31 Thursday Mar 2016
Tags
Here we go again! I was reminded how much fun I’d had last April and have been persuaded to participate in National Poetry Writing Month again. So for the month of Apil I will be posting the daily prompts and my response to them.
If anyone else wants to join in, the details are here http://www.napowrimo.net/ You know you like a challenge!
30 Wednesday Mar 2016
Posted in Blogging on, Cancer challenge
Tags
Cancer Research UK, Helena Sanderson, Ovacome, ovarian cancer, Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month 2016, Penny Brohn UK, Race for Life, target ovarian cancer
I have awarded myself a medal! I just happened to have three kicking around the house, from when I did the ‘Race for Life’ in aid of Cancer Research UK in 2004, 2005 and 2007 in memory of my mother and a university friend who both died of cancer. So when I completed my sixth chemotherapy on 10th March there was a small reward ceremony to mark the end of this stage of treatment. Of course, I never imagined when I ran those 5 Km races that the funds raised would help to save my own life. Very appropriately, I finished my chemotherapy treatment in Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, and I encourage anyone who is not sure of the symptoms of this disease to check out the websites at either Target Ovarian Cancer or Ovacome.
http://www.targetovariancancer.org.uk/
As I’ve discovered, treatments have come a long way since my mother was diagnosed with cancer in 2001. My initial horror at the thought of having to undergo chemotherapy for ovarian cancer was based on fear and ignorance; the reality is that my chemotherapy drugs zapped my disease effectively and, most surprisingly, allowed me to enjoy a reasonably good quality of life during treatment. There were other things that helped too, and I list them here in the hope of encouraging others who find themselves on the same path.
WALKING. Nothing has helped me more than daily exercise and nature. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t climbing the mountains I used to climb – in fact, I like the new walking routes which look very much like this:
Which leads me on to FOOD AND DRINK. Coffee, scones, pub lunches – all have fortified me on my way, and we’ve bumped into lots of friends and had a pleasantly social time.
CHOCOLATE: It deserves an entry of its own. Thank you to all who took note of its therapeutic effects and supplied me!
TALKING. I have kept on talking – to my family, my friends, my chemo nurses, the other patients. It’s been good to be open and to give and receive support. I feel truly blessed to have such a great social network – thank you!
LIVING AS NORMALLY AS POSSIBLE. Yes, there are times when you are tired and will have to cancel things. You have to listen to your body. But, for a lot of the time, just doing normal things and being treated as normal is the best way to get on with something as big and scary as this.
AVOIDING CANCER GOOGLING. A little goes a long way. Trust me, googling symptoms and survival rates will NOT make you feel better. Forums are good if you read good things; they are bad if you read bad things.
ACCEPTING AND ENJOYING COMPLIMENTS. Nod, smile and feel good when people compliment you on your new ‘hairstyle’, your slim figure and new clothes. Some compliments are quite unexpected – recent praise of my ‘excellent veins’ from a nurse made me feel good for the rest of the day.
MAKING AN EFFORT WITH YOUR APPEARANCE. Aim to try with your appearance and clothes even when you’re feeling a bit rough.
INDULGING IN THE OCCASIONAL REWARD CEREMONY. Celebrate each milestone, and yes, you can mix a little Prosecco with your chemo. I had a rule not to do alcohol in the week after treatment, but after that a little was ok.
So now the journey continues. It’s a bit like doing a course at the big University of Cancer. After a bit of post-chemo ‘scanxiety’ I was told that my response had been excellent, better than expected – 9/10! My cancer hated that stuff and went running. But there is a risk of recurrence. Continued work is needed to keep it at bay, so I will be having a little infusion of Avastin every 3 weeks until next January.
It’s been a harder few weeks since my last chemo – I’ve taken longer to get over the tiredness this time. My eyebrows, which held on through five treatments, now need more artwork to make them look realistic, and even though I’m grateful for the help of Miss Wiggy I can’t wait to ditch her before the hot days of summer. The baldness thing gets you after a while, although it’s a small price to pay. Oh, and a bit of rethinking is required as I devise my ‘new normal’ – cutting out some of the things I used to do, concentrating on what’s important and learning to pace myself, enjoying the moment, looking at diet and lifestyle, booking myself on to a ‘Living well with cancer’ course with Penny Brohn UK. http://www.pennybrohn.org.uk/
The recovery jargon tells you to set some meaningful goals now, so I hope to play my harp in a concert in June, go to a wedding in Germany in August and … oh yes … I have 17 Wainwright tops in the Lake District still to climb. Onwards and upwards.
Some of you have asked if I’m writing about the cancer experience. And at this point I’d just like to thank everyone who has bought and read ‘Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation’ and said good things about it. There are some lovely reviews on Amazon! Over the winter it’s been too difficult to write something new; my own story has been too big. I have stuff in my notebook, and I may write about cancer sometime, but now doesn’t seem the time; in a way I want to put it behind me. I’ve been working on some poetry prompts in a small online group run by Helena Sanderson who studied with me on the OU course, and this has kept my brain in gear through the months of treatment. Thank you, Helena! The prompts took me in lots of directions and have given me things to work on for the future. Only two were about the cancer experience, and I finish off with one here – it’s a ‘shape’ poem written for fun during one of my chemotherapy sessions.
From now on, expect my blog posts to less about cancer and more about life.
02 Tuesday Feb 2016
Posted in Blogging on, Cancer challenge
I have finally gone down the road of the smartphone. After years of thinking my 2006 Nokia was small, neat and just what I needed (all I do is text, isn’t it?), I finally decided a girl on chemotherapy deserves better. The tingling in my finger tips which is a side-effect of chemo made the tiny buttons hard to manage and I couldn’t read all the cheerful, quirky emoticons people were sending me. The final nudge came from a (younger) friend who looked at the Nokia and remarked that she never thought I’d have a phone like that. I explained that I used a tablet at home and didn’t want to be welded to a smartphone on the street like the rest of the population. But then I thought again, and decided it was treat time.
Three phone shops later I was well served in O2. They had seats, for example, and an assistant who didn’t look as if he was dressed like someone from the planet Zog. He didn’t talk from a pre-learned script, and explained the twenty or so different tarrifs without being in the least condescending. I came out with a sleek new phone and have now moved on from ‘Pay as you Go.’
So I took my smartphone along to my fourth chemotherapy session last Thursday and stayed in touch with the world as the smart drips went in that are giving me my life back. Back in October and November I couldn’t have contemplated going into a phone shop at all; I led a life on the sofa watching ‘Homes under the Hammer’ and surviving on small bowls of soup. Ovarian cancer bloats you, and you can’t eat much. The treatment changed all that. A week after my first chemotherapy, I went into a supermarket after a six week break and actually selected food I wanted to eat. By Christmas, the days of yogurt and retro Sixties jelly with mandarins were over, and I enjoyed a full Christmas dinner with a sneaky glass of wine. The beginnings of hair loss and attacks of tiredness were a small price to pay. By January I was going out to meet friends again, driving, extending the length of my daily walks and even, by the end of the month, going back to my Pilates class. I received compliments about my slim look and new ‘haircut’, which gave me my confidence back. And on 20th January Miss Wiggy and I climbed The Helm, a small hill near Kendal, and admired the snowy Lakeland Fells; I never thought I’d do that on chemotherapy, but that’s what smart drugs do for you.
In three months I have come from planning my funeral to planning my future. I have learned what all cancer patients learn – think smart. ‘Keep up your PMA,’ the nurse said. I wondered if this was some sort of blood count, but no – it’s Positive Mental Attitude. When I was diagnosed in October I could hardly walk into the hospital. I knew the news wasn’t going to be great, but nothing prepares you for hearing the word ‘cancer’ spoken out loud and applied to you, followed by intimations of a long haul ahead. ‘Can I get through this?’ I gabbled, my mouth dry as the Sahara Desert. ‘Yes,’ the consultant said. I realise now he couldn’t have said anything other than this; to sow the seeds of hope was perhaps the most important part of our interchange that day. All along the way it’s been more than the drugs that have helped; the chat and laughter with the chemo nurses do a lot of healing.
My scan after three treatments showed an impressive response, so they are continuing with chemo rather than going down the surgery route originally planned; some cancer cells are in a tricky place, apparently, so they need to do more smart zapping, adding in another drug. This change of plan was a bit of a blip for me, but I was encouraged to look at the advantage of not having a major operation. When I feel down, I look at this card given to me by some dear friends.
I can think of no better advice. And there are positives. Recently a friend whose husband is being treated for a brain tumour wrote that they were so moved by the love they experienced – and through these weeks our lives have indeed been enriched by your visits, emails and messages, kind thoughts, prayers, gifts and offers of help. My husband Iain has been a star, caring for me, taking me to hospital appointments and making our kitchen the absolute ultimate in organised spick-and-span. I’ve spent more time with family and friends than ever before and have really been able to concentrate on what’s important to me.
And who knows, maybe some day there will be bigger things? My friends Hugh and Pauline Symonds have spent their retirement going on long cycle trips, most famously spending a year cycling from Sedbergh to Kazakhstan and returning in time for market day. Their lives were put on hold when Hugh was diagnosed with bladder cancer and had to spend a year going through treatment. But this January they set off to cycle from Cancun to Colorado. What an excellent example of PMA! You can read about it at http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/HandPinMexicoandUSA
One step at a time. I just have to remember I still get tired and need to put myself on charge every day too. Like the smartphone.
06 Sunday Dec 2015
Posted in Blogging on, Writing News
In January 2015 I could see the year stretching ahead of me. I thought of the trips we’d planned to France and the Scottish Islands and the Llangollen Canal, I thought of all my musical activities and my writing, and I wondered if I’d finally get my collection of short stories published. The good news about the stories is that I did get my act together, and that ‘Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation’ is now available to order from http://lumphananpress.co.uk/product/shifting-sands/ And the ebook is available from Amazon http://www.amazon.co.uk/Shifting-Sands-Tales-Transience-Transformation-ebook/dp/B0187MJUL2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1449399217&sr=8-1&keywords=christine+cochrane+shifting+sands
And then something unexpected happened. Something that wasn’t good. Something that disrupted everything I took for granted. ‘You can’t have cancer!’ a friend said. ‘You’re too young, too healthy, too active!’ But I did. In October I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. This is a cancer that can remain silent for a long time before the symptoms of bloating, tiredness and digestive problems make themselves felt. I urge any woman to make herself aware of the symptoms, because these are not symptoms that immediately make you think the cells in your ovary might be misbehaving. I thought that I couldn’t finish my meals because restaurants were serving bigger portions, and that I was slow going uphill just because I was a little bit older – but no, these are symptoms of the illness. You can read all about it on http://www.targetovariancancer.com
So I faced my three biggest fears – hospitals, cancer and chemotherapy. As with most things, the reality has not been as bad as the anticipation. I have a fantastic medical team supporting me and the care I have received in hospital has been first class. I’ve had some dark moments, but I’ve also learned the power of positive thinking, and sometimes the nurses have said just the right thing at the right time to keep me going. There’s been a bit of humour and a bit of banter, and it’s all helped. A week ago I had my first round of chemotherapy, and after a few days of tiredness and other symptoms I am finally feeling just a little bit better than I have done for the past two months. So the magic potions must be working. After three rounds I will be reviewed for surgery, which could take place at the end of January if all goes well. And after the surgery there will be three more rounds of chemotherapy.
I now feel surprisingly content, even with Storm Desmond rattling the windows and the rain hammering on the roof. I am ill, but I have had two months of cherishing my relationships with others, of enjoying people’s visits, emails and Facebook messages, of experiencing great kindness and many offers of help. I’d like to thank everyone who has been there for me through this difficult time, as well as all those of you who have supported me on the long journey to the publication of the book.
10 Tuesday Nov 2015
Posted in Writing News
We’re nearly there! The final few weeks leading up to the publication of my short story collection have been difficult to say the least. I have had to grapple with a surprise cancer diagnosis and the knowledge that I will be having treatment that will last quite a long time. But I will keep positive and keep writing! My illness has slightly held me up on the publication date, but I’m still hoping that it will be out by the end of this month. Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation will be available on Amazon and on the publisher’s website, http://www.lumphananpress.co.uk.
01 Thursday Oct 2015
Posted in Writing News
It’s two years since I started my writer’s blog – huge thanks to all of you who have stayed with me, followed me and encouraged me over the past two years. It has been much appreciated!
Crystal ball reflections – floor at VW Wolfsburg
A lot has happened. My first post in September 2013 was about a visit to VW in Wolfsburg, a sparkling, perfect world of pristine production lines and workers dressed in white. Hmm. Things have certainly changed there. They’ve changed and developed for me too – but in a good way! I’ve learned a lot, completed quite a few stories and poems on a variety of themes, and met and shared ideas with some great people along the way. I’m probably a bit nearer to realising I prefer short pieces, but I haven’t ruled out The Novel at some stage in the future.
The good news is that I’ll be celebrating two years of the blog by (finally!) publishing some of my stories in English. There were a few catalysts. Mslexia rejigged their website, withdrawing competition winners’ stories, including my ‘Shifting Sands’. This meant the German version of ‘Shifting Sands’, published by Edition Narrenflug in Kiel, was out there to read, but not the English one. Not logical. Then Edition Narrenflug asked me for a ‘long short story’ for a future German anthology. This finally gave me the impetus to complete the story version of ‘Ships That Pass’, a radio play I had done for my OU course, over the summer. It had been ‘resting’ for a while, so I seized the opportunity to be re-inspired, added a few new angles and produced a long short story or a short novella in English and German. This gave me a substantial story to add to a few others from my OU course.
My work will be coming off the production line in November. And they’re all good, honest stories!
I’ve been working with Lumphanan Press, Scotland on the collection entitled ‘Shifting Sands’ about life’s surprises and gear shifts. We’ve done the cover design and discussed the layout, and I’ll be letting you know a little more about the stories in the next few weeks. It will be out before the end of the year in book and Kindle format.
14 Tuesday Jul 2015
Posted in Musical notes
‘Can I touch the harp?’
The old man took my harp and accurately picked out a piece by ear. Then he started talking about instruments and music he’d played. I’d gone with our harp group to Boarbank Hall Nursing Home near Grange-over-Sands, where we play twice a year. Moments like this, when the residents chat with us after we’ve played, are the most rewarding part of the experience. When people talk about their past, everyone has something to say about music. Often, sadly, there’s a regret about opportunities not taken or instruments abandoned.
As I grow older, I recognise that the investment my parents made in piano lessons was a truly valuable one. When I was nine, they asked for a recommendation of a good local piano teacher, and so I found myself in the sitting room of Miss Dorothy Gouk at 97 High Street, Montrose, playing a piece called ‘Hello Middle C’. Miss Gouk was recognised as an excellent teacher. She was in her sixties then and still teaching. I do not think she ever stopped until, sadly, she died of a stroke in 1972. She smoked the occasional Rizla roll-up, and I’d watch fascinated as she’d demonstrate a piece and smoke at the same time, the drooping cigarette held tightly in her lips. The cigarettes were always tinged with pink lipstick. Her black spaniel, Biddy, gnawed at a chewstick in the corner, not necessarily in time to the music.
I had a weekly practical lesson of half an hour and a Saturday morning theory class which extended to a full hour. She evidently considered the theory important, and she was right. We worked in a group of six and learned about everything from key signatures to cadences. She had some silent rubber keyboards, just over an octave in length; we each had one to help us count out the intervals silently and jot our answers down in the workbook. I think they were called ‘dummy keyboards’. My extensive googling on the topic has yielded no evidence of their existence today. We actually found their silence quite boring, but they were pleasantly squishy and gathered the odd bit of graffiti on the back as they were quite receptive to the point of a pencil.
Over the years I progressed from ‘Hello Middle C’ to Grade 8, which I took in my penultimate year at school. The results were always published in a small corner of the local paper. This was a more modest age, and my parents would have certainly disliked the current vogue for announcing results to the world on social media. Praise in a Sixties Scottish household was limited to the odd nod or remark that it was ‘nice’; we were never encouraged to show off. Playing in our sitting room, I was in direct competition with my father, who thundered on a manual typewriter in the room above me. Sometimes he stopped, because he did quite like the Mozart sonatas. Back then, piano lessons were seen as a useful accomplishment which might enable me to stand in occasionally for the church organist or play ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’ and other favourites for the Sunday School Party, both of which I did. Quite nicely.
I thought I had taken my last music exam in 1969, but I was wrong. After taking up the lever harp in 2008 I did Grades 3 – 6, and I have just taken my Grade 6 singing exam. I found the exams more nerve-wracking than I did in the Sixties, but I recognise that they have really helped me focus my learning. I am particularly grateful for the hours at the dummy keyboard in the theory class which meant I had Grade 5 theory in the bag; without this qualification I couldn’t have done my Grade Sixes in harp and singing. So I advise anyone to stick at it through Grade 5 theory if possible. I advise you to stick at it, full stop – even if you don’t do exams.
Because exams aren’t everything. Some of my best musical times have been singing songs learned by ear in a community choir or trying to play my harp in a ‘session’. Music will provide you with a link with others all through your life. I have always sung in choirs and have met so many people through making music. At the end of June our harp group played in a community concert for the Silverdale and Arnside Arts Trail, where everyone from schoolchildren to more senior citizens played their part, finishing up with a rousing rendition of ‘Thank you for the Music’. It’s all about the harmony.
Music has provided me with a major ‘retirement interest’. But what I really notice is that musicians don’t retire.
24 Sunday May 2015
Posted in Blogging on
Poetry seems to be my thing this year. Short and snappy, it enables me to focus on one theme and get something written at one sitting. Then there is endless pleasure in returning, tweaking, playing with language, shaping and polishing. The process never ends. So when the sun shone and the opportunity arose to go to a poetry workshop with local poet Geraldine Green on Piel Island at Barrow-in-Furness, I took the opportunity.
Barrow is one of these nearby places I rarely visit ; at the end of a peninsula on the road to nowhere except the sea, there isn’t often a reason. But the poetry workshop spurred me on, as did reading up about this unique island which has its own castle, king and knights as well as a pub that serves good chips. It guards the southern entrance to the channel between Walney Island and Barrow, the bulk of its castle visible for miles across the sands. You access the island by ferry from Roa Island, which is reached by causeway from the mainland. We arrived at low tide. They’ve just built a new pier, but unfortunately they didn’t build it long enough. This meant that our 10.30 departure didn’t leave till the waves started lapping the pier end at 11.15. However, this was no hardship as we just turned to the sun and took in the enticing views of our destination.
Once ashore we went camera-mad – the wild flowers, seaweed, ramparts, stones and views through arches were all too enticing.
Then Geraldine sent us off with notebooks, and a series of apposite prompts – walk, make notes, take it in with your sense, write something …. and return in an hour. I tried not to feel pressured. The prompt to include the line ‘they capture the island with the cameras’ leapt out at me. I circled the island and wrote. Once I got home the poem found its own shape, and here’s the result. It probably needs a bit more tweaking, but this is how it is today.
They grasp the island with their cameras,
teeter from the ferry, slipping on seaweed,
shutters clicking.
I click my rucksack closed, camera asleep inside,
take pictures with my notebook, turn to the
salt air.
I circle the island, ramparts of wind-blown sand
now still, brown as art pastel paper awaiting
brush strokes.
I turn to rocky shore, garlanded with sea campion,
white on white stone, feet crunching mussel shells,
denim blue.
The looping path sings with grasses, indigo speedwell,
a rare patch of bluebells, rough, windblown,
out of place.
My way encircles houses, heads for the keep where
ramparts stand red, enclosing lawns, and children play,
king of their castle.
And at the island’s centre the pond, mysterious,
dark as treacle, moat for an inner, secret island where
no-one goes.
I grasp the island with my notebook, circle like a bird
on the May breeze, upload it to memory and
relive its song.
You can find out about Piel Island at http://www.pielisland.co.uk/ There is accommodation at the pub, and you can camp if you like that sort of thing.
The castle, as the photograph indicates, is open at ‘any reasonable time’.
22 Wednesday Apr 2015
Posted in Blogging on, NaPoWriMo 30 Poems for April 2015
Tags
As you might have noticed, I’ve been exploring poetry this month, doing the daily prompts for NaPoWriMo and posting my work online. I’d just like to say thanks to everyone who’s dropped by, read and commented – it’s been great to connect! My poems have taken me from South Georgia to North Uist. I’ve been inspired by famous paintings, social media, my hairdresser and my harp. And perhaps the most interesting aspect has been exploring various forms – I’ve dabbled in saphhics, an aubade, a palinode, a ‘fourteener’, a landay, a visual poem or calligram and abecedarian poetry, something which I’d never have done without these prompts. I’ve also taken a couple of my poems out to a local reading and had a favourable response – so, who knows, there may be more! I’m now going to have a holiday, but I’ll try to fit in the remaining poem prompts when time allows, even if it goes into May.
22 Wednesday Apr 2015
Posted in NaPoWriMo 30 Poems for April 2015
Tags
Today is Earth Day, so I would like to challenge you to write a “pastoral” poem. Traditionally, pastoral poems involved various shepherdesses and shepherds talking about love and fields, but yours can really just be a poem that engages with nature. One great way of going about this is simply to take a look outside your window, or take a walk around a local park. What’s happening in the yard and the trees? What’s blooming and what’s taking flight?
What came out of today’s prompt was a poem about North Uist in the Outer Hebrides, where I feel very happy wearing no make-up.
Nature Spa
No make-up on North Uist
hair salt-washed, wind-blown dry
face tanned by circling sun
of summer’s stretching days.
Drift of bog myrtle where I look up
to high lark’s song floating
and touch the croak of corncrakes
in flowered meadows.
And when sun dips low and gold
I tread the beach, hear sea music,
feet smoothed, exfoliated
by shellsand shining white.
Harping On 