Category Archives: stuff

pathetic

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I thought I had forgotten what it feels like to be a teenage girl. Today Arienne and I realised we hadn’t. After setting the world to rights, as we do, as we walk amongst the most spectacular scenery in the world, acknowledging it without pausing from our non-stop chatter, we went to Cafe le Monde as we do, for our workers coffee, saving a whopping 50c because we are locals, but damn how I love that. Not the saving, but the belonging. And the word, workers. The only difference was today, as we both went up to the counter to order, we looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes on the most beautiful mans face, and both forgot what we were doing there. Never mind that we are no doubt older than even his mother and are both extremely sensible women, we were completely and utterly tongue tied. Completely and utterly dumbstruck. I think both our hands pathetically went involuntarily up to our hair, as teenage girls do to preen. We finally managed to splutter out our order and once on the pavement, burst into peals of laughter, yes very very snorty laughter, not becoming of two mature nearly 46 and 48 year olds. Bloody pathetic. But what fun to be a teenage girl for one involuntary moment again.

yeefuckinghaa

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4

I admire women. In particular the strength they often aren’t aware they have. I admire men too, but I am in awe of women. Right now so many of my friends are going through real life changing shitty times. Weird. So many and at the same time. I do feel sad for them that they are having to suffer. But I have learnt that often that is what is required to facilitate change. To open our eyes. I am so very sad for them and for their pain. For everyone’s pain. But I felt a little bubble of excitement deep down in my tummy.  I couldn’t understand why. And then I realised what it was. Excitement at the strength my friends are finding within themselves. Fuck, it is exciting. They are realising what they are worth and that they deserve better.  They deserve to be treated as the wonderful fabulous vital women they are. Respect. My new rallying cry. Trust and respect. Yeeehaaaa.

bitch

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I am embarassed to admit that’s what I muttered under my breath at Kate this morning. That’s because she was being one. I’ve decided it’s better to mutter. The truth is, the minute your children turn 13, they change. Never mind how perfect they are. They change. Some more subtly than others. The tough part is, you don’t.  My views are still the same. But now instead of illiciting fan mail and adoration from her, I get rolled eyes, back chat, walking away, you don’t get it, closed doors. I’ve raged, I’ve ranted, and not my finest hour, I’ve called her names. Aloud. But all I get is that look that makes me feel exactly like that idiotic person I am actually being. That holier than thou look that says she would never stoop so low. And she’s right. So, now, I turn away and mutter under my breath. All with love, of course. And because I do know, sadly, this too will pass.

useless

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Is how I felt in the face of someone’s pain. How to be, what to say, how to show I care. We have no idea what our friends are carrying with them. So, I did the next best thing. I poured. A lot. It could all be so easy if we just stopped. Stopped the lies. Stopped the interpretation. Stopped the need for interpretation. Stopped the expectation. Stopped the conditions. Stopped the fear. Imagine how it could be. Honesty. It might hurt but truth always prevails. And then will hurt even more. So lets be brave enough to be truthful. Be brave enough to stop the crap. We are so much more. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. Why can it not be one guided by grace and dignity? Why can we not try to be better. Respect. Is that too much to ask for? We are all the same. Lets honour the goodness that truly is within us all. Is within you. My friend deserves so much more. So do we all. Ok, Sunday sermon over. Where is that damn bottle?

rot

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I think the rot might have set in. This morning was the second morning this week that I dashed across the road to the bakery. I must add I am extremely grateful to be living directly across the road from a bakery. Urban bliss. Well, Noosa urban bliss. The point is not the dash to the bakery, but the fact that I did it without having applied my dermalogica treatment foundation, followed by a light sprinkling of clinique translucent powder, followed by a generous application of max factor, I kid you not, mascara, followed by a gentle swirl of mac lipstick. And in my lorna jane gear wearing my havaiana thongs (slip slops for my SA friends, not my g-string, but that was on too, luckily hidden from sight) not my nike trainers and with my slept in hair hanging loose, not artfully scraped back to look like no effort went into it. I never ever do this. Even if I am meeting a friend for a 5am walk along the river, I will get up at 4am to ensure I am ready to meet the world.  So, even when you look at my makeup free face, just know it took me some effort to look this unmade up.  I am loving the fact that some little thing has clicked. I will always make a little effort but I won’t care so much if I don’t.

gentle

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This should probably have been filed under the grateful posts 365 category, post entitled eight. If only you read these posts in order and as I intended them. It starts at ahemmm and then follows by category, by day, some under stuff, a few under why and grateful posts daily under grateful posts 365. And no I am not a control freak. And maybe I do take myself a little too seriously. And yes I am learning to let go.  Or perhaps I am being let go.  On the way to school today for the start of year 10 for her, Kate said today is the first ever start of a new school year that she has not felt in the slightest bit anxious.  Not one butterfly.  This might not seem remarkable but to those who know us well, Kate has the distinguishing characteristic of having cried every single day on being left at school from the start of Grade 000 until midway through Grade 2. (That’s like two years of kindy, one year of prep, year 1 and year 2) Since then every change has resulted in significant anxiety usually heralded by sleepless nights and sore tummies and a very supportive mother yelling at her to pull herself together. That would be me, but in my defense, I lost my patience in the fifth year. So, I am not sure if it is simply age, or a combination of factors. One of them definitely being a harsh exposure to change (change her mother unwittingly had protected her from) and finding herself flourishing in a new world with new rules. A gentle caring less competitive self affirming world. Or maybe it’s just cos her mother has become less of a stressed out, I have to get to work, what am I wearing, hurry up I’m going to be late, fuck the traffic is a nightmare, lock all the doors, don’t answer my phone it could be Assie (my very senior client who has become a very dear friend) I’m trying to do everything and show everyone how fabulous I am, person. It has all become a little gentler, which is helping me to let go. A little.

weird

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Being with heaps of South Africans last night made me think. Everyone knows I never wanted to come here and only did so because I was too scared not too.  Scared of being the one not brave enough to embrace the adventure. And because I had no fight left in me. And because B believed so much in it.  And only on the proviso that I could and believe you me, would, be going home in two years time. On the 15 may 2012 we will have been here for 4 years. Well, the girls and I, B will have been here for 4 years and 9 months but that’s another story. I am not sure when being here became easier than not being here.  I think it was the realisation after many trips home that even though my heart will always be in Africa life there is moving on without us. And our life is moving on here. There truly is no going back, and I don’t mean geographically.  So now I feel a bit like I don’t really belong anywhere.  But then as Ilona and I realised last night, I actually belong in both places. And even better I’ve realised I simply belong. Less attachment. My world has expanded. How cool is that.  Not sure how significant this is, but on 15 January 2012, 42 months since we left South Africa, I put my mac to oz time.

lasagne

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B’s got this thing he wants me to do, which will be cool, but is a bit challenging. I’ll need to put myself out there a little, at least for him to judge. So, I did, what I do, I made lasagne. Just like when I need to pay bills, sort out our finances, do the filing. I make lasagne. If I need to pack for a trip, tidy a cupboard, write a reference I make lasagne.  Obviously lasagne is a euphemism for doing anything but what I am supposed to be doing.  Which often is, make lasagne. And if the thing is a little bit confronting, I’ll probably make enough lasagne for the school canteen.  If we had one. I sort of knew I did this, but I didn’t know anyone else knew, except Mel, cos I told her.  But I realised B is onto me when I proudly told him I’d made lasagne for dinner.  His response, if he ever feels like lasagne, he’ll just ask me to put myself out there.

you asked

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As many of my friends know I do not shy away from talking about my cancer, showing my scars, my man made breast, or sharing my ongoing treatment.  I honestly believe fear is our greatest enemy, and if someone, anyone can take comfort in my oversharing, then it’s worth it. There is hope. There is no need to be fearful.  But, it is lonely.  No-one as much as they try can understand the feeling of utter dread the first time cancer and your name appear together in print. If it’s written down it can’t be removed kind of thing. No-one can take away the fear, only you. Who knows what the ultimate outcome will be. What will be, will be, but every single day, put your best foot forward, embrace life and do what is required. Share and talk and laugh and cry, just don’t hide. Fear will win, if you let it in.

So ….where I am now in my treatment?  I had my mastectomy on 18 June 2007 (our 13th wedding anniversay, how funny is that?),  I had my last chemo session on 3 January 2008 and my breast reconstruction on 14 February 2008 (valentine’s day, how funny is that?)   My cancer was stage 111, recurrent, aggressive and on the move, so with no intervention the likelihood of me being here in 5 years time was significantly affected.  The goal is being here 5 years after treatment. 5 years. Hilarious. Shit. My 5 years is next January. My cancer is estrogen receptive which means cancer cells accelerate in growth when they encounter estrogen. Clearly it’s best if there is no estrogen around.  Today I had my sixteenth zoladex implant, which is a slow release pellet that is implanted into my stomach every 3 months with a very fat needle, it’s main function being to put and keep me in menopause. Because the ovaries are not the only source of estrogen, our adrenal glands are also culprits, I am also on Femara, an aromatase inhibitor, a tablet I take daily, which blocks this.  The worst side effect of all of this for me, as B and the girls will attest to, is a firey disposition. If anyone snorted at this point, implying what’s different, piss off. Okay, I’m just damn moody, and very quick to ignite. But luckily there’s a pill for that too.  I know many believe the power is within and not to rely on all this stuff. I do too.  I have come to understand how strong I am, and how much I can and we all can handle. But I also know I have too much to lose.

crap

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Today was the first time I heard Kate swear.  Hilarious I know considering her mother’s favourite adjective is fucking.  As in that dress is fucking nice.  No prizes for guessing why she felt the need.  Her first relationship.  As in this is crap.  I am writing it here because it is burning up inside me and I just can’t say it to her … so here goes … I told you so.  Whilst  I love being right this is one time I wish I wasn’t.  It is so hard watching the emotions flit across her face as her childish expectations of how others should behave are shattered one by one.  Just when I thought what do I do if it all ends and she crumbles, she sighed, put down her mobile and said this is crap.  As in, I just can’t be bothered with this. Hard to disagree with her.  It is crap.  But as she keeps reminding me, it’s her crap and she has to experience it.   I promise I am letting go.  But I did manage to dictate a few responses for her first.