I was right, Macbeth wasn't

 all is well in the state of my body. (mixing my Shakespeare references a little but you know...) 

As well as can be expected given the list. 

I am proud of my list. 

Currently:

EYE  - Optic eye tumour, full thickness macular hole

1.     LEFT KIDNEY cystic lesion 13 x 12 mm in the midpoles of the left kidney sepated

2.   RIGHT KIDNEY midpole cystic lesion 12 x 18 mm, Postcontrast enhancement of the right renal cyst is septated seen.

3.    LIVER - small hyperintense focus on T2-weighted imaging with associated enhancement post contrast in segment 8 of the liver measuring approximately 6 mm.

4.    PANCREAS - cystic lesion seen in the tail of the pancreas with no associated
enhancement postcontrast, the largest measuring approximately 6.8 mm. No definable masses in the pancreas.

5.    BRAIN - There is posterior angulation of the spinomedullary junction and an enhancing lesion measuring 3 mm at the posterior aspect of the spinomedullary junction in keeping with a haemangioblastoma.

6.       SPINE - multiple cervical small enhancing lesions in keeping with haemangioblastomas.  A similar lesion is also seen at the level of L1 vertebral body. The conus medullaris terminates at the level of L1. There are multiple haemangioblastomas in the cervical spine 

  

Ehancing haemangioblastomas is also seen at the posterior aspect of the spinal medullary junction.

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow

 When Macbeth said it, he was feeling rather gloomy. 

I'm rather optimistic. 

Let's see who was right 

18mm

We have a friend on campus, who, no matter why a reference to size is mentioned, will inevitably make a joke about the size of his willy, or possibly the size of a vagina. And despite myself it does always make me smile. 

Size matters. 

I'm waiting on the comparative scan information and so with the information yesterday I can only be cautiously happy, but from the previous letter and the report from the most recent scan (last week), 18mm is the same. 

There are a number of caveats to this. 18mm in one direction is good, but what if it's got fatter. Is it a cyst, simple or complex and where is the critter. And also this is in just the one kidney, there's another one with a smaller cyst. 

cyst

growth

tumour

cancer

all can be the same and all can be different. 

size matters

3cm is the generally accepted danger zone, rate of growth is important, but if what I'm tentatively allowing myself to believe is true, then no growth over 19months is an unbelievably good sign. I've had tumours not grow in me for decades. 

Decades in medical advancement means A LOT. 

I think, I hope and want to be sure before I let mu guard down, but I think then, this is the best possible news. It also tells me living a less stressful life and enjoying the sun are important. 

waiting with twitter

 At some point my twitter and my blog will converge and I wonder if I'll then do a kind of double entry... 

anyway this morning we are home, the flights back only slightly delayed and no issue over our covid test, which had been a mild niggling worry I had the two nights before departure, I've learnt over the years to voice these fears only when it will help me. This time, I didn't want to say it out loud, because only for the briefest of moments in the last 6 days have I been out of ear shot of my daughter. We protect them from our worry when we can. 

She sees through me so well now, the worry about the scans haven't been anywhere near as well hidden as I could manage in the past. I think she has a healthy mix of worry and stoic acceptance. Some from me and some from her dad. He never seems to worry like the rest of us do, when he does I use that as my barometer of potential doom. 

In the last week of term my daughter went to see the school counsellor, she just needed to talk and I sensed that, she needed a space to say what she worried about without any dismissal or layers of, yes buts... she needed to be able to share her fear without us hearing it. The school counsellor told me she was extremely impressed by her emotional maturity and that made me happy. 

It was prompted by a night out where she got very upset about something in her past, she was bullied in England and this has stayed so raw for her, but my instinct told me this was more about now than then. We talked about how she might be able to think about it without such a vivid trigger response and we both know that this is something more complicated than what appears on the surface. Within all this, in the same week we talked about a girl here, the sort who is lost, she doesn't know how to be an advocate for her friends and she doesn't know how to get attention without being unkind, she makes my daughter sad and angry. We talked about why she might be an arse hole. Her mum died a few years ago, her father seems disinterested and her older sister was a teenager when she assumed a peculiar role of mum/sister. Despite these valid reasons for being a bit of a mess, my child said, yes but mum if you died you wouldn't let me be an arsehole because of it. She's right of course. no excuse... but we've talked about that, I have had the luck to ensure I say what needs to be said, to understand my mortality and therefore ensure I've been clear on my beyond the grave expectations. 

And at these times, the wait the inevitable wait, I know why. My mortality holds me and whispers to me when I'm trying to sleep, it taps me on the shoulder when I'm making a cup of tea and it stares me in the eye as I hug her. It sings with me and laughs with me and it won't ever go away, we all have it of course just some of you may not have met her yet. Today I'm glad I have because I value my life and my health and my days here. I relish food and drink and good company and I see her way off in the distance now, she's walking away because it isn't time to dwell. 

Not today. 

a newbie again

I wasn't sure where to go, what I needed to take or how to fill the forms in. 

My husband came, my daughter came, that helped by hi t go. Only one person allowed with you. Oh covid.

It all felt new and yet familiar. All broadly the same but enough different to make me nervous.

My name was said in a funny way, luckily I realised it was me. 

I asked for help. 

I was allowed to keep most of my clothes on. Bonus. No gown. different.

I asked for a blanket. The same

It was soft and fluffy. Different

I had to hold my hands over my had for t go scan, that was different.

The technician asked about me and my disease, in a way that made me feel special and important. Different

The noise was the same. The banging and variety. 

The injection was the same.

The automated voice that told me when to breath in and out and relax, same job, but not a person. 

The length. The same

The resolution. The same.

The results... We wait. The same? Oh how I hope.

Just about coping

 Today I had a moment of repetition, like the time 7 or so years ago on the yellow staircase at my school, holding onto the banister and breathing, telling myself out loud, 'you can do this'. Then I held back tears, not because it's wrong to cry but I need to cry when I am not trying to cope. 

'You can do this.' 

I did then and I will now. I'm holing onto the stress and softly said to my husband today, I don't think I'll be able to relax until the scan results. 

'Of course' he confirmed and the simplicity of his reply helped, reminded me that I'm just about coping, but that's remarkable. 

The layers of stress are thick too, it's not just an annual scan, it's moving from our relative safety, it's the need of paper work, it's the COVID test first, the bloods, the new hospital and the complete unknown of how my team get to see the scans. My child, my friends, my family, all quietly worrying too. 

I'm not going to have a drink tonight. I'm going to sleep and maybe have a good cry. 

A nice up of tea

 I just had a nice cup of tea and a bit of a cry. The power of a good friend, ready to let you let go a little bit can't really be measured. 

She and I haven't seen each other as much recently. I know how lucky we are that, when so much of the rest of the world is doing everything remotely we get any time at all but the quality of just popping round is endlessly important. 

I didn't let go completely because, right now, I can't. It's not so much the scan but the results. We were talking about if we might host a new years eve party. Depends on the results. I'm already in, who knows what might happen. The extreme possibility is that I need some kind of immediate intervention. Get it out now now. Best case scenario is always, re-scan in a year. 

scanxity

I'm quietly freaking out.

I'm used to a level of routine and the annual process. I'm used to my hospitals in my country and now I've got to do it in a new place and a new country.

Even booking the flights is causing issues. 

The frustration and fear, bubbling around. 

My uncle Ken

 This morning I received the sad news that he had died. I knew he was ill but it was still a shock. He was a constant in my childhood, a calm and kind man who always made me feel loved and valued. He was one of the first people I was aware of who got divorced and this seemed an extraordinary thing and at the same time no issue at all. 

He came with his stories and strong accent and I overwhelmingly think of him with a moustache. He leaves behind two children, my cousins, both grown up and with their won children who will, without doubt be very sad to have lost their loving granddad. 

The thing I most treasure about him is that when he worked, he was a funeral director and when my brother died, over twenty years ago, he brought my brothers body back home and took him safely to the church where we got to say our last goodbye. I always loved the thought that he had taken care of him, as I know he would do for all of us, and for many years comforted myself with the knowledge that if I were to follow in my brother's early fate, my uncle would, without doubt look after me too. 

I'm so very sad for all those who loved him, not least my dad, his big brother. And I see just how strange it must be that my dad has, against all the odds, outlived his little brother. The older I get and the more people who die, parents of friends, cousins, uncles, aunts, brother's sisters I see how remarkable it is that I really thought I wouldn't have my dad around now. That those who have always seemed healthy and strong have gone before, that I can see more people I love experience grief, is a surprise to me. And in the veil of sadness I take a sip at hope and cherish its warmth because I see that I may be here to know and love m grandchildren and be around long enough that when I die, my daughter will have had me around for a very long time. 

no matter what room you're in

You still feel fate dancing around you.

You still know that it can change on a whisper

You know that some people get it and some never will

You see the gap between getting on with it and getting by

I did it again

 such was the success of my talk to year 10 biology students I was called on to do it again for r 12. Such a privilege to speak to them about my experience and to raise awareness. I couldn't quite remember my list, skipped some bits and went back. 

And, almost as if the VHL fairies were aware of my good deed the scan referral I have been waiting for came through. I was amused that it wasn't a complete list, even my doctors aren't sure what I have and haven't got, had, been removed. 

So all things being well I can now move forward with booking a scan and can find out what the potential damage may be from the delay. And it made me feel strange. It was so real today. 

precision over beauty

Across the globe teachers and students are coming to terms with the prospect of another year of teacher assessed grades.

I'm currently in a bar, with two TV screens, one showing golf, one showing gymnastics. Both professional level.

The golf good holds more beauty.

The gymnastics has become a way to give a score. Impossible for me to do it. Golf, so much for accessible. 

They should both feel possible. Only one does.

And to exams. 

It's become about prescion and not about beauty. It's about collecting data, quickly. 

It's about right and wrong.

It's clumsy.

It's unfair.

It's never capable of being perfect.

craniversay

It's still remarkable to me that I'm where I am today. I remember the complete reliance on the hope that 5 years ago, they world say ok, yes we will operate. Those of you who know, know. Surgery can be booked in and yet so many things can prevent it happening. 

I don't remember the night before being very different to the many that went before except that hope, an anxious, delicate hope that I almost didn't want to believe in. In case it was snatched away.

I suspect that's how many people are feeling about the election in America right now. Almost too much to believe in, the outcome potentially saving you or the dangerous, frightening chance that they will be even more peril than before.

'I can only make one garuntee and that's I could make you worse.' 

They didn't. I woke up as me, a new me, ready to scrub off the layers that has invisibly stayed on me as I lay in the hospital bed. I know that most of that is gone. But you can't ever be the same after a prolonged exposure to fear and discomfort. I hope America can heal, move on and live with joy, appreciating what it so nearly lost. I am. 

onion under my finger nails

This has been a bliss filled week. The worry and strain of the everyday slowly disappearing and giving me space to be and feel and love.

What greater joy can there be, than feeling the contentment of slow, sleepy days, a pace that can't get boring, a moment each day that makes you laugh aloud and some softer reflection that allows for a small tear of life to quietly appear in the wind that is blowing in your face. 

And coming home, knowing that you know how to be alive and how to live and that you're so blessed to be able to do it. 

For me knowing that 5 years ago I couldn't see this future, had no concept of anything but a life of discomfort, unpleasantness and pain. 

I've been given a chance to be the mum I am. For me and my daughter this time is so precious. We have played like children, talked like adults, laughed like teenagers and argued like a mother and daughter should. 

I've had space to assess what I need to do about my body, not just the cancer but the rest too, the wobbly bits, the exterior that is starting to show the 4 decades it's traveled. It's tanned and strong, slightly achey but not hurting me, not causing me to avoid my life. 

I know my body won't let me feel like this forever, so this morning, while I pottered about, cutting red onion, getting it under my nails, reading a chapter or two of my book, putting on a load of washing and planting out the air potatoes that have gone to seed, like them, I don't know if the protection around them will last, if they will grow into more than they were, but the hope is there and the chance has been given. 

raising awareness rather than money

A colleague asked me to talk to their year 11 biology classes about having VHL. 

I was so pleased to do it.

They know me as a teacher and now they know me as a survivor and warrior. 

They are studying genetics, they did the fact bit worked out odds and then I introduced myself... 

I gave the disease you've just been working on... 

I know it meant a lot to them but it meant more to me. 

getting close to normal

It's hard to know what normal might be when you've never really been it or in it.

In a recent email to my mum she replied...

'Wow, normal is a word I don’t associate with you, baby girl!'

As she exclaimed, I just haven't ever done that. The girls that bullied me at school would throw the accusation of 'boring' at me. 

I couldn't stand that idea. If you ever choose to truly hurt me, then that's what you'll throw at me. And if it turns out to be true then you'll have cut deep. But I tend to ward off that insult. 

Toni - was tonight

I wanted to write this all at the time, but found myself unable to. I come here when I need to get thoughts and feelings out and that night, not so long ago I tried to. 

I started but couldn't find a way.

I didn't want it to be too public. I'm used to finding my voice for VHL now, the other stuff, less so. 

This was as far as I got

'I find myself here

You wouldn't have decided to do that in front of my husband'

No matter how far I've come, there is still a road ahead on this...one day maybe I won't blame myself. Maybe one day there won't be a need for me to have to. 

the next two weeks

I want to be ready to listen

I want to be able to comfort

I want to be reassuring

I want to make the necessary change

I want to support

I want to have compassion

I want to help

I want to find a space for my family

I want to find space for my friends 

I want to find space for myself 

I want to finish what I start 

I want to lead by example

knowing more than you're supposed to

When I went to art school I knew more than most. I wasn't a great artist, I couldn't draw as well as anyone else on my course and I wasn't as inspired by life, experience as the rest. I was told by one lecturer to cheer up, go to Spain.

I was 18, the year before my brother had died and that year I was due to have the same operation that, as far anyone knew, had killed him. 

Spain would be nice, but there was no cheering me up.

I knew too much and to my art professors, just not translatable into great art. I wasn't grasping the opportunity of grief I was only letting it happen. 

Why am I remembering this tonight?

Because tonight I was part of a wonderful group of women, my book club. 

We talk, book clubs are rarely about the book you've read. They are a chance to say things about your life, to express and share. You allow the topic to roam, from one shared experience to another. The youngest in our group is about 36. I think of her as young but I don't assume inexperienced. 

We talked tonight and I shared, I feel safe doing so. We've all lived.

But a couple of times I thought, oh, you haven't been here yet. This is just my road for now. You all know it's coming, but I am the only one here with the past and the predicable future of VHL. 

All of us know someone who has had cancer, had a loved one die, felt grief, been lost in life, hated a job, a boss, a family member, know what suicide can do to those left behind. We know someone even if we haven't had it ourselves. 

So why then did I feel like I did at art school? The only one, the one forging the path of the inevitability of life and then, just when I could have said, whispered or cried my truth, stopped and waited for another person. 

Because it wasn't just my space and it didn't just belong to me. I'm not the centre nor should I be. And that's why I didn't thrive at art school. I didn't really want to be the one who knew more, who'd already faced my mortality and gently danced with it rather than faced it or tried to fight it, even though I wanted to just run away. Because like a shadow, you just waste your energy doing that. 

No, tonight I knew just a little bit more, wanted to tell my story, and did a little bit. A little bit at a time. No one really wants to hear it all. 

morning after

When I was younger I told myself I shouldn't have children. I told my husband this too, he was a boyfriend back then. 

Then surprise, the best surprise and even better, despite the odds, no VHL.

Phew, dodged the bullet. 

She knows that the surprise was because he father and I got drunk, lacked the necessary contraception and didn't worry about it. We are lucky that we didn't. 

My pregnancy was consultant led and actually stress free, a few tumours grew but more importantly so she she, strong and ready to be taken out by c-section. There were risks and some complications but 13 years on we know how that part of the story worked out. 

Sometimes my period is a little late. I have a small worrying few days. Normally though it's just that. I'm not a young woman anymore and right now I have various tumours and two kidneys with renal carcinoma. 

Last week my husband and I had an unclear moment. We discussed in the morning, we think we were fine. As the week progressed my worry grew, my feeling that it would be a very bad thing to be pregnant. I couldn't stay here, could I? 

I would need to seek another solution.

I am too old. I am afraid to risk VHL for me and it. I woke in the night, aware that my period tracking app was telling me my period was 1 day late. Just one. Only one. Enough to make me cry. Enough to wake my husband and tell him all the things I'm afraid of. Enough for us to be awake and discuss it all. I've never shared the level of far I have around this. The part of me that desires another child and knowing how selfish that is. He knows my Catholic roots and he knows what I've been taught to believe about souls and life and the guilt at even considering our choices. 

I googled being pregnant with kidney cancer. 

He googled my options. 

I cried and he held me. 

I knew it was just one day. I knew I'd spiraled into a state of panic. He listened, supported and I expect felt responsible. 

I worried how my child, the teenage one would react. I imagined who would judge me. I worried about if I'd need time off work. I began to plan for a variety of eventualities. I told him about other times in my life when the idea of being pregnant had terrified me. 

Still he listened. 

I thanked him for not dismissing me, he completely recognised why I felt the way I did, and so with my sense of not being alone, and that we'd figure it all out together, no matter what and after a discussion of the reliability of the tracking app, I got some sleep. 

By noon today my period came.

By 4pm he'd decided to call our Dr about getting a vasectomy. 

I think that will really help! 

I wish I didn't have cancer

Seems to obvious to say and most days I just get on. Today I got an email from one of the Drs on my VHL team. His care and getting in touch meant so much to me. Telling me not to worry about the overdue scan, letting me know they sort out out when I can get in. 

That care, that time. I wonder if he knows just how much that means to me. To know I'm still on someone's list, that I'm important enough to reach out to. The NHS staff are all heroes in my eyes. 

I shed a small tear, because I wish so hard that I didn't have this. I wish I didn't have to convince myself that I'm going to be ok. That it won't have grown and nothing else will have and of course, that there is nothing new. 

Wishing doesn't change it. 

I wish it did. 

Private Island

 It was a wonderful break. 

I managed to switch off. 

The break from my real life and a necessary one. 

this is all forest

Here, you notice poverty as a fact of life.

Here I'm rich. Very rich.

Here Covid 19 is another part of life, a problem, more an inconvenience than a life changing experience.

My part in this is to help the local economy survive. Keep employing who I can.

Keep buying

Keep eating

Keep paying

Keep keeping

to everything turn turn turn

Today my daughter turns into a teenager.

I'm not with her, she is on an adventure. I'm so very proud of her and miss being able hold her and kiss her and see her face as we celebrate.

Being here, that's the privilege. There's the joy. 

I'm still here and so is she. 

We are still a family and we are all very happy.

How lucky we are. 

Home alone

Although, I'm not alone. I have close neighbours and the internet, friends online. But for the next two weeks I am home alone. 

I've never fully lived on my own, grew up with my family, off to university, lived in halls and then chosen friends, moved in with my mum's cousin when I trained to teach, then into a flat share, communal living space and kitchen and then into a flat share with my boyfriend, who I bought my first house with and second, then became his wife and now I'm here in this community. 

I have of course spent nights, weeks on my own but this is the first time in a long time when I've been been alone like this. 

So far so good, I'm enjoying my space, my sense of self. I'm taking the time to look after myself, to enjoy the time and freedom to reflect and enjoy where I am and how I am here. 

Here, despite the world pandemic, despite the uncertainly and despite the niggling worries, is safe. 

I intend to use this time to prepare for what I can control, reflect on my ability to be a good teacher and leader and to administer some self care. This is a time to be selfish in a sensible way. 

I've created some expectations of myself, no caffeine after 12noon, plenty of water. Fruit for breakfast and enjoyable meals. No alcohol unless it is in food and listen to music, recommended by those I love. Some exercise, mainly bending and a gentle walk once or twice. Reading in the sun and a sensible time for bed, rise when I awake. 

As the term ends

I am hopeful that we can wave goodbye to online learning as the only method of teaching. The faceless, dry and often delayed method. I miss my students, I miss seeing them and helping them learn in person. Just a few days left this term and then the long holiday. 

The world can change in a few days, so hopefully the month and a bit ahead of us will provide some more hope and more information, that will make the possibility of opening a reality. 

I am living in hope. 

I'm good at that. 

speaking....

I think I claimed being raped about 4 years ago 

I'd always thought it had to be violent and sinister. A stranger in a park. A moment of ripped clothes and torn dignity. A cloudy figure who jumped out and took.

It was, almost that. But I knew him and at the time, I was drunk enough to believe he loved me, and old enough to tell myself I'd consented.

Sometimes when I'm nearly as drunk as I was that warm summers afternoon I convince myself I'm over it. I've understood it all.

I tell people about being a rape victim.

You're always past tense. Raped. It happened. The implication, it's over.

It never is. It's always there. 

Tonight I told my husband I loved him and as he took me, I trusted him. The biggest compliment possible. I genuinely consented. As much as I ever can. There will always be part of me that isn't sure.

My body creates things I don't consent to. I am angry with it.  How dare it. Such a betrayal. 

Why tonight?

I said out loud that I'd been raped to people I know and like. I was drunk and empowered by their care. It felt true to say it. It was true. It was my past. But now I'm worried. Because what if they felt uncomfortable. because they might feel uncomfortable. 

Always worried about it.

Getting it all out.

I wonder how many of us don't know how to feel about it. 

Black Lives matter

I've been learning, 

I thought I was at a good level of, not being a racist. I think I'm definitely up there with the, I' not actively racist people. 

I also thought, maybe I was quite good at not being unknowingly racist. 

But the events of recent days and weeks have reminded me of m=how much more I need to educate myself. 

It's not enough to have good intentions.

It's not enough to speak out against the obvious. 

It's not enough to recognise your privilege 

It's not enough to share posts

It's not enough to tell your child, this is wrong, we don't agree with this

I have to educate myself, I have to listen and allow myself to have been wrong and to learn more. I have to be willing to be better than I am. 

I'm going to try  

she isn't here

Like a lot of the world right now, I'm missing my mum, She should have been here, we should have been sharing my life and loving her face as she saw what I've been seeing for the last three years.

She's not, of course and I fear, now never will. But you never know.

And the chances are she wouldn't have felt she could come now as with my dad's possible diabetes and now the news he's been booked in for an emergency MRI, she would have been so very torn.

I am wondering what his next few months, years will be like for him. How will he manage this new set of symptoms and will they even operate? Can you risk a man with his disability to go in for an operation, and that's before any level of risk with COVID 19. What anaesthetist would take that chance?

Something will one day kill him, we're none of us immortal and he has lasted far longer than anyone ever thought possible, tougher than a bull elephant my dad.

A spoon full of sugar

I always pick up when my mum calls, especially if it's a strange time of day. I'm waiting for the news. Shed called yesterday and although it wasn't 'the' news there was more news. An update, a keeping me in the loop.
They suspect my dad has diabetes.
This struck me as another cruel blow. When your life consists of a sad and slow routine, one of his few joys is carrot cake, a sweet moment at the end of each meal.
For now, and who knows how long, he has to cut back on sugar.
This next thing, this is cruel.
VHL just is cruel.

more than enough

I'm not sure when it started, but often I do more than enough.

Cleaning

Contact

Care

The best people in my life I measure by a knowledge of, I am enough.

I don't have to do anything.

I do because I want to.

Because I can.

The only exception to this is my child. I have to actively stop myself doing too much so that she doesn't become a spoilt brat. I'm instilling independent worth. While, I hope giving all the love and attention are needs. 

Unconditional love. 

I've been given it, I've craved it and I've thrown it away. 

So when I doubt my ability to give that, I end up giving more than enough. 

inflicted by honesty

Saying how it is

Knowing who's listening

Acknowledging the difference

Be playful if you can be

Consider what you say

Am I private?

What you say can make a difference

Speak

Speak

Speak 

Fat Bastard

Had one of those days. Came home to a messy house, a dismissive daughter and an absent husband. 

Decided to lie in bed an read a good book. 

Had a little cry and got warm.

Got a message from a friend and felt a bit better.

I told my husband what was on my mind. He listened, didn't talk. 

Then husband cooked a lush dinner, daughter came and cuddled me while I finished the good book and we watched a silly film while I sipped a glass of Fat Bastard.

And I thought of you. My friends who know me.

I am blessed. 

And I thought of how brilliant it will be when we drink a bottle of it together. 

And now I'm listening to husband huffing and puffing at the online poker game and his frustration at his own playing.

And it's making me smile.

grumpy

I've woken up very grumpy. Perhaps a little too much wine bar night hasn't helped.

I'm grumpy at the washing up in the sink, the fact that the national power grid has gone off again, so the load of washing in the machine is now not going to be finished until the afternoon so it won't dry today.

I'm grumpy that some ex students on twitter have been rude about the school, when I know how hard the staff are working to keep us going and hopefully open in September.

I'm grumpy because our house keeper who we haven't seen for 4 weeks sent a message to say they can't afford to buy food. Even though we are still paying her, so I think maybe the other 2 members of staff who employ her might not be. 

And I'm grumpy because our tree house is broken.

And yet I know these are all such small things compared to what other people are going through and I feel like a spoilt brat. And that's making me even more grumpy. 

Holding onto you

I've been looking at photos from the past and trying to remember where I was in them.
The easy days I suppose, when you didn't think very much was significant.

I enjoy seeing how so many people look the same, I seem to always look the same, my face a little less round and my belly a little bit more round.

And a few minutes ago I saw a message on Twitter and it was a sign from a man on a ventilator - he'd written 'I'm not giving up' and I cried. I know that feeling and I know what it looks like to see it on someone you loves face. I also remember the time in that hospital bed when I told my mum I was giving in, I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't try and more. I closed my eyes and told the universe I was done. My eyes were already closed and I thought that maybe that would mean the horror of what I was feeling might go away. It didn't and I endured. I kept feeling and I was saved.

I've wanted to give up so many times in my life, you're not human if you haven't. I am happy to give up in a Frisbee game and when I know my Yorkshire puddings have failed spectacularly. I've given up on thinking someone will love me, I've given up on people who have hurt me too much, although not often. I'm not giving up on much else. I almost gave up on teaching, I nearly left that but I'm so pleased and grateful I didn't.

So I'm not giving up on the idea that this school will survive this, that we will survive this. I'm not giving up on hope and life and I'll hold onto the knowledge that I am strong and so are those I love.

Tension is high

Navigating emotions when you're stressed and tense is hard.

I take cortisone replacement steroid because I had both my adrenal glands removed. I do have a tiny but that was left behind and over the years it has shown it can cope with quite a lot of stress.

We all have our ways of coping with stress.

I just realised I forgot to take my tablet this morning.

Done it now!

I realised because this morning I have been doing part of my job, that is helping the staff of our school through these difficult times, helping keep others in the loop, trying to balance need and emotion. And I felt my arms tingle. That is a sign that my cortisol levels are low.

And it's stress. The stress hormone.

I never even got to say goodbye

A cliche line from a film.

A regret.

A common reality.

And now, even more than the everyday. At least, it's now more public. 

I think about saying goodbye. I'm not sure if I'd want that. To be so certain and so sad and so final. 

I want the last moments between me and the ones I love to be much more of a see you later. Because even though I don't know what I believe to be the next phase of life. It shouldn't be goodbye, it's got to be see you later. 

Keep calm and carry on

I'm trying to control what I can, think of what I can control and not let myself dip into fear.
Some days it's harder than others.

All this, the world is aware of all the things they hold dear.

I'm keeping busy.

Online lessons, thinking of things my students can do from home and trying to balance the fun and keep the pressure low.

There is lots I can do, lots I will do.

I miss the teaching of actual children. My usual place of solace when I feel lost.

There has been a death of someone in our community and the tragedy of this can only be made good if it encourages everyone to be safer, take this all more seriously.

when you are isolated

It's clear that the world is never going to be the same. So many of us have now experienced, and continue to feel the acute anxiety that comes with such a huge amount of uncertainly.

As my family and friends are preparing for the inevitable lock down I am still struck by my previous experiences and how this fits in. I live with the fear and threat of VHL, right now one of my worries is the cancer in my kidneys and how it may or may not be growing and how I'll know. That thought sends a small tremor of worry through my gut. Frankly I don't know how I don't have IBS.

So often in my life I have held my worries silently in my head so as not to upset, freak out or annoy others. I have sat quietly and planned how I was going to survive the next moment. Most clearly were those three horrendous weeks lying in a hospital bed, most of it with my eyes closed and waiting for someone to say they might be able to tell me what was wrong and then waiting to see if someone was willing to fix me.

It's mostly just me and my thoughts and I don't bother many people with them, why would I, who would want to spread that. And then COVID 19 began to steal the security so many people feel, it has taken away the safety net of a comfortable life and exposed the fragility of life and I don't like seeing that worry and stress in others, in the people I love. And I want to stop them all. Protect them.
Keep busy, make sensible plans, distract yourself, look at the silver linings, be as positive as you can an cry when you need to, keep your chin up and remember:

everything passes, the good and the bad

COVID 19 and me

As far as I know, currently I don't have it.

Today the world suddenly seemed to get a taste of what a constant medical threat feels like. This virus is showing each part of the world how it feels to be unsure what the next few weeks, months and coming year has in store. 

Those of us who have lived with yearly results know this feeling. Frequently having bad news and not being sure about your health.

I'm nervous about what this new threat means. I'm worried for so many people, the ones I know and the millions I don't.

I'm disappointed by the disruption.

I'm also intrigued by the panic. 

I'm considering putting a few more tins in the cupboard.

My draw of UHT milk is full.

when your past sneaks in

I had what you could refer to as a re-laps. Nothing medical, all emotional.

I didn't know how to say, slow down, let me do this properly, this is my new place. Partly because I was so excited by the idea of it all, partly because I want that time to be made right. Even though in so many ways it was I wanted to share some of what wonder there is here.

And then there is was, someone here acting like someone there and my defences went up and my fear crept in and my worry spiked and I sat on the steps and tried not to cry, tried to fix everything. Got overwhelmed by the enormity of all of here and so I did what I always do - I got on with my day job. I retreated into work, even though this is all about work.

My strong and competent layer trying to stay there, and without knowing someone did it just the wrong way. I was right back at that oval table, eyes on me, answer, give details, and I felt the challenge and I knew I'd gone about it all wrong.

But I found solace in a friend and the compassion she has and the way she knows me and I cried more, let it out, said all the irrationality out loud and was able to take a step forward and as this occurred my guardian angel reached out and there too I could clam myself and know I could make the right choice, for the right reasons.

flying away

Today I've flown to South Africa. We're on a girly few days. 

New friends and adventures.

As the plane ascended I breathed a private sigh of relief. No nasty brain tumour. No headache, no symptoms.

I'm now me relaxed.

new year, new hospital

I've done my best bet to avoid knowing what the inside of my local hospital looks like.

I found out today. 

I was very frightened by my symptoms. Completely aware that it could be caused by all sorts of things. Completely aware that one of those things could be a fast growing brain tumour.

Completely terrified by the dizziness that didn't subside. 

Completely? Reassured by the neurologist. 

It's an infection. A nasty one. But not a brain tumour.

My husband was scared too. His silence at my worried ramblings about scans and flights and insurance and 'oh god, I can't go through that again.' were met with understanding and patience. 

I know I have cancer

and I know it's there all the time, waiting and maybe growing.
I had a sudden flash of fear this week that my time may be up. I wanted to run home, book into my GP and say - you need to check. How much is there now.
If it were possible I'd want to know everyday, just what my body is up to; behind my back.
If it were as simple as stepping on some scales, I'd be obsessed, I'd do it time and time again, before bed and in the morning.
Let's hope it's never that easy.
I don't possess a set of scales.
I do possess cancer.
well, it possesses me.

To everything, turn, turn turn

I have space to think here and I do a lot of it. To drown it out when I want to sleep I listen to podcasts.
But sometimes it is good to think for a long time.

Life here allows me to think about what I value and time after time it floats back to being happy while feeling I'm contributing, making a difference.

I consume social media and follow the news. I'm struck by the juxtaposition of the joy and horror. Here it's full of the same but perhaps more stark. The special school I visited have almost nothing. They have a room and chairs. One table. A handful of pens. 3 exercise books. This is common here.
We can't change much here. But we have to do something. Spend money and make sure it reaches the people who need it. And give money.

So I feel like my life is extravagant and I feel more privileged than ever before. And I am happy but I could do more.

The unknown

One way I cope is to plan various outcomes to the unknown.

I think them through, who can help, who I'll be, what I need to organise.

I've lucky enough to have a pal who is happy to listen to these plans and she has the good grace and love to join in, to agree or suggest and today she even got excited by one of my random plans as it would mean we would be close to each other in this imagined future.

My plans don't involve me being dead. So far I've decided that I don't need a funeral plan, at the moment all of my plans are me surviving, because I will.

This life, this VHL life means you have these thought though. My daughter and I, while waiting for out karate lesson to start were discussing the possibility of her being a good kidney match, and she at her tender age is automatically willing to give me one of hers. And as she reminded me, she hates injections. I suspect very few people talk about organ donation, let alone to their own mother. I wonder if I'd accept it.

where anxiety lies

Back to work tomorrow and I am anxious. I always want the INSET to feel worthwhile, and I always start to slowly remember what I have to do in the term and how the list grows with each 'Happy New Year.'

I confessed to my husband last night that I was also worried about having grown more cancer or a new tumour, I'm finding it hard to shift that thought.
What is my back up plan?

Luckily for me I think it's a displacement and I'm not as worried as maybe I seem to be. He replied with a sensible question and we concluded I don't have any new symptoms so I should recognise it's probably more a worry about work, which I have more control over and whether I'm growing more bad things.

I'm lucky too that I have so many people who would help me and us if this life changes.

And so far I'm lucky that I have the NHS.

Each New Year I feel the same...

Although I'm being better at enjoying New Year. The resolutions seem futile... but I always think about the worst that might happen and try to shift it. I don't say it out loud very often.

Each year I hope I don't grow anything new or any of my current tumours stay put. 

This year I hope work gets better and we all remember the importance of the students and value our staff.

I am resolved to stay as positive as possible and not dwell on the potential risk of more kidney cancer diagnosed in July. That the growth is so slow I get to be checked in a years time.

That the niggling fear remains under control and I focus on now. 

my aunty

I got in from a meal on the top of a mountain and saw a message from my mum about my aunty. She doesn't have long. I cried, and the next morning heard she had died on Christmas Eve. My thoughts quickly floated to flights back and words left unsaid. They tripped into the fear I've had since the day I left, to someone I love leaving this earth while I'm so very far away I want to tell her what a wonderful person she was.

How she always showed me joy and positivity. She had her full share of tragedy but never once let that be a burden she imposed on others, not to my knowledge. She always laughed and smiled. Always hugged. My expectation of her is always one of joy and peace. She exuded an attitude of stepping forward, of today is this day. This is the right day. This is the only day you can rely on. I hope she knows what power that holds. What importance that gives, what an impression it leaves when you sometimes don't know what foot you should put first.  She was a matriarch of subtlety and I hope in my life I am able to show that strength.

I'll miss her greatly.

it was the night before...

1999.

I sat on a sofa with my sister in a room I knew well.

We were holding hands and contemplating the New Year. We sat in silence for quite some time. 

Time.

2000 was the year of my first craniotomy. We both knew what that might mean.

The night before 2020 is fast approaching and I am hoping it's a clear year.

For me and my family that means no operations, no deaths, no growth and nothing new.

Could we hope for a whole decade?

We always hope. 

I can see a million stars

It's almost the end of 2019.

Time keeps fighting me.

But here I am counting a million stars and knowing what joy is.

I'm one of the privileged million, billion or more.

I don't deserve it. But I am it.

Here and now, luckier than most of the planet.

What absolute bliss. Even the richest person on earth can't continuously feel this. 

The stars keep up with me tonight and if only time could stand still, just a little longer. Here and now.

Now.

Here.

The beginning of the end

For people like me, those of us with a preexisting medical condition the result of the general election was not only sad and disappointing, it was a moment of genuine fear.

We rely so heavily on the NHS and despite it straining at the seams and the waits, the delays and the under staffing, it is ours and it saves our lives.

It has saved my life in the big obvious ways and in the small ways too.

What will become of it now and then us... the first to go I suspect.

First they came for our boarders and I did nothing because I was a native
Then they came for our NHS and I did nothing because I was healthy
Then they came for our schools and I did nothing because I was confident in my children's success
Then they came for me there was nothing left to take

End of term and time for family

It is going to be a relaxing break, we have plans to wander and roam and I know we are going to rejuvenate and cherish this time.

Our Christmas tree is up and presents sit happily underneath.

Avoiding Facebook

My country is about to make a big decision and potentially so is my place of work.
I made a decision to temporarily stop following brain tumour, cancer survivors and VHL things on Facebook.

I hit the snooze for 30 days. 

I have too much in my head to think about that right now and I realised that I'm inundated with updates from strangers. Right now that's not healthy for me. I need a break.

I really need a break and in my small community that is hard to do.

If I could right now I'd go and spend a weekend at my mum and dad's. I'd go alone and I'd enjoy the solitude of the drive and the initial pampering from my mum and then I'd also enjoy the inevitable reality of their lives. Of course that wouldn't be escaping VHL, there in the adapted house that retains the memories of my childhood, despite the new room for my dad and the wheel chairs and scrapes, it would be my VHL. My story, the one that is most real to me.

Telling new people

As a teacher this is an annual event.
I don't gather any new students or staff around me and say... to understand me here's the list of scars and tumours, resected and remaining you should be aware of, but maybe I should.

Part of me thinks that no-one need ever know but there are stories, moments, medical wrist bands that signal a difference, and recently it's been the mental health side of my journey that has been most valid to express. Not least to acknowledge that I'm fine with my lot, today but there have been days where I wasn't.
It's a useful vulnerability as so many of us have the hidden battles and unseen scars of a life full of fear, anxiety, depression and stress. Seeing me strong and seeing me weaker is normal. I am a leader and I think there is so much importance in owning your faults, failures and struggles.
Here I am trying to do my best and sometimes I fall short and so do you. So let's try again together.

as luck would have it

Here I am. Alive and kicking.

Out with friends and coping with all the mundane reality 

My crainiverseary... 

Photos on your timeline

How many pictures do you have on your timeline in hospital?
Between me and my dad I have quite a few, the familiar lighting and flooring. The bed sheets and the scars.
I began to take a record when I took a picture of my dad's head before he was going in for more surgery.

For us both they tend to take away the scar that went before and replace it with a new one, a new part of our story.

What they take away belongs to us, a part of the process and journey and we're stronger for it., perhaps, yes in fact it is. My dad's body might not do what he wants it to do anymore but he's no less strong.

I am strong. 

when your confidence gets knocked

It's been a strange and difficult week at work. We've been inspected. 

I know I did everything I could during and I kept my integrity. I wasn't sure what that looked like in this context. Now I do.

It's been hard because I've seen others keep theirs and then one who hasn't. 

All this stress and emotion made me feel like I was disappearing into the fear of VHL. It's time like this when my resilience drops and I worry.

Pins and needles in both arms, light headed and tired. 

It isn't over but I can get up in the morning. 

Recovery is a long road

I don't have post traumatic stress disorder, I do however flash back to those days in hospital and the overwhelming fear of being there again.
Recovery of the body is slow and not always complete and recovery of the mind is even slower and I'm sure never complete.
I am doing fine, I am happy most of the time and I can keep the enemy at bay with a mix of love family, friends and a whole lot of work. I enjoy worrying about work and how to improve the school I work in. I enjoy pondering what thing I can potentially fix or change so that the students in our care have a slightly better experience. In the grand scheme of things I wonder if I make much of s difference, but I make some and on days like today, that's enough.
I am there for people, I like that too. I suspect I've missed some signs and missed a few cries for help, but generally I think I do ok at that too.
I enjoyed being a coach the other day, I enjoyed saying yes to a worry and easing someones mind. I enjoy knowing I'm part of this world.
I let all this take the place of the small and persistent voice that reminds me of how my body could change all that and how easily my life could become a long and drawn out experience of asking for help, request and demands. Like my dad. Although over time he does some of those smaller things, it takes him so much energy to write a short email.
I hope he knows that when he reaches out it matters to me

I think I'll tell him.

70 today

My dad turned 70 today.
This is somewhat of a medical miracle.
I wonder often how he feels about the life he has now and the life he used to have.
At 70.
Did he expect to last this long?
To my fellow VHLers someone getting to 70 is important, is an achievement and something we think gives us hope. But I know how hard everyday must be, how difficult the routine and not just for him, but all of us.

Especially my mum. 

When someone else is ill...

My husband is unwell, I know this must be, because he has taken to bed and despite trying, he has had to stay in bed for two days.

I'm quite good at being there for him, well, I'm here and I check on him.

He keeps apologising.

He needs to rest, his illness is a virus, the Dr says the cure is rest.

He is dizzy - I thought, brain tumour.

He said I had it worse, I did.

He better get better.

Coping and worrying

I keep it in check, but I am a worrier. Having am almost teenage daughter helps me focused. My mum, with the bet of intentions told me many of her worries, I could see it on her face and I think I was trained to worry.
I don't want my daughter to worry like I do, but perhaps it's a genetic flaw I have passed on.

I hadn't realised how worried I was about my husband until I saw him starting to get better. He is recovering and I've cautioned him not to move too fast. I could do with him being well, but he isn't and I'm getting on with that, Happily, here our community or neighbours and friends make it so much easier to cope. Little things like a tin of beans after a long day and the comfort of a cup or tea and a chat.

But worried I was, I don't like seeing my strong man unable to get up.

It's made him remember, or recognise how horrible it must have been for me. Not that he ever doubted it, but until you've been dizzy for more than a few hours, you can't really understand. He knows how much worse it was for me, he was the helpless one, sitting by  my hospital bed, trying not to show it on his face in the first few days, then no longer having to hide it as I wouldn't open my eyes. I could sometimes hear the catch in hos voice when he was encouraging me to eat or convince me to have a scan I couldn't face. 

Cancer of the elbow

I know I'm not the only one, but every time my body does something unusual or different I imagine the worst.
Last night in the comfort of friends sofa we joked. I felt the relief of articulating my irrational fears, my elbow hurts.
Cancer of the elbow.
You see it was true for me that - you have hiccups you have a brain tumour.

I've convinced myself on so many occasions that I have something new, unrelated to VHL. I await the diagnosis of labial cancer, I won't get cervical cancer, I'll get something rare and not at all connected to VHL.
I have been aware for a long time that life can throw you anything, good and bad and as I accept my privilege and good fortune, I accept the unfortunate and rare too. I don't dwell too much and I don't let it get in the way, but it is there, lingering and insipid.

Knowing your surgical anniversary

I don't, well only one of them.
The one that meant my baby girl came screaming healthily into this world.
That's the only one.
I've notice that the other 7 are not dates I can recall, I have a rough idea of months for some of them and I think, given some time I could give am accurate year. But all in all I don't know and I certainly couldn't post about my 1 year, 5 year, 20 year anniversary.
Mind it's taken me all of the years I've been married to get that into my head. And that's because my mum and sister always send me a text so I'm getting better at knowing that month.

The significance of this?

I haven't got the mental capacity to celebrate because there will always be another one. And I have the strength to know that each day is a blessing and an achievement.

So happy anniversary to anyone who has survived and thrived.

And to those who are getting by.

Having a cold

I have had a cold, it lasted a week and I was so very grumpy about it.
I'm not good when I have a cold, it irritates me so much. I get angry and I feel very sorry for myself.
I am good at tumours and cancer... well so far
but a cold, useless.
It's to do with feeling my energy is being wasted and my time is better spent recovering from when I'm really poorly.

Fear and uncertainty

In the UK we are all experiencing a prolonged time of uncertainty and waiting.
What will happen, what will it mean and when.
Most people feel they have no control or power to change anything. A waiting game.

I think you can see the parallels here...

The UK seems to have VHL and I hope the invasive cancerous tumours are cut out.

'I love you' doesn't even touch the sides

I am very lucky to have true and real friends.
I feel loved and supported in ways that are hard to express and 'I love you' doesn't do it justice.
I've discussed unconditional love over the last few weeks. My mum and dad give it to me.

It was always made very clear to me as a child, 'I will always love you, I may not always like you or the things you do, but I will always love you.'

I have found and cherished those friends who I love unconditionally and I feel I collect them. Bring them into my life but perhaps in truth they have collected me. Kept me as close as I've kept them. It hasn't mattered how long the gap or that I don't remember certain details. Usually the names of their family, it matters that we care and the certain knowledge that we will do all we can to protect that.

It means that I walk my life with confidence.

Thank you wonderful friends. You are a small and precious group of people who I treasure and value.

Fragility

I visited my uncle this week, he has moved into a new home, much nearer one of his children. He has never been a strong looking man, a small frame in many ways, soft features and a gentle nature.
I know him as a kind and generous man, I don't agree with much of his politics but we have happily skirted around this, we have theatre in common and we have enjoyed meeting to go for a number of years.
Now he is frail, and is doing his best to not show it.

Along with his change, I saw over the time with my mum and dad that they too have become more fragile in many ways. Unable to do as much, unable to see the positives, unable to communicate and unable to see much joy.

My dad asked me to try to stay positive, no matter what happens.

We were all fragile at times, all easily bruised and occasionally the self protection made each of us snap, angry, lack empathy. It was a hard time, it was difficult to see and it was time I'm glad I had.

Holy day of obligation

My birthday went well, I stuck to my resolve and it felt good.
I went to mass, and as uneventful as that used to be, this time I bumped into one of my old teachers and had a nice chat with the man in the pew in front of me while the holy ones went for communion. He asked why I was't going up, right there, I knew, "you're not catholic", we don't ask we silently judge. I was right, of course.

The words have changed a bit since I last went, much more 'with your spirit' and it felt a bit Handmaids Tale. I wondered if I would feel differently, it feels comfortable and safe in church. I know it, I know the routine - I was annoyed they have changed some of the words. The pattern and routine of mass was such a familiar part of my life for over 20 years.

The first reading made me smile, it sounded mystical, something about dragons with 7 heads and more crowns and then the second reading was one I remember hearing, about Mary's visit to Elizabeth. I was amused by the last line. 'And she stayed about 3 months.' So ordinary, so like my life, 'oh we're staying for a couple if weeks. The sermon did its trick, the priest related the Gospel, the feast and the readings to us, to our lives. How we have accepted the struggles since we were Baptised. Umm, nope, I didn't, I don't recall the event, let alone the acceptance of the struggles of life. My mum has lost a son, she lives a burden and she is suffering, we didn't choose this.

Later that afternoon my friend came over, I've known her since I was 11. We know each other well. It was a lovely normal catch up. I recognised how now, that in our 40s life's struggles have been with us both. Possibly in equal measure.

And in the early evening, we went for a  meal at our local Indian and it was good, I sat next to my dad, I helped him, I made sure he ate and didn't spill, I tried to keep him in the conversation loop, but it felt forced. He fell asleep a few times. I wasn't sure how he found it, I was afraid to ask. I look at him and I can't help but see a possible future. How will I manage it, will I let my daughter feed me in a restaurant?

He wouldn't do it if he didn't want to. I know that.

More wheelchair experience

I've learnt not to walk by his side now, one squashed foot later and I know he needs more space than last time.

Wheely bins on pavements are a huge frustration.
parking on a dropped curve,
not cutting back your hedge - please do it
rubbish  - it gets caught in wheels
passing in front of the chair - go behind it isn't that hard

and more
but I'm ranting

Going back to my original home

Not tomorrow, but the day after I go home.
The original one, well nearly.

I had a very happy childhood, I don't have any bad memories from my earliest years. I remember love and joy, space and family. Our dog and seeking attention from my brother and sister and sometimes mum and dad.

I've been told we didn't have a lot of money but I never felt poor or that I was missing out, because I wasn't and I didn't.

My parents gave me that and I will forever be grateful.

Naturally things change, I got older and life became more complicated but that start was the best anyone could wish for. I started off happy and optimistic and that habit won't go away. Perhaps that is why when a few years ago the unhappiness was daily and my daughter was suffering we changed things. I'm so glad we did. Me and my little family took decisive action.

I am happy and content almost all of the time these days.

And perhaps that is why I'm nervous about going home. When did they stop being happy?

Of course we laugh and enjoy life as best we can but there is a deep sadness that remains. It's easy to think it began when my brother died. No parent can truly be happy again after that. That would make sense. And how can you be happy when you have been forced to live a life that is less than you anticipated. My dad, barley able to feed himself, carers in and out of the house, limits on daily activities. Not the retirement they had in mind. My sister, still a stones throw away, bound by her belief that she has to be there, to visit, to listen, to send her children around. The negativity that surrounds their daily grind. I can't look.

Is it wrong of me to want to escape that, to have gone so far away?

It is in no small measure a selfish thing to do, to have gone away. I didn't know when I set off to start a life in London that that was what I was doing. It was the biggest step I'd ever taken. And each year on my brother's anniversary I knew I was so very far away.
I got on with it. I went to work and I had a normal day and I called home. It is a day they let themselves be openly sad. They allow it to fall around them on that day and don't try to pretend and on that day I pretend the most. I pretend that it is any other day, a normal day and it is so far from it.

So I'm going back for my visit, I'm feeling anxious and steeling myself to absorb what needs to be, or take up what I can while I'm there. I intend to listen more than talk, I intend to sit on my dad's bed and listen to music with him. To walk with my mum and the dog, to get my mum to do something new and different and to try and laugh a belly laugh, but not at my mum's expense (cheap shot). I intend to go to mass with my mum and hold her hand. I intend to encourage my daughter to talk to my dad, as best she can. I hope that by doing that, even for just a short time I can bring some happiness into their lives. And as I type that I know I will, by virtue of being their daughter and having come home to visit. And then I will go again and leave a gap.

Reaching out and making connections

Sometimes it doesn't feel like reading about other people in the same situation will help. However, when they understand, are strong and weak, capable and know what it means to fall apart it can be such a comfort.
A complete stranger and their story often helps me feel more normal despite my defect.

Through my recent delve into Twitter Claire reached out

auntymbraintumours.com

Here is my first guest post

It's  her about page... you'll see why we connected

Hi, I am Claire Bullimore

I am the author of A Brain Tumour's Travel Tale and Founder of Aunty M Brain Tumours.

My goal is to raise awareness for brain tumours and support any person who has or had a benign brain tumour.

This blog is here to give my opinion on a number of this that I feel with be helpful to a person who is affected by a brain tumour.

This blog is part of the social media platforms under Aunty M Brain Tumours. People can connect on the Aunty M Brain Tumours Facebook Page or Twitter. There is also a private Facebook Group where you can speak to others and support one another.

Aunty M Brain Tumours was set up in 2011. Social media was only just getting going, and there were very few places to find support online for brain tumour sufferers, or survivors unless you searched the web hard.

Why the heck would I want to get involved with brain tumours?  Well, because being told you or your loved one has ‘a brain tumour’ is a life-changing event, whether it is cancerous or benign.

I was told I had a brain tumour in 2008 when I was only 25. I had a 10cm Intraventricular Meningioma and had to go through surgery to have it removed. I know the struggles that come with this devastating diagnosis and the life-changing effect it can have on a persons life.

Claire's MRI Scan of her brain tumour in 2008

I started Aunty M Brain Tumours on the 23rd May 2011. It was my 3rd Cranniversary. I wanted to celebrate my 3rd year since my brain surgery (craniotomy) and start something new.

I set up a facebook page to connect with others. That grew and I was soon on a number of other social media platforms with over 16,000 followers. In 2013 I was invited to be a radio presenter at a local station which was via podcast and was able to have a show dedicated to people affected by a brain tumour. I interviewed a number of people and you can listen to their stories HERE

To show I am not just talking the talk, I also walk the walk. You can find me in a number of publications raising awareness for brain tumours. Such as The Sun, Choice Magazine, Best Magazine and Bella Magazine.

I went on a UK Book Tour to promote the first book and was able to do this through Crowdfunding. I met so many wonderful people See Photos

I am here to inspire and motivate you. Let’s do this journey together.

Claire

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time and choices

This is the long holiday, a time to catch up and spend time with people.

Understanding the time line

We've spent time catching up - it's a lovely phrase and a lovely thing to do. Sitting with family, making sure we all know the main events of the last year or so, the big ones to come.
My cousins have been in life for a very long time and I find it strange still to know they are grown up and adults. They will always be my little cousins.

Yesterday we talked of my dad, they have spent more real time with him in the last year than I have. I thirst for their experience and want to know the details. Their perspective. I think it will help me next week when I am with him and when I see him again in all his disability.
I find it so hard to see anything else and part of me is a little ashamed of that.
My excuse - I don't want to see that reflection in my mirror. I comfort myself that that won't be me but I know, logically and emotionally that it could be, different but the same.

I don't say it often, but yesterday in response to a common question about plans, I reminded my husband that both brain tumours have caused issues in an unplanned way, both were not in the routine scan phase, both caught me and everyone else, Drs included, off guard. I checked my little girl wasn't in ear shot when I said it. I need to protect her from unnecessary worry, she's like me that way.

I have a headache today, and my husband has noticed I'm guarding my left side more. When he notices things they feel bigger. I've felt a change in my blood pressure. But then I know that in recent days I've changed my routine, done more exercise, haven't had any drink for a couple of days and started taking my hydrocortisone more regularly. I'm looking after myself and yet I can't sleep well and I'm more worried than before. Too much time to think, too much time to worry and I do.

How long can my current dream last? Anyone's guess.

I cope by making a variety of plans, by putting some money aside so I know I can pay for a stupidly expensive flight and operation if needed. I plan for next year, 2 years and more. I pretend I know what I'll be doing in 10 years time but that always stays vague, and usually - be a Head Teacher. It's a realistic goal and one that keeps me focused on what I think I can do. I'm not sure I want to be there, a big job and stressful. I think I'd be good at it.

Real life keeps me going.

Vision Express

They mean what they say, into a small room three hi-tech machines and within 15 minuets of arriving I've have 4 eye tests to a level of sophistication done that my 9 year old self would have only thought a sci-fi dream world.
I know about eye tests, if you've look at previous posts you'll know. I've been though the horror days of yellow dye and pinning my eyes open.
Yesterday I was a good citizen, I let the new options (more than one) look into my eye and the post graduate who had never seen one in a real patient. I was a teaching tool.
I enjoyed it. 
I felt useful.

Another small step

Yesterday I had my words published on line. A small article in a small charitable publication.

I shared it with various people. A step I wouldn't have taken a year ago. I think I'm getting close to the idea that I'm not boasting. I'm not seeking attention for the sake of it. I'm sharing.

TV guide

There are often differences, in generation and place. And there are three memories of similarity too. All rolled up into shared experiences and conversations.
I'm drinking wine with my father-in-law and he gives me the TV guide.
I haven't looked at one of those for years.
I feel the warm comfort of the past reminding me of my own father and a time when you chose what to watch ahead of time.
I feel loved and cared for by this simple gesture.

The importance of a day

Today is the last day, so is tomorrow.
The day after will be too.
And the next one.
The last day means something.
As a teacher, I repeat this year on year.
We have so many 'last days'
They mean something.
They are a rite of passage and real and unreal.
There are days that have more significance than others. Memories that last and fade and linger and disappear and are false and true.

Here and now.
Gone and forgotten.
Forever and never

4 years

It seems so long ago, but looking back it was roughly 4 years ago when I felt poorly enough to tell a Dr and a Dr admitted me into a hospital.
It had been building and I didn't know. It's a common experience. To suspect and so often try to reassure yourself it's nothing serious.
On this overnight stay I simply needed fluids, my salts were low.
Fix that and off to go.
That happened again about a month later.
3 months after that and I had a craniotomy.

That's why it's so hard to be calm about a new symptom and why I try to be aware.

I'm healthy and well.

I'm planning on staying that way.

I know it won't last forever

Belonging

I think it's part of the human condition to want to belong. An intriguing side effect of my step into going public, slowly, cautiously into a place where I can share I feel like this might be a place I belong.

I'm not a doctor but I suddenly feel I'm not a fake. I'm declaring my status as a patient. A front facing user. This is my experience. I'm not new to this, I'm not in training. This is my area of expertise.
I belong.
Here

a story about one of my hemangioblastomas

The last blog post I made before being admitted to hospital for the hemangioblastoma was about 3 days before I went in.

I got through that day, a sad and horrible day. I had told so many people about her death, a student, and then I tried to carry on.
My last day at school - My boss was out and I had sat on a chair for the entire lesson. My colleague knew my face was 'not right' and kindly offered to do my lunch duty.
I called my GP to chase the information about the cyber knife.
I cried and I knew I had to go home, I hadn't felt that tried in so very long.
It always felt better if I could just lie down.

Even today, if I feel especially tired I worry something is going on in my brain.

I still marvel at just how I got out of my friend's car and had my bloods done, how the next day I even made it as far as the end of my road and I sometimes drift back to those hideous moments when I was unable to move. My daughter dressing me, helping me clean my teeth, how I asked for my husband to come back from his business trip early and, thank god, he did.

And then in the first hospital. I had been lying down for a long time, still and rested. I felt like I'd made such a fuss, no cortisone crisis, not feeling that bad. There are moments when you recognise the brilliance and simplicity of the medical process. It was my blood pressure that gave it away, you are not fine.
A crash from lying to standing, the nurse, reaching out his arm to hold me, fearful I was about to faint.

My hospital having me in, the sedatives to help me move from bed to bed, I could still walk a bit then.

The worst of all moments, the unknown and the real crash, my body began to go into shock, the blood retreating into my internal organs, the sudden and complete spread of pins and needles and the loss of sight. The panic as I couldn't find the alarm
HELP HELP ME HELP
The bumbling Dr who couldn't find a vein - no wonder my blood had been sucked towards my heart.

I begged to be catheterised, the idea of getting up again too much to take, the need of a bed pan and the change of myself.

The MRI - the fear and my genetic nurse, a woman who made me feel less alone and knew she had to call my mum.
36 years old and I needed my mum.

Then a wait and another transfer, just a few miles away but I didn't know then how long I was going to wait.

I remember my mum's fierce instance that even touching the edge of the bed was horrible for me. And despite having never experienced it themselves my mum and husband knew -this isn't like her.

3 weeks of progressively unbearable dizziness. But bare it I had to, no choice.

Despair.

Infections, bloods, a drip, a mouthful of food and only for my daughter, I kept going for her.
I didn't want to be alive even though I didn't want to die.

It was the hardest time in so many ways.

It ended.

The NHS was there for me. And I mean the people and the experience, equipment and care.

I am worried for  myself not having it in the future and I worry for everyone else who might need it. And my heart pounds at the injustice of life that some people don't even get insurance.

I've gone on Twitter

I have a short bucket list these days, I have achieved many of my ambitions and there isn't much left that I think I have a huge amount of control over.
One thing though, is to be published.
I've written a few things and I hope one day something is officially published.
So with one of my favourite people, over a bottle of -her Prosecco - me Corona talked about it. She, you see, is a proper author. I'm very excited by that.

She suggested some things, and one was this, this blog. To send it - to get more followers and at the time that seemed right, felt like the right idea, given where I was and where I've been.
Back home, in the cold weather and the reality of everyday life I am doubting if that's a good idea. I've looked, there are so many stories, so many voices. Why would mine be useful?

I'm linking up some ideas and the Twitter account @OfDefect is live... and I've connected with a couple of people, which is rather lovely, but I don't know if this is the way I tick that item off my list

I might wait.

The honour

This week I've been blessed to be back in the arms of my husband and being able to hold my baby girl, who is almost as tall as me now.

And I've had the honour of being a teacher. To get back in the classroom and enjoy that part of my life too.

I've been honoured to have a place at a table at the yr 11 prom and see the pride and joy they have in themselves. I know
My part in that has been small but what a pleasure to know I can continue to do that for the next generation.

Here I know I'm a guest, and I've been honoured to meet new people and be welcomed and loved. To be made to feel I belong.

Honoured too, to be invited to dance and to do it. To laugh and talk and dream and plan.

Returning

Returning sooner than expected and it has been a beautiful thing.

I haven't seen or felt a single moment of resentment or doubt, just pleasure and joy, genuine happiness that all turned out to be good. This time.

I returned before expected once before, also with a kidney cancer related issue. This was the one that got to me the most. It was in the year I had intended to attempt to become a member of SLT somewhere, anywhere, well not quite I had some parameters but it was the right time, I was Head of Year for Year 11, they would be on their way into 6th form or other parts of the world and I didn't fancy starting again with another year group. I wanted the step up, I knew I was ready and then at the same time I couldn't move forward with the knowledge that cancer was in me. It was my first experience of cancer, my first sense that the cells in my body were not just in an awkward place but that they might try and eat up my good cells, that they wanted to spread that they were truly an enemy within. Torn by this knowledge and beginning to break from it I had explained I wanted it all taken out.
Get it out.

And then I had my consultation with the surgeon, and his flippancy didn't change the reality that this was major surgery and not an easy one at that. The location, right near the renal artery made this very serious. I picked a date that had minimum impact on work on my students and I signed the triplicate form anyway. I had no choice.

I sat having some bloods done, and a well meaning nurse said something about preparing for the worst. I was shaken and afraid and suddenly felt my time was genuinely limited.

As is my way, I began to prepare and ignore all at the same time. I applied for jobs regardless and wrote a diary to my daughter. I checked my will and agreed to events post surgery, I did both but I was convinced that the date given in December would be my last.

I wasn't myself, those of you who know my husband will know I can't have been, he was worried about me, he showed it and said it. I was worried about me. I set my cover and

I arrived, gown on, cannula in arrow and R written on my side, the white compression stockings adorned my feet, the fog thick outside and the hospital lights harsh. I had said my goodbyes, written my  final letters to my nearest and dearest and given important instructions, most important of all, don't let her forget me.

And then, we can't do it today, there are no beds in HDU, you can't go straight to a ward, we'll re-arrange. The fog of that cold December morning had hidden other peoples fate from view and the emergency surgery list had increased. Someone else had taken my place and I was so relieved. I hope they survived the day and I knew now I would.

I dressed and numbly told my mum, sister and husband and we went to Sainsbury's cafe for a cup of tea. I'd been nil by mouth so I had food too. And as the realisation cleared like the fog outside I found myself with a life that needed living. Once more I'd been given it all back.

I took a couple of days off and then I went back to work. That time the relief for me was far greater than those I returned to, and three months later I had the surgery I knew I needed, but this time I knew I wouldn't die.

My return this week, to my community has been better in many ways, I find myself able to enjoy it more. I know that I will need the current cancer sorted at some point but it feels a long way off and this year I don't need to make any steps up a career ladder, I'm where I want to be. I'm content and happy and I feel so lucky and blessed to know that is true. I've returned and I've found I'm accepted and loved, more than I could have hoped for. Perhaps that what peace feels like. I like it.

The thing with wheelchairs

It's so easy to forget the mountains he climbs each day. As an abled bodied person most people don't see them.

Today, in the rain we set off for the drs, I forgot to get his hat and we got wet.

We move slowly, he is a polite pavement user, he always, always stops for others to pass. He can't manage the chair well, his fine motor skills are as effected as his legs. 

I was reminded of the frustrations of where the dropped curb is, wheely bins left out, dips and cracks in pavements. Simply crossing the road at a speed that he feels comfortable with is hard and at times I felt a bit dangerous, I was there to stop traffic, those is cars going significantly faster than the 30 or 20 miles indicated. On our journey which was less than a third of a mile, took us well over 20 minutes and when the path narrowed I stood in the road. I was glad the long cars that often stick into to road from a drive didn't get scratched, and I watched in admiration as he carefully, patiently navigated each part. I felt empathy and pride. 

I wanted to put something on Facebook about being more considerate of where you put your bins. I didn't. 

Then later in the day I stepped backwards onto a pavement and was nearly mown down by someone on a mobility scooter, obviously happy with their fine motor skills and not so worried about the 20 mile an hour speed limit on the road. 

The room of my childhood

We moved to this house when I was about 8 I think, this wasn't my room straight away, my big sister had to move out before I got it.
But this room holds so many memories, so much joy and pain and fear and anxiety and some love.
It's been painted and changed at least 4 times since I left it and yet I know behind the paint on the wall that now stands on front of me, mine, my sister and my brother's names remain. I don't fully remember us doing it, stood together paint brushes in hand and painting our names there for what we assumed would be eternity. It didn't cross our minds, then, that we wouldn't have all our lives to be reunited in this house, in this room. 

His room is still filled with parts of his life, as short as it was. Certificates, his art work, his stuff, even his old TV. 

In this room, my room there is little left of me. It's the guest room now. I have a draw where I keep my things. However the view from my windows is subtly different but less changes than the items in the room. The most striking change is the appearance of the extension built for my dad. To accommodate his growing needs. IT sits heavily below the window and blocks part of the view.
He hasn't seen this room for about a decade, unable to navigate the steep stairs.
I'm here because of VHL. I'd still be with my little family, getting my baby girl ready for bed and enjoying an hour or two of us time with my ever reliable and ever rational husband.
I'd probably not be thinking of all this and the devastation the disease has imposed on father's body and his relationship with my mum. I'd probably be able to forget his daily physical struggle to do the simplest of things and the anger in my mum's eyes as she tries to be patient and not snap.
I'd definitely not be thinking of the steady stream of daily carers who come to do some of the difficult jobs. Their clocking in and out, the ease and routine they have in my childhood home. The intimacy they develop with my father and the distance my mum puts in-between her and them.
The carefully constructed barriers she places so that it can still feel like her home.
I'd be free of all that and if it weren't for VHL so would they.

Just a tiny drop of milk

I've been making my dad tea for over 30 years.
He knows I know how he takes it.
Today I asked if he wanted a cup of tea and he said 'yes please, with a tiny drop off milk.'
I smiled.
I put the kettle on and thought about our relationship. It's good to see him but hard to understand him.
I then realised I knew about the milk but wasn't sure what type of cup I should use.
That had changed, maybe... It hadn't.

On a day I feel blessed I thought this a true blessing. Being able to make my dad a cup of tea the way he likes it.

He's off to a music festival and last week he went on a trip up a very large hill.

He is back to inspiring me.

And I'm surrounded by blessings.
A cheese and ham roll
Fresh milk
My bank card working instantly
The London transport system
Pate
Crumpets
A really good washing machine
Central heating
Consistent internet connection
The NHS
Next day delivery
Take away
A trip to the cinema

My mum
My dad
My sister
Her children
My childhood home

Laughing until my face hurts with my family

My health

The sun

Contact with my other home

The love and care and support from so many people

Their positively, compassion and prayers.

I have three homes.

I am blessed.

Tales of the Unexpected

I was not ready!

My head is still spinning but I have a stay of execution. I could bore you with the explanation but I'm exhausted from explaining. The long and short of it is no surgery, for now and maybe now for a long time.