Stepping gently into 2021 with three little words

As the sun rose on this first day of 2021, I could almost hear a collective sigh of relief as 2020 moved into our past.  For sure this has been a year that none of us will forget and one that we will remember with a mix of emotions. A year which shocked us to the core, exposing the world’s vulnerabilities and inequalities while bringing countless examples of dedication, selflessness and incredible courage amidst the destruction of COVID-19

When I selected my three words a year ago, I had no inkling of what 2020 would bring and the very different lives we would be leading throughout the year. On Hogmanay last year, I landed in Edinburgh after a a few days visiting Prague, a dream which I had held for decades. I would bring in the New Year in my new home in Scotland. Little did I know that I would spend every single night in my new home since then, a whole uninterrupted year under the same roof.

In October I reflected on the words I selected a year ago, oblivious to what lay ahead. I was particularly taken to read my thoughts as the year started:

“We all have light in us that shines, and we all have the potential to make things glisten. This encourages me to be creative, solution focused and optimistic, and to keep my eyes open for those tiny, extraordinary moments we can miss when our minds and thoughts are dark”.

How important that was to be as we entered isolation and lockdown in March, and I focused in especially on new priorities, and taking delight in the new discoveries which the passing seasons gifted in my garden. The fact that the words proved to be so eerily apt, was an affirmation of this practice of choosing a three word mantra.

Selecting three words this year brings a new dimension, knowing that the months ahead will see continued challenge as the new strains of COVID-19 and winter fragility test us to the limits. It has been strange to choose my words with COVID-19 looming large, and I have been striving to see beyond the immediacy yet I find it impossible to ignore it. The bigger picture sees COVID-19 very much embedded in it.

I trust that my words will carry me through any eventuality, whilst acknowledging the significant one of COVID-19 underpins a great deal. As always, there has been a great deal of thought and deliberation over several weeks, with numerous variations being tried and tasted as this mantra has taken its final shape. And now, my three words are ready to share. The three words to guide and protect me through 2021 are:

Patience, calibration and stardust

Patience

My first word  is patience. This reminds me that a great deal is out of our hands, yet we have to take charge of how we handle what happens to us. Similar to that cancer diagnosis of 2009, when I quickly realised that while I could not control the diagnosis and its implications, there were many options open to me in how I responded. We need continued patience in these covid times as solutions and improvement take time to reach the wider community. We have been living in isolation and fear for months already, and we need to be patient as medical science brings solutions to the most vulnerable first and gradually reaches more widely.

While this is not purely about covid and is much more widely applicable, it is hard to see beyond this. Patience brings with it the suggestion of kindness and respect. We have been living in a protracted crisis and this has brought out the best and worst in us. This is challenging us in ways we could not have imagined and many of us are struggling. The magnitude of this pandemic means that it is hard to lean on others as we know they are also being tested to the limits of their resilience. So we need to be patient with each other, kind to each other and respectful. And in particular we need to be patient and kind to ourselves.

I am again reminded that as I face new and different challenges, I need to let go of that urge to have all the answers to hand. These months have tested my health and I need to be patient as answers and, hopefully, solutions are identified. I need to be guided by the natural world on my doorstep and learn how to be patient.

Calibration

My second word is calibration and is also brought to the surface by the covid context. Like many others I am highly appreciative that I have my own safe space, and I have been able to continue working. However, this new predominantly online world has brought a contradiction. Thanks to Zoom and other platforms, we have been able to carry on with most of our tasks and activities both professionally and personally. My book group and writing group soon moved online, and were critical to my mental well-being particularly during the early months of isolation. And indeed, there were added bonuses that were only possible online. Our book group were able to invite the writers and translators of some of the books we were reading – so much easier to ask an author to pop into a Zoom call for half an hour from several hundred miles away.

Gradually though, I have found that many hours online, initially in an unsuitable space (the kitchen) brought aches, pains and a weariness that saw a shift in balance. I am not alone in finding it hard to join an online group in the evening after a day of Zooming. I found myself increasingly Zoom-scunnered (not a word I want to take into 2021) and creative activities, especially writing, have suffered.

Calibration will remind me to keep a close eye on maintaining a healthy balance and fine-tuning regularly to ensure that the wires do not snap if they become too taut. I am eager to retain this renewed sense of what matters most and embrace those everyday, simple treasures. This year has shown us how fragile we are, as well as how strong we are.

Stardust

I have long found the expression “we are all made of stardust” to be intriguing and I have never really sought to properly understand it. I just hold on to that wonderful idea that we are all somehow magical and other-worldly. For some reason, I have kept returning to this word as I have been shaping my three word mantra. And that has entailed trying to find out what it actually means. Happily, Professor Google has enlightened me and explains the detail in this article, and notes in particular that:

“most of the material that we’re made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. We have stuff in us as old as the universe, and then some stuff that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

Being made of stardust both reduces and elevates us. It reminds us that we are very much part of the natural order. This is an important equaliser as we are all composed of the same matter. Yet it also makes us feel special, each of us is a star in our own right.

We know that the stars become visible once the sky darkens and gazing into the night sky is hypnotizing. Covid may have brought a great deal of darkness, yet we do not have to look far to see a universe full of stars. As we move forward into 2021, stardust reminds me to see beyond the darkness and to delve deep to find that stardust that we are made from. It is in each of us. As we look up at the night sky, we are reminded that we are tiny and insignificant in the universe and that nature is incredibly powerful. My mantra will remind me that each of us is unique and extraordinary, yet ordinary. Consistently contradictory. And we dwell in a shared universe.

The promise of spring, a sign of hope in the snow

Now my three words are in place, and I am ready to move forward into 2021, with patience, calibration and stardust in and at my heart. May the year be kinder to us all.

With all due respect

October on the breast cancer blogosphere has often been tense and as we step gently into November I feel a release of that tension. There has been much discussion about pink and whether pink and the pink ribbon are appropriate, exploitative and ineffective. A great deal of focus has been on moving conversations forward towards action and education and away from awareness. Awareness is yesterday. Awareness is unneeded. Awareness misses the point. Many bloggers who are usually very active and vocal took a recess during October. Others used the opportunity to shout. There has been a great deal of articulate, passionate and thought-provoking debate.

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I struggle with these discussions. Not because I disagree with the concern that pink campaigns focus on profit and an unbalanced view of breast cancer. I find it completely inappropriate that certain products claim to support breast cancer initiatives and often a tiny proportion of the proceeds or profits is used for breast cancer work. Nor do I struggle because I find some campaigns distasteful – after all a certain shocking image even prompted me to leap off my comfortable fence and rant!

No, my issues with the feisty debate stems from the fact that I have a particular perspective on breast cancer, awareness and equity from my place on the planet. I see and hear, and try to understand, the significant different levels of awareness and the very different concerns which people have in my part of the world. I struggle with the fact that I had access to excellent care and treatment and a reasonable level of understanding of breast cancer yet a woman I might sit next to in the course of my life and work here has a very different level of awareness, considerable traditional taboos and for whom access to care and treatment is not easy. The discussions in the wider blogosphere are relevant and critical. But they often do not have relevance from where I am standing.

This is something which I have been struggling with since I stepped over the line in the sand into breast cancer world. Inequity in any form ruffles my feathers and my personal and professional life are driven by this passionate need to play even a tiny role to cause any tiny shift in this balance. But apart from the blog, it is difficult to see what I can really do in my neck of the woods. So recently, I learned of an initiative underway to bring women and men together, raise awareness and understanding about breast cancer and of course I leapt at the opportunity. There are a very small number of expat/international women I know here who have been through diagnosis and treatment and who are currently here so we came together to look at two things. Firstly, how we could support and contribute to the efforts of the local group, and secondly how we could connect as a small group ourselves.

We contacted the key folks involved in the initiative here and asked if we could support. We know that our understanding and experience is different, but we also know that we have all heard the same or similar words. We have all felt that fear when confronted with our mortality and the dread of aggressive, difficult treatments. As individuals, of course our experience is different but this is compounded considerably by our backgrounds.

So, it is complicated. What follows is my understanding and reflection, and I know it is more shallow and superficial than I would like. But it is a start in this broader attempt to convey just how different our cancer experiences are, yet how much we have in common.  No matter where we are on the planet. And how critical it is to respect these, no matter how much or little we understand.

Our cultural reference points bring differing levels of understanding wherever we are. I quickly learned that it was even more complex and subtle here than I had imagined. Many people were hesitant or uncomfortable to talk openly about their cancer, or even to be identified as having been diagnosed. Gentle conversations gradually helped us, outsiders, to understand that there is a significant stigma associated with cancer. Belief grounded in karma means that a cancer diagnosis seems to bring with it a judgement that this is a punishment for a wrongdoing either earlier in this life or a previous one. There also are important issues over privacy and sharing private information, similar to the situation which Kirsty discussed in her post from Timor-Leste where the woman she spoke of was unable to raise her concerns with a doctor due to shyness.

So it has been a path which we have been treading along gingerly, trying to understand unspoken concerns and beliefs in solidarity.

Our initial aim has been to support the group in organising and promoting a Pink Ribbon Awareness Day which was being planned. And that is the event which was held last Saturday and which I promised to share details and reflections.

breast cancer awareness invitationIn preparation for the day a few women worked together to prepare a leaflet in Myanmar language, sound in information yet sensitive and appropriate to the context. We took care of the practical and logistical arrangements such as venue, refreshments, shade, seating and translation. We prepared for our own roles on the day and did our best to spread the word.

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Although rainy season should be nearing its end our planning had an added edge with the promise of thunderstorms and the day did indeed start under a very moody sky.

The message which the group were anxious to convey was to dispel the utter fear of breast cancer which causes many not to seek medical advice. The message that a diagnosis of cancer is not necessarily a life sentence and that early detection is critical. I found myself struggling to a certain extent, knowing the importance of not reinforcing the belief that early detection guarantees that the cancer will be “cured”. But the discussions soon showed how complicated this is in the global context and the importance of that very early detection message here. For various reasons, potential breast cancer symptoms are often presented at an advanced stage when prognosis is much poorer. Generally, if detection were earlier here, then many lives would be saved. Many, many women and men do not know many of the symptoms of breast cancer. Many are afraid to know – treatment is not easily accessible or affordable. Many prefer to see if symptoms disappear on their own, and take traditional medication. By the time it is clear that the symptom is not going away, the disease could be much more advanced. Many are afraid of the treatment itself, or do not trust it and unsure of where to get reliable information. So it is complicated indeed.

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Goodie bags with leaflets and info

The group decided to have a “programme” which would provide information, encouragement and the opportunity to ask questions as well as learning how to do a self examination in a private space after the main discussions.  We provided a “goodie bag” with information leaflets and fans and ribbons were provided for each participant.

After a short introduction, a panel was introduced of four women who shared their experiences and answered questions put by a facilitator. The four women comprised two Myanmar women, one Australian and one Scot. It is probably not hard to guess who the Scot might have been!

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We each described our own experience, focusing on how we felt when we discovered the sign that we might have cancer, what we did, what was our treatment and how did we cope. We were also asked to say how much we knew about cancer before our diagnosis. I was asked if I had had treatment options, and who decided what my treatment would be. We were also asked who broke the news to us that we had cancer – was it family or the doctor? It seemed that the Myanmar participants shared their concerns with friends or family some time before seeking medical help on their advice. One spoke of the difficulty in finding an oncologist and when she did, was not comfortable to share her concerns with a male doctor and it took further time to seek a female oncologist.

After we had spoken and answered individual questions, a gentleman sitting in the front row was invited to speak. We very quickly learned that he had been diagnosed with breast cancer and he shared his account with enormous openness and detail. He described finding blood on his shirt one day and when he sought medical advice, was highly surprised to find that this was breast cancer. From my place in the panel, I could not see him clearly, but there was no mistaking what was happening when he started to unbutton his shirt so that people could see his scar.

Following our own stories, there was the opportunity to ask questions. Pieces of paper had been distributed so that people could write their questions down and not feel embarrassed or shy in front of the large group. The panel was joined by one of the international doctors who gave up his Saturday afternoon to provide accurate and up to date information and answer questions from a medical perspective.

The questions themselves show how important the cultural context, the levels of understanding is and how different to many places. I share a few of the questions from memory:

• Are you more likely to have breast cancer if your breasts are very large or very small?
• What were your eating and sleeping habits before you had cancer?
• What is meant by stages and grades of cancer?
• Is it more likely to have cancer in the left than the right breast?
• What counselling support did you have to help you after diagnosis?
• How long does chemotherapy last and how much does it cost?
• What different treatments are there and how much do they cost?
• Are there options other than surgery for a tumour?

Thus, as the discussion ensued I realised that the messages of early detection and awareness of signs and symptoms are critical in this context as many women will seek support and information from friends and family long before consulting a doctor. Thus many present very late and prognosis is much poorer. It is so important to understand and respect the differing places we are all coming from.

Fans with message in Myanmar

I know that there is in many places pink and pink ribbon fatigue. I know that there are calls that the pink ribbon has outlived its use. It is evident that pinkness masks the ugly reality that is breast cancer. I understand these but from where I am I do believe that there is an important place for a unifying pink ribbon. It is sad that the ribbon has been abused and exploited in many places. It is critical to recognise and respect the reality that the pink ribbon excludes the most important group of the breast cancer community – those with metastatic cancer. But it is complicated. The organisers of the event on Saturday were more comfortable working on the symbolic pink by making ribbons, and setting up flowers and providing fans with a message of vigilance. They were far less comfortable sharing personal details or being identified as having been diagnosed. And as outsiders to the context, we must respect that.

Cancer cells do not care what our citizenship is, they are programmed to destroy. The major surgery often required to eradicate tumours is physically disfiguring on any body and psychologically destructive on any mind. Chemotherapy does not care if our hair is fair or dark, long or short, curly or straight, thick or fine – it will still fall as a result of many chemo regimes. Cancer is a psychological diagnosis as much as a physical one, no matter where on the planet we are.breast cancer awareness yangon 2013 7

And wherever or whoever we are we must respect and recognise how much we have in common and how much differs.

What if…………

Equity

Dignity

Respect

These are principles which are at my core, which fire my soul more than I care to admit. They underpin all that drives me.

And I am driven by two critical injustices in the world.

There is no cure for cancer.

Access to a good education is out of reach for far too many.

cancer and education

So this very simple statement doing the rounds on Facebook has hit me with breathtaking force and unusually prompted me to stick my head way over the parapet and shout.

What if…………………?

Words of apology and thanks

It must be a nightmare to be close to someone who is going through, or has been through cancer treatments. My poor hubby J developed the starting symptoms of a head cold recently. A direct gift from me in all likelihood. As he started to sniffle and descend into misery (as I had done just a few days previously) he looked to me for sympathy. And what did he get? I think you probably spell it P-A-H. Pronounced PAH! I heard myself think “what you have a little teensy headcold? Pah! Just a head cold? Are you complaining? How can you complain, when I have been treated for CANCER? Pah! Pah! Pah!!!!” I might not have said these words out loud but I am ashamed to say that they most certainly flitted into my mind.

No matter what type of cancer diagnosed, it calls for gruelling treatment and a massive and unwelcome emotional impact . Many have been through a triathlon from hell (surgery, chemo and radiation). We have heard the dreaded “you have cancer” words. We are and have been subjected to the most degrading and challenging treatments even though often we didn’t feel ill in the first place. We have lost much, including often our hair, immune system, taste ability, dignity, use of limbs and experienced impaired digestive functions. And the special chemo delights – nausea, vomiting, loss of taste and appetite, complete refusal of the digestive system to function, that appalling constipation/diarrhea alternating combo, weakness, loss of sensation, acquisition of foul taste to name just a few of the side effects I found more memorable. Now that was a challenge, that was as about as horrible as you can get. And this is not over in a matter of days. Our thorough treatment plans span for weeks and months ahead of us, into an unimagined, unimaginable far distant future. So what happens? We seem to find ourselves elevated to a new level of respect for the grossness of the effects of treatment added to having to handle that mind altering bonus of “face your mortality” that cancer brings. Compared with a head cold that is just mega trivial. Isnt it?

Now let’s re-wind to those pre-cancer days. I remember well that horrible miserable feeling when you feel the first signs of a head cold. The dreadfull sensation of suffocation and general malaise. It might be common but it doesn’t make it any the less miserable. And a nasty cold can really floor you. Rationally, I know that I am being unfair in ranking ill health, but emotionally those pangs of cancer superiority filter through.
What about our long suffering partners and family when we are going through gruelling cancer treatment? They support us. They listen to our pleas for a particular food, only to have to eat it themselves when we can’t face eating it. They hold our hands when we wake all hours of the night by a sudden need to vomit. They comfort and reassure us at those unexpected times when the fear grips us. They sit beside us listening to the complicated words of our specialists as we try and absorb what they are telling us, a hand on our shoulders to try and comfort and reassure us that we are not alone. We are in this together.

So this is an apology. I know that I hated chemo, was terrified of surgery and struggled with radiation. I know our partners would all do the same. This does not make me superior. It is another example of just having to deal with something when we are faced with it. It is also an illustration of perspective. Now when I get a headcold, it is almost a laughable relief. But that does not make it any the less miserable. I should not have any grand sense that I have got through the triathlon. For most of us, if we are faced with it we know we do not have much choice but to get on with it. But before this horror, I was just as miserable with a headcold, as scared with the prospects of a needle stick, and as repelled with the thought of surgery. And let’s be honest, I still dread the unpleasantness of medical procedures.
It might be easy to say “Pah!” to a head cold while I am on this side of treatment for cancer for now, but I completely respect and acknowledge that I can not be complacent or snobbish about the degree of illness.

Cancer and a headcold might not be equal cousins as illnesses, but any ailment must be respected, particularly in those care for us and see us at our lowest. Our carers must be equally respected and supported when they are sick.

Even if it is “just” a head cold!