The Bad, the Ugly ... and the Good

I like to think that I am a modern, up-to-date, finger-on-the-ball kind of girl ...

"Girl?!"

Mmm ... I guess that is one of my problems ... at the ripe old age of 41, I still consider myself to be a ‘girl’. Note to oneself – New Year’s Resolution to find and adopt new and appropriate description ... mmm ... babe ... chick ... err ... maybe not ...

I love IT. No, not it .... I.T. Information Technology. It never ceases to amaze me that as a child, armed with my two penny pieces, I would have to run along the road to the smelly public telephone box to make a phone call. That we only had one TV in the house ...with three TV channels ... which didn’t broadcast all day, everyday. That the highlight of my week was watching Top of the Pops on a Thursday evening ... and trying to record the weekly number one on the Hit Parade. You know, pressing the play and record simultaneously ... and being desperately annoyed when Bruno Brookes spoke over the beginning or end of the song.

I embrace everything to do with new technology.  Texting ... instant messaging ... e-mailing ... surfing the net. Google!  I just lu-u-r-ve Google - the answer to everything. I have two ... no three ... no four websites ... two photography sites, Facebook and this blog. Photoshop, Pagemaker and Powerpoint, I adore them all. Internet shopping ... isn’t it wonderful? iTunes will never cease to amaze me ... you can find, pay and download an album in two and half minutes ... sod ruddy Bruno Brookes ... what happened to him anyway?

But ... there is just one little diddy thing that I have yet to adopt ... that I resist ... an electronic calendar ...

I can do it. I have the means to do it. I have the skills. I have a laptop. A mobile. An iPod. All those things would keep an electronic diary ... and to be frank if I used one of those then I wouldn’t have forgotten the wedding anniversaries of two close family couples this year ... I can’t even blame my turmoil for that, as they were both BBC ... formal apologies to those guys. But the thing is, I love my diary ... and that is OK ... after all ... who has heard of Bridget Jone's Blackberry ... or Raspberry as my former Chief Executive use to call hers ....

I don’t actually have a diary. It is a filofax. It is a lovely rich chocolately brown. And it is leather. Each time I get it out of my bag, before unpopping it, I surreptitiously raise it to my nose and take a discreet little sniff. Now ... you have got to admit I would pretty darn stupid sitting in a meeting doing that with an electronic device? Not only that, but my filofax is comfy and friendly. It is jammed with bits of paper, notes, things to do, photos, vouchers. It just kind of represents me ...

At the end of the year, before putting in the new, freshly laundered cotton-white clean pages for the next fifty two weeks, I enjoy opening my filofax and flicking through my diary just gone. A time for remembering and reflecting on the year of birthdays, celebrations, events, meetings, appointments. Though of course it was a bit different this year. It started off OK. Just fine. Then I got to July ... and it said Dr’s appointment. Then there were a couple of hospital appointments. Then it went rather quiet. With pretty much only bloods, oncologist and chemo scheduled every three weeks.

But then, on the other hand, I discovered a new game this year. Honestly, I did. It is called WOW. Yes ... WOW! WOW stands for “When O’ When?”. It is a bit like Patience or Solitaire ... it ain’t a team game. In fact it is a pretty exclusive game. Pretty exclusive to me that is. My starting block is the beginning of my diary and involves me going through the pages and wondering when exactly the Yukky Lump came in to my life ...

So when did the breast tumour appear? Was I sat at the Christmas table last year ... champagne in one hand ... a cracker in the other ... and the Yukky Lump in my breast ...? Was it bouncing up and down with me to Auld Lang Syne ... mocking me for little realising what the year was going to bring? Was it laughing at me as I tried to ski down that Alpine mountain in March? Was it lying there in my breast enjoying the warmth of the sunshine as I relaxed on the lounger and cycled the coastal paths in Royan in May? Of course the ‘game’ never ends ... as these are questions that I will never be able to answer. I still sit here and ponder how a 6cm tumour could flourish in my breast without me having even a little inkling. It just seemed to appear overnight. I only can only ‘comfort’ myself that I took action straightaway ... and ... although my health practitioners didn’t think that it was anything “suspicious” they took it seriously ... and the rest ... as they say ... is history ...

So does that summarise 2009 for me? "How was 2009?" Oh, I got breast cancer ... that is about it actually ... Well, no, that isn’t it. Yes, I did jump and down at a New Year’s Party last year ... happy ... a bit merry ... little knowing what horrific, life changing news would hit me within a few months. But I didn’t know something else either ... that I would get through it with the love, care and support from an army of people ... some I personally know ... others I don’t ...

Breast cancer is hell of an experience ... hell being the operative word. You really really wouldn’t wish it on anybody. There is of course the painful and scary parts ... the news, the treatments, the side effects. The slog of attending appointments ... being pricked and poked about ... powerful chemical cocktails that make you feel terrible ... both mentally and physically. Then there is the worry ... the unknown aspects about lots of things ... for this week, next month, next year ...

And I would have found all this totally impossible without an amazing mass of people who have supported me in so many ways. I have had friends and family who have sent me good wishes – regularly via text messages, e-mails, cards, telephone calls, comments on my blog. There are those who provided practical help - they have shopped, cooked and taxied me to and from hospital appointments. And then those that have whisked the children away for the weekend; who have picked me up and have emptied my head of worry and filled my lungs with fresh air by taking me to the moors or the beach; others that have organised jolly soirees and held lovely Sunday lunches, where I have chatted and laughed and forgotten my troubles. There are very special people who take my hysterical calls in the wee hours of the morning and still manage to sound as if they are pleased to be rudely awoken by my howling. And then there have been gifts ... flowers, chocolates, cakes, fruit boxes, wine, spa days, books and magazines, angels, stones, keyrings, DVD box sets, bundles of Fingers of Fudge ... the list is endless.

And there is more. There are still the people that don’t even know me. Comrades that I have not even met. Those who have been through this journey ahead of me. Who ring me regularly and tell me that I will be OK. Tell me that what I am feeling is normal. And those ... like me ... who weren’t expecting to be on this journey ... but sadly are too. Who offer me reassurance and comfort even during what is an incredibly worrying and stressful time for them.

OK – so this time last year the diary didn’t say that 2009 would bring me breast cancer. But it didn’t tell me other things that I have learnt too. That good can come out of bad.

To all of you ... my husband, my children, my family, friends and colleagues ... I want to wish you a very Merry Christmas and safe, healthy and happy New Year ... and show my appreciation by saying a huge thank you and sending you a big big festive hug!

Here’s to 2010! Px

PS - I think the festive celebrations may have started a little early.  I sat down to watch a film last night.  It was called Bridget Jones - The Edge of Reason.  For some unknown reason a number of my buddies sent me a text to say that they were watching it too and thinking of me.  Now ... don't get me wrong ... Bridget seems like a lovely 'girl'.  But she can't ski; swears like a trooper; gets stoned and stands in the sea; has legs 'only up to here' and will 'always be a little bit fat'; opens her mouth before her brain cranks in to gear; wears big knickers ... and definitely can't sing.  I suspect a bit too much mulled wine may have been consumed by my friends.... cos I can't for the life of me understand why I came to mind ...

"Like a W...iii...r...g ...i...n ...  Like a W...iii...r...g ...i...n ... touched for the very first time ...."