at my worst, hating every minute of it and just wanting to get out of there. Brent has re-named me, giving me my new Xhosa name of “Patience”! Clearly, I am lacking in that department and demonstrated it by wanting to connect my own bag of flush and de-cannulise myself as I couldn’t wait any longer for the nurse. I just wanted to get out of that hospital as quickly as possible but also had a bit of a wait for my medication to come down from pharmacy. I will go back sometime this week to say a proper thank you to the nurses who looked after me as they have been truly amazing. The side effects have been at their worst but at least it was the last treatment and it can only get better, if even only for a short while. The plan is to see the ENT specialist on the 30th about my voice (been almost two months now without a voice) and then see the oncologist on the 2nd of August for a review. Insh’Allah, I will not have to have any further treatment for at least 6 months although I think I am being rather optimistic there. I have a nebuliser now and have already had requests for it to be used as a hubbly-bubbly! The nebuliser has been helping a bit with the shortness of breath so that’s another positive thing to add. All in all, I am looking forward to no more chemo in my system. I am a completely different person when not under the side effects of chemo.
My travel plans are all coming together. I am off to Nice on the 6th of July for a week, then Germany on the 2nd of August for about a week too. New York is still being planned and there will be other short trips, depending on my health. I am still able to see one or two clients from time to time but it isn’t great as I have no voice and this influences the dynamics of our coaching sessions and is not really ideal.
Someone asked me the other day, “How do you cope being at home all day? How do you stop yourself from getting bored?” I guess that I have had to find other ways of occupying myself. I write a lot, I read, I learn languages (Polish in 60 minutes!), I make scrap or “memory” books filled with photos and stories and other “stuff”, I take care of the house, I play piano and ‘cello (not much though), I write material for coaching, visit people and receive visitors, and more importantly, I prepare for the “end” in terms of trying to get everything in place. I don’t often feel bored or depressed, I somehow manage to stay busy and occupied. Having worked and studied at the same time all my adult life, the last three years have taught me to be more resourceful with my time and to set objectives and plans for the days or weeks ahead. It is a rare privilege to be able to plan your own time without the constraints of a daily job and I am well aware of that privilege and therefore make the most of it.
So, the thought I’d like to leave with you this time is: smile more and work and stress less! Create quality time for yourself and make the most of every free moment you have.
Thank you for reading
Much love
BoodaGoose (an adaptation of an Algerian footballer’s name) :)
Friday, 11 June 2010
Light up (Run)
Snow Patrol wrote a song called Run (Light up) and while I love their version, I have to admit that I love Leona Lewis’ version more. I listen to this song over and over again and I wonder what it would sound like with my niece Adela singing it? Maybe one day, we’ll all get to find out. I love the way the words in the chorus go: “light up, light up, as if you have a choice...” On a few evenings, I have sat with a couple of friends at the piano and sung this song, me mainly singing harmony. Actually, it was with Rob a few times and then with James too. And that’s the thing, sometimes we just have to lighten up, pretend that we have a choice in the matter because I suppose in the end, we do. We might not be able to choose the end result but we can choose the way that we get there or the route we take. We can choose to travel peacefully.
I had a wonderful trip to Spain last weekend, compliments of Morse. Actually, Morse came down with a cold so he sent John and Richard to Spain as my guardians. I think Morse just fancied staying home with the gorgeous Catherine (Richard’s sister) and deliberately pulled a sickie! Bird-flu, he claimed. Anyway, my first trip to Spain and what a wonderful place to start: Barcelona. I was truly stoked by that city. From the moment we landed I just felt great. We had a lovely hotel right in the city centre. We went out for a walk in the warm air, had dinner and drank some sangria. I loved the vibe, the buildings and that was just based on the glimpse I had at night. The next day, after a huge breakfast, we visited a nice cathedral with a garden courtyard with geese inside! We then went on the city bus tour and I loved being able to sit at the top of a bus and just look, see and smell. The sun was shining and it was a glorious day by all accounts. I managed to find a couple of lovely little colourful (read orange) treats for myself, my favourite being a little coffee cup in an odd shape (I was able to find some orange sugar sachets to go with it). Yes, I am orange-crazy. Later that day, we jumped on a train to Sitges where we stayed in this really cool modern hotel. We went out for dinner and I managed to get most our bill cancelled because I told the manager that both Richard and I could make better paella than his chef! We got a complimentary cheese cake thrown in for good measure. The next day it rained most the day in Sitges so we sat around the hotel after a wet walk-about and just chatted before I took a train back to the airport to return to London. Queasy-jet managed to only leave Barcelona well after midnight, a delay of about 2 hours but as I don’t live too far from Gatwick, I got home around 2.30. So, Spain is awesome and I want to return there some time, probably to Barcelona again. Thank you once again, Morse, John and Rochard!
On Monday (7th), I had my pre-chemo oncology appointment. I saw the registrar, someone I had actually seen before for an emergency consultation. He was very thorough and has made arrangements for me to see an ENT specialist to explore the cause of my prolonged voice-loss. He has also written to my GP asking him to organise a nebuliser for me which will certainly help with my breathing. Chemo took place on Wednesday and as usual, I managed to work myself up into a knot before the day even arrived. Kerry was my volunteer chemo-sitter this time and she got there before me and witnessed the whole fire-engine saga which resulted in all our chemo treatments being delayed by an hour and a half. I had Taj as my nurse and she only had one failed attempt at cannulising me. The old veins are not coping too well but there is only one treatment left. I have to admit, I feel absolutely rotten following this treatment. I had so much luck with cycle 5 but cycle 6 has gotten off to a terrible start. I don’t need to go into the details as it is similar to before. I can only sit and wait for this final cycle to be over. The good thing is that when it gets too tough for me to handle on my own, I can almost literally hand over to someone else. It’s a bit like running a relay, when you’ve pushed yourself to the limit and you come around the corner, there is someone waiting with his/her hand stretched out and you can just pass the baton and take some time out. I have so many friends and family members willing, ready and able to take the baton from me and I am learning to pass it on, to share the pain as much as I want to share the joy and the love. Last night, after almost 3 hours of agonising pain in my back and no more strong painkillers left, I just said “I give up” and I woke up one of my couchsurfers and said, “You’ve got to take this pain from me now, I can’t any take anymore.” And, it was pretty much what happened. We dug around to find what else I could take, sorted out some more cushions and pillows, hot drink, some encouragement, and I was able to fall asleep. However, I was up early and straight off to the Pharmacy to stock up.
In life, whatever we do, whether we choose to live alone, live with someone, have boyfriends, girlfriends, get married and breed (this always makes me smile when I say this) or just get married and not breed, we must make sure that there is someone to whom we can pass the baton when we get tired or feel we need a break. This has been one of my biggest blessings in life, always having someone who will stand by me and lift the load off my shoulders. But we also have to learn how to do this, it doesn’t always come easy to say “I am weak right now, I need your strength”. I always felt better fixing other people’s problems, helping others, being the strong one and now I have had to learn to accept that the roles have reversed. But this is a nice feeling, it is nice to help and allow oneself to be helped in return.
Once again, thank you for reading.
Your Barcelona Cathedral
Goose
I had a wonderful trip to Spain last weekend, compliments of Morse. Actually, Morse came down with a cold so he sent John and Richard to Spain as my guardians. I think Morse just fancied staying home with the gorgeous Catherine (Richard’s sister) and deliberately pulled a sickie! Bird-flu, he claimed. Anyway, my first trip to Spain and what a wonderful place to start: Barcelona. I was truly stoked by that city. From the moment we landed I just felt great. We had a lovely hotel right in the city centre. We went out for a walk in the warm air, had dinner and drank some sangria. I loved the vibe, the buildings and that was just based on the glimpse I had at night. The next day, after a huge breakfast, we visited a nice cathedral with a garden courtyard with geese inside! We then went on the city bus tour and I loved being able to sit at the top of a bus and just look, see and smell. The sun was shining and it was a glorious day by all accounts. I managed to find a couple of lovely little colourful (read orange) treats for myself, my favourite being a little coffee cup in an odd shape (I was able to find some orange sugar sachets to go with it). Yes, I am orange-crazy. Later that day, we jumped on a train to Sitges where we stayed in this really cool modern hotel. We went out for dinner and I managed to get most our bill cancelled because I told the manager that both Richard and I could make better paella than his chef! We got a complimentary cheese cake thrown in for good measure. The next day it rained most the day in Sitges so we sat around the hotel after a wet walk-about and just chatted before I took a train back to the airport to return to London. Queasy-jet managed to only leave Barcelona well after midnight, a delay of about 2 hours but as I don’t live too far from Gatwick, I got home around 2.30. So, Spain is awesome and I want to return there some time, probably to Barcelona again. Thank you once again, Morse, John and Rochard!
On Monday (7th), I had my pre-chemo oncology appointment. I saw the registrar, someone I had actually seen before for an emergency consultation. He was very thorough and has made arrangements for me to see an ENT specialist to explore the cause of my prolonged voice-loss. He has also written to my GP asking him to organise a nebuliser for me which will certainly help with my breathing. Chemo took place on Wednesday and as usual, I managed to work myself up into a knot before the day even arrived. Kerry was my volunteer chemo-sitter this time and she got there before me and witnessed the whole fire-engine saga which resulted in all our chemo treatments being delayed by an hour and a half. I had Taj as my nurse and she only had one failed attempt at cannulising me. The old veins are not coping too well but there is only one treatment left. I have to admit, I feel absolutely rotten following this treatment. I had so much luck with cycle 5 but cycle 6 has gotten off to a terrible start. I don’t need to go into the details as it is similar to before. I can only sit and wait for this final cycle to be over. The good thing is that when it gets too tough for me to handle on my own, I can almost literally hand over to someone else. It’s a bit like running a relay, when you’ve pushed yourself to the limit and you come around the corner, there is someone waiting with his/her hand stretched out and you can just pass the baton and take some time out. I have so many friends and family members willing, ready and able to take the baton from me and I am learning to pass it on, to share the pain as much as I want to share the joy and the love. Last night, after almost 3 hours of agonising pain in my back and no more strong painkillers left, I just said “I give up” and I woke up one of my couchsurfers and said, “You’ve got to take this pain from me now, I can’t any take anymore.” And, it was pretty much what happened. We dug around to find what else I could take, sorted out some more cushions and pillows, hot drink, some encouragement, and I was able to fall asleep. However, I was up early and straight off to the Pharmacy to stock up.
In life, whatever we do, whether we choose to live alone, live with someone, have boyfriends, girlfriends, get married and breed (this always makes me smile when I say this) or just get married and not breed, we must make sure that there is someone to whom we can pass the baton when we get tired or feel we need a break. This has been one of my biggest blessings in life, always having someone who will stand by me and lift the load off my shoulders. But we also have to learn how to do this, it doesn’t always come easy to say “I am weak right now, I need your strength”. I always felt better fixing other people’s problems, helping others, being the strong one and now I have had to learn to accept that the roles have reversed. But this is a nice feeling, it is nice to help and allow oneself to be helped in return.
Once again, thank you for reading.
Your Barcelona Cathedral
Goose
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)