Out and about on a school night which is very unusual. I was invited - along with a team of volunteers where I work, to the Plymouth Guild Volunteers Award night. (Actually that isn't precisely what it was called but there were so many words in the title that I have forgotten them but you get the gist.) I need to point out that I do not volunteer where I work but I did get an actual separate invitation to the event as I am Head Honcho and all round Life and Soul of the Party.
We didn't win and I am not surprised as we were playing out of our league. I mean, our volunteers are awesome but we were up against people who had built entire national charities in their spare time just because it was their passion. One gentleman was just entering his fiftieth year of volunteering. I did a lot of clapping and a bit of snivelling and felt really humble and really pleased to be in the same room as these people.
It is probably my age but sometimes, when I see people pouting into phones all flippin day long or being apparently willing to do ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING to get on some poxy reality show, after which the vast majority of contestants will sink without trace after walking the red carpet at the Toenail Clipping of the Year Awards, I have been known to get a little downhearted. However, this week, I have listened to a ninety year old lady who started volunteering when she retired because "Well you can't just sit around doing nothing when people need you, can you?" I also watched a son accept his father's award - given posthumously - for tutoring a young man to two silver medals at the Special Olympics, even when unwell with the disease that killed him, and I am comforted, that mankind is not full of shallow, annoying, self centred twonks but there are amazing people doing amazing things, quietly, all the time. And it maketh me glad.
For the newly diagnosed..
Nothing will ever be the same again. That much is certainly true. You will mourn and mourn long and hard for the life that you have lost and that is ok. But there are some things that I would like to tell you - some things that I discovered during my own journey. I have found these things to be true - for me anyway and I would hope that they may help you.
You have joined a club that you never wanted to be a member of. It has probably surprised you just how much is going on in cancer land - much of it positive and hopeful. But really you would rather not have known - not ever - not really. I remember a newly diagnosed friend whispering to me about how annoyed she was about some friends running marathons for her. Because although she knew they were being kind, she didn't want to be that person that they were being kind to. She didn't want to be there. She has since run several marathons herself, but at the beginning she couldn't, not then. She had to accept, as all the diagnosed and those who love them must, that life has changed forever. Yet this change, though so terrible (in the full sense of the word) has so much in it that will be good. You will see things with new eyes. Gratitude will surprise you when you least expect it. Nothing will ever be measured in the same way that it was before. Some of it, and this is difficult to believe now, will be better. It will be richer, stronger and more clear sighted. You will wonder why you ever worried about the things you worried about. You will be taken aback by the amount of love you feel for those you love.
You will learn to be patient but you will be less accepting of religious rubbish. "All things work together for good" is not a trite throw-away line to be delivered by someone who is trying to say the right thing. It is a strong wall to hide behind in times of deep, deep trouble but it is not an easy wall to get to. To learn to say this and mean it comes out of experience, an experience of seeing amazing things happen in deep and dark circumstances. Take the kindness that people offer because you will gain strength from it. Kindness is a fruit of the Spirit and therefore a supernatural thing. Let people love you, bake pies, do your ironing, take your kids out. This will help practically and somehow, in some deep way, you will actually gain strength from it.
Speaking of the supernatural, I would say, take all the treatment that is offered to you but do not forget the power of God. He does not play odds or percentages. My own survival percentages were very low - I would not get past five years. That was eighteen years ago. Learn to look for him in all your dark circumstances. Now is one of the toughest times. So much time being spent being called into doctors rooms to hear results or sitting on plastic chairs in hospital corridors or waiting in rooms for the curtain to be pulled back as the consultant sweeps in. You think that you will never laugh again - laugh properly - not for the benefit of calming someone who you love. You will though. It will take you by surprise probably. But you will feel joy again. A different kind of joy but joy nonetheless.
The truth is that despite the worst possible diagnosis, there is still a lot of living to be done. It is a different life and everything in it will be measured differently, but it is still there to be lived and you must make sure that you continue to live it.
Last week we took ourselves off to Stratford Upon Avon for a few days. We had a lovely time. Really lovely. We went to Shakespeare's Birthplace which was excellent even though I can normally live without guides in period costume invading my personal space. I think this goes back to a very scary experience at Wigan Pier Museum which had a Victorian Schoolroom with a terrifying school teacher. It's a miracle anyone ever leant anything in Victorian England. Anyway, I digress. We also saw a play - as you do. We didn't do a Shakespeare. There were only tickets for Cymbeline, which I know less than nothing about, except that there are not a lot of laughs. So we decided against that and I was quite glad, Especially, when queueing in Lakeland, (Thanks for asking - I got a really nice stir-fry pan - with a lid. I love Lakeland) I heard a lady telling the cashier that she had been to see Cymbeline and that she came to see all the Shakespeares but that this one was bum numbing. (Don't blame me - her description) We went to see Cervantes' Don Quixote with David Threlfall and Rufus Hound.
To my shame, I probably know less about this than I do about Cymbaline apart from some vague childhood memory of Peter O'Toole bellowing "To Dream The Impossible Dream" at a windmill. (This may not be an accurate memory) I'll be honest. It was a stellar night. One of the best nights at the theatre - ever. Funny, sad, inventive and not too long, which was important because our seats were sort of stools that we had to perch on like Andy Williams in those 60's TV specials. We had a lovely meal in the RSC as well to complete an excellent night.
On a tiny tiny low note. When you have done what we did in Stratford, I'm not sure what else there is to do. We spent a pleasant enough hour sitting by the river watching Spanish children trying to torture the swans and then crying when they got a nasty nip back. Entertaining enough but I'm not sure we would have been able to keep our kids happy if they had been there - especially as HOH and I seemed to bring the average age down to about eighty. I'm not expecting Vegas or the Grand Canyon in a balloon or anything but I think we more or less felt that we had covered anything when we left. Besides, we had to go. We had a date in Bristol on the way back. At IKEA - oh yes, oh yes. Told you it was an excellent break.
Last week was our Silver Wedding Anniversary. I know I know, you can't believe it. Too young you cry and I can understand that. But twenty five years it is. We celebrated by clearing off to Stratford for a few days, leaving our dog and his separation issues with FOW2. I would just like to thank her here for coming home from Uni to do this for us and also to apologize for her having to be in the garden at 3am while said dog insisted on crying and seeing if he could see us coming back. Anyway, more of Stratford later in the week but I just thought I would leave you with a couple of photos of us all those years ago so you could see how mighty fine we were. And for all those chums on Facebook who said that we don't look any different - well we all know that's not true but don't think that it's not appreciated.
So Sally Brampton came to the end and walked into the sea to die. I found her writing on depression the most instructive and enlightening I had ever read. Many years ago a friend at work suffered the suicide of her brother. On the day she came back to work, because everyone felt so awkward, the manager put me and my friend in a corner of the bank to check a long list of regular payments. A job that would supposedly take a week. As we halfheartedly ticked away at boxes on forms that we weren't reading properly, we began to talk about her brother. She was upset at his selfishness and I completely understood that. She was dealing with the fallout; her mother's anguish, her own terrible loss, the annoyance at how stigmatised she felt. I could do nothing but agree. How could he treat those he loved like this?
Years later I read a column by Sally Brampton on suicide and suddenly, I at least partly understood.
Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive
People with this level of depression don't make an effort to kill themselves. They make an effort not to take their own lives. Every day that they are this depressed, they make a gargantuan effort to stay with those they love. For some, eventually, the effort gets too much.
It is very dark out there sometimes for some people. I can get a bit frustrated at Christians who talk about God being light (which he is) and because God is everything therefore there is no room for dark - so let's all just cheer up a bit eh?
But John talks about God being the light that breaks through the darkness which surely acknowledges that God knows that some people are having really hard times.
If I am told to bring salt and light to people's lives, I have to first acknowledge that some people are in the dark. I'm supposed to bring light, not make them feel worse for being in the dark in the first place. Life bites people on the bum sometimes. Do I believe that God has the power to break through all this darkness and bring clarity and light? Yup I do. Does that diminish the reality of the suffering for the sick, the lost, the lonely? What do you think?
