Luck, choice, hard work

This term has been hard.
There has been so much variety and I have seen an unacceptable level of poverty and privilege.
Here I am.
The holidays loom and I don't quite know what will keep me busy.

Keep my mind off it all.

Touching death

I cried in the bath yesterday. I cried because I know I'm going to miss part of my daughter's life.
Tonight I cried because I felt like I'm going to miss more of it.
I have to realise I can't be there always.
Her dad will be fantastic
Her dad will hold her and love her
And he'll tell her when she needs telling
I'm so scared I'll miss it all

Knowing tragedy can strike

My newest friend and I have something in common. Many things.
But we know tragedy can pop up regardless of the day, joy or season.
My mother would often bemoan the grokkles that visited our home town of a summer.
They think they can't die on holiday... The anecdote continued, but the point was, you don't expect to die on holiday.
My new friend and I know, that's not true.

In fact, we often leap to the tragedy in our minds. We see the terror and grief that awaits, just behind the casual smile of a swimming pool or car journey home. We understand we have no control over the fateful day we may say, I knew something was wrong... We'll say it because we feel the potential daily. One doesn't experience inexplicable grief at a young age and then go back to blissful ignorance.

No, we do our best to ignore the continual threat of the unexpected and, in our eyes, likely repetition of pain.

So we acknowledge it, push it aside and great it, with a great deal of respect. And then, we do our best to ignore it once again. But only because this time, happily, we were wrong.

Ex pat

Being an ex pat is the most ridiculous thing to be.
We're immigrants.
We have the extraordinary experience of being here.
I'm not sure how we get to term it differently.
Humph

The push and pull

I want her near me every second of the day.
I want her safe in my arms, a place she can't stay
I want her to know my love is in her skin
To keep it there I must being to let go

Letters to my dad

something unexpected and rather wonderful has begun to happen. My dad, when he has the physical and emotional energy, has started up a real conversation with me via email. 

He says things and I reply. 

I love it, I love him asking about my thoughts. I love hearing his. I was reminded the other day how when he and my mum had spilt up and we would have an afternoon together, how hard it was to talk, let alone communicate. That's how I remember we started to talk about and cook food. Something we both enjoyed and it gave us a way of being together. 

I hope this conversation continues, I can love this father and eagerly await his responses, questions and thoughts. 

This is my most recent reply... you'll have to guess what he said because that's between him and me. 

I don't go anymore, mainly because I think organised religion isn't for me.  I think I do have faith, or perhaps hope. I hope there is another step or stage, I really hope it's got some things that are better than this one. And I suppose it is more wishful thinking. I feel the church gave me some really positive things but mainly a bad thing, guilt and with that a level of insecurity that is very hard to shift. I suffer from very low self esteem that isn't something I carry openly, I come across as very sure and confident, but I sometimes wake up with an almost crippling sense of shame and self doubt. Then I have a word with myself, and try and get on with the day. 

Over the years I learnt to protect myself  from myself. the psychotherapy really helped with that. I surround myself with people who get me and love me unconditionally. I wish my sister was one of them but she confirmed at my birthday party that she doesn't think very highly of me. 

So  - religion makes it too hard to be positive and I don't think a the god I was told about exists but I want to believe there is a spiritual element to us and this life and then maybe another one. 

Sad and angry

I've been both this week.
News that a friend was suddenly dead and by suicide was hard to take.
I would love to be at the funeral as I know thev love that works pour out from everyone.
Her life had had so many difficulties, and some of them so close to my own experiences that she just got me.
We meet via a choir and when the choir spilt we went to different ones, but not once did that mean we didn't respect each other.
We became friends because she was open to me, open to learning about me and I her. That's what friends are I guess.
She knew what it felt like to have a body that fucks you over.
She knew what it felt like to be in hospital while you're children observe all that you're going through.
She knew the value of psychotherapy.
She knew what being betrayed felt like.

She also knew how to fight on. I can only guess that the fight became too much or that she was taken over by the pain and fear of depression.

I'm so sad she couldn't stay with us. I'm angry that she's gone because I don't want her to be. I want to hike up that bloody hill and see her next time I'm home. You take it for granted people will be there. And these moments remind you that won't always be true.

So I've been angry. The universe has pissed me off.

A list

When did I start doing things?
It was before my brother died. Then I carried on doing things.
In a very rough order...

Drama wise I was in various shows as a youngster, did plays, directed too
School shows and local Am dram
Learnt judo for a while
I sang songs in assemblies - composed by me and my mate
Orchestras - lots of them
Local choirs - with solos - lots of them
Art exhibitions
Sang in church - solos a lot
Played in music competitions and then as an adult was a judge in the same competitions
Started a youth club
Representative for East Anglia youth assembly for the Roman Catholic church
Joined bands - backing singer
Fronted my own band - Kismet - sang covers all over Norfolk and Suffolk
Sang our own original stuff
Sold my own art - lots of it
Recorded a CD single
Went to art school
Worked in a young offenders prison - helped direct a production of Cinderella
Did a degree
Did a PGCE
Did a masters degree
Did an NPQSL
Spoke at City Hall London to advocate for better education around domestic violence in schools
Lead a teacher Union rally and spoke to the assembly about why education needs to change
Wrote some books - unpublished
Advocated for several young people
Performed in a few murder mystery spoofs
Moved to Africa

If and when I remember other stuff I'll add it

I'm proud of all these things
None of these things are about VHL

Fuck off to Disneyland.

My mum and I would wonder when I would get my...fuck off to Disneyland moment.

Your cancer needed to be terminal.

But we never really know. And it will come back, without doubt. So we realised, we don't get to cash in and fuck off to the life long dream.
Mine is not and never has been Disneyland. But it seemed the most popular choice.

Today, as I watched the clouds over lake Malawi and let the wind cover me in a smooth coolness on the boat that took us from island to island, and as I looked at my new friends and beautiful little family, I realised, I've done it!
I've had my 'life is too short' escape.
Malawi is my Disneyland.

2019 will have some surgery in it but I'm determined not to let it spoil this escape.

More rain

Well, it is the rainy season.
Unlike the refreshing power of the rain here, VHL comes time and time again. You know it will show up. When? You can make a good guess and that is... Too often.
I'm trying to enjoy this moment and having the never ending support from those I love, and love me is helping.
The rain that is beating down around us tonight is, according to the locals, unusual for this time of day.
The reocurrance of kidney cancer is frustratingly normal and yet it beats down.  Hard and unrelenting.

I love rain

The simplicity of it.
The truth of it.
The way it does its job
Well done rain.
I applaud you.
Job well done... Keep it up.

Well, stop for a bit while I enjoy a bit of sun, tomorrow will do.

You've cooled and nourished us, me.
I do like the rain.

Postmum Pat

Two letters arrive at my old, old, old, old, old, old address.
They contradict the emails I've had.
They send me into the state of the unknown again and they make the evening frustrating and I feel sad and confused.
I'm now back in the doubt and so despite feeling I knew what the plan was, it's changed or has it?

I have cancer

And it's one of the good ones.
In the last month I've heard of two men who have prostate cancer.
Oh, one of the good ones
Kidney cancer isn't normally considered one of the good ones, but if I'm being positive, it is for me.
One day I might run out of kidney. I might run out of both.
But not yet.

Phones on a wall

I remember the phones on the wall. It was a day in March. A month, that until then held no significant to me and will now forever be, the month.
I was aware that I should tell people. I was old enough to have people of my own to tell. I don't recall how I paid, but I stood against the wall, in amongst the wall of phones and called someone.
I told the person on the other end. He's brain dead they think. He's dead they think.
And I recall being aware of the momentous event and my place in it. Small and sad.
Nothing more then.
I was surrounded by people who were leaning against that wall of phones. Some with good news, some bad, some mundane.
All with someone to tell.
Today I have a wall of people. I lean against them when I need to tell someone.

It's always

It will always be there.
This doesn't go away and never will. Stoic and able to comfort those who need it.
It's fine
I get tumours
Shut them down
No sympathy required
Those that know a bit more, read it... I don't want to dwell
I can't
I can't
I can't
And when I do - who wants to listen?
Very few
And I included myself
I don't want to listen

You grow slowly

Tonight I'm out at St Andrew's night. An annual event here.
I saw people I haven't seen in a while.
'how are you?'
Very normal question.
Who ever really wants to hear the real answer?
This time I resisted the urge to say, oh I'm good. But I have cancer again.
And as the raffle unravels I am doing my best to be the woman I was this time last year.
But each time I know I've changed and my body has changed, not just older but more tumour. More surgery. More risk.
One day I'll run out of kidney.
But not yet.

I didn't win that raffle. 

I don't want to

I don't want to
I don't what to chase
I don't want to ask
I don't want to know
I don't want to stop
I don't want to carry on
I don't want to cope
I don't want to fall apart
I don't want to

I'm nothing special

Some days I just can't believe what I'm juggling in my head. And there are people here who see and know that.
But not my husband.
When asked,  do you think I'm impressive how I cope with all this, he replied
The doctors are.

But me?

I've blocked out the exact details but the gist was no.

No

No

And I didn't know what to do with that.

Did I show weakness by asking?

Is it that his permanent ex-pat lifestyle has left him devoid of understanding.

Or

Is he right

Nothing special about living with VHL.

How far can you go?

The surgeon has a knife.
How far should it go?

How often can you be cut and how many times will it hurt?

3 years hence

Facebook tells you about memories. I'm struck by where I was three years ago. I'm in Zomba today and I climbed and walked and saw things I never imagined I would.
I did it with new friends and my little family.
I'm troubled by the next phase but not thrown by it.
I will make it through and I have such a huge amount of love and support.
Today I am aware of how blessed I am, despite my next VHL hurdle.