A day of enlightenment

26 February seems light years away and yet it isn’t seven weeks since. How much has happened in this short space of time and what a learning curve I have been and am still on.

Yesterday was a privileged day for me and my family. I went to Thornbury hospital, working with NHS, for Gamma Knife treatment which specifically targets brain tumours leaving healthy brain tissue intact.

What amazing technology and even more important to my mind, what amazing people delivering it. My team was headed by Mr Rowe. A quiet, gentle, very clever man but also compassionate and empathetic. He was working with another neurosurgeon and radiologists and was extremely positive at the end of my treatment programme.

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This was the part of the plan I was most nervous about and yet it became an uplifting experience. Positivity was the word of the day. “Lord for tomorrow and its needs I do not pray. Keep me my God just for today.” Of course the primary cancer has still to be verified, but after another biopsy tomorrow that question will hopefully have been dealt with.

Today’s mass readings speak of coming to the light, which for believers is God, the source of all light. And if we look closely enough we can see this light all around us, in inspiring, caring people, in goodness, in the environment and certainly for me, in radiotherapy using beams of light to eliminate destructive cells. A day of enlightenment for me. A signpost leading me forwards.

“Lead kindly light, lead thou me on.”

Pauline

Sunshine out and sunshine within

Sunshine out at last and sunshine within. We are in the season of Eastertide and though the ground is wet and soggy, the natural world is showing signs of renewal and regrowth.

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With these natural elements comes positivity and action in my treatment, which reinforce my mood. I have a biopsy on Friday to obtain some useful pathology hopefully, and next week I have targeted stereotactic radiotherapy on the brain mets, which, though a little scary, is good news since it is a far less invasive treatment.

I’m very fortunate in that I feel fit and well (if sometimes fatigued) which I put down to meds and my level of unfitness! I know that I’m being supported by many prayers and good wishes and I thank you all.

“As this day unfolds may we recognise in the seemingly routine and ordinary, the presence of Jesus, risen and alive among us”.

The good things in my life in two minutes

Good Friday today so I’ve decided to list as many good things in my life as I can within two minutes.

A loving family who care for me and one another, countless friends – many I have known for more than 60 years. Good health since birth backed up by a wondrous health service. A lifetime of peace earned for us by courageous men and women. A vocation I loved that also allowed me to earn a good living and provides for me still. A faith I am freely allowed to pursue. Opportunities to follow any dream I wish.

My two minutes are up but my list could go on and on.

Even after an encouraging visit to the oncologist on Wednesday, I felt a little down yesterday. Not unwell, just a little less positive than the few days before, yet there was no reason for this. Still waiting for a biopsy, and the brain team to make decisions, but both should be sorted next week.

We met another amazing nurse last week at the hospital who was so warm and uplifting. She expressed her belief in the power of positive thinking and she has been serving cancer patients her whole career and described it as a vocation. We do not hear enough of these good news stories and such marvellous people.

Good-Friday

And so to Good Friday and Christ’s ultimate gift of love for us, his death on the cross.

You have shown us, Lord, how to give and not count the cost. Be with all those who suffer today wherever and whoever they are. Fill us with courage and strength. Remind us to be constantly grateful for all the good things we have.

I’m not feeling depressed or bleak

St Patrick’s day today, always a special day for my Irish college pal Esther back in the day. She faced cancer with great courage and faith so I know she’s rooting for those suffering with it now.

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Although it’s a cold bleak morning I’m not feeling depressed or bleak. Ironically I feel good physically. Meds are obviously helping.

MRI scan on Tuesday to look at brain and goings on there. I think it’s fair to say that what they find will be crucial so I anticipate getting more nervous as the day approaches. But there I go again not living in the moment.

I’ll enjoy my first cup of tea today and recent photos/videos of my delightful grandchildren. I’ll be grateful for a warm and quiet environment where I can enjoy doing what I feel like when I feel like it. Not sure though! I must not become self-centred.

St Patrick pray for us.

Pauline

I feel really well

Another morning of miserable weather. I do need some sunshine to brighten my day.

Not a lot to say today. I don’t want to get boring and repeat myself or be like a dog with a bone. Enough to say I feel really well. I came downstairs like grease lightning earlier.

I thought the new meds to keep seizures at bay might have had an effect but it’s far too soon for them to be in my system yet.

I shall read my book for 10 minutes with a cup of tea. “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” is captivating and is making me smile with each page I turn. Thank you for my Mother’s Day gift Rachel.

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Another thing I’ve learned in the last 20 days, which my mother tried to teach me. Don’t feel guilty about sitting and relaxing for 10 minutes in your busy day, especially with what you enjoy. It does renew you!

Pauline

Looking for solace and hope

Today has been a more measured day than I imagined. The sun came out as we went in search of plants for the “Golden Garden” and enjoyed a brief walk at Anglers Country Park followed by a coffee.

Having made and consumed dinner, I’m now trying to assemble my thoughts for tomorrow’s meeting with the oncologist. What to ask? What do I want? That answer is easy. It’s just a case of figuring out what I can cope with physically and mentally.

Are there any treatment options for my scenario? How devastating might these options be to the person I know I am. I have always been Pauline. Now is not the time for a personality change! On the other hand, I don’t want to say to science: “I don’t trust you,” but rather “Come on. Let’s give this a go! Let’s see if we can work together.”

After the initial diagnosis I was told: “We will keep you as well as we can for as long as we can”. I know the words were well meant, but I took them as a death sentence and cannot get their finality out of my brain. After all, isn’t that what a health service is all about?

And yet, we live with a death sentence from the moment we take our first breath. Some of us deal with this better than others. I’m not doing as well as I would have wished.

I hope I’m not giving my family a heavy burden by taking them to the appointment tomorrow. I’ve asked them to come with me to help me see my way through this maelstrom, this fog. I need others to ask questions I haven’t thought about or didn’t want an answer to. How selfish is that? Another big day tomorrow then, but I’m sure there’ll be another.

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I’m looking for solace. I’m looking for positivity. I’m looking for inspiration. I’m looking for acceptance. I’m looking for hope.

I shall seek out something green to wear tomorrow. I shall try to imitate the zest for life that baby Alexander is displaying at the moment. My great nephew, 25 weeks premature, in neonatal intensive care needs Pauline’s Prayer Posse behind him and his Mum and Dad just as much as I do. Help me to link up to all that courage, that spirit that’s out there both in our world and beyond.

Christ, be thou my vision.
Our Lady of Wisdom, pray for us.
St Nicholas, pray for us.
St. Winifred, pray for us.
St. Francis, pray for us.
All you angels and saints, pray for us.