The Trundle

'Dad, lets go for a walk' says Sarah. 

She's in the car on the way home from work. It's bright and autumnal and blustery and she's been inside all day. Pops glances out at the enticing autumnal day. He's been inside doing his account all day. He didn't much fancy ironing yet anyway.

'Why not?' says Dad. And they turn around and head for the hills. 

The Trundle is the Iron Age hill fort which forms the feature of this hill. It's normally where people go to watch events at Goodwood race course for free but on a weekday afternoon its stunningly calm with only a few dog walkers for company. 

Baking

Ah ha! Success! I have finally persuaded my mother to relieve herself of her Merry Berry book and pass it down to me! Mater has 2 bookshelves stuffed with wonderful cookery books (for she is a wonderful cook) and both my sister and I have a favourite book on that shelf. For Sis it's the barbeque book, for me it's always been Mary Berry's Ultimate Cake Book. Sis has never managed to relieve Mum of the BBQ book yet but miracle of all miracles as I was sitting at the table thumbing through Mum says ' you can keep that, you've made it too disgusting with icing and splattered mixture, I don't want to touch it any more'. SUCCESS! So I celebrated. With chocolate eclairs .

(I'll give you 5p if you can spot how I got photo bombed in this picture)

Reconciliations

It's been a long time since I last posted and a lot's happened. First it got better and they thought it was a tumour on a hormone gland which was messing me up but very manageable. Then it got worse and my blood was abnormal and they thought it was brain cancer which gave me about 5 years, maybe less, maybe more depending on how big and aggressive and accessible it was. Fortunately after tests and scans and a tense weekend in hospital that was cleared. And we were back to square one. My consultant was not though. He thought and deliberated and tested some more. And 4 weeks later came up with a diagnosis. I have an autoimmune disease. Which is AWESOME! Pop a few pills, don't drink any alcohol, give my body time to heal, keep an eye on it and we're all good.

To say that being given years to live has changed me forever would be over dramatic and untrue. It was a very tense and stressful time but in retrospect it was actually a very reassuring time. There was an afternoon when I sat in my bed looking at every photo I'd taken in my 3 years at Uni and it was startling. Not only had I done such a wide variety of things with such a colourful array of people, but there were so many things I'd forgotten: the time that we went to watch the Guildford fireworks and I took baked potatoes and beans with little sausages and ate them on the platform, the time me and Leah walked home in the snow and I spent the entire walk covering her in snow balls, the time I visited Louise and we made rabbit stew and apple pies. I didn't look back over my 21 years and think, wow what have I been doing all this time? I thought wow well if I do die soon at least I've crammed every last bit of entertainment into my days. That's really reassuring to know that you've been living your life in a way that would satisfy you if it did turn out to be your last day.

It was also incredible to have so many friends and family members rise up in support. The little texts they'd send me of good luck or just love would brighten my day so much. One friend kept sending me little seaside post-cards, another would talk to me in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep and another would let me visit her house and then have a nap in the middle! My friends were fantastic but there's nothing quite like the support of family. There was one night when I had been told it looked really bad that day when, having held it together I couldn't sleep and completely lost it and cried and cried in my bed. I hadn't cried about it at all since then I'd just kept plodding but I'd decided to read about it in my medical text book and just seeing the stark figures of prognosis made it all hit home. But my Mum woke up and heard me, and got into my bed and it was like being a child. But I was very grateful for that comfort of a Mum as there's that comfort and support that you just can't get anywhere else.

Gratefulness is what I intend to take away from this experience. It's made me realise what I've been doing right, which aspects of my life need a bit more attention and just what a lucky person I am. But I am also grateful to move on. To start feeling well. To be able to eat food and enjoy it. To be able to bake (I think I may have missed this more than eating!) without being ill. I'm going to start running again and enjoy that feeling of my body working. There are a few bad points I'd like to take forward to medical school, for I hope that being armed with the experience of bad news will help me soften the blow when I'm on the other end of the experience, but other than that lets move on and start a new (slightly cheesy but justified metaphor alert!) page of the book.

My Family and Other Animals has always been my favourite book:

“I said I liked being half-educated; you were so much more surprised at everything when you were ignorant.”

Olympics

So waaaayyyy waaayyyy back when, some time in 2011 I was nominated to receive this award from the RYA. I'd spent the year working on the (at that time despicable) sailing club. It did have an active membership of 3 and a full membership of 5 and was about to be shut down when I stepped in (read begged and pleaded) and asked to give it a go. With a bit of common sense to finances we were fine and became a very happy little club with 47 full members and about 15 going each week. We started a racing team, fixed up our old boats, played Swallows and Amazons zipping around the islands of our lakes and drank lots of beer and ate lots of burgers on the shore. Lovely stuff. But then some kind fellow (still don't know who!) nominated me for this award in August and low and behold in March (it would appear that the RYA like to take their time over such matters) I got a call to say that I had been given it and as part of my award (got a snazzy certificate too) I would receive tickets to the Olympic women's team finals (the sport in which I compete). Well it's not August so guess what I did yesterday?!

Watched so much awesome sailing my eyes burnt. Unfortunately England didn't make it through but minor, minor detail. They day was AMAZING! Literally perfect from start to finish. It was fortunate that I was having quite a well day that day so I got to really enjoy it. Firstly, it was so well run. Lovely, smiley volunteers were everywhere, glowing in their bright pink t-shirts, the Nothe was clean and well thought out, the weather was happily blustering away and the commentators were and knowledgeable. Me and Pops had a great time!

The Harbour Playground

When any kind of limit is placed on your months, weeks, days or hours, all of a sudden your priorities become instantly illuminated. You no longer put off the fun activities that require effort in favour of bland yet unyielding activities. You ring the people who're important, who you don't see enough of and who make you happy and you hit the somewhere fantastic, soul renewing and natural that means a lot to you.

Thus, I spent this weekend with a friend who's imminent emigration to Italy (forever!) had been weighing on my mind. We share a love of outdoor beauty and it was such a pleasure to show him the details of the harbour that served as the playground of my youth. The light was perfect for some fab photos as well.

Stan

I'd like to introduce you to the new man in my life. I've been pursuing a relationship with him for sometime and finally we've realised how inevitable this mutual need was. I envision us forming a deep and complex relationship in the coming years and so without further ado, I give you Stan:

such a handsome chap, if a little under weight!

Birthday!

Simple pleasures:

cards at breakfast,

beautiful flowers,

crazy sister,

failed attempt at BBQing,

homemade chocolate button cake,

favourite nephew,

awesome cuddles,

non-nausea food stuffs,

birthday pavlova,

and sunflowers!!

Positivity

I was very grateful for having such a lovely G.P. today. It's my birthday next week and I desperately wanted to know where I was at beforehand. Fortunately she hurried along my bloods and was able to squeeze me in this evening. It was encouraging, tests were mostly normal, a few anomalies but nothing too terrible. She's referred me to another specialist so until my scan I've got nothing to do but wait. But positively. Also she finally gave me the drugs! What a thrill to be able to function in the day time without wanting to vomit everywhere! Though I think the overwhelming thing that's helped me recently has been the support of my friends. I went back to Uni this weekend for the Uni Gospel Choir of the Year competition and my last role as president of gospel (under the promise that I text home every 2 hours - Mum didn't want me to let me go at all). It was so, so hard to tell people. I hate having to make myself needy, I find it so embarrassing, but I was glad that I did tell a plethora of people, but at my own space. My flat mate was an amazing pillar of support and caring who helped me so much throughout the weekend. With everyone else it was just so powerful to have a rush of support and love from so many people. It was a boost that no magical drug could have given me. They were also most amenable to me randomly falling asleep everywhere! Things are looking up. Little steps of day to day life filled to the brim with positivity from every angle. 

-this photo makes me laugh. A lot-

Tests

A clear Tuesday morning and I meet a bustling and kindly nurse as she ushers me in to take blood. She's friendly but distracted. I don't blame her, judging by the waiting room she has a long session ahead of her.

'Oh yes,' she remarks slightly insensitively 'you're here for the cancer blood tests.'

A bubble of angst rises from my tummy to my chest. Comments like that sharply alter perceptions from illusory to vivid reality. It dampens down with her gentle chatter about sailing and as the 10 viles gradually froth with my crimson blood. My anguish softly melts away. I shall be ignorant of the situation until I have these test results, and up until then I shall gain nothing from worry.

As we draw to a close she suddenly stops her activity and looks me in the eye.

'Here' she says, 'if you can go I think it might help'

She hands me a leaflet for the local Teenage Cancer Trust group. It's like a slap with a cold fish. Three weeks ago I was raising money for this charity. This was never meant to be in my plan.

Surreal

It's a bright but windy Thursday morning in July. I sit in a doctors room looking at the meek pansies weave and sway in the coastal wind in their exposed position on the window box. The room's quiet. The doctor um's and ah's, tapping her fingers on the desk. She types a short sentence on the computer then turns to ask me some more questions. She stands and asks me to watch her fingers click. She sits back down and looks at me:

'I think you have a brain tumor' she says.

'Oh' I reply. 'Is it bad?'

'Lets hope it's mostly harmless' she answers.

We finish the consultation and I cycle home in the bright sunshine. I watch the wind whipping the long grass in the field. It has a chill that I never felt on the cycle in.

(n.b. I always preferred daisies to pansies. Pansies seem weak and shallow and I personify them to be full of meaningless chatter whereas daisies are stalwartly and resourceful, able to reclaim even the roughest patches of grass for the presentation of their optimistic little faces.)

Graduation

A day that we'd worked so long and hard for. A day that in this past year I feared may never come and yet magically appeared without a fuss in the middle of July. On this swirling grey early morning, I joined a steady stream of formally dressed students clopping along in heels and shiny shoes to the heart of the Uni that had become their home for the past 3 years. For one final, and slightly sad time, I stopped outside Mario's bright blue front door and berated him for being tardy as we gently pottered to meet our fellow biologists and, as we had done every morning for the past 2 years, blend into the back, a little late but a sturdy unit together.

But this time, what a change - there were gowns! Ah the pleasure of swishing up and down the cloisters in academic dress that billowed so satisfyingly at ones side. Finally, finally I felt like an academic. Forget 'students' in their uniform of dirty jeans, club hoody and a pallid expression of exhaustion and malnutrition. We were Graduands! Bright, successful young professionals, full of optimism and naivety at our future plans for the world. And clustering around them, the throngs of parents, bursting with pride and relief. Obtaining a degree is not something one does alone. It is something done with phone calls to Mum: tearfully fretting about screwed up exams, and quickly asking how long to cook a roast chicken for, and pensively reasoning what you might actually like to do with you life. Equally it is also about the phone calls to Dad: discussing the creaking noise from the boiler, and I am lost somewhere in London late at night and please-can-you-come-and-get-me-*sniiffffff*-as-I'm-really-really-ill?! So it was lovely to say thank you to them too. All in all a very lovely day.

And so the curtains fall on my 3 years at Holloway.