Showing posts with label fundraising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fundraising. Show all posts
Monday, 19 November 2012
Adventures with breast cancer: Onward and upwards
Adventures with breast cancer: Onward and upwards: It's Monday morning, the start of what I hope will be a really good week. This time last week I thought I was at death's door with the chemo...
Onward and upwards
It's Monday morning, the start of what I hope will be a really good week. This time last week I thought I was at death's door with the chemo side effects, life was not up to much at all. Then, from about Wednesday onwards, the side effects largely melted away, and somehow left me with more energy and wellness than I've had for months. Maybe it's the extreme contrasts between the good days and the bad days, but on the good days lately, everything just seems to be bursting with colour, music, happiness and life.
Last week, I did the first of many Laughter sessions at Mencap, and it was a really good one. No one had been before, but the group really gelled well together and within seconds everyone was laughing like crazy. Laughing for a whole hour is fairly exhausting, but in a very energising way, and the health benefits are really worth having. It's excellent cardio-vascular exercise, the deep breathing that laughter causes really does get the oxygen in and circulating well in the body, the eye-contact and human connection that all the laughter exercises encourage has a very positive effect on self-esteem and confidence, and the whole thing has a tangible "feel-good" factor.
I'm having another session at my house tomorrow evening, and then hosting a session for the Mencap staff on Thursday morning, so at least this one should be a very happy week. Then next week, if chemo side effects allow it, I'm back in training to take my laughter skills up to the next level, which will enable me to offer one-to-one laughter sessions in a much more theraputic way. This will open up all sorts of opportunities to work with people who are housebound, and it lends itself very nicely to Skype, so I can be housebound too! The new training will also enable me to offer 8-week work based courses too, for team building and productivity purposes, but I think that will have to wait until I've completely kicked this cancer into submission.
It's a bit risky signing up for a course in the middle of chemo, but I'm keeping all my fingers and toes crossed. Next week, because I'm starting Herceptin on Monday, chemo won't happen til Tuesday. The course is in St Albans on Thursday. Normally side effects kick in on day 3, so I'm hoping I'll get away with it, but we'll just have to see.
The other highlight of this week was drama, where we began in earnest to adapt this blog for the stage. It was both hilarious, and quite surreal to see other people playing my dad and WM, and hearing from the rest of the group about what bits of the blog they feel are important. I had a bit of a surprise when I realised that, so far, I've already written 39,000 words, so unless we keep the audience in their seats for several weeks at a time, we'll have to take far more out than we leave in.
All this means that I'm having to revisit the blog and reread it all taking copious notes. It's quite strange going back over the past few months, and trying to analyse what it might mean to other people, and how best to portray it. What has struck me is that is seems to be a series of conflicts being fought out in my very being and messing with my head, like what I need to eat versus what I want to eat, what I want to do versus what I need to do, turning up for painful treatment after painful treatment versus running away to Barbados, and most of all, the onward march of the cancer cells versus all the medical weaponary and my own immune system trying to capture them and stop them in their tracks. Whenever I think of those cancer cells on the march I somehow end up singing the Dad's Army theme tune in my head, with an image of the German flag crossing the channel.
It's also making me realise that whether I like it or not, this cancer stuff is subtley changing me too. I can't quite put things into words yet, but I suppose something this big and intrusive in my life is bound to make me look at the world differently. That in itself can be quite isolating, because I'm tuned in differently at the moment to life and seeing things from a slightly different angle, whereas everyone else in my world is just getting on with their lives in a way that I'm unable to in quite the same way for the moment.
I've also had enough energy to tackle a big supermarket shop, and even to half clean the kitchen. Mind you it took ages, I kept having to sit down to get my breath back, and I finally flopped halfway through, but it's a step in the right direction.
The major issues with two of the children are still as pressing and as worrying as ever, which inevitably is taking a lot of time and energy too, but they are both far more important than a clean kitchen, so they are rightfully taking priority over everything else, and it's painfully apparent that I'm not able to drive both situations in the direction that's needed as quickly as I need to.
The other thoughts that are beginning to filter in concern my hideously disfigured body. The 12-inch shark-bite style scar that slashes across the place I used to have a second boob is something I can only deal with by tuning out completely. Then I have to take on board the bald head coupled with the missing eyebrows and eyelashes - altogether not the greatest look ever. The last lot will grow back, but do I want to go through the whole big issue of a breast reconstruction once all the treatment has finished? I really can't get my head around that one. At some point next year I'll probably lose my other boob too, that is part of the plan, but do I want to put myself through yet more major operations, with all their potential side effects, just so I get a cleavage to flaunt to the world again? The bit of the operation I'm quite keen on is the tummy-tuck - they would have to dig out masses of tissue from my very ample tummy to make new boobies, so I'd have a nice flat wash-board belly, but I doubt if Mr Lovely would agree to just that bit and then foregoing the sticking the belly fat where the boob should be bit. I get to see Mr Lovely early next month and I think we'll need to sit down and talk about it all. Sitting down and talking to Mr Lovely will be lovely, and if I do decide to go ahead with new boobies, I'll get to do a lot of that in the next few months, I'm sure.
This week is also the week where I'll start to plan Christmas. I'm seriously considering delaying Christmas Day by 3 or 4 days if my kids will agree, so I can take advantage of the best chemo side-effect days. Don't tell them, but I might even get their presents much cheaper in the after-Christmas sales too!
So, there's a lot going on, things to think about, things to do, and even a few projects on the go, exactly how I like life to be, and letting the cancer know, once again, who is really in charge. Onwards and upwards, it's going to be a good week.
Last week, I did the first of many Laughter sessions at Mencap, and it was a really good one. No one had been before, but the group really gelled well together and within seconds everyone was laughing like crazy. Laughing for a whole hour is fairly exhausting, but in a very energising way, and the health benefits are really worth having. It's excellent cardio-vascular exercise, the deep breathing that laughter causes really does get the oxygen in and circulating well in the body, the eye-contact and human connection that all the laughter exercises encourage has a very positive effect on self-esteem and confidence, and the whole thing has a tangible "feel-good" factor.
I'm having another session at my house tomorrow evening, and then hosting a session for the Mencap staff on Thursday morning, so at least this one should be a very happy week. Then next week, if chemo side effects allow it, I'm back in training to take my laughter skills up to the next level, which will enable me to offer one-to-one laughter sessions in a much more theraputic way. This will open up all sorts of opportunities to work with people who are housebound, and it lends itself very nicely to Skype, so I can be housebound too! The new training will also enable me to offer 8-week work based courses too, for team building and productivity purposes, but I think that will have to wait until I've completely kicked this cancer into submission.
It's a bit risky signing up for a course in the middle of chemo, but I'm keeping all my fingers and toes crossed. Next week, because I'm starting Herceptin on Monday, chemo won't happen til Tuesday. The course is in St Albans on Thursday. Normally side effects kick in on day 3, so I'm hoping I'll get away with it, but we'll just have to see.
The other highlight of this week was drama, where we began in earnest to adapt this blog for the stage. It was both hilarious, and quite surreal to see other people playing my dad and WM, and hearing from the rest of the group about what bits of the blog they feel are important. I had a bit of a surprise when I realised that, so far, I've already written 39,000 words, so unless we keep the audience in their seats for several weeks at a time, we'll have to take far more out than we leave in.
All this means that I'm having to revisit the blog and reread it all taking copious notes. It's quite strange going back over the past few months, and trying to analyse what it might mean to other people, and how best to portray it. What has struck me is that is seems to be a series of conflicts being fought out in my very being and messing with my head, like what I need to eat versus what I want to eat, what I want to do versus what I need to do, turning up for painful treatment after painful treatment versus running away to Barbados, and most of all, the onward march of the cancer cells versus all the medical weaponary and my own immune system trying to capture them and stop them in their tracks. Whenever I think of those cancer cells on the march I somehow end up singing the Dad's Army theme tune in my head, with an image of the German flag crossing the channel.
It's also making me realise that whether I like it or not, this cancer stuff is subtley changing me too. I can't quite put things into words yet, but I suppose something this big and intrusive in my life is bound to make me look at the world differently. That in itself can be quite isolating, because I'm tuned in differently at the moment to life and seeing things from a slightly different angle, whereas everyone else in my world is just getting on with their lives in a way that I'm unable to in quite the same way for the moment.
I've also had enough energy to tackle a big supermarket shop, and even to half clean the kitchen. Mind you it took ages, I kept having to sit down to get my breath back, and I finally flopped halfway through, but it's a step in the right direction.
The major issues with two of the children are still as pressing and as worrying as ever, which inevitably is taking a lot of time and energy too, but they are both far more important than a clean kitchen, so they are rightfully taking priority over everything else, and it's painfully apparent that I'm not able to drive both situations in the direction that's needed as quickly as I need to.
The other thoughts that are beginning to filter in concern my hideously disfigured body. The 12-inch shark-bite style scar that slashes across the place I used to have a second boob is something I can only deal with by tuning out completely. Then I have to take on board the bald head coupled with the missing eyebrows and eyelashes - altogether not the greatest look ever. The last lot will grow back, but do I want to go through the whole big issue of a breast reconstruction once all the treatment has finished? I really can't get my head around that one. At some point next year I'll probably lose my other boob too, that is part of the plan, but do I want to put myself through yet more major operations, with all their potential side effects, just so I get a cleavage to flaunt to the world again? The bit of the operation I'm quite keen on is the tummy-tuck - they would have to dig out masses of tissue from my very ample tummy to make new boobies, so I'd have a nice flat wash-board belly, but I doubt if Mr Lovely would agree to just that bit and then foregoing the sticking the belly fat where the boob should be bit. I get to see Mr Lovely early next month and I think we'll need to sit down and talk about it all. Sitting down and talking to Mr Lovely will be lovely, and if I do decide to go ahead with new boobies, I'll get to do a lot of that in the next few months, I'm sure.
This week is also the week where I'll start to plan Christmas. I'm seriously considering delaying Christmas Day by 3 or 4 days if my kids will agree, so I can take advantage of the best chemo side-effect days. Don't tell them, but I might even get their presents much cheaper in the after-Christmas sales too!
So, there's a lot going on, things to think about, things to do, and even a few projects on the go, exactly how I like life to be, and letting the cancer know, once again, who is really in charge. Onwards and upwards, it's going to be a good week.
Thursday, 25 October 2012
Laughing, fundraising, scriptwriting and fog
The worst part of chemotherapy for me is the total, bone-deep exhaustion, that just makes everything seem like such hard work that I end up doing virtually nothing, then constantly beat myself up about it. It's like being overwhelmed by a blanket of thick fog, and to then try and reach out beyond the fog is like climbing Everest, backwards, in ballet shoes, but harder. Staring into the mid-distance is about all I'm good for at the moment, which is incredibly frustrating, when there are so many things just not getting done.
Never mind, I do have breast cancer, and that means people are generally ever so forgiving. Hopefully it won't always be like this, but all I want to do all day is crawl back into bed, but don't, mostly for two reasons. Firstly I just don't have the energy to make the go-back-to-bed decision, and secondly, when I do managed to get back under the duvet, all I do is worry about everything that isn't getting done.
I really shouldn't be moaning about the chemotherapy side efffects, because the side effects of not having chemotherapy are a great deal worse, with death being one of them. It's the cancer treatment, rather than the cancer itself that makes you feel like pants. If I have all this treatment and still end up popping my clogs, I have totally promised myself that I will come back and haunt whoever is was who invented chemotherapy. They won't be the only ones..... I can have a lot of fun compiling my "people I intend to haunt" list. Please let me know if there's anyone you'd like me to add to the list.
Last night I watched a TV programme which really made my list grow longer - all brand new, young junior doctors. They were all probably lovely, well meaning lads and lasses, with their hearts in the right places, but their arrogance and their ability to patronise were just staggeringly shocking. The documentary, following 8 doctors in their first week out of medical school did seem to focus on a particular sore-point of my own, putting canulas in and taking blood out, but their lack of understanding, patience and compassion was quite simply apppalling. Their priorities seemed to be more about making their mark and earning the respect of their new colleagues than really beginning to understand how their patients felt. There were moments when I wanted to shout at the telly, advocating for the poor patients being used as practice guinea pigs by these youngsters who really didn't know what they were doing yet. One poor old lady who was just at the end of her tether at being used like a pincushion, refused any more. She was later referred to as being "difficult and princessy", which really made me quite cross.
I have to say that , almost without exception, all the doctors I've met in the cancer unit I attend have been incredibly sympathetic about my needle phobia, so I think I'm very lucky indeed. I wonder what they really say to each other, and in my case, I'm sure some of them might be tempted to use significantly stronger adjectives than "difficult and princessy". Unless of course it was Mr Lovely, who I'm sure, wouldn't ever say anything negative about anybody.
Despite the tiredness, I have got a couple of rather exciting projects on the go at the moment, one, of course, being to do lots of thinking about how to turn this blog into a play script, because a dramatized version will be performed next May at the Brighton Fringe. In my mind there is only one casting option with enough charm and warmth to portray the lovely Mr Lovely, but I doubt we could afford George Clooney.
The other exciting project got off the ground only yesterday. Our local Mencap organisation needs to raise £20,000 for a new sensory room. Mencap is an amazing place, offering fabulous opportunities to local learning disabled children and adults. My very learning disabled son, Toby, has been a regular there since he was only 5 years old, and I can truly say that it is probably his favourite place on the planet. The whole ethos just centres around fun and nothing is too much trouble for them if it means raising yet another smile or giggle from some of our most vulnerable people.
Although National Mencap is a high-profile and very respected charity, each of the local branches are independent, separate, stand-alone charities, responsible entirely for their own fund-raising. They just don't have the clout or the appeal of other charities, and sadly, not everyone can identify with learning disability in the same way they can with many other charities, so donations don't exactly come in thick and fast.
Just a few weeks before I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I trained as a Laughter Yoga Leader, so I haven't been able to really focus on building up a laughter business. I do sessions at home for friends and family on an informal basis, but as far as organising venues and running regular classes goes, there just hasn't been the energy to even think that far ahead.
Yesterday I met with two of the local Mencap managers, and offered to run a series of Laughter Yoga sessions on their premises with all the proceeds going to the sensory room appeal. There was so much good will and enthusiasm, and we have a taster already booked for next month, carefully timed around my best chemo days, with a full programme of sessions to run straight after Christmas. I am so excited! It is so nice to still get on with other things that don't have "I have cancer" running right through the middle, and it will be brilliant to be able to contribute to an organisation that have really supported my family over the years. They are doing all the publicity and organising the room, all I have to do is turn up and run a session. We also talked about me running sessions with their learning disabled clients, which could be so rewarding, and maybe even working with local care homes. As a really thoughtful gesture, their Fundraising Manager has even offered to help me get started properly once I'm finished with treatment and the time is right. Will that ever happen??! Of course it will!
We'll be asking for small donations of between £3.00 and £5.00 for each session, so if you think you'd like to contribute something but can't make the sessions themselves, even a few pennies would help tremendously. Here's a link to their "Just Giving" page:
So with scriptwriting and laughtering, at least I won't have too much time to dwell on boring stuff like having cancer. Cancer does get very boring indeed and it does seem to go on for flipping ever. It's OK though, because right now I just don't have enough energy for too much excitement, so boring sort of suits me right down to the ground.
Never mind, I do have breast cancer, and that means people are generally ever so forgiving. Hopefully it won't always be like this, but all I want to do all day is crawl back into bed, but don't, mostly for two reasons. Firstly I just don't have the energy to make the go-back-to-bed decision, and secondly, when I do managed to get back under the duvet, all I do is worry about everything that isn't getting done.
I really shouldn't be moaning about the chemotherapy side efffects, because the side effects of not having chemotherapy are a great deal worse, with death being one of them. It's the cancer treatment, rather than the cancer itself that makes you feel like pants. If I have all this treatment and still end up popping my clogs, I have totally promised myself that I will come back and haunt whoever is was who invented chemotherapy. They won't be the only ones..... I can have a lot of fun compiling my "people I intend to haunt" list. Please let me know if there's anyone you'd like me to add to the list.
Last night I watched a TV programme which really made my list grow longer - all brand new, young junior doctors. They were all probably lovely, well meaning lads and lasses, with their hearts in the right places, but their arrogance and their ability to patronise were just staggeringly shocking. The documentary, following 8 doctors in their first week out of medical school did seem to focus on a particular sore-point of my own, putting canulas in and taking blood out, but their lack of understanding, patience and compassion was quite simply apppalling. Their priorities seemed to be more about making their mark and earning the respect of their new colleagues than really beginning to understand how their patients felt. There were moments when I wanted to shout at the telly, advocating for the poor patients being used as practice guinea pigs by these youngsters who really didn't know what they were doing yet. One poor old lady who was just at the end of her tether at being used like a pincushion, refused any more. She was later referred to as being "difficult and princessy", which really made me quite cross.
I have to say that , almost without exception, all the doctors I've met in the cancer unit I attend have been incredibly sympathetic about my needle phobia, so I think I'm very lucky indeed. I wonder what they really say to each other, and in my case, I'm sure some of them might be tempted to use significantly stronger adjectives than "difficult and princessy". Unless of course it was Mr Lovely, who I'm sure, wouldn't ever say anything negative about anybody.
Despite the tiredness, I have got a couple of rather exciting projects on the go at the moment, one, of course, being to do lots of thinking about how to turn this blog into a play script, because a dramatized version will be performed next May at the Brighton Fringe. In my mind there is only one casting option with enough charm and warmth to portray the lovely Mr Lovely, but I doubt we could afford George Clooney.
The other exciting project got off the ground only yesterday. Our local Mencap organisation needs to raise £20,000 for a new sensory room. Mencap is an amazing place, offering fabulous opportunities to local learning disabled children and adults. My very learning disabled son, Toby, has been a regular there since he was only 5 years old, and I can truly say that it is probably his favourite place on the planet. The whole ethos just centres around fun and nothing is too much trouble for them if it means raising yet another smile or giggle from some of our most vulnerable people.
Although National Mencap is a high-profile and very respected charity, each of the local branches are independent, separate, stand-alone charities, responsible entirely for their own fund-raising. They just don't have the clout or the appeal of other charities, and sadly, not everyone can identify with learning disability in the same way they can with many other charities, so donations don't exactly come in thick and fast.
Just a few weeks before I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I trained as a Laughter Yoga Leader, so I haven't been able to really focus on building up a laughter business. I do sessions at home for friends and family on an informal basis, but as far as organising venues and running regular classes goes, there just hasn't been the energy to even think that far ahead.
Yesterday I met with two of the local Mencap managers, and offered to run a series of Laughter Yoga sessions on their premises with all the proceeds going to the sensory room appeal. There was so much good will and enthusiasm, and we have a taster already booked for next month, carefully timed around my best chemo days, with a full programme of sessions to run straight after Christmas. I am so excited! It is so nice to still get on with other things that don't have "I have cancer" running right through the middle, and it will be brilliant to be able to contribute to an organisation that have really supported my family over the years. They are doing all the publicity and organising the room, all I have to do is turn up and run a session. We also talked about me running sessions with their learning disabled clients, which could be so rewarding, and maybe even working with local care homes. As a really thoughtful gesture, their Fundraising Manager has even offered to help me get started properly once I'm finished with treatment and the time is right. Will that ever happen??! Of course it will!
We'll be asking for small donations of between £3.00 and £5.00 for each session, so if you think you'd like to contribute something but can't make the sessions themselves, even a few pennies would help tremendously. Here's a link to their "Just Giving" page:
http://www.justgiving.com/suttonmencap
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)