World Cancer Day

World Cancer Day - this is marked annually as a worldwide event on the 4^th February.

I never knew that it existed before this year. The day, I mean, not cancer.

I’m sure we are all aware of cancer and people it has affected, people it is affecting right now. I know of cancer survivors. I also know of those who have not survived against the illness or who are currently undergoing treatment. Cancer makes me sad beyond expression.

All illness, especially cancer – because of its aggressive nature against the body, reminds me that we have to really delight in life right now. We have to enjoy the moments that we have and fill them with pleasure because tomorrow is not promised to us.

Sorry if that’s too heavy for you right now, but it’s real.

There are things that we can do to prevent some illnesses and if we can stop cancer in our bodies then I think we should. I will do my best for myself and my beloved child, I hope you will do your best for you and yours.

I may already know you, but if I don’t that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you – I do. I want everyone of us to live the best life possible, in the best health possible. As Lance Armstrong says, Live Strong.

http://www.worldcancerday.org/

A Canadian short film to mark World Cancer Day:  My Healing Journey: Seven Years with Cancer, Joseph Viszmeg.

Amazing, inspiring, life-changing. 

Shared because I care.

Trauma

“That was traumatic!” The phrase just rolls off the tongue after seemingly difficult situations. But I’m sure many in the medical and psychological fields of expertise would not use the word so blithely.

The word trauma originates in Greek (as I’m told all the best things do) and it means ‘wound’. This can of course be a physical or psychological wound ... amongst other things. An affair of the heart can be a trauma, as can a road traffic accident or an imbalanced mind. They all leave damage that is deep and can impair one’s future.

A question I came up with was ‘What if you purposely cause trauma to someone, what is the Greek for that?” And sure enough I found an answer. The verb for trauma can be traced back to the phrase “I injure” – I cause the wound. I cause the damage. This may be in the form of upsetting someone, offending some group of people, or damaging people.

Whether the wound is accidental, self-inflicted or forced upon an unwitting subject it all results in the same end: a wound. An injury that in some way mutilates the person.

I know I will be more careful about how I interact with people because I have seen too many people suffering from the result of careless words and actions. Some people die because of the trauma that others inflict on them, their wound never heals. This is beyond sad.

We have to care for ourselves ... and also others. The wounds of humanity are like a gash in the world’s soul. 

We need to heal it, one kind deed at a time.

In plain sight

I had to have blood taken today, but when the nurse called me I remained seated. Luckily she did not remember me, although I remembered her all too well from my Maroon Day last year when she was less than focused on the situation.

It is because of this that I specifically asked to see another nurse this morning.

I named the one I did not want to see, and the reasons why. The Dr laughed and said that he had to remain professional but he could see that there were possible reasons why many people didn’t want that particular nurse.

I was glad.

So when I turned up this morning I was pleased to book myself in with the correct nurse.

That’s when it all went wrong.

My nurse, a kindly and gentle woman, was being called on by this other nurse to help her with patients and then, for me, disaster struck. Nurse W (my selected practitioner) began to run late with her appointments. I was in the waiting room for nearly an hour before I first heard my name being called.

Instead of rising to my feet I looked downwards and ignored the call.

It’s a strange sensation hearing your name being called and totally ignoring it. I knew that it was me, and not some other Marjorie Morgan, that was being summoned, but it was Nurse X who was striding across the waiting room yelling out my name.

As I sat there, trying not to draw attention to myself, I noticed other patients looking around. I think I was more obvious than invisible because I realise now that I was the only one not looking around for this mysterious Marjorie Morgan: I knew where I was.

Nurse X went back to Nurse W and from down the corridor I could hear her saying, “The patient you asked me to see ... I’ve called her, but she’s not here. Have you already seen her? That’s strange. I’ll ask the other nurses.” From the one-sided conversation I knew they couldn’t understand where I was. Yet, I stayed still.

I hadn’t yet decided how I was going to announce my presence to the receptionist again, but I knew I was not going in to see Nurse X and so I sat and listened to the search for me.

“I’ll call her once more,” said Nurse X as she came back to the door of the waiting room.

“Marjorie Morgan!” she bellowed. Heads all seemed to turn towards me. No movement. I stared straight ahead. “Well,” Nurse X exclaimed, “that’s strange. I’ll just get the next patient. John Smith?”

As the door closed behind them both I got ready to get up and go to the desk. I knew the other patients would find this a strange situation but I didn’t care. However, I was saved from that move because at that moment Nurse W came to the door with the Dr laughing behind her, “Marjorie”, she said as she looked at me.

“Yes,” I replied as I walked towards her smiling face.

“The Dr just told me the story. Sorry for the wait. Could you just sit here while I finish with another patient?”

I sat outside her consulting room as she dealt with another of Nurse X’s patients and waited some more. I didn’t mind waiting. I just was determined not to see the giver of pain that day.

Nurse W said later that she would say I was in the toilet or something. I said I’d rather she didn’t lie for me, but I knew that it could be professionally sensitive for the other nurse (and the rest of the staff team) if she knew the real reason for my refusal to see her.

With numerous vials of blood drawn I walked back through the waiting room and met several glances of curiosity that were dying to know why I was in plain sight (and hearing) but refused to answer Nurse X’s call.

They may never know until they, like me and several other patients, experience the rough and unforgettable treatment at the hands of Nurse X.

I’ve never done that before. Been in plain sight and purposely hidden. It felt odd. But I was protecting myself, so that felt right.

AWOL

It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to blog. Some of the reasons have been because I have not wanted to write what was on my mind but many of the other reasons – the main reasons - are because I just couldn’t. 

Whatever the cause for each day I have been missing from the blogsphere, I have, in effect, been AWOL.

(The missing blogs will be posted as I get back into the swing of things along with new ones that are being created at this very moment.)

Many thanks to those who have kept visiting my blogs while I’ve been AWOL and, just for you, I will keep the entries up to date as much as I can.

The main reason for the dearth of entries has been a virus.

After joining the world in a mass celebration of family and love nearly two weeks ago, I was struck down by a pesky bug that has refused to leave me. I know that I embrace most things, but this particular one I have started to abhor.

I don’t dislike many things, but I’m not holding back in my dislike of this.

Sorry.

I wish the virus was AWOL from my body now!

Reluctant couch potato

I am not a gym bunny but throughout the years I have sashayed between fat and fit (it’s true .... look at my pictures) but this recent enforced down time is no fun at all. I don’t want to watch TV, I couldn’t read, and I ached incessantly (not from any pleasurable activity ... that’s another story all together). Therefore I’m complaining about this time I have to spend sitting and lying about.

I don’t want to run anywhere either, but I’d like to walk around again without feeling like I need a stick to hold my jelly-like legs up (despite my best efforts I have jelly thighs legs for two reasons: lack of focussed exercise and this stupid bug!)

Years ago, when trying on some clothes in the changing room, a niece turned to me and said, in all innocence, 

“Aunt, I don’t know why you don’t like swimming. You could use your legs as floats!” My other sister fell about laughing but even that wasn’t enough to get me doing the necessary leg lifts.

So, here I sit (or lie) with my jelly thighs wishing I could walk without the fever moving my head around like I’m in a snow globe, or the wobble that has inhabited my frame attempting to push my body in different directions to the ones my mind wants to go. I feel as if I’ve got sea-legs without the journey anywhere.

All I can realistically do is to follow the Doctor’s instruction and sit still for hours each day.

I wonder how couch potatoes manage it all the time?

Maybe I just can’t hack it anymore because I have a sofa and not a couch. Just wondering ...

All work and no play?

In life you’ve really got to have some fun. The idiom says “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Having some enjoyment in life is like having a spicy sauce with a meal – it makes a difference and a pleasant change.

There is an art to recreation. It’s all about doing something that stimulates, amuses and diverts us from the main daily activities. When you re-create you freely choose how to spend your time and you are duly relaxed, fulfilled and satisfied by the use of your discretionary moments.

I think it’s odd that so many people never have any recreational time at all in their lives. This is because I feel recreation is crucial for both a healthy mind and body. When we fail to recreate we damage our psychological and biological centres. Sound harsh? I guess it is, especially on the person who works, then works, then adds a bit more work to their lives.

Have you ever thought how you would cope if the option to have recreational time was permanently removed from your life? I think banners would be made and protests organised. Therefore it makes sense that now – when recreational time is a free personal choice – we all make the most of it.

I like walking, so I do that as often as I can. I feel renewed when I do. Reading is also a great activity that I like to indulge in, it’s a bit like being a chocoholic I get some in as often as possible and it always gives me a buzz!

But what happens when your work is fun and to you it’s like playing? Does that change things?

Does that make life ‘All play and no work?’ and, is that such a bad thing?

What is recreation to you? Do you refresh and re-create ... yourself?

Afternoon delight?

I had resisted for a long time, but eventually I gave in to the inevitable. There I was with this woman I had recently met and within minutes she was touching my breasts.

She asked me if I had done this before. I said no. I would have remembered if I had.

The way she handled me was not what I’d expected. Was I looking for gentleness? If I was I was immediately disappointed. Instead of a gentle touch I was squeezed, pushed, pulled, kneaded and clamped. The last bit was out of my experience range and I cried out in pain – no pleasure at all was involved, I can tell you.

When she released me, I said that it hurt. She replied that she told me there might be a touch of pain.

When it was all over – none too soon in my opinion – I backed away from her as she continued to look at me and talk to me. I was silent. I just nodded at her and then I murmured something that couldn’t be described as words. I just wanted to leave.

As I put my clothes back on I knew that I wouldn’t be in a hurry to repeat that particular afternoon delight. I was as polite as I could be as I left, but I knew that she knew I hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

What was it I actually did?

Oh, didn’t I say?

I went for my first mammogram.

What were you thinking?!!!

Healthy connections

There are times when other people’s anger seems to seep through the atmosphere and touch you almost the same as new blood soaking through a white handkerchief. Then, like an oasis in the desert, you find a spot of hope.

I know someone who no longer likes me (this is not such a strange phenomenon until you know that for well over a decade we were very close - by mutual choice). For the first time in nearly four years we were in the same place at the same time. This was by design - but not mine.

I didn’t know she was going to be there, but seeing her didn’t make me feel comfortable. Nevertheless, I stayed.

I felt her dislike reaching across the space towards me like the tentacles of an octopus. Others who also felt it kindly came and buffered the pain as I was there on my own and I felt that I was drowning in it for a while.

Even though that part of the experience was hurtful, the thing I remember most about this occasion is what a man said in a speech. His words were like healing balm that distracted me from the dislike directed at me. He said that there is so much anger and upset in this world that sometimes we forget the beauty around us, sometimes we forget that with each touch of friendship we have fresh witness of the love of God in our lives.

That made me smile and remember wonderful people whom I have got to know and love.

To each person that I have ever been blessed to connect with I thank God that He has used you to remind me of just how much love He has for me. That alone can blot out any anger or dislike from those who have severed connections.

Sometimes we have to let go of those who would poison us with their negativity and when we have sutured the wound we can make fresh and healthy contacts.

Each new friend is another manifestation of the magnificence of God – just as you are.

What is hidden ...

This is a health story.

I noticed a tingling in one of my toes. It bothered me but I thought it would pass so I ignored it. I looked at the distracting toe and could not see anything obviously wrong so I learnt to live with it.

But the unsettling feeling would not go away. Oh, it was pushed to the back of my mind for a while but it always surfaced again. After years (well, days really) of doing nothing about it I woke up one morning and noticed that there was something new on my toe: a lump.

What was hidden had begun to show. The cause of the tingling was making itself evident right there, so I could not only feel it but I could also see it. The discomfort had also increased. It was no longer possible to walk with my usual ease. The numbness that I felt had started as a mere tingle, now it was spreading through my body. I felt something approaching fear.

Therefore at this juncture I decided to seek specialist help. I took action and saw a professional. The doctor checked me over and said that with a minor operation the cyst could be removed and everything would be back to normal again. The numbness would go and the tingling would cease.

Within a short while the pain will be totally gone because I didn’t ignore it forever.

As I said, this is a health story.

But remember, what is hidden eventually shows.

Moments like these ...

There are rare occasions when I am not at my best and the smallest thing can make me drop the veil of sadness over my face.

It may be a careless word or a deliberate action directed at me, no matter what the motive or the person when it reaches me I am hurt. And my initial reaction is to protect myself from further harm. My way of doing this is to shut down.

When I shut down I usually stop communication – in any way at all. Silence.

This is an unusual state for me but it does occur.

A brief outline of the situation may give you an idea of how I felt and what I did.

Clothes have never been a major interest to me – this was especially true when I was several sizes larger than I am now. This was mainly because my large build seemed to be a constant source of mirth to some people. They never saw how much pain it caused me. I hated shopping for clothes and always avoided it until the last possible moment. However, I thought it was more or less all behind me but I was mistaken.

The wounds of those words were temporarily opened by some fresh comment (disguised as a joke) about just how huge I was then (not my choice of words). I was surprised by the fact that it affected me instantly. I closed down.

This was not a practical reaction for several reasons, but pain does not always wait until you are in a comfortable environment to settle into your bones.

I felt my face drop the laughter like a mountain avalanche.

That’s when the change occurred. I wanted to, in the true Greta Garbo sense, ‘be let alone’. So I excused myself and tried to achieve the space to repair my pain.




This is when my son spotted a change in me and gave me a fierce hug. As much as I love him and his hugs I really wanted to be apart from everybody right then. But he looked into my face and said, “You’ve got to have some happy moments before you go.” And he wouldn’t let me go until I really smiled. By then I didn’t need to be alone any more.

Thankfully my life is full of happy moments like these.

Just being ...

I remember visiting someone in hospital after he was involved in an accident. It was a traumatic time for all involved – especially him. He was rushed into the hospital via the emergency ambulance service and after hours in the operating theatre he was in ICU for several weeks.

Once when I visited him – when he was not deeply sedated for the intense pain – after several hours by his bedside, he briefly opened his eye and looked at me. Something resembling his previous smile formed on his face and he said two things to me: “Your voice is like a cool breeze in a storm,” and “I love you like a farmer loves a red sky”. Then, satisfied that he had shared his thoughts with me, he slipped back into his sleep.

I didn’t know that he had been aware that I was even there, chatting nonsense (so it seemed) to him, but it obviously got through and he appreciated it.

When he was finishing his recuperation at home he let me know that he was always aware of my presence at his bedside and how much comfort it brought him.

It just reminds me that sometimes we just have to keep being ourselves and doing the best we can even when we are not sure that others are even aware of our being.

Carrot skin

Have you ever noticed about what happens to a carrot if you peel it and leave it for a while? It starts to lose its strength – it’s as though the skin is Samson’s hair (although unlike Samson, if left to itself the carrot does not regain its form, rather it becomes deformed and inedible).

Sometimes I feel like a carrot that has been peeled. I imagine myself to be shrivelling under the exposure of whatever pressure is fresh before me. I just want to curl up and fade away to a more useless state in the bottom drawer of the fridge.

But precisely when I am feeling at my lowest I feel some kind soul applying a plaster to my wound. And before long I am on the road to recovery again.

I wonder what a carrot with a plaster would look like ... I don’t think it could regenerate its pre-cut state, but I know I have.

I am grateful that I have super carrot skin that plasters can heal ... and people and things in my life that are the best plasters money cannot buy!

Wounded

What does it feel like to be wounded?

I’m not talking about being physically wounded. This is not concerning the terrible invasion of your body by a knife or a bullet. This wound, which I am referring to, is an emotional wound, a wound that can exist in an unhealed state for longer than the flesh wound that bleeds, scars and repairs.

Because many people are emotionally conflicted we are also frequently emotionally wounded. In life there are things that happen to us that leave deep marks; signs of the trauma may remain around us or even in us for ages, we may carry the damage with us for life.

I guess the solution is to try and find some way of healing the emotional wound before it festers, becomes an uncontrollable infection and then kills us.

Because we generally live closed lives – we live our lives in secret, most emotional wounds are manifested when there is a conflict situation. This usually increases the pain instead of diminishing it.

My solution is to find a way of examining the emotional wound in a safe environment, an open environment. I do not plan to make a spectacle of myself but I do like the tremendous feeling of pleasure that is associated with the healing process.

It really works.

Emotional wounds can heal. Like the physical wounds, they take time, but with the correct recover plan it is possible to regain full emotional health.

Each person’s plan is individually tailored to their specific health issue so it is necessary to find what works for you.

I raise a glass to your good (emotional) health. Cheers!

Hunger

When the word ‘hunger’ is used I usually tend to imagine starving children in desolate environments. And my heart is again moved to do something to alleviate the distress – and rightly so. Those instances of hunger are as destructive to the immediate sufferer as they are, in the long run, to the observer. Hunger can kill us all. The effects of hunger are globally devastating and at the same time highly individual.

Hunger is personal.

What I am hungry for is different to what you may be hungry for.

Hunger is not just related to food and the satisfaction of the basic bodily need for fuel.

I realise today that hunger is unique to each person.

Depending on what you need at a specific time two disparate items may be as important as each other. In the correct circumstances bread can be as important as friendship, rain can be as important as war, silence can be as important as water, food can be as important as love, drugs can be as important as company: whatever I am hungry for at any given time is essential to me right then.

My hunger cannot be satisfied without the correct feeding.

I am hungry for ...

Good times and bad times

Recently it must be said that I have been feeling sorry for myself because I had a cold. Yes, that’s all it was, a cold. It was at times difficult to function because I couldn’t breathe or see properly but, as with all things, I knew that it would pass. You see, I’ve had colds before and they have also passed. Anyway, this one day I was finding it particularly difficult to concentrate and I felt like I had a bit of a temperature but regardless I needed to get some groceries so I went to the supermarket and selected the few essentials that would keep us going for a few days.

I was minding my own business. I was in my own world. I was wallowing, quite happily, when a chain of events happened that altered my view of my situation.

I held the corner of the magazine in the tips of my fingers. I had seen it slipping off the conveyer belt as the purchases of the woman in from of me inched towards the cashier. I didn’t plan to catch it. I just did.

There was a split second between me catching sight of it and the catch. I moved quickly and precisely. Both the cashier and the shopper ahead of me turned with looks of wonder on their faces.

“Good catch!” the mystery woman with the bright blue eyes exclaimed. She smiled at me.

I shrugged and placed the magazine back on the belt.

The cashier turned to me and questioned, “Are your reflexes always that quick?”

I hesitated and mumbled a reply. I didn’t know. I just caught something that was falling. To me it was no big deal. But to them it was a matter of wonder and conversation. People were looking at me and smiling. I just wanted to get the few items of shopping and leave. Despite my reluctance to draw attention to this small feat – it was after all a magazine and not a baby that I caught – I spoke to the cashier as he was scanning my items. He was very friendly and wanted to talk to all his customers.

When I reached for my receipt and change I caught a glimpse of his name badge; I had never seen that name before: Awaab.

“That’s a name I’m not familiar with,” I said as I tried to pronounce it.

My efforts were greeted with another broad smile. “That’s right,” he grinned, “you said it right.”

“Where does your name originate?” I asked as I put my things away.

“The Koran.” His answer was short and succinct.

I pressed him for more information while the customer behind me was unloading his purchases from his basket.

“What does it mean?” I gently questioned as I could sense that he anticipated a lack of interest once he had mentioned a Muslim name. He was obviously reluctant to say more without some feeling safe.

The relief on his face was clear when he realised that I was genuinely interested.

“It means that means you remember God in good times ... and in bad,” he smiled.

“I like that,” I responded, “something to really remember. Thank you.”

With that I said goodbye and let the next customer pay for his goods. As I picked up my bag Awabb turned back to me and gave me the thumbs up sign.

Mansized Tissues

Kleenex make Mansize Tissues. I’ve been using a lot of them lately. As I looked at the new box I’d just opened I wondered what is Mansized about them and is there a woman-sized alternative?

Yes, this is what my brain is reduced to thinking about while I lay suffering: the naming and sizing of tissues!

I decided to investigate further mansized items to see if I could get any sense of a correlation between the mansized tissues and the non-existent woman-sized alternative (well, it may exist but it is not named as woman-sized).

Google reveals the following mansize options:

• Mansize Menswear – a Canadian shops that specialises in ‘fine apparel for men of an above average stature’.
• Man size boys t-shirts aka fat (advertised as “seriously cool”).
• A shop in Manchester, England provides ‘exclusive clothing for the larger man, with the unique Mansize range’.
• Mansize Rooster – song by Supergrass (no mention in the lyrics of a rooster or anything mansized)
• Mansized target – for army shooting practice (can you hit one at 400 yards?)
• “I’m man-sized no need to shout” – Man-sized lyrics from PJ Harvey
• Mansized.co.uk an online lifestyle website ... perhaps the Italian Prime Minister should join, then they can all see whose is bigger. Foot-in-the-mouth “joke” I mean.

The Mansize tissues that I’ve been using are soft and comfortable and gentle on your nose. They are also big enough so you don’t have to use many each time you sneeze. Mansized tissues are not just for men!

Men always need ... so much more than anything found in a neat cardboard box.

[Aside ... I wonder what size egos come in, or pride, or rage, or dominance, or antagonism for that matter? I may as well check out portions of mansized aggression, courage, and force while I’m here.

That’ll be over there on the top shelf I think. I’ll just get a man to get that for you madam.]

(Apologies to anyone offended by my flu-induced ranting ... well, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.)

I may just have to revert to my neat, lady-sized, pocket tissues after today. It’s been a painful journey.

Manflu

Achoo!

If I were a man I could claim I had manflu. Men even have a support websites with paypal!

As it is I am a woman, a mother, and I have work to do... so I just have to get on with it.

Oh, to have the excuses that the weaker XY chromosome holders have. Then I could open this package.

As with my male counterparts all sympathy and offers of tea, chicken-soup or the like are welcome.

Achoo!

In the meantime I’ll just be unwell between my chores ... or when I’m sleeping.

Now that’s a good idea. Zzzzz

Health issues

I have a health issue that will be with me forever. There is no way it will get better or stop affecting my everyday life. It is part of my existence. I have had to accept that.

When I say get better what I really mean is that there is no way that the condition will go away. It also will not get any worse, unless something in my routine changes. And that’s exactly what happened at the beginning of this year. Something changed.

My doctors were unsure that the medication that I have been on for several years was still effective so they thought that it would be a good idea if I stopped taking it. After all I had become a woman of a certain age and they presumed that changes were afoot in my body. Willing to be guided by the professionals I concurred. I was wrong.

Within a week I felt odd. My whole body was behaving in a different way. My moods were altering as I experienced the withdrawal symptoms from medication that had been balancing my life for the past three decades. I tried to manage my days but it became harder to focus. I lost my ability to concentrate and tears were always available for the slightest of reasons.

After a while I had forgotten that I was once on the medication. I had forgotten that I was now off the medication. All I knew was that each day I woke up and tried to get through the next minute without forgetting that I had responsibilities to take care of.

All I wanted to do was to sleep and cry. Oh yes, and to eat. I really wanted to eat. All the time. As soon as I woke up I felt I needed to eat.

Eating became my replacement drug. I was never full or I was always hungry – even when I had just finished eating a full meal. I have an odd relationship with food and even as the constant grazing was saturating my mind I hated what was happening. I was drowning in food. I could no longer think.

This was another factor in my new life that didn’t make any sense.

But because I couldn’t think straight then I couldn’t do anything about it.

There were weeks within the period when I was exiled from my normality that I saw a glimpse of what was happening, it was at these times that I began to exercise obsessively, I behaved like it was the only thing that could keep my head clear. I spent hours each day doing punishing routines and trying to sweat the fog away from my mind.

For the duration of my exercise time and for a few brief moment after I had finished my workout my mind was clear and this gave me a new high, something that I tried to repeat each day. And I did, until I became too tired to exercise. Then I gave in to what I saw as the inevitable decline. I allowed the television and food to become my constant companions. The only deviation to help my mind was the occasional game of online Scrabble.

Scrabble kept me sane. I know that now.

The words that I made on the Scrabble board were the only link to my former world that was filled with words each day. I needed Scrabble to hold on to my past and to take me back to my future.

After four months in the mire of uncertainty I decided to go to my GP, not the oh-so-wise-consultants that had taken me off my medication, and I asked for a blood test to ascertain what was going on in my body. I could feel the changes but I could not identify them exactly without some medical assistance.

The day the results were due back I rang the receptionist at the GPs and she read some of the results to me then there was a long hesitation before she put me on hold. After an interminable wait to mind-numbing music she came back on the line and said that certain numbers were unusual so she had just been to talk to my GP to check.

I wanted to know what they were; she didn’t want to tell me. I pressed her for the answer until she revealed the figures to me. She added, as some kind of vain assurance, “The doctor said that the figures are normal ... for you.” My numbers had changed by about 800% but they wanted me to remain without medication as the trial period still had about six weeks left to run.

I was not happy.

In addition, not surprisingly, my body was expanding. My clothes were tighter and everything was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable from the inside out.

I was not happy.

I cried. Often. Alone.

I was scared.

In the day time I smiled when I could and I carried on, my son needed me to be there for him. I put all my energies into that alone. I could not let him down: this one thing I knew.

After another month of sinking I reached rock bottom. I called the GPs and made an appointment. I decided that enough was enough.

I had noticed more physical changes in me that meant dormant issues were now active again. It was time to put a stop to this experiment with my life.

I arranged for another blood test and by the next week I had the results. They showed that the numbers were now another 300% higher than at the last reading; since I was taken off the medication my levels had risen by around 1100%. I laughed.

There was no humour in my laughter yet I laughed.

I laughed because I knew. I had felt it happening. It had been like the slowly deepening darkness on a winter’s evening.

I was now at midnight.

Since I have resumed the medication it appears that the dawn is beginning to break somewhere over the horizon ... but my night was so settled I know the day will take time to arrive.

My body has to get used to the medication again so I am experiencing a whole different range of tolerance issues. However, I am looking forward to the sunshine. I can tolerate these changes because I know at the end of this journey I will see the smooth sands and experience the peaceful sound of gentle waves in my life. The storm is passing. The fear is now subsiding. I can see the clouds changing from the darkest indigo into a peaceful shade that is merely a curtain to my new day.

This is a change I am embracing.

Begin again ... happy eating :-)

Food is so many things to so many people.

Food can sustain life. Food can save life.

Food can be comfort and stability and consistency when there is nothing else to rely on. Food can be an emotional crutch. If we are fortunate enough then we are in a situation that food is always there when everything else is gone.

We place all our reliability on food and we build a firm and fast connection with it.

What we need to know is that food can also be dangerous. It can be a silent killer.

Food can separate us from people and become our only constant companion because it suffocates our real personality.

We need to have a good relationship with food; we need to have food in our lives in order to live. Eating should be a pleasurable experience, but not the only pleasurable experience that we have at all. When food is the major focus of our lives, instead of ourselves and others, then we begin to fade as people (even if our girth is expanding).

We have to learn to respect food and respect ourselves and our bodies. We must learn about the benefits and harms that different quantities of foods can have on our bodies and regulate our intake because at the end of the day it really does matter.

I have had a varied relationship with food for several years and at times I know when I have fallen back into old habit and made food an emotional crutch. It is at times like this that I reassess my relationship with food and look at the real reason why I am not eating enough or why I am eating too much of the wrong type of foods. Then I can begin again.

It is always great to be able to begin again. And the best possible time is now.

Happy eating. J

Vultures

Guilt

What is guilt? Why do people feel guilty?

I have said for many years that only if you have done something that you know or that you find out that it is wrong, especially against another person, then you are entitled to feel guilty; in other situations I think that we often get into the habit of assuming guilt when we think that others think that we are wrong – even if we are not. I know that sounds convoluted but I believe that this is how our minds work sometimes.

Our social and moral consciences are activated and we become emotionally attached to an incident. If we remain in an identity of guilt we lose our connections with others because we then compare ourselves negatively to them.

Guilt makes us underrate ourselves and our successes.

When guilt arrives and settles like a vulture on our shoulders does it bolster any feelings of inadequacy we may already harbour? I think that it often has the tendency to do that. With constant sideways glancing and pecking at us, I feel that guilt will wear us down until we no longer have the energy or motivation to make any personal progress.

If we are guilty of something, then I think it is our duty to make amends in the best possible way, be it directly or indirectly, but we must let go of our attachment with the incident or it will become a millstone around our necks.

Guilt can drown us in our daily lives. We have the power to cut the silken cord that links that weight to us. We must release ourselves from the burdens that we do not need to carry so that we can become the person we need to be, the person we are supposed to be, and we can become that person today. And tomorrow, and the next day.

Guilt has its place but once the lesson is learned it must be left in the past to gather dust with the history of the deed.

Rise into your life today, rise and be guilt free.

When we are emotionally healthy we will be able to progress with our lives.

Once we confront the issue that elicited the feelings of guilt then we have to let it go, the vulture of guilt will have to depart from our lives when it is clear that we are neither sick or wounded but healing and strong.