Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts

Monday, 18 November 2013

A quiet connection...

I have a new Monday morning routine. Kids dropped off at school and nursery I head to my local cafe and meet with a lovely friend.  Laptops on, coffees and smoothies ordered, we set to work. Heads down, brows furrowed we mean business.  I get on with whatever it is that I'm writing and she works on reports and her 'stuff'.  We probably don't even quite know what the other is doing. It really doesn't matter.  Our Monday morning meetings give us both a focus, a break from the distractions at home and the week gets off to a super postive start. Maybe it's the feeling of uninterrupted time after the demands of the weekend or the blueberry and papaya smoothies that do it, whatever the reason,  I come away feeling energised, ambitious and appreciative of the way my working life is finally taking shape in a way that I'd always hoped it would.
Every twenty minutes or so we stop for a little chat - how was your weekend, how are the kids...the usual. Today we, unexpectedly, went a little deeper and found ourselves talking about the very reason we met.
Her cancer story started a year before mine.  We were put in touch by a mutual friend when I found myself facing the chemotherapy she'd not long finished. She was rocking a cute, post chemo, pixie crop and my hair had just been chopped in preparation for impending baldness. 
Over the tricky months that followed we'd meet for the occasional coffee, raise a latte glass to celebrate the return of our eyelashes and get the tissues out when one of us, usually me, was having a wobble.  Cancer aside, we slowly but surely became real friends.  We both get it.  And it doesn't need to be talked about as much these days.  But when it does... well, we just shut the lid on our laptops and order another blueberry smoothie...


Saturday, 26 October 2013

A drink's too wet without one...

I'm having one of those weeks where, as if from nowhere, I am reminded of how it feels to be unwell. Fatigue, achey limbs and a head full of cotton wool is all it takes to plunge me into a pit of gloom and negativity. 
I'm shocked at how easily I can slip back into ill person mode.  Unwashed hair, no make up and tracksuit bottoms doesn't tend to be my signature look but it's the one I naturally adopt during weeks like these.
The gremlin I thought I'd silenced has found his nasty little voice again and is whispering in my ear from his cosy spot on my left shoulder.  Taunting me with the 'what if' game.  I don't want to play.
Fitful sleep and morbid thoughts ensure that I wake up feeling worse than ever.
'Miss Depression,' my ten year old called me today. It was like being shot with a little dart.  I'm not depressed, my darling.  Just a bit scared.
And angy.  That, yet again (so boring) I have let myself get this run down and depleted. I want to grab myself by the shoulders, knocking that stupid little gremlin to the floor, and shout.
Come on!  You're doing so well, you've done so well, you're three years in, three whole years clear!  What are you trying to do? See how far you can push it?  I feel...disappointed with myself.
Quite how I expect my poor body to thrive, flourish and remain well, I don't know.  I wouldn't feed my children a diet based solely on snacks and treats so god knows why I think I can get away with it. 
'You shouldn't eat so much sugar,' mutters my mother on a regular basis.  I want to punch her, instead I defiantly rip open another Twirl bar. 
So, once again, I find myself resolving to do better.  Vitamin supplies replenished, a salad drawer bursting with rainbow food and it's another new start.  I will drink green juice and litres of water when all I really want is another cup of tea. And something to dunk in it...



Tuesday, 21 August 2012

Five a day farce...

So, the smug Superwoman status I granted myself last week for remaining fighting fit in a house full of sick children has well and truly gone. I've slipped to the bottom of the I can do it all just watch me charts and on the emotional scale am languishing somewhere between an unconvincing fine thanks and thoroughly fed up.
It probably was a little optimistic to think that after ten days of breathing in the germ-ridden air of my beloved four and not holding back on the endless dribbly kisses and constant cuddles that I wouldn't succumb to the unpleasant virus they'd passed to each other but I was so determined not to!   I feel like I've failed.  And so, as my glands swell and temperature rises my mood plummets. I feel angry.  Angry with myself for not taking my vitamins and eating my greens.  Frustrated that even after cancer I still seem to think that two cups of tea and a digestive biscuit constitutes a decent breakfast. I remember when I was diagnosed and stumbling around in a terrified daze. Food was way down on the list of things to think about. Hardly surprising. It took every ounce of strength to carry on functioning as a mum.  Still feeding the triplets round the clock at three hourly intervals the last thing on my mind was nutrition.  But that was okay because I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by an army of angels who regularly placed delicious, rainbow coloured meals down in front of me, put a knife in one hand, fork in the other and stood over me as I ate.  In those very early days between biopsies, bone scans and the start of chemo I ate more berries, oily fish and green food than I ever had before and vowed to myself that this would be the way forward. It felt so right. So bloody obvious.  I would nourish my ailing body, heal it from within and fight those wayward cells with more anti-oxidents than they'd know what to do with.  Those good intentions didn't last. Left to my own devices and no longer under the watchful eye of loved ones to quite the same degree it wasn't long before I was back to my old, chocolate covered ways.  I'm worse than the children.  Veg - do I have to?  Fruit - if I want to bite into something crunchy can it not come in a shiny gold wrapper?  And it's not ignorance. I know exactly what I should and shouldn't be eating, we all do.  I use exhaustion and a tiny, cluttered kitchen as an excuse not to cook properly but really it's laziness and a set of totally skewed priorities. What's the point in having a shelf full of Jamie's books if the freezer is full of turkey twizzlers?   Forget the kids, I'm the one who needs a reward chart.