Sunday Reflections

 What a week! 

I started writing a few thoughts down earlier this week as my head was spinning and I was struggling to sleep. Little did I know it was just the starter before the main course landed. 

There are lots of changes happening at work and I and others in my team have been going through a number of selection processes. Change is always unsettling even if you are the sort of person who embraces it. The uncertainty is always hard to manage. 

I got some disappointing news on Monday. Nothing life changing or earth shattering but personal to me. I was upset and as is my way, set myself off on an internal dialogue, wavering between tears, anger and shame.  Of course Negative Norma was more than happy to join me. We talked about how I’d let myself down and others too, then branched out into a dissection of all my faults and failings, including all those moments over the years that are unresolved. You know the drill. When 5 am dawned this was still going on and Positive Petunia hadn’t even got her foot in the door. 

I do always try to see the positives and finally let Petunia in sometime during Tuesday afternoon. There is a tool we use in coaching called the scale of awfulness. I was rational enough to be able to see things in some perspective against the scale and start to look forward. But was wavering between the two extremes. Still am to a degree. On a positive note, I have received lots of support and words of encouragement. I’m humbled and grateful. Many have said ‘you reap what you sow’and reminded me of the support I have given then in the past. A positive out of a negative  

Then on Wednesday, the universe in its infinite wisdom and glory landed another huge dose of perspective. Devastating news. Remember, I mentioned the scale of awfulness? Death is,as you would expect, on the top end of the scale. I and others, lost a colleague, a respected and valued boss and leader but others a friend, a dad, a partner, a son. How do you offer comfort to someone when the most awful thing has happened - I don’t know and words just don’t cover it.

We all gathered to try to make sense of what we had been told. Together to support each other through this. The grief and sorrow in the office were palpable. None of us know what to expect moving forward but I know that we will do it together. The worst of times often bring out the best qualities in people. Memories shared help for the tears to turn to smiles. Hope starts to germinate and will enable us to lift our heads and go on.

I don’t trivialise what has happened and what individuals are going through and will still have to go through but the human spirit is a force to be reckoned with. We go forward and we do it for those who are no longer with us. 

I often write reflections just for me but have decided to publish these. I’m not really sure why, and hope that no one thinks I’m being indulgent or disrespectful. It’s cathartic for me and if it helps someone else then that’s a unintended bonus .

I end by asking if we know each other and you are struggling then please, even I look or say I am busy, reach out, tell me you need to chat. Always.

Stand down Wayne. We’ve got this from here. 

Ne’er cast a clout til May is out

Ne’er cast a clout til May is out 

This is an old English proverb which refers to not casting off winter clothes too early. Some say it refers to the month of May others to the blossom of the May bush. Either way it is meaningful for me as May is such a significant month. 

Before I go any further I feel I need to explain my recent writing drought. When I checked I realised I’d not published a blog for six months. I had started a few but not completed them. My writing mojo along with Elvis, had left the building. This fact hadn’t completely escaped my notice but I hadn’t realised how long it had been so I needed a nudge and it came from a friend and colleague so thank you Debi. 

I’m not entirely sure why I’ve had this writers block, and I’m not sure it’s just one causal effect. I ended up with Covid at Christmas and it disrupted our family celebrations. Into January I then started to struggle a little with my mental health. Feeling just generally overwhelmed. I’ve had to regroup a little and focus on me. Which brings us nicely back to May where we recognise Mental Health Awareness week and my family celebrate many birthdays including my own but also the day we lost our Daniel on his fifth birthday.

Dan would have been thirty this year and it’s 25 years since he died. A quarter of a century without him. These milestones come and go and are stark reminders of the loss. What should be a reason for celebration becomes a wistful round of ‘what might have been’s’ 

As hard as this is it has some synchronicity and usually marks a shift from a period of sadness and I emerge from my grief chrysalis to become my usual social butterfly in time for my birthday. 

This year there is a slight blip in this process as I have my mammogram scheduled for the day before my birthday. It’s great that I get regular screening but as soon as the letter arrived my scanxiety started to lurk. 

It doesn’t matter how hard I try to be positive Petunia, I know that until it’s done and I get the results I’m hoping for, scanxiety will lurk, like a stealthy lurking thing. 

This year more so now than before, I need May to be out so that the clouds can clear and I can look forward to enjoying those long, warm sunny days of summer. I’m looking forward to cocktails, holidays and BBQs and hope to share some good times with family and friends. This is the balm for the soul that I crave. 🦋🦋🦋

Two years on - How are you now, all sorted right?

 This month marks two years since my surgery for breast cancer.

It’s quite a landmark and in many ways feel still very recent. In August I had my first repeat mammogram., 2 years on from the routine check that discovered my cancer. I waited with bated breath for the results. This period of trying to be positive but a constant niggle of what if is known as scanxiety. They said results would take 3 weeks. On the last day of the 3rd week still no results. 

This is when the scanxiety goes off the chart. In my head if it was all clear I would have heard by now and the fact that I haven’t is because the results have gone to multi-disciplinary team and they are having to slot me in to clinic. Make no mistake all this and more goes on in my head in the early hours and no matter how much my positive Petunia says it will be ok. After a couple of sleepless nights, I get up to find a letter on the doormat. Waits…opens… the results of your recent mammogram were satisfactory. Exhales, phew, thank goodness for that. I let everyone know and all is good. My mind is put at rest. 

It takes a day or two before I pick up the letter again. Something is niggling in the back of my brain. Satisfactory. Why not ‘all clear’ or ‘cancer free’ The rational part of me supported by Petunia, says don’t be so pedantic.  This is good news, no further action, apart from annual oncology checks and continued hormone therapy for another 4 years. Negative Norma though, is going full on scanxiety. Why ‘just satisfactory’ ‘it’s been really painful a couple of times this week, is there something sinister going on’ it can be quite relentless and exhausting. It’s more in my nature to be positive but even for me sometimes it’s just hard. I say the right things to myself but sometimes it’s just challenging  

It’s been two years. If people ask me how I am, chances are, I will just say fine, going on well etc. it’s just easier and honestly I’m sick of hearing myself say it, so others must be too. Please don’t think I asking for you all to join my personal pity party. Saying it, is me trying to believe it.

The thing is, the after effects of cancer are pervading, just like the disease itself. Apart from the physical parts of me that are gone, it does feel like an essential little bit of me has gone too, or at least it’s hiding away. I guess this is the emotional scar, just as prominent and niggly as the physical scars.  I know I have a lot of work to do on acceptance. Not least accepting that whilst my treatment does have some unpleasant side effects, it’s doing a job of stopping the cancer returning or metastasing. I also know I have so much to be thankful for. An early diagnosis, prompt treatment, getting through a bout of Covid, a supportive workplace, a negative mammogram not forgetting amazing family and friends. 

So it’s time to embrace the new chubbier, wonkier, me. Sensible shoes, non wired bras, wobbly teeth, crumbly bones, grey hair and comfy clothes. To be accepting of what I am able to do rather than what I can’t. To ask for help when I need it and rest before my body forces me to. 

A phrase I see used a lot is:

You never know what someone is going through, so be kind.

Todays lesson for me is to really embrace that somewhat clichéd phrase but mostly to remember to apply it to myself. 

Footnote:

For any of my friends going through ‘stuff’ know that I will be here for you, if you need to offload just as many of you have been for me. It’s not a competition. We all struggle in different ways. A listening ear and some well intended, if ineffective platitudes followed by some gentle piss taking can be more powerful than any of us realise. Don’t suffer in silence. 

Annus Covidus

 I’m seeing lots of things in the media and on socials reflecting on the last twelve months. As I haven’t written for a while I thought I would jump on that theme so apologies if you are weary of such things. Also having been awake since 4:30, what else am I going to do that doesn’t involve involve disturbing him upstairs. (That’s Mrs Gail not god, although some might say he thinks he’s a god but that’s for another blog) 

12 months - it’s a landmark, a passage of time but also in many ways gone so quickly and so much has happened and changed.  It’s something I’ve touched on before in previous blogs (One year on and other anniversaries) Personally, I was in denial in the early stages of this pandemic. Prior to the first lockdown I thought it was being overplayed initially, some scaremongering. This wasn’t based on any fact or evidence,  just my feeling. This may have been due to my own personal circumstances which meant my focus was internal more than external but it just goes to show, what do I know. 😂

My personal lockdown had begun earlier due to my surgery and radiotherapy. In fact it turns out I was very lucky to have just completed my course of radiotherapy as restrictions started. Many have since had treatment delayed or postponed. I went from days alone on the sofa to having the company of the hubby, my daughter and her partner, all furloughed - not forgetting the cat. I do fear for her mental health once this is all over, where will be the package of support for pets being left alone all day again, I wonder, (usually in the early hours along with many other random ponderings)

I think many of us lucky enough not to have been personally impacted by Covid at that point, look back on those early heady days of lockdown with some fondness. It was all about the baking, the shopping, hand sanitiser, loo roll, banana bread, walks, board games and briefings. We were getting back to family values, it felt like a mini break. I don’t deny there was fear, uncertainty, loneliness but it was all new and a novelty. Then the reports of illnesses, the deaths, the financial and economical implications started to filter in. We all thought things would soon be back to normal, that this was a short sharp burst of pain to achieve a common goal. Working at home or new ways of working became the norm. For me, medical appointments all had to be done by phone. All rehab cancelled. Hindsight can be a wonderful thing but also a bit of a curveball. None of us can know if we would have done things differently if we had known and I think there are few amongst us who thought we would still be where we are now 12 months on.

I had my one year review yesterday with my oncologist and she commented how weird it is to be doing this over the phone having never met in the first place to discuss my treatment plan as this was done in a hasty telephone call as the NHS rushed to set up contingencies. Yes, some of my thoughts around that meeting have contributed to my insomnia but what can I do. We’ve all had to make changes and sacrifices to various degrees and of course it’s not a competition so saying there is always someone worse off than you isn’t always helpful. Your own circumstances are personal to you and you feel them deeply, others having a bad time doesn’t diminish your feelings but it can help you to count your blessings which we often forget to do. 

 My blessings are many. I got an early diagnosis and treatment. I locked down in a loving and safe environment with plenty of home comforts. I and all my family have so far remained employed even though on reduced income, we haven’t lost anyone to Covid, I can work from home in an separate space, I have some great friends and support networks. I’m not saying it’s been easy and I’m not saying it’s over yet but I’m here and I’m in for the long haul. 

I’m taking some time today for personal reflection but more importantly remembering all of those who have lost their lives to Covid-19 so far, all their families, friends and those who tried to treat them, all those suffering mentally, financially, anyone who has been negatively impacted. I will take time to send some positivity out into the universe for you all. I thank each and everyone of you who has been apart of my last year from close friends and family to randoms on Twitter. Remember to always try to be kind and to check in on someone today, it could make a big difference to them. 

January the 75th [or self-care is the new Friday]

 I made a bit of a conscious decision not to write a blog over the Christmas and New Year period. This was for a couple of reasons but mainly because there is so little going on that it’s tough finding something new to write about. It’s also hard to keep on trying to find the positives and you fear that people are fed up of you going on and that you may be adding to their struggle to stay positive and mentally well. 

So what’s changed you may be thinking. Well, I’ve had lots of conversations with different people over the last couple of weeks since returning to work after the festive break. Lots of people are struggling. Lots of people recognise there are people who are worse off than they are. Lots of people are keeping all this to themselves. Even me, someone who is happy sharing and has lots to say is feeling like maybe I should not say anything. Again I must stress when I write, it’s not because I am looking for people to feel sorry for me. I’m not looking sycophantic reassurance. Yes the ego  appreciates if people take time to read or comment but it’s not my driver  

I have to admit one of the things that has held me back recently is that I just feel most of what I’ve had to say for the last 14 months has been, perhaps a bit heavy. Yes I’ve tried to bring my coping mechanism of humour to it but I as someone who considers themselves to be and I quote ‘a glass full kind of person” I’ve got to say that has been getting harder and harder. I have felt that perhaps people are sick of me banging on and moaning and that I should get over it. 

Now, no one has actually said any of this to me. No, this has come from my inner critic, who from now on shall be known as, naggy Norma. I’m pretty sure you all know what I’m talking about. That little voice inside you who chips away at your confidence. Who tells you you’re not good enough, or strong enough, or clever enough. It tells you people aren’t interested in what you have to offer. Even worse it tells you things that people are thinking and saying about you. These things, your worst fears, silence you and repress you. I know this all sounds a bit dramatic but trust me Norma is a complete a-hole. She shouts down and tramples all over our inner cheerleader, hereafter mine shall be known as positive Petunia. Norma’s is the loudest voice. She will be heard and you give her an inch she will take a mile. Before you know it she will have persuaded you that can’t do it and people are laughing about you even thinking you could. Petunia will be left out in the cold, whispering into the abyss.  

I’ve found that from recent conversations, verbalising some of the things I’ve been feeling has been really helpful. Others have shared how they are feeling. Rather than dragging each other down, you are actually lifted up. It’s really helps to share and listen to others. It always feels a bit perverse to say that it is reassuring to know others are going through similar but it really is. It takes you out of your own head for a while. You support each other. It’s so much easier to give others advice and see that the inner critic is rife in them. On reflection, you realise your Norma has been on another rampage and in doing so you realise you need to apply this advice to yourself. You get Normas coat and have to throw a Petunia party. This can feel unnatural but trust me it’s essential. The conversations I’ve had recently have energised me in different ways. Things haven’t changed but how you look at them shifts slightly. 

Self-care is the lynch pin here. Because if you can’t care for yourself who else will. Ask Petunia what you could do to be kind to yourself. Have a cuppa, read a book, listen to music, go for a run, have a winge to a trusted friend who will listen then deride you until you laugh, watch some trashy tv or a documentary. You get the picture, whatever floats your boat. It might sound corny but write down one positive thing or one thing you are grateful for a day in the same way of doing one Petunia inspired thing. It could make a difference. 

Friday has traditionally been the day we look forward to. On Thursday my hubby will say, what have we got planned for the weekend? Do you want to go anywhere? Do anything? He asked me last week and I just looked at him. Then I thought, let’s plan something. We ordered a restaurant at home food box. We decided to get dressed up, have cocktails, have a music night. It gave us hope. Nothing had changed but our view and mood shifted imperceptibly. 

Don’t let Norma tell you any of this is indulgent, pointless or selfish. Don’t let her persuade you your time should be spent doing something more important. This is survival. So make you a priority. Plan it into your diary as you would an important meeting. Respect it like you would an big presentation or interview. Ask others to hold you to account over this. Most of all show yourself the kindness you would show others. 

One last thing if you are feeling alone and down, it’s easy to listen to Norma who will tell you you are pathetic and no one cares. She will tell you everyone has forgotten about you. But the things is they may have their own silent struggles. Be the one to make the call or send the text. You never know how the people you contact are feeling. You might be their lifeline too. Go on ask Petunia what to do. 

‘I lied and said I was busy.
I was busy;
but not in a way most people understand.

I was busy taking deeper breaths.
I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.
I was busy calming a racing heart.
I was busy telling myself I am okay.

Sometimes, this is my busy -
and I will not apologize for it.” 
― Brittin Oakman’ 

A Bra called Malice or Boris or Derek

To save this word, you'll end

Bra, Brassiere, Over The Shoulder Boulder Holder, Tit sling, Cleavage Commando, Upper Topper Flopper Stopper.  

What do you call yours? I’ve been wanting to write something about this subject for a while as its a subject that’s close to my heart, literally. I realise it’s a subject that may alienate a good proportion of my followers although I know there are plenty of men out there who are equally as familiar with the subject. 

I feel like the bra probably was designed by someone who doesn’t need to wear one for all of their waking day and I feel like we need more bra wearers in STEM subjects to turn their brilliant minds the design of the brassiere.  There has to be another way surely. 

Those of you who know me know that I am much in need of a bra. I am not a member of the itty bitty titty club (apologies for any offence caused) I have what can only be described as a substantial bosom. I didn’t ask for them and in many ways they are a bit of a burden. 

I remember quite clearly when my boobs started to become a bit of an issue.  As a little girl growing up with an older sister I couldn’t wait to get my boobs. I would steal my sisters bra’s and pop socks in or an orange and she would go mad (I also used to borrow her shoes but that’s another story) I’m sure my sister won’t mind me sharing the irony in this recollection as nowadays and for a long while now if she were to borrow my bra she would be stuffing the cups with a duvet or cantaloupe melon. Apologies Kaz. Because yes, I came from a household of nice normal little boobs. So mine came as a bit of a shock. 

Like I say, my first memory of my own boobs being slightly noticeable was when I was around 12. I was super skinny. So skinny that my nickname was Skellybones or Sparrow legs. An older teenage boy I knew commented one day, wow you’ve got boobs, where did they come from  I shocked, looked down and was surprised.  My mom had been suggesting for some time that I give up my vest for a bra but none of the other girls in my class wore one so I was loathe to do so. I had to succumb and my first proper bras were a twin pack of berlei starter bras, one pink floral, one lilac floral from the Kay’s catalogue and so it had begun  

The second episode was similar, a couple of years later. I was sunbathing in my friends back garden in a newly purchased string bikini. Her sisters boyfriend arrived. We knew each other, had done for a while but I guess he’d only seen me in generally baggy clothes, as was my want.. He took a few pictures of me. I later found out that he had also taken some from the upstairs window and that he had also then shown them to the lads at youth club, commenting who knew she had all that going on under her t shirt.. Looking back it feels pervy and invasive but they were different times and I’d not yet released my inner feminist but it was the start of the boobs becoming seen as a separate entity to me. A glimpse of what I was to learn of how some men are completely mesmerised by a pair of mammary glands.

I think I then started a campaign to disguise my boobs by way of loose fitting clothes and hunched shoulders. This lasted into my thirties when new found confidence and a attitude of if you’ve got it flaunt it emerged. It was also a realisation that try as I might I couldn’t really disguise them. I often say to my hubby or daughter, do my boobs look big in this and they generally nod and say your boobs are just big. Full stop. They look small in nothing, not even those minimiser bras that were a thing I tried back in the day.

So now I must come on to the great bra scandal. Those of us who suffer as I do are literally discriminated against. Not for me a trip to primarni  or Asda to throw a two pack of reasonably priced bras in the basket. No for me, many years and pounds spent in expensive and specialist lingerie shops. If I added up my lifetime spend on bras and swimwear I could be living the life in some swanky penthouse flat or country pile. Bras for bigger boobs are nothing short of daylight robbery. I get there is  more material but the manufacturing g process is basically the same (give or take a small amount of scaffolding) so I can’t understand why instead of £12.99 for two I have to pay £40 for one. A couple of bikinis for holidays, not much change from 200 quid. Not only that but, many bra manufacturers, despite saying they cater for bigger busts actually don’t. They stop at certain cup sizes like E or F. If you are Good God or above you’ve basically shit it.

Of course my hunt for bras was recently intensified. I have always worn under wired bras and after years of fruitless searching and shelling out dollars for bras that were like wearing a metal band of scratchy uncomfortable-ness, I had settled on a brand and style that suited. Over the years I have had to face the dread of a style being discontinued and frantically panic buying all remaining stock. Also having the same bra in all the colours they do. 

Now I needed to change to a soft, mainly cotton non-wired bra. Easy enough I hear you say..WRONG. There are specialist places for post surgery and radiotherapy bras. But did they go up to my cup size, no they didn’t. Clearly only women of specific bra size get breast cancer right? I can’t remember how many I must have tried on. All this at a time when it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I would hazard a guess at the 30 plus mark. Even bought about half a dozen of them in attempt to find something suitable. At this point I refer you back to previous expenditure and add a few quid for a specialist bra but lucky you it’s vat free because it’s medical. I have even written to a few manufacturers such was my desperation. The response ranged from nothing to we are thinking of expanding our range in the future. 

So the choices currently are a bra that gives you a mono boob suitable for resting your chin or cup of tea on or a sheepdog style (round em up and separate em) that creates a chasm between your cleavage but means you can’t put your arms down because your boobs are in your armpits. This style also gives you a pointy boob that will have a random passerby’s eye out if you turn sharply. I joke about it but I think you will feel my frustration and glimpse how little things like this can really chip away at the old self-confidence and feel-good factor. 

Then we see this other strange phenomenon .  The bras available to me have something disturbing in common. So little Miss Itty Bitty’s bras are delicate wisps of lace named Willow, Amelie, Amari, Madeleine and the like  

The bras in my size range are called Doreen, Eileen, Cynthia and Bertha. I kid you not, they might as well be called Derek, Bruce , Hairy trucker, or Boris. There is even a Delicate Doreen that is not in the least bit delicate. What are these designers thinking of. It doesn’t inspire you to buy or make you feel good about yourself when wearing. It’s the insult to add to the injury. Spend shit loads of money on a implementation of torture and be insulted into the bargain.

I don’t know what’s to be done. I feel I need to rise up and start a revolution and I just might as soon as I find a bra that I can comfortably wear for the duration of such an uprising. Who’s with me?

One year on and other anniversaries

 

anniversary

/anɪˈvəːs(ə)ri/

Learn to pronounce

noun

noun: anniversary; plural noun: anniversaries

1. the date on which an event took place or an institution was founded in a previous year.

   "the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Britain"

   Similar:

   jubilee

   commemoration

   • the date on which a couple were married in a previous year.

     "he even forgot our tenth anniversary!"
   • INFORMAL

     the date on which a romance began in a previous month or week.

Origin

I think we all remember the Queen having an annus horribilis, well for many of us 2020 will definitely fit the bill on that score. Anniversaries can be a dual edged sword. We have the good ones when we celebrate or commemorate the length of time passed such as birthday, wedding or when something significant and good happened.  Others are not so good such as the death of a loved one or something bad happening. 

For me, I have a number of significant anniversaries at the moment that are memorable for all the wrong reasons. Recently it was 12 months since I received my breast cancer diagnosis and today is the day one year ago that I had my surgery. I have many negative associations with both of those events but in an effort to maintain the tenuous  link to my sanity, I am trying to focus on the positives. I’m lucky that I got an early diagnosis due to the NHS screening programme. I’m lucky that the NHS were there to look after me and move quickly to have surgery and treatment that will have ultimately saved or at the very least prolonged my life. Lucky that so many friends and family were there to look after and support me. Kind words, flowers, gifts, hugs, cards, lifts to appointments, all these intended and did carry me through the dark times. 

I said I was going to focus on the positives but I would be lying if I said there weren’t any difficult times and it’s important to acknowledge those. I won’t bore you with all the little details of the impact that cancer and it’s invasive treatment has on you and your family but I will say that it’s like that old analogy of dropping a stone into a pool. Those ripples are far reaching and often you feel like you’ve been hit by a wave instead. To stay with the water analogy, it’s also like those waves are eroding the coastline at times. The impact is not to be underestimated and it’s easy to think, it’s been a year, I should be ok now, things should be back to my normal. (Notice I said my normal, just so those of you who know me can’t say I was never normal - in honesty I never proclaimed I was 😂) It feels like it has gone very quickly but marking that passage of time also makes me realise I still have some way to go.

All of this set against a backdrop of a global pandemic. When I do things, I always do them well. This week I have been contemplating my anniversaries and my journey whilst coming to terms with lockdown 2.  I have been speaking to many friends and colleagues struggling and on a level beyond the last lockdown. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it myself but we have to get through it. We all need to look out for each other and it’s also vitally important that we look after ourselves. Self-care is a word that’s bandied about quite a lot but it has never been more important and we shouldn’t feel guilty about taking time out to recharge our internal batteries. 

So to you all, I have two things to ask. 

1. Do something everyday that you enjoy and that is for you. However every small it might be.

2. If you get offered health screening don’t put if off just do it. 

I’m off now to drink to my anniversary, along with a nice home cooked meal and a then a long soak in the bath with a good book.