Holiday sketches

We’ve returned from a relaxing holiday at the beach.

Just what we needed after yet another stressful year.

Rockpools.
Rockpools.
20180806_205941
Holiday house.

Every year, I draw a sketch of our holiday house. This one looked out over the sea and had a giant hot-tub.

My favourite thing was playing in rockpools at low tide.

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Happy 3rd cancerversary to me.

Happy cancerversary to me!
It’s three years exactly since I had my official diagnosis. I had the tests the previous week, and had been told that they could see it was cancer. But 15 April was the official, biopsy-confirmed diagnosis of stage 3 breast cancer, with spread to the lymph nodes.
Maybe I shouldn’t mark this day: after all, it wasn’t a happy occasion. Perhaps my last chemo, in August, would be more appropriate. Or my surgery date, of 13 October, when the cancer was properly cut out. Or my last day of radiotherapy, in early February. That’s the thing with cancer: it gives you many important milestones. But, I’ll stick with this date I think. After all, it is a birthday of sorts. A day when I waved goodbye to the normal healthy young woman that I was, and started my new life as a cancer patient, then survivor.
So how do I feel this year? Last year, on my 2nd cancerversary, I was elated. I had recently stopped my life-destroying (how ironic, as they are actually intended to stretch out my lifespan just a little longer, but to the unacceptable cost of all joy or peace for me and my family) drugs, and was happy feeling a lot like the old Alex.
This year, I honestly don’t know how I feel. How am I meant to feel? Life as a cancer survivor is one without a map.
Sometimes I am hugely relieved just to be alive and every extra day is a blessing. Other times it feels like I cheated death, and it’s just waiting for me in the wings; until I am really comfortable. Then I forget all about cancer and feel like a normal healthy person. Occasionally I feel boring and tired. Sometimes I feel I have been given a second chance: an eye-opening brush with my own mortality that seems like more a blessing than a curse. Then I think of how much my kids have grown up in the last three years: will I still be around for the next three? I am reminded of how God has blessed me with such a wonderful life, and how I shouldn’t waste it. Then I worry that I won’t be around to see my children finish school, get a job, get married, have their own children. Sometimes I believe that I will live to 90, just to prove a point. Other times I am grateful that I can help people newly diagnosed. Then I will feel that I’m not doing enough for those in the cancer community. And I also think about how unfair life is: not for me, but for the people without a voice; like the innocents being bombed in Syria, and the people struggling to survive in Burundi. And I think that I should shut up about cancer, after all, I am well and what’s the point of moaning? Then I can’t be bothered to think, and just want to watch telly, draw a doodle or read a book. So yeah, that’s a typical day!
I haven’t celebrated this day as such, but my daughter and I did bake cupcakes, which are surprisingly good.  And what is the point of surviving cancer if you can’t enjoy a home-made cupcake now and then?

Paddington Bear has an adventure in London.

Paddington Bear at Monument Tube 12042018
Hello, I am Paddington Bear. Today, some humans called Mike and Alex bought me from a shop in London, and took me on an adventure. I have always lived up on a shelf in the shop, so had never seen London properly before. Just a lot of tourists’ heads.
Mike and P Bear on tube 12042018
We went on the tube, which is an underground train network! Even though we were underground, I didn’t see any earthworms or mud. I sat on Mike’s shoulder for a good view.
London Eye 11042018
We went on a boat ride on the Thames. It was so cool: we saw lots of things, like this big wheel. I think that people who have been very naughty are made to go on it, as punishment.
20180412_113315_Richtone(HDR)
My owners took me up a ridiculously tall building, called the Shard. I was too scared to get out of Alex’s backpack. Bears are Not made to be this high up! Afterwards, I needed a cuddle and some marmalade sandwiches to recover.
Paddington Bear on bench 12042018
I got tired from all the adventuring and needed a sit-down, and look what we found! A bench with my name on it. What are the chances?
Paddington Bear at Paddington Underground station
There is a tube station named after me! How cool is that? 
20180412_134554_Richtone(HDR)
Then we went to a very noisy and busy train station. I like London, but there are just too many people. I found this extremely old bear, who told me all about Peru, which is where us Paddingtons all came from many years ago. He is very popular: I saw lots of people getting their photo with him.

 

Paddington Bear shop London 12042018
We found an awesome shop, full of bears just like me! I made lots of friends. They are all hoping for families to take them home. Living in a shop can be quite boring. Except for the parties after closing-time, of course.
Paddington Bear on train to Swindon 12042018
Mike, Alex and I got on a train, heading for Swindon, which is where cool people live, so I hear. I read a book.
Me and PBear on train from London to Swindon 1204
Alex let me sit on her shoulder for a while. Trains are interesting. There was a man on his phone though, talking about business for the whole journey. I felt very sleepy and had a quick nap. When I woke up, we were in Swindon.
B cuddling PBear from behind
Mike and Alex took me to their home. I have a new owner called Bethany, who loves me very much. She makes me marmalade sandwiches every day. ☺

January again

January. Such a weird time of year. Many of us have eaten, drunk and spent too much over Christmas, and are now expected to come up with an unrealistically long list of things that we are going to achieve in the coming year. We are supposed to be healthy, have big goals and look forward with unbridled joy to the the amazing new year. Sod that. I have always thought that new year is such a disappointment.

Cancer hasn’t helped with that. For the last few Januaries, I have not wanted to look back over the past year, nor look ahead too far either. That’s the thing with cancer, it tries to steal your future, even if you have been given the ‘No evidence of disease’ good news.

I went to a NYE party at a friend’s house this year. It was just what I needed- a chance to be sociable, be silly and absolutely no pressure to look cool for social media (in fact, I’m pretty sure I was the opposite), to or get raving drunk to ‘prove’ how much fun I was having.

I realised that it’s been several years since I haven’t either dreaded or ignored the new year celebrations. For the last few years, that was thanks to cancer and its long list of treatments, side-effects (such as social isolation) and associated illnessses; and before that thanks to pregnancy or having a baby and not a lot of sleep.

So how do I feel about the start of another year?

Well, it’s hard to be too positive, as 2017 was supposed to be my going-back-to-normal year, when in fact it was a succession of illnesses and other unfortunate events. There were a few of highlights, such as having all of my family together; two cute arrivals; and Christmas, which I really enjoyed (and actually felt well on the day! 😁)

But, generally, I am feeling cautiously optimistic. I have a few Very Good Events to look forward to in 2018. Having a life-threatening disease is great at helping you to value every celebration; every birth and wedding and new start, because there were never any guarantees that you would be around to see them.

And when you have been told by the doctor that you are unlikely to be around for too many more… but I am able to live in the moment and not worry about the future, now that I can’t take having a long life for granted; in a way that nobody who has never been confronted with their imminent mortality just cannot understand. It’s a blessing in disguise, because it helps you to chuck out the junk of life, while holding onto the precious, much more easily.

I know that whatever happens this year, I will be glad that I am here to experience it, even the bad stuff.

If there was one thing that I could wish you, it would be that you could see how amazing this gift of life is: never perfect, often surprising, and far too short to waste worrying about all the junk, like how cool you look on social media. 😎

 

But for now, just sleep.

Slowly, I open the door.

Quietly, I walk in.

Flat out on your back

And arms spread wide like a hug,

You sleep.

 

Gently, your breath,

In and out,

In and out,

Fills my heart.

 

Too soon, the day will start.

Rushing around,

Getting ready for school,

Hurrying out the house.

But for now, just sleep.

 

Golden hair cascades in waves

Over the pillow.

Eyelids flicker ceaselessly.

Of what do you dream?

 

You do not know that I am here.

You do not know how grateful I am

To be so.

Soon the day will begin.

But for now, my beautiful girl,

Just sleep.

 

Softly you breathe,

In and out,

In and out.

And every breath sounds like

Hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Two years later…

I realised this morning that it’s two years since my double mastectomy.

Thinking about how much has happened in those crazy couple of years, it actually seems much longer. I would love to say that as soon as active treatment was finished, that my family and I went straight back to pre-cancer ‘normal’ life… but that would be a lie. The truth is that nothing is ever quite the same again.

Your illness bubble suddenly bursts (and lots of people  stop praying for you: it’s almost a tangible difference), everyone says how well you look, and you are expected to pick up exactly from where you left off, with nothing more than some scars and shorter hair to mark the ‘journey’.

The reality is so much more complicated and difficult to explain to anyone who hasn’t gone through it.

Perhaps some stats will shed a little light:

“At least 500,000 people in the UK are facing poor health or disability after treatment for cancer –

At least 350,000 people living with and beyond cancer are experiencing chronic fatigue.

Around 240,000 are living with mental health problems, which can include moderate to severe anxiety or depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).”

This is a small part of a long list, provided by Macmillan cancer support.

Many relationships break down soon after a cancer diagnosis as well, especially when the patient is a younger woman. And with the hormone treatments that I was on for a while, they are so soul-destroying that the fact that any marriage survives them is a miracle.

Cancer’s slimy fingers reach into every aspect of your life: your health, your mental health, your relationships, your parenting, your career, your finances, your vision of the future, your life expectancy.

I want to say that I am actually very optimistic about the future, and I am not afraid of cancer or even of possibly dying young  (although would rather not); but it’s no use pretending that I am the person that I was before. And Mike and the kids have been through the mill too: their lives have been massively affected and changed too.

The best advice that I could give to anyone who is close to someone with a life-changing illness (or their partner or child) is to be kind, listen and don’t fob them off with “Oh, but you look so well.”

 Anyway, I was meant to be talking about my double mastectomy… it’s only boobs, if you have to have one, you’ll get over it, and I would much rather be alive in an imperfect body than be a gorgeous dead person. 😊 

I’m still fabulous, I’m still here, and I’m going to live the best life that I can. 

#breastcancerreality

 

Farewell Nabeel

An amazing man died this weekend. He had stage 4 (incurable) stomach cancer, and the doctors had put him on palliative care. It wasn’t a big surprise that he died, but it is incredibly sad.

http://www.nabeelqureshi.com/about/

Nabeel Qureshi was born into a devout Muslim family in the US. A Christian friend who he met at university strongly encouraged him to disprove Christianity. Nabeel was desperate to do so: he was full of faith in Allah. Of course he could not prove that Jesus is not the son of God, no matter how hard he tried. He was born again, after finally realising the truth.

He has degrees in medicine, Christian apologetics and religion. He was studying for a doctorate at Oxford University when diagnosed with cancer.

It is painfully unfair that someone so young (34), intelligent and full of faith in God, died. He could have achieved so much more if had lived longer. His daughter would have had a father; his wife a husband.

So many people around the world were praying for a miracle, that he would be healed. It is easy for us as Christians to get angry at God for allowing Nabeel to die. How dare he?

The problem is that we just can’t understand it. Why would God allow this young man to die? Unfortunately, we will only get the answer to this and many other questions, when we too die. Then, as believers, we will be able to ask God face-to-face. I have no doubt that our all-knowing creator had perfectly good reasons for this, and other suffering, to happen… it’s very hard for us to get our heads round it though, right? It just seems so unfair.

We don’t see the full picture, we can’t understand, and sometimes that sucks. We like to believe that we have all the control in our lives: choosing our friends, our jobs, who we marry, how many kids we have and when, where we live, etc. And of course we do have a lot of decisons to make, and responsibilities.

But we never get to choose when or where we are born, who our parents are, and when we die. We like to think of ourselves as masters of our destiny, but ultimately, when it comes to life and death, this is an illusion.

The fact is that every day that we live is a gift from our maker, God. We may rage at his unfairness is taking away young lives, but in reality, we were never promised long, healthy, wealthy lives, without a moment’s pain. Quite the opposite in many cases actually, especially for Christians.

My heart breaks for Nabeel’s family and friends, but thank God for his life. Thank God for our lives, no matter how short or painful they may be. Thank God that he sent his son to die as a sacrifice for us, so that when we die we can live forever with him. Thank God for his love, for hope and for every day that he gives us on Earth.

It’s not all about how long you live, or how many countries you visit, or how many children you have.

Much more important is knowing in your heart, on the last day that you live, where you are going. That you are going to meet your Heavenly Father: the one who loved you even before you were born, the one who send his son to die in your place.

I know that Nabeel had this faith, and that he is happy now in Heaven, probably asking Jesus some of those difficult questions. 

Seeking Allah Finding Jesus