A fundraiser, writer and folk musician in the UK playing guitar, bass, singing, writing and marketing. All posts in this blog are personal and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of my employer, cat, neighbour or government.
Well, maybe not day 21, and maybe not a jungle, but sometimes the posts and messages you read on social media make you feel like people out there are in dire straits. As in - they only have enough loo roll to last 17 months, or enough pasta to feed all of the Czech Republic.
I'm not being nasty, it's evident from food and produce shortages that panic buying has impacted the supply chain, and the result will be they'll have loads of products going past their sell by date.
Wood from the fallen ash
My partner and I are self-isolating - we are both at risk for different reasons. Luckily for us at the moment this is not a problem - we live in a forest and our neighbour is away, so all we see are walkers with dogs passing by and the diligent forestry workers - cutting and transporting the pine (to make into toilet paper perhaps!).
I've hardly been out apart from walks when all the walkers have gone, but we are so lucky that we have a beautiful garden to occupy ourselves, and the biggest pile of wood to chop and stack ready for next winter.
We had plenty of food in stock, and we've had a delivery from Sheena's son (yes, we'are all sanitised and cleansed from his 2m visit now), so we are pretty well set for a while if needed.
I built another wood store
I am still working from home - work has not stopped and in fact now more than ever we need help; our amazing NHS still rely on the air ambulance services around the country to help save lives every day, we can't put heart attacks and falls and crashes on hold because of Covid-19. I am very proud to be a fundraiser, and very lucky that I can do my job from the middle of a forest.
My main concern is that my upcoming cancer treatment may be delayed - and who knows by how long. Although I'm not overly worried at the moment, the thought of even going to hospital, where the beleagued NHS are struggling to keep themselves and their patients safe, is a little disconcerting.
This may be a greusome thought, but I'm actually really pleased to know that I have an operation coming up. Having seen Sheena go through chemotherapy, radiotherapy (the burns were so much worse than we had anticipated), and surgery, I know I'm getting off lightly. Well, as far as I know, that's all I'll need.
The cancer has not spread, the scans show no problems with my major organs. If bowel cancer spreads, it usually goes to lungs or liver, and they are confident I've no problems there.
The margins of the cancer are clear too, so the removal of it in my tubes should be relatively straightforward as well. This all bodes well for an excellent outcome!
But, of course, we are amid the most extraordinary healthcare crisis this planet has seen since the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic, or even since the plague. Well, cancer surgery is going ahead but less urgent surgery (such as the plan for fixing my dodgy finger joints) are being cancelled. They are also cancelling gall stone surgery - which I am sorry to hear. I remember that was so very painful!
So all in all, a good news day for me today. Next week I should get an appointment with my consultant, and then schedule in the surgery. After surgery at least six weeks off work, and probably six months before I'll be weilding the chainsaw in anger again, but I think that's a small price to pay.
Reminder - if you have unusual bowel symptoms, please get them checked. Don't wait until it may be too late. Your health matters. You matter. Take care.
A Friday night - what better way to spend it than in the Radiography Department of Ipswich Hopsital.
My first scan was the MRI - this will determine what Gertrude is made of and how embedded she is in my gut. The MRI machine was quite comfortable but loud, as expected. I had headphones but not music - so I made music myself.
There were different scans, and different scans made different noises:
The 'underwater hurdy gurdy' - a repetitive thrum on a single note, I made up tunes that leapt around the base note.
The 'sewing machine' - a higher less musical note, a lot faster. I imagined a room full of sewing machines.
The 'food mixer' - this one shook the bed and was a lot lower in tone - I imagined myself being spun round as part of a very lumpy pesto.
Back again to a higher note, and slightly out of tune 'amateur hurdy hurdy' and I made up some more tunes. What a shame I'll never remember them!
I think some of my imaginative interpretations of the sounds may have been down to the intravenous Buscopan, which was rather relaxing. All in all I was in the scanner for around half and hour.
Still gowned up (ain't it a great look?) I was taken down to the CT scanner, and and IV drip put in. The scans were a lot quicker (and a lot quieter) but when they released the liquid in the IV into my veins (so that they are easier to see on the scan), it gave a weird sensation of a warmth all over and - that of having released fluid unintentionally (I hadn't, but they did warn me it would feel like this).
The CT scan will show whether Gertrude has any sisters anywhere else. I'm seriously hoping she's an only child.
So after the scans we headed back home (via the chip shop), and now I have to wait. I am hoping for an appointment soon so we know what happens next and can plan.
Well, actually, I should have titled this post 'unafraid'. But I've used 'fear' because Richard Wilkins, the amazing man who runs the Ministry of Inspiration with Liz, has sent out a video on facebook called F*ck Fear. And it's been shared over 12,000 times, because there is a strong and real message in there.
Fear is tool ruthlessly used by our inner voice, our insecurity, that inner 'script' that tries to make us jump, quiver and generally not be who we truly are. That voice in your head is a liar. It is made of things you've done true, but it is also written by what has been done to you, what your loved ones, friends, colleagues and even random strangers say to you - it's written by others. It is not the true you.
With cancer now a part of my life, not just my partner's, I am looking forward positively. I am unafraid. Even before I understood that this disease is not likely to kill me (though I still don't know that for sure), I'm still unafraid.
I've never been afraid of death, and cancer has no power to scare me either. It does not have the power to 'redefine me' as a cancer victim or sufferer. It does not have the power to change my positive outlook and my love for life and living. Cancer is not my identity, it's just another page in my script.
With the covid-19 coverage causing fear and anxiety at unprecedented levels, it is a good time to remember and consider all the good things in live. Forget fear, be unafraid (but don't be stupid). Love who you are, and believe in yourself.
Well, we already knew, but the histopathology results have
confirmed the cancer in my bowel. Nasty little thing, I shall call it ‘Gertrude’.
Gertrude was found about 15cm into my insides (from the arse end), which is a
good thing position wise. It is far in enough for surgery (which is a given) to
be able to snip and stitch – so Gertrude and surrounding tissue will be excised,
and the two ends of my innards reattached – a slightly shorter run than before.
I had my colonoscopy last week (this is when I met Gertrude –
on screen) and the procedure itself
Preparing for colonoscopy
was not much of a drama. The night before
(those of you who have had this will know) was worse! So, having established
that there was a cancer in my bowel, the colonoscopy nurse took some samples,
whose results were what we went to discuss at the hospital today.
I don’t know the stage or the grade of Gertrude yet. We don’t
know if it’s aggressive, or easily intimidated, and we don’t know if it has
spread at all. These options will be determined by:
CT scan to see if the cancer has
spread anywhere
MRI scan to get a more detailed
idea of where Gertrude is and which parts of my innards it has attached to
(wall, nodes etc)
Surgery to remove Gertrude and
stitch my pipes back together
Dissection – once Gertrude is surgically
removed, it will go back for further pathology investigation.
The important thing now for me is the timeline, which is
something on the lines of the scans (not on the same day) within the next two
weeks or so, then the earliest surgical appointment that can be had. Possibly
up to another month after the scans, if I’m lucky, earlier.
The reports on the deported Gertrude will determine whether I
need any other treatment. Radiotherapy is unlikely due to the location, but
chemotherapy is a possibility. It totally depends on what they find with the scans
and post-surgery.
With any luck I could be having my operation sometime in
April or May, and then it will be recovery time. Even if I have the surgery
laparoscopically (keyhole) it’s a pretty big rework of the old insides, so I
will need quite a bit of recuperation time.
I’m being positive and upbeat because that’s the best way to
knock Gertrude into submission. Cancer is an ugly, unwanted intruder, but needs
to be treated with care so it doesn’t cause more problems. Gertrude is an
inconvenience that will make my life pretty difficult for several months, but I
am aiming for the minimal impact scenario where I will be up and about and my
usual self in time to enjoy the summer months.
Meanwhile there is nothing I can or need to do other than
keep healthy and carry on. I will post further updates as and when things happen/change.
Finally, Gertrude doesn’t have a chance, because there is so
much love and support around me. Thank you.
After a rather unhappy start to the week, I went for a walk in the woods last Wednesday morning. The birds were starting their special spring songs and loudly proclaiming their eligibility, and the rising aroma of drying winter leaves, warmed by a light sun, permeated the air.
The dogs were trotting happily, sniffing and shuffling about, noses to the ground around some particularly interesting smell, and ears pricked up and listening to the startled flap of pheasant or pigeon wing, or the tell-tale crack of a bracken stalk under the tread of a timid Muntjack.
The walk was restorative. The air, the sound of the wind in the trees, the sunshine trickling through the pines. It was a beautiful morning and a beautiful walk, with nature around me and the sights and sounds of the natural world flowing into me like a healing elixir.
I'll need more than a walk in the forest, I know, as I embark on a new journey, but living in the woods, walking here and enjoying everything that nature has to offer is going to be very important to me as I enter the next phase of this condition.
And just for fun because I don't want to put a whole new post in just to fit this vid in - here's me playing the weirdest bass ever at the final Shave the Monkey concert back in January.
There was a crack like thunder, and then a huge thump that shook the ground, the house, the very trees in the forest. The house screamed as ash-fingers scratched at it's bricks and tore off the gutter and demolished the front light. Well, that's how I imagined it would have felt had we been in the house when the tree came down!
When you live in a house that is mostly heated by one wood burner, then your primary fuel is... well, wood. And dry wood is expensive if you buy it, and to dry it yourself takes time. The ash opposite our house had Chalara, and was looking dead, but the Forestry Commission (who had marked it for removal) thought it was fine. Chalara (ash dieback) starts from the crown, so the roots are usually OK. Apart from us telling them the tree was dead and dangerous, they didn't see any reason to take it down in a hurry.
The track was blocked for over a week until the FC came
There are advantages of living in a forest, but you can't go cutting down trees that belong to the Forestry Commission. And if they fall on you, well, that's an 'Act of God' in insurance terms.
A few weeks ago (mid-Feb) we went away for the weekend back to my little terraced house in Hertfordshire, with it's central heating, and it's snug warmth. And when we came back late Sunday night, we had been delivered a gift. A 45 foot gift.
Fence destroyed, but house fine.
A bit of a destructive gift, for sure, but let's just say we won't be short of wood for a while. And the nice thing about ash is that it burns well, and as the tree was dead, it doesn't need drying out.
Yes the fence was damaged and so was the lawn, but it only brushed the house (like fingers tickling the brickwork), it only took out a little bit of gutter and a light. The poor tree, which was home to nightingales and jays, woodpeckers and squirrels, is gone. The forestry commission )(after more than a week, even though it blocked the lane) came and took it down and sliced it into manageablel chunks (if you are a 14 foot muscular giant, that is).
We have had to cut up the logs they've left. But here are still some huge bits that are going to take several goes with the chainsaw to reduce even into moveable pieces. And the lawn has huge gouts of turf lifted up (one of the branches literally ploughed the ground) and a huge dent where the main trunk hit. The fence had to be replaced, and we will eventualy get round to repairing the lawn - just as soon as I've moved 3 tonnes of timber.
It missed us, it barely damaged the house, and we have a lot of nice burnable wood. I think that's a gift from nature (even if I do end up with bulging biceps from all the chainsawing, heaving and splitting).
We went to see Sandi Toksvig's live show last night - her one woman show was entertaining and she involved the audience several times with questions, and stories.
A show like this can often be the host just talking at you, waiting for laughter, and carrying on, but Sandi genuinely wanted interaction. That's hard to achieve when you are one, and there's 600 or so people sat watching you, but she didn't do half bad.
The main message - apart from her amusing anecdotes and wonderful stories of things interesting (like 95% of all the world's people ever are dead) - was about connection.
In the interval she encouraged us not to turn on our phones and to talk to someone we didn't know. And though her message was delivered with her usual erudite humour, it was an important message I think many related to. Certainly there was lots of random chatting in the queue for the ladies!
There was a big notice in the ladies: "Red dot is engaged". I suggest we congratulate her next time we see her - and instead of sideways glances and getting ahead in the queue quicker, my quip received smiles. In other words, Sandi's message of getting us to just connect was working.
Of all the things that made me smile, laugh out loud, clap and enjoy myself, it's the reminder that we need to connect with others that I think is the most valuable of all. I hope the others felt the same.
If I can write every day – even just a few paragraphs, then
I’ll be making progress. I haven’t written properly for a long time, and there
are lots of reasons of course, but all of them are just excuses. I love to
write, and by not writing I have let a little piece of me deteriorate. Same
with song-writing – not just the lyrics, but the music too.
I got stuck in a rut for a while, I have to admit. But my
life has changed so much in the last two years – I’m out of that rut, and now I’m
looking around at the new horizons. I have not changed my life so much that everything
is different, but I can most certainly spend time now doing more writing, and –
if I can motivate myself to do so – playing more music.
Last year was untypical to say the least with my partner’s
cancer treatment pretty much occupying the whole year in various ways. I did write a bit about our experiences, but it was a different kind of writing – writing to share something
intimate and challenging, and to share to help others as well as ourselves.
A blog without a photo is boring. This is my favourite pine tree.
Cancer treatment has finished, and hopefully
Sheena will continue to get stronger and better now that the cancer has gone.
But the side effects of the treatments (which only stopped this month) need
some recovery time too.
Back to the start of this – that I want to write every day.
Writing is like any muscle, you need to use it to keep it strong and
flexible. So, I’m limbering up – getting ready to launch back into exercising
my writing brain beyond the daily use demanded by work, or the occasional blog.
My plan is to write a novel. Oh yes, everyone has a novel in
them we know, but do I have a story, and a loose plot, I just need to work on
characterisations, structure and then simply sit down and write. It doesn’t
matter if what I write isn’t good enough – it matters only that I write. The
more I do so, the more I will improve. I will also ask for critique from those
whose opinions I value, sure of their honesty.
If you have a goal you want to achieve, what do you do to
pursue it? In a recent training course (which has prompted me to do this), one
of the recommendations was ‘affirmations’ – saying out loud to yourself what it
is you want to achieve. One colleague put it really simply, “I’ve said it, so I’ll
do it”.I like that.
Hence this rather boring, but important to me, blog. I have
said it. I will do it.
Well, not fish, for sure! Saturday 18th January 2020 did, however, bring an end to something that was a big part of my life. From 1988 to around 2010, I was part of a band called Shave the Monkey that played folk clubs around the UK and folk festivals in the UK and mainland Europe. We had some amazing times, including playing at Fairport Convention's Cropredy festival (to something like 17,000 people), Cambridge Folk Festival, Dranouter in Belgium and Skagen Festival in Denmark. We appeared on BBC and ITV and on lots of radio stations.
I don't think I can explain the feeling of being on stage, with five other musicians all working together to enterain, and so many people listening, enjoying and participating in your music. There's nothing quite like it.
I'm a songwriter mostly, but the band was probably 2/3 instrumental, 1/3 songs. It wasn't just me that sang, Steve also wrote (writes) songs and we did a few of his songs and tunes in our sets and on our CDs. I still sing, I still play, but arthritis in the hands is a bugger for a guitarist!
Here's me singing our 'hit' The Witchfinder General for the very last time:
The band broke up (so did the marriage of two of the members), and we played a couple of reunion gigs (I think in 2012 - but happy to be corrected). That was weird, because I was in a very difficult place. The husband's girlfriend was in the audience, there were musical tensions, lots of emotions, and it wasn't easy with the new relationship dimensions. I don't think I did my best, but I certainly tried - the audience (and their reaction) are always the most important thing when performing; you have to give it your best. Which reminds me...
A very long time ago
I remember one time we played the Rupert Bear Appreciation Society Annual Conference. Yes, such a thing exists (and lots of them did wear check trousers/scarves and red jumpers), and we were their evening entertainment. This was about 2000, and I know because I was in the depth of depression at the time. I remember laying on the car roof before the gig, looking at the sky and wondering why I was alive.
But I also remember going on stage and playing - and seeing the Ruperts dance, hearing them clap, and even sing along with a number or two. And that was always a good way to banish the black dog.
There was another time we played the Pagan Federation's annual conference in London. I wasn't black dogged then, thankfully, but it was a strange gig. I remember a few things - such as my bum being too hot as a massive stage light was directly behind me, a small child leaping on my lap and giving me a 'pagan kiss' because he liked our music so much, and a large man in a pink fairy costume. I have to say they were a great audience, and I went back and played again with a musical duo n later iyears.
I could reminisce for ages - good times and bad - gigs with five people, gigs with five thousand, but the important thing is closure. I had said I wasn't intrerested in any more reunions, but with the 'last ever' on the cards, I was happy to contribute a couple of songs and a tune. The audience at the Cambridge Junction was filled with faces we knew from times past, as well as current friends and family. We couldn't have played to a friendlier, warmer, more receptive audience. Perfect for a last gig.
From our very first gig to our very last, it's the audiences that have always made it worthwhile. So though I (and others of course) will continue to play music, Shave the Monkey has finally hung up the razor and is going to let the fur grow. So long, and thanks to all our amazing audiences for listening, buying CDs, talking to us, telling us what you liked, and for being there at every single gig we ever played.
Last week, several of us from work attended a training event
that was a bit different from the norm. The two-day course, called ‘Winning
Edge’, was about how to change the way you think to develop (amongst other
things) ‘success-oriented attitudes’.It
was donated to the Charity by a local trainer who needed to deliver her first
session solo so she could be signed off to teach it independently.
I’m not going to attempt to distil two days’ training in a
single update, but here’s a little excerpt from one of the workbooks to give
you a taster –
“Remember that the opposite of success isn’t failure – it’s
not trying at all. If we view the ‘failure’ as a stepping stone and not a
stumbling block, we ‘reframe’ the word in our consciousness, increase our
confidence and reduce our fear of failure, which is a key reason that many
people never even attempt to achieve their dreams.”
OK, I’m on board with that. But there were many discussions
around several subjects and concepts that – I’m delighted to say – the team
were ready to discuss, challenge and develop. It was a stimulating two days,
and we still have a further day to go (in February).
But the title of this post is about weaponry, and it’s a
concept that I think worth sharing. If someone insults you, or says something
that upsets you, or offends you, then they are using a ‘verbal gun’. Now that
gun is only loaded if you are insulted, are upset, or offended. In other words,
the other person has absolutely no power to ‘shoot’ you unless you choose to
‘load their gun’ by feeling a negative emotion.
And you can choose how you react.
Let me give an example:
“Carolyn, you look tired today”. Is the person saying this
to me
a)Concerned for my health
b)Making a snide comment as I have dark rings
under my eyes
c)Just making conversation
d)Making an observation?
It doesn’t matter, because how I react, how I choose to
interpret and respond to what is being said to me, is what counts. They made a
comment. I can choose to listen, or not listen, and above all I can choose how
I feel about what they said. I can choose not to be insulted, upset or
offended.
This subject alone engendered quite a bit of discussion, but
it did have a useful learning point – perhaps it could even be interpreted as
‘don’t let the beggars grind you down’. But it’s more than that, it’s not about
defiance or challenge, it's about choice. Choose not to let someone insult,
offend, upset you, and you totally take away their power. Don’t load their gun
with the bullet of your response.This
will take time and practice if you choose to subscribe to this way of thinking
and if you are upset by something that’s ok, it doesn’t mean your feelings are
less valid because you chose to react to them in that way.
Oh my, I haven't written my blog since October last year. How remiss of me! Who cares? I do. Why do I care? Because I love writing and I am letting other things distract me. Oh yeah, I'm busy with work and fun, but I'm lazy too.
So this little blog is about something really simple, about the wonderful place I live - near Dunwich, a small village on the East Coast of the UK.
At night I can hear the roar of the sea, and the soughing of the wind in the trees. I call it the 'wind giants' - I imagine them striding through the pines, shaking the trees as they march through, thoughtless for all else but progress from land to sea. I go for long walks with the dogs when it's dark - and I hear the calls of tawny owls, and the frantic flapping of disturbed pheasant and pigeon as the big dog goes chasing them hell for leather.
We hear the bark of the deer - muntjack and red, and the sharp call of the fox, who we often see using our road as his own convenient highway.
When it's damp, the woods release their scent; a fresh wood mould, and the tang of fungi. There is a sharpness when the ferns open, uncurling their fronds and turning the brown undergrowth into a deep carpet of green.
When we sit in our lounge, looking out of the window, we see the squirrels try and defy our latest 'squirrel proof' feeder, and watch the woodpeckers, long tailed tits, marsh, blue and coal tits, swaying as they enjoy the sunflower seeds and peanuts. And sometimes, swooping with deadly speed, we see the sparrowhawk and mourn the loss of one of the smaller birds.
Some Sundays we go to Southwold and walk across the marshes - in summer weather the grass in lush and green, and in the winter we need wellingtons and a careful sense of balance as we negotiate foot-deep swatches. Geese, ducks, lapwing - all circle and land, startled by our presence and the over-enthusiasm of the pack of dogs we and our friends have brought with us to enjoy the exercise.
At home we light the wood burner, and it smokes like a grumpy dragon before sending it's warmth through the room, and through the house. We watch the flames dancing - hypnotised by their colours, their patterns, and the mysteries they suggest. The wood is pine, oak, sycamore - wood that we have cut, that we have split and stacked. Each log is a small testament to our hard work, and we see it go up in flames, delighting and warming us.
Late at night, lying in bed, the wind giants precursor the rain, and the drumming of drops on the window, on the roof, on the grass outside - is a soothing Suffolk lullaby.
This isn’t about relationships in the traditional sense, it’s
about jobs. I recently applied for a job that looked absolutely perfect! It was
in the right location, the right skill set, and the role was a step up for me.
I wrote a great application and got an interview. After a
tour of the location (it was amazing, a wonderful place to work I’m sure), and
some honest conversations with the senior team, I went through the formal
interview process with the Board.
A mindfulness moment
And when it came to ‘why do you want this job?’ I answered
honestly. And realised I had applied for all the wrong reasons. It was the
perfect location, the perfect role, and yet I wasn’t the perfect candidate.
I had applied for the role because it was all the things
that I thought I was looking for. But, the truth is, I am not really looking
for another job. I love where I work, but had said to myself what my ‘next step’
should be, and this role fitted the bill.
I’m not ready for the next step, not when it isn’t the right
step. The next role I apply for must be for the right reasons, for a real
desire to do what they are asking, not just tick a few boxes in the ‘how to
progress your career’ list. I lacked passion and purpose for this role, and
they saw it
In this case, it wasn’t them, it was me. And I’m grateful
for the opportunity to have found myself out, and to have also met some amazing
people at another fantastic charity. Meanwhile, I know my passion and purpose
are very much focused on my current role, even if it doesn’t have the fancy job
title that would give my ego a little boost. I work for an amazing charity,
have fantastic colleagues and a great team. I’m not finished here yet.
Liked this? Try this
blog where I found this great quote:
A while back a major giving fundraiser told me that one of
his contacts had passed away. There was real grief in his voice and he said ‘I think
I spent more time with him than some of my best friends’ – said in humour but a
touch of truth there. Building
relationships is not just about ‘eyes on the prize’ for fundraisers, it’s about
making a human connection.
The bereaved partner knew that it was more than just ‘money
hunting’ and kindly phoned him directly when her husband died, and invited
him to the funeral.
Remember, fundraisers are human too. We really do care about
the people we meet and work with who support our work, not just the
beneficiaries.
Apart from the things I have learned because of Sheena's cancer (see 'new skills'), I thought it might be an idea to add some of the other things I've learned/experienced over the past 18 months. Why share this? Because I think it demonstrates that you are never too old to learn, and it's never too late to end up doing things you always thought you might enjoy, but haven't had the opportunity (or even bravery) to try.
1. Using a chain saw
Using a chain saw is a dangerous thing! Well of course, but crossing the road and drinking vodka are dangerous things too, so it's a matter of perspective. Like any power tool, knowing how to use it, using it properly and taking the right safety precautions are sensible steps. Over-confidence is the danger zone! I mostly use a small electric chain saw for cutting logs. It's not too heavy, not too powerful, but it chops up logs and pallets quickly and with so much less effort.
2. Using an axe and a log splitter
Table decoration to be
I may have weilded an axe in the past, but not with such purpose before. Those logs needed chopping and splitting - our log burner is hungry in the winter and it's darn cold in the woods sometimes. The axe is great for some woods, but for the stubborn ones the log splitter - a sort of hammer-shaped axe, is king. Whack! And (if you hit it right) the log cleaves in two. It depends on the wood of course, but sycamore is like butter - so easy to split. It will need plenty of time to season though before we can burn it.
3. Using power sanders
OK, a basic DIY tool, but I never used one before. Now I've sanded about 200 ends of wood for my
daughter's wedding table decorations, and used the bench sander (oh, what a lovely machine!) too. Making the cheeseboards out of large sycamore slices that had been chopped with the chainsaw is the hardest though - takes three lots of sanding (and next stage is applying the mineral oil) to get the right finish.
Axle trying out the unfinished log store
4. A passion for pallets
I've discovered how much fun pallets can be - not only for providing some great kindling (using chain saw, then small machete), but also making things. So I can now build wood stores - made two so far. Next project is a cover for the other wood stores we already have. Yes, we use a lot of wood.
5. Living in the woods
Of course this has been an absolute delight, with woodpeckers, marsh tits and siskin gracing our bird feeder along with the usual suspects. Oh, and some very destructive squirrels too. Living in a house in the woods is just amazing, even when it rains or snows. The ever changing colours, sounds and smells mean every day is different.
6. Being a grandma
Chizel
Well this deserves more than one post, and more than just a mention, but any grandparent out there will know exactly why this was one of the most fantastic things that happened recently. Being a grandma required no effort or bravery from me, admittedly, but I am sure it will be keeping me busy over the coming years.
7. Mowing the lawn
A ride-on tractor mower, which is amazing fun. The lawn is large, and I have to check it for doggy 'land mines' before mowing, or ...
8. Dog agility
I'm terrible at it, and I confuse the poor dog who is a veteran of agility displays, but I do enjoy it when I get the chance to run him. Next year I will be commentating at shows, that's going to be fun
too.
I originally published a shorter version of this as 'Voyage of Discovery'. I added a bit and shared it on our work intranet as part of Mental Health Awareness Week. Here's the blog again - but read the comments at the end please.
I thought this was going to be hard to write because it's a very personal voyage. But it turned out to be easy:
Let me take you back just a few years to when I was a depressed, unhappy wife to a man I loved but who didn't love me. This poorest version of me was a lost soul at sea who had abandoned her hopes and dreams. I only held on for the kids. I saw myself as a failure, as the reason for his infidelity, as not being worth anything, not deserving. There is low and there is suicidal, and between these two is where I placed my self-esteem.
Can you picture it? A sad, middle aged woman with haunted eyes. Even so, there was some part of me that was still strong, still struggled to be my normal self despite the voice in my head that said "You failed. You aren't worth it. It's your fault." (My mantra was "old, fat and ugly".) This voice, that we maybe all have, was a voice bequeathed me by my parents, peers friends and my husband. Yes, this destructive self-talk was prompted by those around me.
So jump to now – see me strong, confident, knowing it's OK to not be OK, knowing that I may have failed sometimes but I am not a failure. You see the voice in your head is just a script, handed down page by page throughout your life. It can't be unwritten or even edited, but it can be recognised for what it is – not the enemy, not something to be cured or fixed or forgotten, but understood and put in context. No matter what the script says, it is just a voice – a thought. It is not your true identity, just a role you play. You are not the sum of the things that have happened to you or what people say about you. That's your 'script', it is not your true identity.
I've been on lots of self-development courses, but none of them helped me much. They showed me more faults, more things I should be doing, more reasons why I was not succeeding at life. So I did something that did change my life.
My voyage was painful one, but I was not alone. I spent five days with people who understood my state, sympathised and empathised, and who had turmoil of their own; feeling suicidal, been abused, struggled with drug addiction, feelings of worthlessness, physical and mental abuse... and yet we all shared equally. Our voyage together turned us from eight random strangers into a strong crew who believe the best of each other. That is a rare and precious thing. Each of us told our intimate stories and – we realised - that these shaped how we saw ourselves. We were always surprised that each of us carried such distorted identities in our heads. Seven friendly voices reflected back the truth they saw, shouted down the script and helped us to find and be our true selves. To love ourselves again.
There's so much more I could explain, but for now I'll just say that after years and years of self-dislike I am very happy in my own skin. I also feel happier than I have ever been (even with all that has been happening to my amazing partner).
It's never too late to be good to yourself. You do deserve it. You are worth it. I know I am.
I am happy to share my epxeriences in more detail if it may help someone. Ignore the negative voice in your head, you are amazing - you work here after all!
Here are the comments I got from my colleagues, after posting this - it shows the power of sharing.
Colleague 1: I love this Carolyn. Thank you so much for sharing.
2: Amazing, Carolyn. Thank you for sharing this
3: This is so incredible, Carolyn. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us and giving hope and inspiration to those who may also feel they are on their own. Xx
4: You are a lovely and very brave woman, thank you for sharing your journey
My boss; You are a very brave and kind woman Carolyn. And Kindness is a true strength, a true asset and an absolute must in managing people. Keep being you, love from me. x
CEO: I got a lump in my throat reading this or should I say hearing this - your voice came through loud and clear in telling your story. Thank you.
Not abracadabra or open sesame, but 'cancer free'. When we went to the hospital on Tuesday, those magic words were spoken.
It's not over yet though - we've won the main battle, but the war is not over. Chemotherapy and surgery have removed all traces of cancer from Sheena - but we still have to make sure it doesn't come back. So radiotherapy and herceptin injections still ahead. It will take us up to the anniversary of when she was first diagnosed.
As we sat in the office with the consultant radiologist, we heard the bell ring and a round of applause. Someone in the clinic had finished their treatment and were celebrating. We are a way from this still, but the anticipation of ringing that bell, and the feeling you get when you hear it, is wonderful.
Sheena's hair is starting to grow back, and she is slowly beginning to feel more herself again. We know it will knock her back again when radiotherapy starts and the tiredness and other potential side effects kick in, but for now we are enjoying that precious moment knowing that the treatment so far has worked, and worked well.
Our admiration and respect for the NHS staff is unbounded - our determination to see this through to the end and celebrate in style is unlimited.
It seems like cancer has been the subject of all my blogs recently, but it does kind of impinge on all areas of your life. More blogs, with different subjects, will follow. But in the meantime I am going to ask you all once again:
Have those scans/tests that you need
Check yourself regularly
Don't ignore any symptoms that you don't understand
Where I live, I love. Life in the woods.
My amazing grandson. Of course, he's the most perfect child in the world.
My amazing daughter and her wedding. It will be beautiful and perfect.
Our amazing holidays - oh soon please!
Every third
Wednesday we go out for the day. We drink tea, eat biscuits, have lunch, play board games and often laugh quite a bit.We meet some lovely people and chat about all
sorts of things.
A pleasant outdoor area at the hospital
And during
all of this, Sheena is having her chemotherapy.The side-effects vary, and sometimes the treatments for the side-effects
have side-effects, but as you can imagine it is not a pleasant process.
But we make
the best of it. I’m not having chemo – this poison is not being pumped into my
blood – but we share the experience to an extent. I always go with her. Some folks turn up and sit for the day on
their own, no one to accompany them during their treatment.We often share our stash of sweets, I offer to
make tea, or just chat. Some folks just sleep, some leave with huge
smiles, knowing it is their last day of treatment. Some wander past as they are shown round
and are fearful of the unknown. We were like that just a few months ago. And then
it becomes normal.
Attitude is
key. I cannot express enough how Sheena’s positive attitude makes the
day - and the treatment - bearable. For her it is the start of feeling really bad for two weeks and
feeling fine again just in time for the next treatment and a repeat of the
whole cycle again. For me it is seeing what effects the chemo has on her, and
how it changes our lives – for now. Even at her lowest, she can see through to the future and to when this is all over.
The good
news is that there are just two more left – one next week and then one in
April. After that there are other treatment regimes to come but reaching the
end of chemotherapy is a most welcome destination that is now almost in
sight.
The staff
at the hospital are amazing. Their positivity and kindness – the nurses and the
support staff – goes a long way.
At the
start of her treatment Sheena posted on social media about her condition and
what lay ahead. She also encouraged friends to do those self-examinations that
so often can lead to a diagnosis that enables life-saving treatment. To my
knowledge, at least three people ended up needing to be referred due to something
that they found. Her willingness to share and be open about her cancer has
probably saved more lives.Cancer
Research UK say one in two of us will experience cancer, so please give
yourself the best chance you can. Do the self-exams, go to your screening
appointments, and if you have any worrying symptoms go see your doctor.
So jump to now – see me strong, confident, knowing it's OK to not be OK, knowing that I may have failed sometimes but I am not a failure. You see the voice in your head is just a script, handed down page by page throughout your life. It can't be unwritten or even edited, but it can be recognised for what it is – not the enemy, not something to be cured or fixed or forgotten, but understood and put in context. No matter what the script says, it is just a voice – a thought. It is not your true identity, just a role you play. You are not the sum of the things that have happened to you or what people say about you. That's your 'script', it is not your true identity.
