The Reward is the Journey

Sitting beside her in the waiting room I think I was more nervous than she.  I felt honoured to be there but under no illusions as to the extent of my responsibility.  That morning, we needed to remind ourselves and each other that it would be all-right.  She repeated it like a mantra 'It will be fine'.  And it was.  Better than fine, in fact.  But even if it wasn't all-good, it would be fine. We are not, I think, ever sent more than we can manage.  Somehow, the cliche is a truthful one - what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and we are growing each and every day.  In order to grow, we need to be fed, and that was what dawned on me sitting there, in the room with pink decor. "You get sick of them after awhile" she said, referring to the lipstick hue walls.  I was feeling nauseous, but it had nothing to do with my surroundings and everything to do with anxiety.  I really wanted to hear good news, but was confronted with the reality that I had

I learnt a lot on my first ever visit to the Breast Care Unit at King's College Hospital.  We started in Bloods.  They didn't have the piece of paper.  It mattered not.  Ultimately.  But there were moments of panic, as it looked like this might throw things.  Someone's oversight, probably indicative more of overload than any lack of care, had the potential to push back Charlotte's fifth round of chemo.  We prioritised breakfast and waited for the Chemo Day Unit to open its doors, and for the mishap to be rectified.  The paper drawer in the printer was empty.  It was replenished, and Charlotte given the form she needed before she could get bloods.  The queue in Bloods was now too long, and she had a date far too important to be even fashionably late for.  We waited to be seen by the oncologist who, running only a little behind schedule, was able to share with us the good news.  Charlotte is responding to treatment.  The alien has been disarmed and is standing still.  Ch

It's a big week.  Not only does Charlotte face round five of chemo, toxic nastiness to battle the alien but she will learn how effective the efforts so far have proved.  Medical science has come a long way and oncology is evolving weekly, but the opponent is a stern one.  Halfway through the planned eight cycles, and it's time to take stock and measure progress.  Prayers have been said, and every digit crossed and the truth is shortly to be revealed.  She has done her bit.  She's had needles inserted and veins exhausted in the process.  Bloods have been taken.  CT scans performed.  Toxic chemicals have been issued.  Hair has fallen from her scalp in clumps.  She's been sicker than any dog we know.  Surely, this hasn't all been for nought.  "Cancer is a word, not a sentence." John Diamond There is no bargaining power to be had.  This is non negotiable.  All that can be done has been and now we need to let go and hand over the outcome to whatever it is t

The blackbird who sings to announce the dawn helps me start my day with gratitude and serenity.  More reliable than any alarm clock, the her toneful tune encourages me to wake from my slumbers and urges me to embrace the day, as she seems to.  Recovery has instilled a sense of routine which when I sustain it, ensures a degree of maintenance and consistency, which I find valuable. These days, my day tends to start and end in much the same way each day.  There are certain things I do before I get out of bed, and several steps that I take on getting up before flicking the kettle on to make my first cup of tea.  Two slogans have been instrumental in setting the tone of my morning, 'First things First' and 'Easy Does It'.  Each day is a new day, with infinite potential.  Yesterday has gone, tomorrow's yet to come, all I have is this day. Experience has shown me that taking life twenty four hours at a time is enormously helpful in combating the fears and anxieties that

Today wasn't about beating anyone or anything.  Not even the clock.  Having established something of a Sunday routine, I now have something to measure myself against, and that's plenty good enough.  As it happened today we clocked up 54k in two and a half hours.  After a busy week and a good night's sleep, I was ready to give it my best shot and meeting Sam and Charlotte at Pembroke Lodge for a cup of tea provided inspiration and motivation in abundance.  They are both heroes.    We completed a little over three and three quarter circuits of the Park today - doing nearly two complete turns in the clockwise direction we have become familiar with, and then going back on ourselves to do a little less than 2 full circuits in the anticlockwise direction.  It was different.  From my perspective, switching directions and trying something new kept my interest and re-established the focus I had begun this morning with.  Neither direction is better or worse, they are incomparabl

A new storage solution feels to have changed a great deal more than I had envisaged it might.  Embodying the slogan 'keep it simple' the process involved a little de-cluttering and a lot more re-organising, and then deciding where to re-place things.  Having dismantled one piece of IKEA furniture and assembled another, there was an opportunity to clear the wreckage of the past and re-evaluate what I have been holding onto, in terms of my material possessions, and explore my relationships with various bits and bobs looking ahead.  Suddenly, my new shelves have enabled me to see more clearly as not only are things better organised, they are in clear view.  Things have made it out of the drawers, and are now boldly and proudly on display.  Why would I want to hide my treasures that give me so much pleasure?  Photos have been put in frames, books have been arranged more accessibly and things come to hand more easily.  I have brought order into a small corner of a room, and instant

Staying with some friends for whom food is important recently gave me an opportunity to connect with the food we prepared to together to a greater degree than I might otherwise.  We planned what we were going to eat, and how we were going to cook it, before shopping to source our ingredients - not in a supermarket, but visiting different stores for the components of our creation.  As I washed, peeled, and chopped it struck me that the hands-on approach provided a wonderful opportunity to engage more mindfully with the food, which we prepared and later ate.  I was altogether more present than I might otherwise have been - as we chose the vegetables, and then weighed them, I noticed the colours which seemed more vivid, and came into contact with their textures, the variety of which I hadn't anticipated.  As I went about cutting and slicing, I noticed how the knife punctured the skin, before gliding through the fruity flesh.  I heard it, I smelt it.  I was there.  I was fully there. 

My training continues, and the pace has increased.  This weekend's highlight comprised three circuits of a rather windy Richmond Park and my legs are tired, but the rest of my body enthused having achieved a respectable average in the slightly inclement conditions and a grand top speed of 48kph which made me smile!  Inevitably, I was overtaken at several points during our thirty mile ride but this was more inspiring than disheartening - one highlight was on the third take of a short sharp hill when I was greeted by a friendly (and evidently uber proficient) cyclist who was not only firmly in his saddle, but was pushing his partner up the hill, simultaneously offering me some welcome encouragement! At its maximum the gradient of Broomfield Hill is 12%.  It starts from The Robin Hood Roundabout easily enough and it would be tempting to carry on without concern as the smooth road winds its way through the attractive forest environment in which deer are common onlookers.  The wildlife

So, it's unlikely I'll ever compete in a triathlon but I've decided to compose my own duathalon.  I have extended my challenge and will be donning a wetsuit to join hundreds of other open water mad swimmers in the Great London Swim.  On 26 May I will take the plunge into the Royal Victoria Dock and participate (substitute the word compete) in the biggest open water swim in the south of England which is predicted to attract 5,000 swimmers who will be organised into waves of approximately 300 starting the mile long course every half an hour. A fortnight later and once my lungs have expelled any Thames water I may ingest in the effort, I will jump (well, perhaps not exactly jump, but my enthusiasm knows no bounds) on my bike and pedal the 100k Nightrider 2012 course around London.  I'm excited.  Why wouldn't I be?  Blue green algae worries me not in the least.  I am accompanying my dearest friend as her body is pushed to the limits as she courageously battles the al

An interesting conversation arose inspired by recent reflections on the various facets of progress.  There is an expression I regularly remind myself of, "progress not perfection" which would not, I suspect, cut it where certain personality types are concerned.   For some, progress is a single linear transition from A to B, never involving diversions via C.  Others of us progress in a rather less straightforward fashion, diverging off towards, C, D and occasionally even E, if it appeals sufficiently.  It is not the speed, but the scenery that we appreciate, and we are open to learning along the way: the reward is, after all, the journey.  The destination is something we may hold in clear focus, but it is not the be-all and end-all.  We are confident in our ultimate arrival, but are open to growing along the way.  We are not averse to conceding that a wrong turn may have led us towards a T-junction but we view this is something other than a dead-end, for there is often much t

Approaching the EYE film institute from the ferry that took 4 minutes to cross the harbour fellow visitors resembled ants, neatly marching towards its red carpeted entrance.  Amsterdam boasts a new landmark sitting upon the north bank of the River IJ. The architecture is at the same time futuristic and retro.  Designed by Viennese architects, its opening has been long awaited by the public, eager to inhabit their new eye catching gem.  Sitting low beside River, the geometry is as curious as the scale.  Covered by a mosaic of white aluminium tiles, its sharp edges are strangely inviting.  The combination of sloping walls and glass makes it possible to see right through the building from various angles.  The architect was clearly inspired by light, space and movement, although the latter was certainly an issue during this, the first weekend the showcase was open to the public who descended in their masses, and with their small children. Kids were everywhere.  Sliding down the newly in

She died in an accident.  He told us about it over dinner.  The easy conviviality was abruptly interrupted.  Pleasantries were pushed aside.  I shivered.  Tomorrow the family would assemble to celebrate what would have been her ninth birthday.  A three year old missing for 24 hours and found dead following gas explosion at her family home.  The tragedy was as surreal as it was horrific.   Her 11 year old cousin had apparently commented upon the anticipated ritual, remarking to his sister, "she's in a better place" before reconsidering his statement, and finding it to be inaccurate.  How could she be in a better place, without her mother, father and brother?  Where was she?  Explanation was not forthcoming.   Grief is very personal.  Outliving one's child defies reason.  So, her mother will prepare a birthday party for her absent child.  Balloons will be inflated, banners hung and cakes baked.  Guests will arrive, but will not bear gifts.  They will come together kno

"I didn't know what I didn't know..."  He told me his story and how he had come into recovery more out of necessity than by conscious choice.  "Surrender and win" he heard said at an AA meeting.  Drink had taken him to depths from which he could only ascend.  Put simply, he had nothing to lose.  The gift of despair.  So, surrender he did.  He described the welcome he received on entering the rooms.  How he felt like a warrior returning to his village.  In AA he found his tribe.  Like coming home.  Explaining to me how the 12 Steps have indeed been a bridge to normal living, and how he got far more than he bargained for having stumbled across that first meeting.  He kept his ears open and more importantly, his mind open and receptive to the help that was immediately forthcoming.  He followed the suggestions that were made.  And he discovered a great deal more than how to get sober, and stay sober.  He discovered a life beyond his wildest dreams. So

I rather enjoyed it.  Bleak though it may have been, I felt  'The Kid with a Bike'  was poignant; it tugged on the heartstrings more than once.    Cyril is 12, and life hasn't dealt him a brilliant hand.  He's in care, as his father has abandoned him.  We never get to know anything about his mother.  His primary relationship is with his beloved bicycle.  Which, at the beginning of the film, has also disappeared.  We follow Cyril who runs away from the foster home in search of his father at his old apartment.  He is brought face to face with the undeniable reality of the empty apartment and it's unbearable.  The next morning, a stranger he encountered whilst trying to flee the children's home, turns up with his much missed bike.  She agrees to foster him at weekends, and a bond develops between these two formerly lost souls in this mutually satisfactory arrangement.  Samantha helps Cyril to locate his father, whom he goes to meet only to be harsh

So, my training program has commenced in earnest. I am seeking to raise over £1000 by riding 100k in the moonlight later this year. Yes, that's right. I've signed up and undertaken to participate in Nightrider 2012. I will be departing from Alexandra Palace shortly after midnight, on Saturday 9 June and cycling 100k for Breast Cancer Care and Marie Curie Cancer Care. In January, my best friend Charlotte was diagnosed with a stage three, invasive, oestrogen positive, breast cancer. She has started chemo, and will also receive hormone and surgical therapies... Never has the work of Breast Cancer Care been so immediately meaningful. As she bravely continues in her battle against cancer, I'm determined to do my bit. As Charlotte approaches the midway point in her chemotherapy, I am pumping up my tyres and reacquainting myself with the saddle over long distances training for my nocturnal ride in June. Please help me raise as much money as possible for these two won

Mr. Billington was spot on:  it was fascinating.  And intriguing.  And Rachel Marwood's performance certainly was impressive.  Drew's play was brilliant.  A masterpiece.  I enjoyed every moment of it.  There's something magical about theatre.  It makes no difference to me whether it's West End or a small fringe venue.  In fact, I rather like venturing off the beaten track, discovering little secrets you might not come across were you not looking out for them.  The New Diorama was not new to me, having seen Drew's debut 'Public Interest'  there last year.  I was thrilled to be accompanied by several friends each of whom responded as enthusiastically.     'Four Days of Grace' takes the audience into Grace's kitchen, with lino floor, kitchen table, kettle and countless bottles.  Here we meet Grace.  She tells us her story in her own words.  The captivating monologue allows us to get to know her.  And then we get to know all of her.  As the scene u

Spring made an appearance.  Albeit perhaps only briefly.  Colder weather is set to return.  Which makes me all the more pleased to have got out into the sunshine on my bicycle.  I've done two rides this week, totalling a little over 75k which has pleased me no end.  Riding in Richmond and Bushy Parks for the first time provided some food for thought, some of which was bike related, with the leftovers comprising yet more grist for the proverbial mill.   Living in South West London provides an abundance of fabulous cycling.  The two Royal parks doubtless contain some of the finest.  Completing a couple of circuits around Bushy Park at dusk was the perfect way to change gears after work whilst taking advantage of the recently longer evenings.  In fact, very few gear changes were required as Bushy provides quite a contrast to the rather more demanding circuit at Richmond where we found ourselves in good company amongst hundreds of fellow velo enthusiasts enjoying a Sunday morning out

Are you a commitment freak or a commitment phobic?  Do you like to plan, and know ahead of time?  Do you organise, coordinate, and schedule?  Do you know what you'll be doing after the Summer, where you're spending Christmas, and with whom you'll be celebrating New Year 2013?  Or, are things at best pencilled in, as you see what happens?  Can you accept an invitation?  Can you say yes and mean it, or is everything up in the air, waiting to land?  Do you have standing orders and direct debits?  Memberships?  Mortgage?  Married?  We all have different relationships with the concept of commitment.  For some of us the word alone sends a shiver down the spine, uncomfortable and to be avoided at all costs.  Others amongst us give commitment willingly and easily, and expect it from others.  There is a balance to be struck, at the point that it feels comfortable.  Commitment is currency.  It carries meaning, and says something about us, and something about our relationships.  Comi