It’s great to have Linda Hewett start ‘The Positive Spin’ column in The Life Skills Magazine. She’s a fantastic lady and has got a lot to share with us on the blog and magazine with a view to inspire and motivate us .

She is a writer, blogger and confidence coach and blogs at Positive Spin – Live life on the upside!

In her blog, she looks for the ‘positive spin’ in our daily lives and encourages us to look for the ’small stuff’ that’s easy to miss, or even dismiss. She also believes that confidence comes in many disguises. All you have to do is…look

It’s a rare privilege to have her share her cancer journals with us and I hope someone would find some form of encouragement through the whole series.

My Year In The Company of Breast Cancer (Part 6 I’m still ‘me’ and I’m blooming)

Saturday 7^th October

Can’t remember much about last evening. I know Mike was there with a gorgeous bouquet of pale pink roses, despite me telling him not to.

I’m allowed to get up as soon as I feel ready this morning and I’m amazed at how easily I walk to the bathroom.  I risk a glance in the mirror and to my surprise I look exactly the same as I do most mornings – a bit half-baked – but with a quick flick of blusher and some lipstick I turn back into me.

Back in bed I think back over all that’s happened and write down a few tips that might help ‘first time’ patients before they come into hospital:

1.    It’s not frightening.

2.  Don’t bring enough clothes for a three week cruise and leave your diamonds in the safe – in my case, inside the grandfather clock.

3.  Talking of cruises, I’m glad I have a light, pretty dressing gown. It makes me feel feminine. It’s autumn outside but it’s tropical in here.

4.  The bathroom. Well, what can I say? Luxurious is not the word that springs to mind. Functional is more accurate. Apart from the ancient fittings, I find the bathroom is also used to store enormous cardboard boxes of mysterious medical supplies, quantities of plastic aprons and curious receptacles.

5.  Aromatherapy don’t come as standard and there are no pretty bottles of bath oil, you bring your own.

About visitors…

One important decision I made before coming in was that I only wanted Mike to visit. This may sound strange but I have always found it odd that when you don’t feel like talking and just want to finish that book or even doze, hoards of people descend, sit on your bed and expect yu to be sociable. Having said that, I did agree to let Catherine come as she particularly asked to, and I felt it would help her to see that I still looked like me.

Back to today. I enjoy my afternoon doze until Mike arrives, bringing hugs and a large bag of cards and gifts from neighbours and friends. Supper is wheeled in and he stays while I eat. I don’t know where all the tales of ‘school dinner’ type hospital food come from but I’m enjoying every mouthful. There’s loads of choice and it’s temptingly served. Not one whiff of overcooked cabbage! I can even choose a healthy low fat meal if I feel virtuous.

No, dear reader, I do not…

Sunday 8^th October

I wake at 6am to another Indian Summer Day.

I write my early morning observations in this poem:

HOSPITAL AWAKENING

Six-thirty.

Dim lights.

Shadows soften,

cups clatter,

whispers become

tired voices.

Night shift ends,

‘See you later…’

Someone shuffles

to the bathroom,

computers light

the nurses’ station.

Trolley traipses,

‘Cup of tea?’

‘Coffee please,

one sugar.’

Across the ward

Joan slumbers.

Her monitor winks

green and red.

I sip my coffee,

voices fade…

‘Bye, flower,

See you,

See you…’

Breakfast arrives. I think about the exercises we were shown yesterday, to help us regain full mobility in the affected arm. I’m not known for my love of exercise so I’m not too optimistic.

Cathy and I drag ourselves out of bed after breakfast to have a ‘go’. We find a corner of the ward where we won’t be observed as we practise ‘walking our fingers up the wall’, as high as we can. We’re supposed to lift our arms straight above our heads. Hmmm…They’re having a laugh…

There is a whole series of tortures to try but hysterical laughter forces us to admit defeat.

‘We’ll do it again tomorrow!’ we fib, collapsing in giggles.

This is what I didn’t expect – to be able to laugh so much. I’d imagined that anyone with cancer would never laugh again. We’re all in this together and it helps more than I know. That tower of profiteroles grows stronger every day and I feel very safe here on the top.

We risk a walk outside in the autumn sun. The air smells soft. I notice a solitary daisy in the grass and find it hard not to cry. Why am I so overcome by the sight of a tiny daisy? I suppose it’s about vulnerability, determination to keep blooming against the odds.

Back on the ward I ring mum. She sounds relieved to hear my voice.

‘How are you?’ she asks.

‘Blooming!’ I say…

This is a guest post by Karen Cripps.

Karen Cripps writes at The Reinvention Tour about reinventing herself into something new and sparkly and amazing. After waving goodbye to a chronic illness, she has re-emerged with a new zest for life – but oh what to do with that zest?

The Power of Passion

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I like to think of myself as intelligent: I am well-educated, I have a thirst for knowledge and I am quick to learn. Or am I?

After several years of working on regaining my health (seven years ago I was diagnosed with CFS, but after a bumpy recovery road I am now knocking on the lovely wellness door), I seem to have finally grasped how important it is to have a sense of purpose.

I have read, listened to, watched and analysed – possibly over analysed! – many recovery stories. And for all the variety in people’s approaches, one of the common themes was purpose, almost as if the body – and mind – need a reason to get well. Or maybe, your body needs to know you are not taking it back to the lifestyle that got you in this mess in the first place.

I dabbled with searching for a purpose along the way. Initially, I was obsessed with getting back to my old life: my ‘big’ job in the commercial world, my career focused life.  If I had a glimpse of feeling well I would start planning my return. But the glimpses were short lived and my plans never came to fruition.

As time went on I moved away from wanting to return to my old life; the longer I was out of that environment, the less hold it seemed to have on me. Or maybe on some level I was actually starting to appreciate that I needed to fundamentally change my life to move forward.

I explored the idea of retraining in psychotherapy or psychology. I applied for an MSc and thought, yes, this is the new me. But as the course drew closer I was apprehensive that I wasn’t well enough (I already have a Masters so I was fully aware of how much work is involved) and I wasn’t able to start the course.

After a few of these false starts I decided I would do it the other way round – I would get better first then decide what I want to do with my life. I packed up my career dreams and filed them at the back of my mind, confident I could pull them out when I needed to.

Somewhere in this time I started blogging – it was an experiment really, a bit of fun. I had a feeling I would like to write but it wasn’t based on much: I had written a few pieces for a local CFS support group newsletter and realised how much I enjoyed it (told you it wasn’t based on much!)

The blog became my writing apprenticeship – a public way of seeing whether I could write; seeing if people liked what I had to say; seeing if I could come up with regular material. Almost overnight, writing became my passion and 18 months on it still is. (I am actually writing this post whilst on holiday, because that’s what I feel like doing.)

‘If you could do anything’ Kelly gently probed in a recent coaching session, ‘what would it be?’

‘I want to write’ I said cautiously.

Self limiting thoughts flooded my mind. Am I good enough? Why should I get to do something I love? Will I ever be able to make any money out of writing?

‘I have become scared to dream‘ I said, feeling sad as I realised I had learnt to accept the limitations of my situation.

‘Don’t worry about having all the hows at this point’ said Kelly, as if reading my mind. ‘But I think this is the final piece of your recovery jigsaw Karen.’

I spent the next week or so mulling over our session. Whichever way I dissected it, I ended up at the same place: Kelly was right, I had become stuck.

But not anymore, I am ready, ready to dream again, ready to let go of the old me.

You see, if I am perfectly honest, I always felt I hadn’t found my niche in my career. And I am also sure my fast paced life style was part of the reason I became unwell in the first place. So is it in any way surprising that all the time I associated wellness with that life, I couldn’t get there? I think my subconscious was in some way protecting me from myself. (And maybe this was the same story with the MSc, maybe it just wasn’t a good fit.)

This coaching session was a few months ago and since then I have been working on what type of writer I will be and how I am going to make it happen.

I am continuing to get stronger and achieve the consistency in my health I have ached for over the last seven years.  As I learn to trust my body again, my body is learning to trust me again: trust that I will make decisions that are good for my health. My old life was not good for me – my new one is. Simple!

So it may have taken me seven years but I am getting there. I have stripped away the ’shoulds’; I have stopped comparing my life to others; I have stopped holding on to my old life. I have a new life which is full of hope and possibility; a life that feels like it suits me like my gorgeous red dress, not like my unflattering jeans I squeeze myself into; a life I want to live, not one that makes me feel overwhelmed. (Don’t laugh, but I’m actually feeling tearful writing this – finding your passion is emotional!)

My name is Karen and I am a writer. There, I said it.

It’s great to have Linda Hewett start ‘The Positive Spin’ column in The Life Skills Magazine. She’s a fantastic lady and has got a lot to share with us on the blog and magazine with a view to inspire and motivate us .

She is a writer, blogger and confidence coach and blogs at Positive Spin – Live life on the upside!

In her blog, she looks for the ‘positive spin’ in our daily lives and encourages us to look for the ’small stuff’ that’s easy to miss, or even dismiss. She also believes that confidence comes in many disguises. All you have to do is…look

It’s a rare privilege to have her share her cancer journals with us and I hope someone would find some form of encouragement through the whole series.

My Year In The Company of Breast Cancer (Part 4 In Hospital)

Wednesday 4^th October

It’s the night before I go into hospital. I can’t believe how normal I feel!

My son tries to explain how hard it is for the onlookers. He says it’s a good idea to let them do whatever they feel they want to do, to help. I must admit I didn’t want them to fuss, but now I can see that fussing is exactly what I must let them do.

I know I’ll be well looked after. Strange, I don’t feel afraid, just apprehensive but strongly supported. I am worried about the chemo. What if it makes me sick? What if I lose my hair? Then I remember that I don’t do ‘what ifs’.

I say a prayer, sitting on my favourite ‘talking to God spot’ on the stairs and a thank you to all the hospital team.

I tell myself I can do this.

My mother phones. ‘I love you and love you and love you,’ she says. Tears trail down my cheeks. She never tells me she loves me. We don’t do that. I stand with the phone in my hand for several minutes after she’s rung off, picturing her alone in the house with her thoughts and fears.

Gently I replace the receiver.

Thursday 5^th October

Slept well again. I ring to find out what time my bed will be ready and find I have an extra hour to fill. I find distracting activities; I water the herbs, tidy the bedroom, sort my wardrobe, dust the cat… well, I would have eventually.

We drive the few miles to the hospital and Mike insists on carrying my case.

‘I’m not ill!’ I protest. ‘I can manage!’

The nurses’ station is busy. While we wait I notice another anxious looking couple with the ubiquitous suitcase. I watch as she’s shown to her bed and her husband hovers while she unpacks. I’m pleased when I find my bed is next to hers. We tell our husbands that they don’t need to hang around but we’ll see them in the evening.

I’m told I can remain dressed and a white identity tag is put round my wrist, like a plant at the garden centre.

A selection of doctors, and anaesthetist and various nurses ask questions, explain things and make notes.

The surgeon says the deed will be done about 2.30 tomorrow. I ask if he can give me a ‘gin and tonic’ prescription. He smiles and says he’ll see what he can do.

I introduce myself to my neighbours. After a few minutes were practically on one another’s Christmas card list and I learn that Cathy is having the same operation as I am. It feels as if we’ve known one another for ages.

Margaret and her husband have organised an Auction of Promise and raised £8,000 for the hospital. I feel humbled and wonder what I can do.

I scribble in my Journal. They’re intrigued.

Friday 6^th October

Here we go…

Can’t believe I slept to well again. The bed is so comfortable. I had expected to lie awake all night, counting nurses. Mind you, it was a bit different from home, with phones ringing, nurses chatting in low voices, plastic aprons rustling and rubber soled shoes scuffling.

Cathy and I are given our early breakfast and then nothing more until afterwards. I take my first ‘gin and tonic’ pill (diazepam) with my coffee and try not to keep glancing at the clock. Eight hours or so to wait. What on earth are we going to do to pass the time?

We find a couple of armchairs at the end of the ward and settle down to chat. Two of our new best friends come to join us and very soon we’re giggling, laughing and exchanging experiences and the morning seems to fly by.

We look on enviously as the others enjoy their lunch. We order a light meal for tonight but know we might not be awake enough to eat it.

My tummy rumbles with hunger and nerves.

Just for a moment, one shaky moment, I think I’m going to lose it.

‘I don’t think I can do this!’ I say in a voice I don’t recognise.

Theresa from across the ward knows just what to say.

‘Can’t do this? Of course you can. If we can, you can!’

‘If we can, you can,’ I repeat in my head, trying hard to believe it…

Mike arrives and promises he’ll be there when I wake up. I have to take off my wedding ring and he puts it in his pocket to keep it safe. The porters arrive and I’m whisked away…

It’s great to have Linda Hewett start ‘The Positive Spin’ column in The Life Skills Magazine. She’s a fantastic lady and has got a lot to share with us on the blog and magazine with a view to inspire and motivate us .

She is a writer, blogger and confidence coach and blogs at Positive Spin – Live life on the upside!

In her blog, she looks for the ‘positive spin’ in our daily lives and encourages us to look for the ’small stuff’ that’s easy to miss, or even dismiss. She also believes that confidence comes in many disguises. All you have to do is…look

It’s a rare privilege to have her share her cancer journals with us and I hope someone would find some form of encouragement through the whole series.

My Year In The Company of Breast Cancer (Part 3   Diagnosis and ‘profiteroles’.)

Wednesday September 27^th

It’s the day before I find out… whether it’s cancerous or pre-cancerous. Pretty mind-boggling. I take half a diazepam that my understanding GP has prescribed for especially anxious days. I know I’m going to face this fear but that doesn’t mean I won’t feel anxious.

Out in my cottage garden I deadhead some pansies and feel the early autumn breeze in my hair. I refuse to allow my mind to dwell on how I’d look without any. I remember that I don’t do ‘what ifs’. Instead I think about the cards friends have sent, telling me they’re thinking about me, showing they care, asking how they can help.

Whatever they tell me tomorrow, I will deal with it in a cheerful, co-operative, positive way. How many women are waiting, just like me? I can do this. I can and I will.

Thursday 28^th September

We wait. I flick the pages of the well-thumbed, out of date magazine, pretending, like everyone else in this waiting room. I scribble down my observations, noticing everything.

The vast waiting area is crowded. Smart clothes, carefully made up faces and slick suits disguise the thoughts that scramble through our minds.

All age groups are here. Eyes flick to watches, stomachs churn, all of us wanting – yet not wanting –to be next.

My name is called. We enter a crowded room. Several nurses stand quietly round the edge.

There are two seats waiting for us, in front of the consultant’s desk. A lady this time. And she’s not smiling.

‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’

I knew really. Seeing all these nurses with their sympathetic smiles, I knew.

I’m introduced to Geraldine, my assigned breast care nurse, who seems surprised at my calmness. I tell her I don’t feel so shocked as when I found the lump. I had two weeks in Tuscany to get used to the idea.

The consultant asks when I’d like to come in for a lumpectomy. They’ll remove the lump and some lymph nodes to see if the cancer has crept into any other part of me.

I say I’d like to come in as soon as possible, please, and we make a date for the following week. I write it in my diary. Like a dinner date.

A clear picture floats into my mind of a dinner party I once went to. For pudding we had a pyramid of my favourite profiteroles covered in chocolate. I realise why I don’t feel too afraid.

I’m the profiterole that sits on the top of the pyramid, supported by the strength of the others. Wobbling perhaps but not toppling.

We walk to the car.

‘I don’t want to go straight home’, I say. ‘I want to go somewhere special. I want to be among happy people.’

We drive to our favourite pub in glorious sunshine, through the ancient streets behind the cathedral.

I order the smoked salmon platter and smile. It’s not so scary finding you have cancer when you’re a ‘profiterole’…

I arrive home to find that my ‘cookaholic’ friend has left a tempting casserole and a bunch of blue irises on the doorstep.

Friday 29^th September

I wake after sleeping well. I lie cocooned in the warmth of our bed as more ‘what ifs’ assault my mind. They said they’d test my lymph nodes. What if… No. I refuse.

After a surprising trip to the new shopping mall (my husband usually hates it), where he buys me some perfume, I phone my grown up children to tell them the news. Catherine is tearful and I try to tell her not to worry but I know it’s almost impossible.

Christopher finds it hard to take in too. I wish they were here so I could hug them and show them I’m fine. It must be a shock.  I was warned at the hospital that I’d have more of a problem dealing with other people and their reactions than I would with me. I’m beginning to see what they mean…….

I look forward to sharing more of my ‘Positive Spin’ with you.

Linda Hewett

This is a guest post by Frank Jennings.

Frank Jennings is the founder of A Spark Starts where he writes stories of inspiration to help you reach your greatest potential. All it takes is one spark to start a fire that will change you life.

The Lighthouse

LOST AT SEA

Being battered by ferocious waves and turbulent seas the sailors are slowly starting to give up hope as the sun disappears and the moonlight fails to appear through the storm clouds. All they can see is dark waters and hear the sounds of the waves violently hitting the hull of the ship. The swaying of the boat, being rocked forcefully from side to side, is what lets them know they are still in motion. With no sense of direction, because of a broken compass, and no visibility to guide them, the feeling of extreme helplessness consumes each person aboard the wayward vessel.

FEAR

From this point on every move is calculated carefully to not increase the chances of losing control of the ship. There are several sailors on watch in the towers to look out for jagged rocks or rouge waves. Precious cargo, above and below the deck, has to be fastened and secured to make sure nothing is lost. All hands are on deck to provide any necessary assistance. This is a matter of life and death.

It is so dark that visibility is limited only to a few inches in front of them. Every moment that passes creates a onslaught of mixed emotions, as the sailors reflect on their families whom they may never see again, dreams  they may never get a chance to fulfill, and the thought of life going on without them. Then to make matters worse lightning consumes the sky and the sound of thunder brings forth a powerful cacophony of noise so overbearing that they can’t make out the orders being given to them over the loud speaker. It seems at this point all is lost.

HOPE

Then in the far away distance there is a small beacon of hope, shinning and breaking through the dark night sky. This tiny beacon is a distinguishing sign that land is near which provides a sense of direction and to the sailors an unlimited amount of faith. Now the impossible seems possible. That tiny light shinning in the darkness is changing the hearts of those who were hopeless to hearts that are hopeful. Who knew one little light could be so powerful?

What in the world does this story have to do with you?

I don’t know about you but I have been through some rough situations in my life. I have been consumed by darkness so severe that I was afraid to take a step forward in fear that I would lose my life. I have been battered by the waves of poor decisions that knocked me from one bad situation to another. I have been drowned by financial burdens and blinded by the glitz and glamor life has to offer. I have been lost.

Now I have found my way and here are some great tips for you to help you find yours if you are in need.

When life has you down, look for the light.

When the money isn’t right, look for the light. 

When the kids are going crazy, look for the light.

When the boss has you stressed, look for the light.

When it seems impossible, look for the light.

When they can’t find a cure, look for the light.

When you can’t find a reason to smile, look for the light.

When anything happens that you can’t control, look for the light.

You see in our lives when things get rough we constantly seek for the big, obvious miracle to take place and change our situation. All we really need is just a small beacon of light to change our outlook and give us a fresh perspective. Light can be life changing. You want to know what is even more powerful than seeing the light.

Be the light in someone’s life.

The lighthouse has more power than you will ever know if you don’t take the time to find it for yourself. What small circumstances has changed your outlook on life?

pic from DH613 on flickr