Birthday bonanza extravaganza

Whoever said that birthdays go downhill after 21 clearly didn’t factor in life-changing events; for today has truly been one of the best birthdays ever. 

In my case, post cancer diagnosis but pre-treatment, my birthday has proved to be a focal point for re-affirming friendships, showing support and for incredible generosity to make the soul sing and the spirit soar…which quite frankly I need at the moment.

I have also noticed that 'birthday-enhancement', as I shall term this phenomenon of experiencing these annual festivities on steroids, it also true of positive life events, as much as traumatic ones. I noticed that after the birth of both my children, my birthday was more poignant as a celebration of self, an opportunity to 'be me again' flying in the face of the selflessness and confusion of identity that comes with the arrival of highly dependent mini-humans.

(As an aside, I have always been somewhat irritated that babies do not arrive just a little more fully formed and developed. Puppies, foals, lambs and calves (be they bovine or elephantine) all feed, stand and walk within minutes of their birth. Babies take so much more investment of time and energy! Curse our ancestors for the evolutionary process that took us from four legs to two and narrowed our pelvises, thus necessitating earlier birth. Although on the upside, shorter gestation is not to be sniffed at, so I guess it swinging in roundabouts).

Back to the matter in hand, I feel I have been doubly lucky this year, as in pouring my heart and mind out through this new-fangled blogging malarkey, I have had the amazing fortune to have (unintentionally) seeded genuine and meaningful gift ideas to people. This is honestly not what I had planned, but a truly wonderful consequence of just being candid.

And so it is that following certain blog posts I have become the lucky recipient of a magnificent selection of totally appropriate, on-trend and esteem-boosting knitwear (see 'The baggier the better' ) that disguises my yucky but indispensible colostomy bag and means I can forget about it and feel (and act) more like myself. I have also had practically-edible, luxury toiletries (see 'Hot water has healing properties' blog) and some wonderful stationery for future musings (see 'Spangly stationery'. 

Although well done to the clever clogs who pointed out my rapid contradictions of 'terms and conditions'. In the intro to my blog I promised no unicorns, or roses, then a mere 10 days on…wham bam...huge celebration over my unicorn pencil-case. I can only apologise. I will try and steer clear of such hypocrisy in future.

Beyond all of this, the words, letters and cards both today and in recent weeks, be they digital or physical have been truly tear-jerking at times. Which is good, as I love a good cathartic cry.

I grew up in a household where words and notes mattered. They still matter to me more than I can say. I have memories of returning from a boozy night-out to find a post-it note on the bread board along with a packet of crumpets and an air freshener saying ‘The oldies have turned into pumpkins and gone to bed. I hope Cinderella had a good night and didn’t lose her shoe!? Eat well and please spray your coat’ (This was back in the days where smoking indoors meant returning like a living distributor of eau-de-ash-tray). So, thanks to my parents, I too am a fan of little notes, a few words that show you care and that you’ve listened, can make the world of difference.

So today I feel immensely spoilt and blessed. Wealth both material and emotional has come my way in abundance. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

One final note of appreciation must go to the flowers. Oh my…the flowers!! If there was ever a physical item to make you smile inside, to bring memories of the sender, to lift your spirits with scent and aesthetic beauty…it would be flowers.

Nature is always calming to the human soul. As a prior student of English literature, I recall that the technical term for this is ‘pathetic fallacy,’ which really doesn't do justice to what it means. The bottom line is that in times of strife, and indeed, euphoria, we often seek out nature to mirror our own emotions. Sometimes the raging waves crashing on the seashore can do more to express and dissipate our anger and grief than anything else, just as the sunrises (which so many of you been generous enough to share via #sunrisesforKim) can sometimes do more to inspire hope than words alone.

Flowers are an integral part of that. Wonderful colours, shapes and smells that whilst unlikely to fulfil their original destiny as a means of reproducing (via pollination, etc) in my living room...or kitchen...or bedroom, their beauty and fragility does much to make me happy...which I hope is a fate that the flowers too (were they capable of emotions), would be content with.

And so, far from being yet-another birthday, seemingly unimportant as there is no great milestone ending in a -0 which I am reaching, 34 turns out to be a fantastic age to be. A wonderful line in the sand from which to reflect on the storm just passed, to glance ahead to the obstacles yet to be crossed before I reach 35…and most importantly to bask in the warmth of friendship and wallow in the pool of goodwill that I have received today.

Today I am grateful indeed for everything.

Footnote: Minor point, but one thing I am not grateful for is having been brought up in the awareness of Debretts, manners and etiquette....which requires that I respond to everyone with a grateful note of thanks, promptly and sincerely. This I would LOVE to do...but am afraid I would be setting myself up to fail to try and do so, the sincerity is there but prompt replies are highly unlikely / impossible. I hope you will forgive me!

Fondness for the letter F

I have never had any great affection for any letter of the alphabet…other than of course the first letter of my name. ‘K’ for Kimberley, which generally proved problematic whenever we played that game in English lessons to teach you about parts of speech. You had to select an adjective to precede your name using the first letter of your forename. I used to end up being ‘Krazy’ Kimberley or ‘Kicking’ Kimberley…neither of which is good English, nor grammatically correct…and all because Katherine used to steal ‘kind’ as she was ahead of me in the register and my juvenile brain never seemed to think fast enough to come up with keen, kooky, knowledgeable or even Kafkaesque.

View from my bathroom!

Today however I have found that conveniently that all the things I feel grateful for begin with the letter F.

There are some smaller ‘Fs’ like fireworks, which last night lifted my spirits immensely, as I watched them with my family from our amazing vantage point overlooking the West Mid Showground. (Good job guys..they were impressive…and free). I’m told that in Italy fireworks ward off evil spirits, and I could certainly do with that right now.

Another less import F is for fire. When the weather turns bitter, the north wind blows and the air chills your face and fingers there is nothing like a roaring fire to warm you up, body and soul. Mesmeric and hyponotic I could stare at ours for hours. Thank goodness for the frosty weather than justifies my lighting it every day at the moment.

Didn't see this coming, but F is for Facebook. Gateway to the larger and more important Fs of today's post. F is for friends and family.

It is impossible to say this without sounding a little trite but I have been overwhelmed and truly humbled by your words and deeds in response to my recent post. I never realised how sadness, as much as joy, could bring out the very best in humanity.

We all share our joys and triumphs openly, we publically celebrate marriages, births, professional and academic achievements and it is natural that our friends and family share these amazing milestones and successes with us.

What I hadn’t appreciated is the extent to which misfortune, such as bereavement, loss or my own diagnosis, also naturally brings people together. My experience of funerals is mercifully limited, but on reflection I recall how powerful that collective demonstration of solidarity and strength can be.

The thing is, dependent on your belief and faith system, you are unlikely to truly appreciate your own funeral. I, however, have had the immense privilege of witnessing the most extraordinary show of support for me and my family. A torrent of love, affection and hope. Nothing in the world can be more humbling that what you have all delivered in the last 24 hours.

On Friday, following a long-dreaded phone call, I had nothing but fear and tears. I’m not ashamed to say that I sobbed myself to sleep that night, afraid to face the future and terrified of those ‘what if’ questions that leapt into my mind.

Posting Saturday’s blog and your subsequent reactions and messages left me concluding Saturday night in a totally different place. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I cannot say that enough.

It matters little that many of you I’ve not heard from in years. Whilst the circumstances of reconnecting may be far from ideal – it means a lot to me that you have taken a moment in your doubtless busy lives to reach out and support a friend in need. As a lover of words I am frustrated that I can find no better way to say how much it means other than ‘thank you from the bottom of heart.’

I never expected to be able to move beyond the ‘shock’ so swiftly into courage, acceptance and a desire to see beyond the diagnosis. But in the face of such belief and conviction how could do anything but be carried forward on the tide of goodwill and positivity?

As many of you have commented the path ahead will be long and arduous. Every offer of help with childcare, connections to medical professionals and survivors, cooked meals, a friendly face, a listening ear, a hug and a shoulder to cry on are all so welcome. I have started making lists and fully intend to call in favours and offers of help in due course, so thank you.

For those of you abroad, or at home, who have generously offered to do anything let me please ask one small thing of you. In a previous blog I talked about dawn and the power of a sunrise to bring hope. Some of you took that on board and in the last couple of days have told me that you set your clocks early to watch the sunrise around the world and to say a prayer or spare a thought for all that is good in the world.

Ever creative and inspirational, my wonderful sister, Sarah, has set up a hashtag, #sunrisesforKim on Instagram and Twitter in the hope that you, dear friends, should you catch a sunrise over the weeks ahead, will take a quick photo, and share it with me at #sunrisesforKim. I will be following this thread and in times of darkness it means I will have a host of golden / misty / stunning or occasionally sombre dawns to look at, each representing life, hope and love. If you could do that then please know how much I will value that in the dark days ahead.

With great love and thanks for family and friends, near and far.

'Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise' - Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

There are a myriad of classically-derived technical names focused on fear linked to the absence of light; achluophobia, nyctophobia (from Greek νυξ, "night"), scotophobia (from σκότος – "darkness"), or lygophobia (from λυγή – "twilight").

This innate human fear triggered by the loss of light, sight and visual information is compounded by films, literature, music through the ages. Bad things tend to happen at night; the paranormal reigns, monsters come out, ghosts haunt, vampires bite, and criminal activity, violent or not, takes refuge in the cover of darkness. It’s no wonder that children are often scared of the dark.

Whilst in hospital I too experienced a form of nyctophobia. Less like fear and more like dread. As the sun set, the visitors left and bedtime rituals like the medication round commenced I had a quote from Game of Thrones playing over and over in my mind, ‘For the night is dark and full of terrors.' Often swiftly followed by those famous lyrics from Les Miserables ‘But the tigers come at night, With their voices soft as thunder,..as they tear your hope apart.’ Both examples of how the media has influenced my perception of nighttime.

But in my case, it wasn't about the darkness. It was about the isolation that night brought. A sense of impending dread about those long hours alone, shielded from others visually in my cubicle of fabric, yet connected to everyone, and to the pain of others on the ward at an auditory level. 

Night also means less distractions and reduced clinical attention. If you wake in pain and call for medication and help it takes longer at night, or maybe it just seems to. In-built british reserve prevents most people crying out and making a fuss, what you hear are muffled whimpers and animalistic groans. 

I used to dread waking in pain, and then the fuss of getting pain relief, waiting for it to kick in and then the challenge of getting back to sleep again. Most nights I was up for a few hours between 1-4am, desperately trying not to tune into the pain of others, to stop fixating on the increasingly irritating beeping of a machine, and trying everything - audio books, meditation and music to lull myself back to sleep.

I'm not the only one who felt like this, daytime conversations revealed that my ward inhabitants often shared this view. But when you are all 'curtained off' you have no idea who else might be awake and available to alleviate your own suffering.

My one huge consultation was the knowledge the sun was always sure to rise and that by 7am the lights would be on again and the night would officially be over.

Sunrise is a magical thing. Some days it is spectacular, sometimes more muted and mundane. It can be enhanced by magnificent views and vistas over forests, oceans, cities, it can punctuated by clouds, or clear as day. A full spectrum of red, amber and gold, or pure, simple, white light. Glorious in so many ways.

I have always loved a good sunrise...and a good sunset come to that...(ideally with a sundowner in hand). In fact I have actively awaited sunrises from the top of mountains like Kilimanjaro, over monuments including Ankor Wat, Macchu Picchu and the Taj Mahal, over sand dunes in Namibia and savannah in Kenya. I truly love that subtle shift from darkness to light as over a period of a few minutes, rays of sunshine begin to steal over the horizon before the bright disc, that rounded belly of the sun itself leaps heavenward. Then its all over. Day has begun.

At certain times in my life the dawn has come too soon. I've been desperate for more sleep, for another hour in bed before the day begins. But not so now. I have never been so grateful to welcome the dawn as during those few days in hospital post surgery.

Sunrise from St George's, Tooting

In the same way that throughout history night and darkness are positioned as symbolic of evil and dread, so the sun and the dawn are portentous of hope and new life. Many cultures include the sun in their prayers and rituals; the Aztecs, Egyptians, Mayans, Celts, Buddhists, Norse and many others all have Sun Gods. Through the yogic traditions I have myself formerly practiced sun salutations to honour the new day and the source of life. 

Each day in Tooting from my window bay (yes - lucky me), I was fortunate enough to catch the sunrise over south London. Not necessarily the most aesthetically beautiful dawns, but full of personal meaning and power. For me they signified that night was over and hope could stir anew.

At this time of year we are often blessed with magnificent sunrises, their splendour amplified by autumnal colours, the chill and fog in the air. Wherever you are in the world, consider getting up a few minutes earlier to greet the sun, I promise it'll make you feel a lot better about life and about your day ahead.

Sunrise from my room in Shropshire