Tag Archives: truth

friends

Posted on by
8

I don’t have a lot of friends. Real friends. And I choose it that way. I am social and gregarious but yet guarded and uncertain. Fuck off, I am. Even more so in this wildly accessible world we operate in. I seek authenticity. I hurt easily. I can shut down in an often imperceptible way. I expect a lot and I give a lot. My best friend in the whole wide world is B. He holds my heart, my soul, my fragilty, my me’ness with such tenderness and such honesty. He softens me in ways only he can see. And me him. I trust him with my thoughts, my heart, my truth and my life. I choose him above all else. And then there’s my family. Who know the worst and the best of me yet love me still. And I them. Deeply. But it’s the friendships forged over life stages that didn’t need to survive or count that I want to honour. That handful of beautiful exquisite fuck the world women who see deep into my soul and past the pretense. We are all so different, such different ages, we live all over the world, we are connected by blood, by marriage and by nothing at all. But something binds us. Something so raw and honest. Something called truth. I need you to know I see it, I am grateful for it, I protect it and I thank you for it. Especially right now. Fuck, it keeps me sane.

bored

Posted on by
1

I have to admit I’m a little bored. I’m supposed to be packing and I’m sitting here researching the side effects of docetaxel and cyclophosphamide. It’s not what I’m reading that’s boring it’s actually quite interesting. Fascinating even. But nauseating.  Truly nauseating for those in the know. It’s the fact that I am reading it that bores me. And that all I think and talk about right now is this insiduous, (I like that word C), fucker. I am bored at being here again. I am bored that my family are here again.  Seriously if I need to be the poster child (I uses the term lightly) for anything, did it have to be this? And I don’t mean to be ungrateful, I really do get the goodness that can come from crap. And that crap happens. And what sets us apart is how we handle the crap. And that my determination to be positive (hate that word sometimes, because really what chioce do we have) and my strength to do what I must could help others. And I am so grateful for that.  But I’m bored. And yes, probably mildly depressed.

I met my oncologist. She is brilliant by reputation. And I found her delightfully as insightful as she was brilliant. My brilliant insightful oncologist has unfortunately not ruled out chemotherapy. She is mindful of not overtreating nor undertreating me. So I am to be discussed and reviewed further. Love all these brilliant minds being a tad baffled by me. I think. Final decision to be made next Thursday. If you believe that you’ll believe anything. Anyway I’m not scared. It’s awful but I will do whatever I need to. And anyway I need a haircut.

pit

Posted on by
3

I received a huge parcel yesterday from the breast cancer network australia. A my care kit. Included was a berlei bra with inserts to fill any gaps, a handy reference guide to cancer, how to live with cancer, what your friends need to know, what your partner needs from your friends, a diary to record every awful moment, some pink sweets. Oh did I forget to mention it was all pink. Very pink. With a floral pattern. And so meaningful. And filled with pictures of women with that look in their eyes. The look I have grown to hate. The woeful we are so sad look. I do understand how packages like this make many women feel not alone, cared for and understood. But there is no way it doesn’t also make them feel pathetic and justifiably needy. You start to be that sad person. Especially now you have unwittingly signed up for this pink club full of well meaning people who feel sorry for you.  I just hate the way it is packaged. And I don’t mean the pink, although I hate that too. I mean the whimsy, the tone of voice, the feeling of weakness, the we’ll hold you up, the message of you can’t cope on your own with this. Mostly because its misleading. You have to cope on your own. You have to find your inner strength. You are so capable of doing it if you are allowed to. Without sinking into this pit of pink. Every single breast care nurse, therapist associated with breast care, breast cancer counsellor that I have encountered along the way has looked at me that same way. Head slightly tilted, pity and sadness in their eyes, as with a slightly hushed voice they ask, how are you doing? And I feed their need. I smile wanly. I don’t cuss and I don’t laugh. I get all needy, wondering how soon they’ll leave. Whilst I respect the selfless thing they do I do wonder how selfless it is really.  It seems to help them by feeling they’ve helped me so I let them believe they have. But they haven’t. Or maybe they have. By making me even more resolute. To not be the person they think I am. How novel would it be if one of them anyone one of them so enterwined in the breast cancer care bullshit looked me in the eye with a glint of steely humour and said, well this fucking sucks doesn’t it?  I wonder if I can send my pink package back with some suggestions where the funds could be better spent? I far preferred the other package I got from my very dear friend. My fuck cancer packet filled with goodies to take along to keep me company as I wait wait wait. And not only because it was predominantly black.

wisdom

Posted on by
4

I’m not a fool. And I know no-one thinks I am. And I am so filled with love at the courage it takes for people to reach out and be present and try fix things. You can’t. I can’t. It’s not to be fixed. It’s to be held, accepted and faced. And responded to. And that I have done and will continue to do. Please be confident in the knowledge that I have researched the hell out of this. I have pursued alternative therapies, I have eaten raw food only, I gave up sugar, juiced myself and my family until we all threw up a little in our mouths at the thought (love you for this my friend). I too have the internet and can google and be swayed by those who feed on the fear we all have within us. I get it. I really do. And I so applaud you for your chosen path. It’s just not mine. I am too conscious of the untold stories, the swept away stories of those who didn’t survive by simply healing themselves. And sadly their slavish followers. I have not chosen my approach lightly. But with wisdom and compassion and peace. It is holistic but it also encourages scientific scrutiny. And for those who feel if I had done something else maybe we wouldn’t be here right now, or that I chose this, I hear your fear. But you can keep it. And your judgement. But I’ll take your love.

three hundred and sixty six

Posted on by
6

IMG_7497

15 January. My final grateful, gotta love a leap year. I am grateful for a final contemplative moment. For a weak wireless signal, so I found myself on the balcony desperately seeking connection. To no avail. But an imperfectly perfect end to my 366 gratefuls. I am grateful for real time and real connections. They are all that matter. And for them I will never ever stop being grateful. For love. And for this glorious imperfect life.

three hundred and sixty four

Posted on by
Reply

IMG_7470

13 January. My friend Leigh. I am grateful for my friend Leigh. For my pioneering friend Leigh. She is a teacher, a sage, a leader, an inspiration. I am grateful for her honesty, her bravery, her sharing, her ear and her forever friendship. She has lived through some serious shit, and that smile is always there. She has taught me there is always a way. To fok maar voort. With style. And grace. And dignity.

happy families

Posted on by
1

My mom and dad just celebrated 50 years of marriage, my father just turned 75, I am 46, my elder brother 48 and my baby sister 42.  We are all blessed with wonderful partners and daughters, we have forged our own way in this sometimes challenging but always wonderful world. Being together for Christmas is always a highlight, especially as we are all spread far and wide. So, why is it that within less than a day, we revert to our familial role? I become the cheeky opinionated outspoken controlling quite emotional and actually quite insecure middle child, my big brother lovingly puts me in my place with a slightly superior smirk, which just pisses me off, my mother puffs out of frustration and my dad gently keeps the peace. My baby sister chuckles quietly from the safety of Oz. Don’t get me wrong, I love it.  Feeling safe enough to just be less than perfect. I love being loved no matter what. I love that no matter how old I am, it seems I am always someones daughter, someones sister and secure in the knowledge that no matter how hard I make it to love me, they do. It is a rare gift. I hope one day I get to spend christmas with my daughters and their partners and their families, seeing how much they’ve grown but knowing at heart they are still our little girls. But also not.

warrior woman

Posted on by
4

I met a wonderful friend of a friend of mine yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about her. You see she is a warrior woman. A gentle tenacious bright funny warrior woman, who has a brain tumour and was given 14 months to live. She was told the doctors could do no more for her. So she pursued her own path. She is currently on 27 months and counting. She has been dealt many blows by life yet is positive, witty and real.  She is self effacing and humble. She is an inspiration and she is my fear. Was my fear. You see she also had breast cancer and a mastectomy and chemo and all the stuff they scare you into having to make sure you are here five years later.  She made her five years and had just decided against a big celebration of life party when they discovered her brain tumour, a secondary from her breast cancer. I have no doubt the irony did not escape her. That meaningless silly bloody goal of 5 years that we hold like a beacon of hope, living in limbo, counting the years, months, weeks and days, definitely even if not obviously, believing that on the stroke of midnight of our last day of being 5 years cancer free, we will finally be set free. Free from cancer. Free from fear. And whilst I booted fear a while back, meeting her made me face it for real. She gave me goosebumps and her matter of fact retelling of her tale reduced me to tears. But not for me, but for the wonderful inspiring human being I was graced to be in the company of. I would be proud to be her. I am honoured to have a daughter named Kate just like her. May she grow to be just like the warrior woman I met yesterday. Strong and present and true.

roar

Posted on by
1

My friends and I have often discussed moms and their kids. Throughout the years.  As in lionesses and their cubs.  And the one thing we have all always recognised is that the one thing that you can never ever do is criticise another child’s behaviour. Even if you believe it’s warranted. And I believe that. I can say my princess is damn cheeky, but if you say it I dare say my lioness hackles will rise. So I get it. And then there’s the behaviour itself and what we find acceptable in our kids. And in others. Or not. And here we all differ. But one thing I find very hard to stand by and not respond to is ganging up, bitchiness, meanness. Unkindness. And I don’t care who is doing it. Two against one. Even if the intention is not to hurt as much as it sadly does. Not in my own home and not out in the world. And I’ve seen my own daughter have a hand in someone’s pain, in our home. And maybe not really knowing exactly how unkind her seemingly innocent disregard of another was. But I made damn sure she understood. As a mother should. Because this lioness protects all cubs not just her own. I simply cannot tolerate unkindness in my midst. Ever. And while I can’t fix the whole world I can speak up when it happens in my little world. And yes, to my cubs. Consequences be damned.

respect

Posted on by
2

Yesterday was a good day. A day filled with much laughter, far too many margheritas and good honest fun with lovely and at times delightfully mad friends. But a day that also left me quietly deflated. I saw so many sad women looking for happiness, in what was obvious to all but themselves, the wrong places. Beautiful successful women sadly clearly not realising quite how innately beautiful they are by selling themselves short. Women so desperately and so sadly needing reassurance they’ll take it no matter where it comes from. You all know how much I love women, how much respect I have for our inner strength, how deeply capable I believe we all are. How much I know we all care. But you also know how sad it makes me when women let each other down. And that I believe it’s usually due to fear, fear of not being good enough, fear of being left out, fear of being ignored, fear of being alone, fear of not being loved. But what makes me the saddest of all, is seeing women letting themselves down. I wish every woman could know her worth. And know that it’s not to be found in a bottle or with someone else’s husband or by accepting dismissive or disrespectful treatment by others. I wish all women the respect they so dearly deserve, the only respect that really matters. Their self respect.