There's a fantastic website that a friend introduced me to. It's called Postsecret. It bills itself as 'a community art project'. Essentially, this guy, Frank Warren, invited anyone and everyone to post him their secrets anonymously, on one side of a postcard. He's had such an overwhelming response that he's been able to publish 4 (or more?) books of the postcards. Frank described how amazed he was by the response - firstly by the amount of original artwork that people create as they create their unique postcards, but secondly by the bravery of people to write down their secret and send it off to him.
Over the months that I've been reading Postsecret, I've been amazed at the things that other people struggle with, the things that people wish others really knew about them. I've been touched repeatedly by the desire that we seem to have to truly know and be known. Sometimes I've been appalled by what I've learnt - the capacity that people have for rage, revenge, cruelty, hate, and inflicting pain on others - but mostly I've been saddened at the thought that all these hundreds of people appear to have no-one with whom to really share themselves.
On several occasions, something I have written here has hurt one of my readers. While my intention is never to hurt others, my response is not to begin censoring what I write. While I don't choose to share my deepest secrets here (I don't know exactly who is reading this, and I don't really want to share all of my private thoughts with a lurker who may be crazy) I do try to remain honest about my thoughts and feelings in the moment that I write. While I still have secrets I could share with PostSecret, I guess that this blog is one way of letting myself think that I am actually communicating with others, being heard.
PostSecret and this blog have something else in common though. While I may feel like I'm communicating well, and being heard, in truth, it's not a substitute for real, face-to-face heart-to-heart communication with another human being. In the end, the only thing that really satisfies is the real deal.
And this is where I confess that I know I'm living at an unsustainable pace. The past few weeks have been the busiest of my life. I have never worked so hard in all my life. I'm loving it, but I know that I am sick because I've been burning the candle at both ends, and in the middle. And I know it has to stop. I don't know how though, since there are still things that need to be sorted out for the business. I'm still having hassles with patterns and fabric. Once that gets sorted, and I actually have a product, then I can rest for a bit. At least, that's what I hope.
I do feel rather miserable though at the effect this is having on G and Nellie, on home life, on the time I have available to be with my extended family... time with loved ones can never be recaptured.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
The light at the end of the tunnel
The end is in sight for all cancers everywhere! Believe it or not, it looks like a cure has been found for cancer! And get this - it was in our own bodies all along!
Following the incredible story of a man who spontaneously recovered from terminal stomach cancer (he'd exhausted all the traditional treatments and been sent home to die) a treatment has been devised using our own antibodies which is proving incredibly successful.
Very simply (although it's actually not as simple a process as I make it sound), some white blood cells are extracted from you, and introduced to a virus that helps to trigger a slight DNA change that switches on the production of cancer-killing antibodies. These antibodies are then produced in the lab en masse, harvested and injected back into you. All you need to do then, is sit back and wait for the antibodies to start attacking the cancer leading to your recovery.
OK, so it's not that simple, and there are some complications. First of all, there's the complication of how much this little process costs - several tens of thousands of US dollars per patient. Then there's the complication of side effects (chills, fever, confusion, tremors) - but they disappear as soon as treatment stops, and compared to the side effects from radiation and chemo, that's not bad going! Then there's the complication that before you can inject the antibodies back in, you first have to deplete the blood of existing antibodies, but again - that's not insurmountable.
And of course, proper trials have yet to be done. And of the tests done so far, the results seem to indicate that either you do or don't respond. If you do, you're basically cured. If you don't, well, then you're still very sick.
But the fact remains that when this works, it works brilliantly - making surgery possible in cases where it previously wasn't an option, making life possible where previously it wasn't, giving hope and future to those who previously would have been told to prepare for death.
So, the end is finally in sight. Finally, after this very long walk in the dark it seems that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Cancer CAN be cured. Cancer WILL be cured.
Following the incredible story of a man who spontaneously recovered from terminal stomach cancer (he'd exhausted all the traditional treatments and been sent home to die) a treatment has been devised using our own antibodies which is proving incredibly successful.
Very simply (although it's actually not as simple a process as I make it sound), some white blood cells are extracted from you, and introduced to a virus that helps to trigger a slight DNA change that switches on the production of cancer-killing antibodies. These antibodies are then produced in the lab en masse, harvested and injected back into you. All you need to do then, is sit back and wait for the antibodies to start attacking the cancer leading to your recovery.
OK, so it's not that simple, and there are some complications. First of all, there's the complication of how much this little process costs - several tens of thousands of US dollars per patient. Then there's the complication of side effects (chills, fever, confusion, tremors) - but they disappear as soon as treatment stops, and compared to the side effects from radiation and chemo, that's not bad going! Then there's the complication that before you can inject the antibodies back in, you first have to deplete the blood of existing antibodies, but again - that's not insurmountable.
And of course, proper trials have yet to be done. And of the tests done so far, the results seem to indicate that either you do or don't respond. If you do, you're basically cured. If you don't, well, then you're still very sick.
But the fact remains that when this works, it works brilliantly - making surgery possible in cases where it previously wasn't an option, making life possible where previously it wasn't, giving hope and future to those who previously would have been told to prepare for death.
So, the end is finally in sight. Finally, after this very long walk in the dark it seems that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Cancer CAN be cured. Cancer WILL be cured.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Scoot along...
I have been very anti motorcycles and scooters ever since I was a little girl (about 9) and our lodger came home late one night. He turned into our road and misjudged the corner, hitting a massive pine tree head on. He killed himself.
G bought a scooter on Saturday afternoon. A cute little yellow Vuka Scuta. Needless to say, I am very anxious about this new development in our lives. (I insisted on yellow because it's the most visible colour on the road.) I see the practical side to the issue - as petrol prices continue to soar, it makes sense to use a scooter rather than a car. I get that. It's quicker on a scooter than sitting in traffic. I get that. After years of steadfastly refusing to even consider it, I've relented because I get these things and in the current climate, it makes sense to use a bike. But if G gets hit, he is extremely vulnerable, and I really don't want to lose him just yet - even when he's being annoying I'd rather have him around than not!
On Wednesday, once it had been registered, he went to collect it. I dropped him off, then drove behind him all the way home. It was pouring with rain (not ideal conditions in which to drive a scooter for the first time!). Going across a busy T-junction in a minor road, the scooter slipped, and he fell over - nothing too dramatic as he wasn't going very fast, but he couldn't have picked a worse spot. My heart stopped as traffic roared towards him from both directions. Fortunately, the car behind him stopped in time, and the car from the other direction swerved to avoid him. He got up, and we continued on our way.
On reaching home, we discoverd that he had a nasty little gash on his arm (despite his jacket) and a massive bruise on his thigh (and he doesn't bruise easily because of his ITP). Then last night he was complaining of a sore neck and other muscles. All because of a little fall. Imagine what might have happened if it had been a more serious incident.
G is his own person, able to make his own decisions, and I trust his judgement. He has promised to practice more before he starts riding to work on it, and I know he doesn't take risks. He is a sensible person, but I worry about the other idiots on the road and circumstances beyond his control. While I wish him many happy hours on his bike, I just hope and pray this decision doesn't come back to haunt us both.
G bought a scooter on Saturday afternoon. A cute little yellow Vuka Scuta. Needless to say, I am very anxious about this new development in our lives. (I insisted on yellow because it's the most visible colour on the road.) I see the practical side to the issue - as petrol prices continue to soar, it makes sense to use a scooter rather than a car. I get that. It's quicker on a scooter than sitting in traffic. I get that. After years of steadfastly refusing to even consider it, I've relented because I get these things and in the current climate, it makes sense to use a bike. But if G gets hit, he is extremely vulnerable, and I really don't want to lose him just yet - even when he's being annoying I'd rather have him around than not!
On Wednesday, once it had been registered, he went to collect it. I dropped him off, then drove behind him all the way home. It was pouring with rain (not ideal conditions in which to drive a scooter for the first time!). Going across a busy T-junction in a minor road, the scooter slipped, and he fell over - nothing too dramatic as he wasn't going very fast, but he couldn't have picked a worse spot. My heart stopped as traffic roared towards him from both directions. Fortunately, the car behind him stopped in time, and the car from the other direction swerved to avoid him. He got up, and we continued on our way.
On reaching home, we discoverd that he had a nasty little gash on his arm (despite his jacket) and a massive bruise on his thigh (and he doesn't bruise easily because of his ITP). Then last night he was complaining of a sore neck and other muscles. All because of a little fall. Imagine what might have happened if it had been a more serious incident.
G is his own person, able to make his own decisions, and I trust his judgement. He has promised to practice more before he starts riding to work on it, and I know he doesn't take risks. He is a sensible person, but I worry about the other idiots on the road and circumstances beyond his control. While I wish him many happy hours on his bike, I just hope and pray this decision doesn't come back to haunt us both.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Ding ding: Round 2
It's been the busiest time of my life. I don't EVER recall working this hard before. But I've (mostly) enjoyed it. This weekend marks the end (please, God!) of the frantic busyness, because by the end of tonight I will finally be UP TO DATE with my marking.
Of course, just in time for things to start falling apart again with Laities - there are real problems with the waterproof wraps... but I'll get it sorted, even if it means moving heaven and earth (again, it feels like!).
We've had a lovely weekend as a result - because I've been able to relax and enjoy my time off with family, without getting stressed about the work I ought to be doing.
We've started going to a 'new' church the last 2 weeks, to just check it out, and I've SOOO loved the worship. Even though I've been going with Janel to her group, just being able to take part in worship again has been such a breath of fresh air. I wish Graeme felt the same, but he's really struggling with faith and God and all that stuff. I know how hard it is being there, and I wish I could do or say something to make it better for him, but this is one of those things that I know God has to sort out for him. All I can do is pray. However, it's great that we're actually going to church - that's a major improvement in itself, and I hope this church has the potential to be our new spiritual home, because I really need somewhere now.
After church this morning we went for a walk around Rondebosch Common. This is a local Common that is populated with fynbos. It is completely undeveloped (think: wild parts of Wimbledon Common, or walking along some of the Downs, for those in the UK). The only drawback is that wherever you are, you can still see the traffic around the edge, even if you can't hear them. STILL - it has one of the best views of the Mountain in town, and it is just so great to be able to get into fynbos without having to trek for miles. It was wonderful benign able to get out for about an hour this morning - what is it about walking in creation?
This weekend has been full of family time, which I love. Yesterday we went to my mom's and spent the afternoon with her and my step-dad. Today we were with Graeme's family and then with my dad. It's great to see Nellie interacting with her family and her cousins, and enjoying herself (and them enjoying her too)! It warms my heart so much. Every time I see her with family I am reminded that coming home was the right move for us - even when I miss London (as I've been doing a lot this past week).
However, the end of the weekend has been tough. Many of you are aware that my dad developed cancer of the throat in 2001. The surgery, radiation and chemo really destroyed him - he has lost nerve function in his skin and muscles in his upper body, so he can't really taste his food, or feel anything against his skin, and his back muscles don't hold his head and shoulders up too well. He is also losing his teeth, still suffers with terrible ulcers in his mouth and frequently has a tongue so swollen he struggles to talk.
As a result, he decided that should his cancer every return, he would not have chemo or radiation again, but would let nature take it's course. His decision is perfectly understandable from his perspective. Unfortunately, with his type of cancer, it recurs in 1 in every 3 cases, and for those it does recur in, it is usually (eventually) fatal.
Well, thus far, he has been free of cancer. He was officially in remission - you have to be cancer free for 5 years to be so.
Until this past week.
He had surgery last Friday to remove a malignant tumour.
The surgery team say the tissue around the tumour was completely healthy, so they are pretty confident they've got it all. The tumour was in his groin, not in his throat. He has refused chemo and radiation. I understand that decision, despite the implications for those of us left behind.
My fear though is that there are cancerous cells floating in his blood that broke off from this tumour, that will now settle in a new area and grow into a new tumour. While he is not at death's door, nor is a cancer death in the short term future for him, the fact is that the cancer is going to get him - that much is clear.
I've been feeling so confident that he had beaten it, that he would still be here to watch Janel start school, matriculate, graduate, get married, and maybe even have her own kids. Now, I have to prepare myself that he will probably do none of those things, and every day we have with him is precious. I know that sounds melodramatic, and I know it's actually true for everyone I love. But somehow, facing this with Dad makes it more real.
Again, I know that my father is, at heart, a fighter. If he wasn't, he wouldn't still be here. He's been cancer free for 7 years. The lump was fairly small. These are all good things, and they all contribute to him being around for a long time. But he is tired, and his two best friends are both dying of cancer. Now for him to find another lump... well, he isn't feeling too positive right now, and a positive state of mind is essential for recovery.
So I don't know what to think really. He isn't terminal, but he is dying. How does one prepare for this future? I don't know. I don't want to contemplate a future without him....
Of course, just in time for things to start falling apart again with Laities - there are real problems with the waterproof wraps... but I'll get it sorted, even if it means moving heaven and earth (again, it feels like!).
We've had a lovely weekend as a result - because I've been able to relax and enjoy my time off with family, without getting stressed about the work I ought to be doing.
We've started going to a 'new' church the last 2 weeks, to just check it out, and I've SOOO loved the worship. Even though I've been going with Janel to her group, just being able to take part in worship again has been such a breath of fresh air. I wish Graeme felt the same, but he's really struggling with faith and God and all that stuff. I know how hard it is being there, and I wish I could do or say something to make it better for him, but this is one of those things that I know God has to sort out for him. All I can do is pray. However, it's great that we're actually going to church - that's a major improvement in itself, and I hope this church has the potential to be our new spiritual home, because I really need somewhere now.
After church this morning we went for a walk around Rondebosch Common. This is a local Common that is populated with fynbos. It is completely undeveloped (think: wild parts of Wimbledon Common, or walking along some of the Downs, for those in the UK). The only drawback is that wherever you are, you can still see the traffic around the edge, even if you can't hear them. STILL - it has one of the best views of the Mountain in town, and it is just so great to be able to get into fynbos without having to trek for miles. It was wonderful benign able to get out for about an hour this morning - what is it about walking in creation?
This weekend has been full of family time, which I love. Yesterday we went to my mom's and spent the afternoon with her and my step-dad. Today we were with Graeme's family and then with my dad. It's great to see Nellie interacting with her family and her cousins, and enjoying herself (and them enjoying her too)! It warms my heart so much. Every time I see her with family I am reminded that coming home was the right move for us - even when I miss London (as I've been doing a lot this past week).
However, the end of the weekend has been tough. Many of you are aware that my dad developed cancer of the throat in 2001. The surgery, radiation and chemo really destroyed him - he has lost nerve function in his skin and muscles in his upper body, so he can't really taste his food, or feel anything against his skin, and his back muscles don't hold his head and shoulders up too well. He is also losing his teeth, still suffers with terrible ulcers in his mouth and frequently has a tongue so swollen he struggles to talk.
As a result, he decided that should his cancer every return, he would not have chemo or radiation again, but would let nature take it's course. His decision is perfectly understandable from his perspective. Unfortunately, with his type of cancer, it recurs in 1 in every 3 cases, and for those it does recur in, it is usually (eventually) fatal.
Well, thus far, he has been free of cancer. He was officially in remission - you have to be cancer free for 5 years to be so.
Until this past week.
He had surgery last Friday to remove a malignant tumour.
The surgery team say the tissue around the tumour was completely healthy, so they are pretty confident they've got it all. The tumour was in his groin, not in his throat. He has refused chemo and radiation. I understand that decision, despite the implications for those of us left behind.
My fear though is that there are cancerous cells floating in his blood that broke off from this tumour, that will now settle in a new area and grow into a new tumour. While he is not at death's door, nor is a cancer death in the short term future for him, the fact is that the cancer is going to get him - that much is clear.
I've been feeling so confident that he had beaten it, that he would still be here to watch Janel start school, matriculate, graduate, get married, and maybe even have her own kids. Now, I have to prepare myself that he will probably do none of those things, and every day we have with him is precious. I know that sounds melodramatic, and I know it's actually true for everyone I love. But somehow, facing this with Dad makes it more real.
Again, I know that my father is, at heart, a fighter. If he wasn't, he wouldn't still be here. He's been cancer free for 7 years. The lump was fairly small. These are all good things, and they all contribute to him being around for a long time. But he is tired, and his two best friends are both dying of cancer. Now for him to find another lump... well, he isn't feeling too positive right now, and a positive state of mind is essential for recovery.
So I don't know what to think really. He isn't terminal, but he is dying. How does one prepare for this future? I don't know. I don't want to contemplate a future without him....
Monday, August 04, 2008
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
U-turns
It feels like AGES and AGES since I last did a proper post. I'm getting withdrawl symptoms!
But seriously, it's been so manic I haven't really had a chance to catch my breath, until tonight. Tonight G and I are going on a date night. This will be our first in several months (although we did grab a quick cup of coffee about 3 weeks ago...). I'm really looking forward to it.
In between all the manic-ness of Baba Indaba, and work, and Nellie, (and house stuff, and car stuff, and study stuff...) I've found myself reflecting on where I live. In all my years as a teacher, I've never wanted to live near my work. I could think of nothing worse than running into one of my students at the shop, or library, or even just out and about for a walk. I wanted a very clear divide between my job and my private life.
Where we're living at the moment is, however, exactly the sort of place I've never wanted to live in. Not only is it close enough to walk to work (only a 3 minute drive), but because the suburb is more of an over-grown village, there is only a limited number of places to shop/ grab a coffee/ walk, and half the kids at the school live in the same suburb. There is no escaping them.
The first time I realised this, I felt myself shrink in horror from the thought. But somehow, between then and now, I've realised that my thinking has done a 180. Now, I relish seeing my kids, and having them see me in an ordinary life. Why the change? I'm not sure. I've been thinking about it a lot, but I can't really pinpoint the reason, so I think there must be several. So far, what I've managed to come up with is that me seeing them in an ordinary life, and vice versa, is normalising for our relationship in school. There is a hang of a lot to be said for knowing more about the kids than the 45 minutes five times a week I see them. And vice versa - there is a lot to be said for them seeing me as human.
In addition, for the kids I think it's important to see me, because my standards are the same wherever I am. If I see them misbehaving in public, whether or not they're in uniform, and they see me, they know I will walk over and say something. They see, and learn, that the codes of behaviour we subscribe to at the school are not just rules, but a way of life - a moral code that applies to every facet of life, not just the 7 hours a day in school. And that's an important lesson.
It's also a lot more fun than I thought it would be - they're usually polite, and often share a smile. Sometimes I'm able to tease them about something, or make a comment the following day. I'm finding that integration brings a lot more joy to my life than I thought it would.
Maybe it's about the kids I'm teaching now. The kids I taught before (in the UK) were mostly awful, and the last thing I wanted was to spend more time with them - however fleeting! The kids I teach now are an inspiration... they're personable, with a great sense of humour, but generally respectful of boundaries.
So there we are.... who would have thought! Sometimes doing a U-turn on something you believe is the right thing after all!
But seriously, it's been so manic I haven't really had a chance to catch my breath, until tonight. Tonight G and I are going on a date night. This will be our first in several months (although we did grab a quick cup of coffee about 3 weeks ago...). I'm really looking forward to it.
In between all the manic-ness of Baba Indaba, and work, and Nellie, (and house stuff, and car stuff, and study stuff...) I've found myself reflecting on where I live. In all my years as a teacher, I've never wanted to live near my work. I could think of nothing worse than running into one of my students at the shop, or library, or even just out and about for a walk. I wanted a very clear divide between my job and my private life.
Where we're living at the moment is, however, exactly the sort of place I've never wanted to live in. Not only is it close enough to walk to work (only a 3 minute drive), but because the suburb is more of an over-grown village, there is only a limited number of places to shop/ grab a coffee/ walk, and half the kids at the school live in the same suburb. There is no escaping them.
The first time I realised this, I felt myself shrink in horror from the thought. But somehow, between then and now, I've realised that my thinking has done a 180. Now, I relish seeing my kids, and having them see me in an ordinary life. Why the change? I'm not sure. I've been thinking about it a lot, but I can't really pinpoint the reason, so I think there must be several. So far, what I've managed to come up with is that me seeing them in an ordinary life, and vice versa, is normalising for our relationship in school. There is a hang of a lot to be said for knowing more about the kids than the 45 minutes five times a week I see them. And vice versa - there is a lot to be said for them seeing me as human.
In addition, for the kids I think it's important to see me, because my standards are the same wherever I am. If I see them misbehaving in public, whether or not they're in uniform, and they see me, they know I will walk over and say something. They see, and learn, that the codes of behaviour we subscribe to at the school are not just rules, but a way of life - a moral code that applies to every facet of life, not just the 7 hours a day in school. And that's an important lesson.
It's also a lot more fun than I thought it would be - they're usually polite, and often share a smile. Sometimes I'm able to tease them about something, or make a comment the following day. I'm finding that integration brings a lot more joy to my life than I thought it would.
Maybe it's about the kids I'm teaching now. The kids I taught before (in the UK) were mostly awful, and the last thing I wanted was to spend more time with them - however fleeting! The kids I teach now are an inspiration... they're personable, with a great sense of humour, but generally respectful of boundaries.
So there we are.... who would have thought! Sometimes doing a U-turn on something you believe is the right thing after all!
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