• The thing about Dads:

    They’re invincible, see…

    They don’t like to stay home

    With a cough or a sneeze.

    They tell a great story,

    love making you laugh;

    No matter the challenge,

    they don’t do things by half.

    Whenever there’s trouble,

    Dads won’t make a fuss:

    They fix things in a jiffy,

    Dads know magical stuff.

    They’re quietly awesome,

    So gentle and wise.

    We love to impress them,

    Earning one of their smiles.

    A father is someone

    we’ll fight to defend;

    Our hero, and mentor,

    our most loyal friend.

    Happy Father’s Day to my brilliant father, with love from Alice

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  • Picture now, if you will,

    a girl sat on a plastic chair;

    Some flowers on the windowsill,

    her mother, frightened, lying there.

     

    Mother and father worked so hard

    to raise their daughters every day,

    and now it seems that life’s reward

    is their retirement, snatched away.

     

    In hospital there’s nothing subtle:

    Lights so harsh on gleaming metal;

    The monitors that beep and hum;

    The tubes connecting them to mum…

     

    The pins that reinforce her spine

    are causing pain; oh make it mine!

    I’ll sit and wait for her to rise

    and show me somewhat brighter eyes.

     

    We’ve all been hoping for the best

    our fingers crossed for life’s big test;

    we won’t rely on lucky pennies,

    but know how vital all our love is.

     

    Four leaf clover, rainbow treasure;

    a family’s love is without measure

    so here’s a wish from me to you:

    Together, we can make it through.

     

    A poem by Alice

  • All you have to do is call

    Dear Mum and Dad

    Hello! There, that seems innocuous enough, doesn’t it.

    As I don’t know where to start, I’ll start somewhere fun.

    It’s been nice to spend a bit of time with you over the last few months for all the good reasons we’ve had to get together; what with my 40th birthday party, nights out including Cambridge, and various family parties and meals and so on, it’s been quite a sociable few months for me.

    As you know, sometimes it’s easier to say things when you have time to construct a letter. You wrote me a long one the year I was ill and I wanted to write this to talk about the last few weeks.

    Firstly, as I’m sure you know, I love you both. Very very much.

    Secondly, thank you for your unwavering support over the years. You’ve both always gone out of your way to help me and my sister out. Whether it was being our own personal taxi service as school kids, scrimping and saving to buy us cool toys, letting me drive your car to school so I could learn, buying things for us kids and doing without yourselves, lending me money for my first car, first computer, first house; whatever we needed you did it and more.

    You’ve always been brilliant. This time 2 years ago, when my world had just come crashing down and I was having to be hooked up to bags of poison, you both sat there on my sofa, chatting about nonsense with me and helping me put up with being turned into a human pincushion, whilst trying not to look too aghast.

    2012 was my crappy health year. I got through it though and here we are. Then 2013 apparently had to be Mum’s tough year, dealing with recurrence of breast cancer and having to have chemo this time. That was so stressful and hard for her but at least I could help her through it to some small extent because it was something we had in common and we kind of knew how to deal with it.

    Wow, 2013 was such a weird, wonderful and awful time rolled into one. I really thought this year you would be able to make the most of your retirement. 2014 was meant to be the year you could both go off and forget all of this, and go on holiday…

    Certainly none of us anticipated that your plans would be derailed again…

    Cancer.

    And if you’re feeling shell-shocked, I can totally understand that.

    I am too.

    Dad, it’s tough that you now also need treatment – because you’re never ill. I’ve tried very hard to come up with a memory of you being ill in the whole of my life, and failed! So it doesn’t fit in my head that you to have to have an operation to get rid of cancer, now.

    I was just starting to get my head around your situation, Dad, and start to get organised to help you and Mum while you recovered, and then…

    The unthinkable happened again.

    Mum’s ill… and in so much pain. I hoped for the best this weekend when she was hospitalised with her fractured vertebra… But whilst we now understand it’s metastatic cancer in her spine, what we can do is look for anything positive to hold on to… And imagine time moving forward faster, to a point where everything can be stabilised, her pain is reduced and she can walk again.

    So here I am, sat with you all in hospital, listening to the creaks and clicks and beeps, the coughs and murmurs and bustle of the ward and typing this whilst Mum sleeps. And you probably won’t get to read this letter anytime soon, but I will know it’s there ready for a time when you can, and in the meantime I’ll keep telling you all how much you’re loved anyway, so no loss.

    I think it’s an understatement to say we have a tough few weeks ahead of us (emotionally and physically in Mum’s case) but I will be here with you every step of the way. So will Jen. And we will all get through this together.

    We are lucky you see… We have lots of love, we are a really tight-knit family with lots of lovely people in it who will be there for us.

    And I’ll be there for you.

    When you’re down and troubled
    And you need some loving care
    And nothing, nothing is going right
    Close your eyes and think of me
    And soon i will be there
    To brighten up even your darkest night

    You just call out my name
    And you know wherever I am
    I’ll come running to see you again
    Winter, spring, summer or fall
    All you have to do is call
    And I’ll be there
    You’ve got a friend

    Lyrics to “You’ve got a friend” by Carole King, 1971

  • My New Year’s resolution for 2014 was stolen from a friend. He frequently advises people to stop and then think about what they think they need to say, and test it against these three questions:

    “Is it true?
    Is it kind?
    Does it need to be said?”

    He asserts that only if something satisfies all three questions is it suitable for saying out loud or communicating in some way. I liked the idea of this… That it is satisfying to live life trying to be as kind as possible.

    Of course, nobody is perfect and I’m sure there will be times when I open my big gob and put my foot in it… But I would like to try to live by this for 2014 and beyond.

    That doesn’t stop me sometimes wanting to talk to people quite candidly about how I feel. Especially if I am worried.

    There has been (in my perception, at least) a lot more coverage of breast cancer and BRCA gene mutations and so on in the news recently. This still directly affects me. It probably always will. It’s two years ago this week since my diagnosis, and seeing any article about cancer puts it at the front of my mind and makes me worry just a bit.

    The reason it worries me? I have to make a decision at some point about getting rid of my Fallopian tubes and ovaries altogether… I’m BRCA2+ and therefore I have a 30+% chance of getting ovarian cancer, which is pretty high – and ovarian cancer is waaaaaaay less treatable than breast cancer.

    The problem with knowing a thing could happen to you is that “could” isn’t “will”. It’s a numbers game… It’s a big gamble, but with years, rather than money..

    Should I take time out of my life to have an operation? Should I mutilate my body so I might improve my odds and not be killed by my ovaries? If I do that, will I get heart disease and osteoporosis? Should I even be worrying about all this, and if I should, who can I talk to about it?

    I have found some useful resources to read, such as:

    Luckily these days, the information and science is available in much greater quality and quantity than ever before, and the internet grants us immediate access to a lot of it. That allows us to make much more informed decisions.

    What it doesn’t do, however, is take all of the emotion out of the situation. That’s where seeking out a support mechanism comes in.

    Of course, the “traditional” route of getting support involves talking the ears off friends or family, or conducting a symphony of snotty tissues in a nice counsellor’s office.

    Seriously though… If you aren’t sure who to talk to and want something face-to-face, do give counselling a go at least once to see if it’s your thing. It can do you the world of good if you really go for it and talk openly.

    If you appreciate that kind of support, there are plenty of people who are locally available – you only need to look in Google for a vast array of them. The best thing to do is to find someone with accreditations – and sites like bacp.co.uk/ are helpful for this. The counselling directory explains some of the accreditations. I’ve heard that CBT often has quite a good early result for people who like being set “homework” – things to work through in their own time between sessions.

    Additionally there are support groups, of non-professional people who are willing to give up their time and talk in a relaxed informal environment to people in a similar situation. Groups like Keeping Abreast, and Macmillan can prove invaluable as a resource for this.

    Something I know I’m not good at, is talking to people face-to-face about being frightened, or sad, or lonely… I feel uncomfortable with people seeing me get upset. If you’re anything like me, it’s good to know that there are now lots of new ways to communicate, be they indirectly through writing your own blog, recording videos, or talking online in forums, chat rooms, in social media and so on.

    A few examples are:

    See also: Accidental Amazon’s blog

    Why does blogging help so many people through something like cancer?

    I can only speak for myself but I have always found writing a pleasure. It allows me time to structure my thoughts and if necessary, re-order them. When I feel angry, writing it down allows me an outlet in a contained but more productive way than just being upset. I can take my frustration or sadness and put a name to it, and possibly even a song. It also allows me to then coach myself into a more positive frame of mind.

    I follow a handful of bloggers who have had their own run-ins with breast cancer, all of whom are very interesting, insightful, challenging people. What they also are… Is lively, lovely and supportive on Social platforms such as Twitter.

    I realise Twitter is a bit more public than some means of communication, but it is also more immediate. If you want a discussion, there’s usually someone posting on there about breast cancer, whatever time of day it is or wherever you are in the world, and you don’t need to sign up again or be vetted to talk to them. I’m also a member of some Facebook groups that share specific concerns about BRCA positive tests and associated medical procedures, or about reconstruction, and so on.

    After chatting with some of the Twitter “regulars” one Sunday, we got talking about support groups and pondered whether it would be worth doing something more organised and regular in terms of discussions on Twitter. We knew there was a US one: #bcsm, but as that runs at 1am UK time I’ve only been involved in it once!

    We realised that no one group has all the answers or indeed covers all time zones. That’s when we decided to get the hashtag #bccww registered. We have a Twitter account @bccww which is now a TweetChat every Tuesday night, 9pm UK time. We’re excited as we have LOADS of ideas for discussion topics. Come and say hi if you get the chance… Next Tuesday, 9-10pm UK time, 4-5pm EST.

    My vision for the future is that we can share this or encourage other groups elsewhere in the world to do similar at times to suit them. As the Macmillan campaign says: “Nobody should face cancer alone.”

    I talk to a real mixture of people in a variety of circumstances on Twitter. Some just diagnosed, others in the midst of treatments like chemo or radiotherapy, some like me who are picking up the pieces and trying to make sense of their options for next steps on more surgery, some with recurrences or metastatic cancer. That last group is unfortunately larger than you think.

    All of us benefit hugely from the opportunity to talk to people who will say “yes I know what that’s like” or sympathise with us when we have a bad day, or cheer when we have a good one.

    I’m not saying that I don’t have brilliant, caring friends and family, who I talk to about all kinds of things… But not everyone wants to talk about cancer or think about it day to day. I don’t want my closest relationships to be dominated by my personal “interests” in my health. I want to be able to say what I need to say in an environment full of people interested in and equipped to handle that kind of discussion.

    It’s also helpful to talk to people who truly understand what we have been, or are, going through and can offer practical tips and emotional support. Sometimes it’s great to be able to talk about what you need to, in a forum that is away from everyday life.

    All of the people that I have talked to, seem to naturally have a code of honour; they try to be inclusive and welcoming and above all, show kindness to others.

    It’s a good way to live.

    Take out all your wasted honour,
    every little past frustration
    Take out all your so called problems,
    better put them in quotations
    Walkin’ like a one-man army,
    fightin’ with the shadows in your head
    Livin’ up the same old moment,
    knowin’ you’d be better off instead
    If you could only say what you need to say…

    Have no fear for givin’ in,
    have no fear for givin’ over
    You better know that in the end,
    It’s better to say too much
    Than never to say what you need to say, again…

    Even if your hands are shakin’
    and your faith is broken
    Even as your eyes are closin’
    do it with a heart wide open:
    A wide heart.
    Say what you need to say!

    Lyrics by JOHN MAYER “Say what you need to say”

  • I don’t spend a lot of my time thinking about cancer, luckily. I decided that it wasn’t healthy for me to do that and I backed away from a lot of the activity that I was involved in. I stopped reading a lot of the blogs and posts that I’d found so helpful day-to-day in 2012 during my treatment and in 2013 during my reconstruction.

    A lot of people who have gone through the experience that I have, probably feel the same way; there’s only a certain amount of time you can read and talk about that kind of stuff before you start to feel your head and shoulders going down, and it becomes something that takes up too many minutes of your thinking each day. There are other far more interesting and positive things to do with your time, that are frankly better for you both mentally and then as a result physically as well.

    However… occasionally someone I’m still in touch with posts something that catches my eye and the nosey part of me has to go and have a look at it. Morbid fascination? Literally – yes, and I’ll tell you about the particular article that made me want to write this post.

    The lady’s name is Hannah Foxley. She has a blog, is 36 years old and has already been through two battles with breast cancer. A lot of people will be reading Cosmopolitan this month and seeing her pose naked to reveal her scars from her battles and prove that people can still look beautiful regardless of losing one or both breasts. Hey… good on her for doing that, if it makes someone else feel better about the way they look. You can read about her photo shoot on Huffington Post.

    The shocker is… that as of Wednesday this week, she now faces her biggest challenge yet – her third cancer diagnosis in three years and the news that she has inoperable cancer in her liver and lung. She says: “I thought that life was on the up. I don’t want to be a memory of someone who died young… Facing my own mortality at just 36 years old is truly terrifying.

    When I read her most recent posts an hour ago, a range of thoughts and emotions ran through me. You see from my perspective, once you’ve done battle with the thing once, cancer is never totally out of your mind. It gives you a bit of a mental scab, and every so often something knocks the top off it again. This was one of those things.

    It might be that you end up discussing your recent recovery with people who don’t know your story very well, asking if you’re ok now with kindly concern. It might be a vague awareness that the people you love are making sure that you know they love you and they are glad you’re well. It might be because articles you glance at online give you that little shiver of adrenaline when you realise what they are about. The cumulative effect of all of these little day-to-day occurrences is that, unlike when you were younger and hoped you’d live to be one hundred and twenty years old, now you can never quite forget that you’re not invincible.

    Reading stuff about people being re-diagnosed with cancer and people with metastatic cancer (cancer that’s spread to other organs and is potentially incurable) is really tough because it makes so much of a dent in a really important thing to most of us… i.e. hope.

    A blog post like Hannah’s took the wind out of me tonight, like a punch in the guts. But… as I metaphorically shake my head and get up again, I’m allowing myself to feel grateful. No matter what happened in the last couple of years, I really believed that I would recover and in the grand scheme of things, I didn’t go through too much pain and suffering to achieve my recovery. So, I figure I’m lucky.

    Anyway, I wish and hope for a positive outcome for Hannah, however slim the chance, and hope that she can feel well enough again to do some more fun things before she has to say goodbye.  If you can bear to read it, her blog is at http://hannahfoxley.com/  and I’m sure she’d appreciate your support.

    A few girls were talking about the post on Facebook and generally feeling sorry that this has happened to Hannah. One of the girls who saw the post added a comment, worrying that it was selfish because she couldn’t bear to read about it. My answer was no – it’s not selfish not to want to read the difficult or sad stuff all the time; just human. Logically, unless we know the person and want to offer emotional support, or are feeling mentally strong enough to deal with how it makes us feel, it also makes sense not to think or talk about it much, either… and here’s why:

    I watched a really interesting TED talk the other day about the psychology of stress and its knock-on health impacts. Psychologist Kelly McGonigal was talking about stress potentially being a positive influence in your life if you re-set your thinking about it. Kelly says that new research suggests that stress may only be bad for you if you believe that to be the case. In fact, she posits that people who believe stress is bad for them statistically live tens of years less than people who don’t believe that. Pretty amazing, if it’s got the stats to back it up!

    The key things I took away from the talk she gave were twofold:

    1)  How you THINK and ACT can transform your body’s response to stress in such a way as to IMPROVE your health. If you don’t believe that stress is bad, the response in your body is merely to pump oxygen around your body more efficiently without damaging constrictions in your blood vessels increasing your blood pressure.

    2) Taking a risk or being brave doing something to bring more meaning to your life is better for your health than avoiding discomfort, even if change seems like a really scary proposition.

    Watch the 15 minute talk if you get the chance, because it’s really interesting.

    And… don’t worry, be happy.

    Do You Realize – that you have the most beautiful face
    Do You Realize – we’re floating in space –
    Do You Realize – that happiness makes you cry
    Do You Realize – that everyone you know someday will die

    And instead of saying all of your goodbyes – let them know
    You realize that life goes fast
    It’s hard to make the good things last
    You realize the sun doesn’t go down
    It’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning round