The ‘hood: My reflections on our 23 years in Peebles, Scottish Borders

My neighbourhood

After living in the green and rolling Scottish Borders for the past 23 years, we are looking at moving back to the city again in a few months’ time. Our wee town has served us well: when we first moved here the High Street had a wider range of shops than it does now, and there were no traffic lights at all in the town. You could go for a walk along the roadside and only have 2 -3 cars pass you. We loved seeing the hills out of both the back and front windows, and – through the front windows – the odd hot air balloon would take off from the fields behind our cul-de-sac. We could sit out in the back garden and hear sheep on the near hills, and the leaves of the many trees rustling in the wind and very rarely heard the wail of sirens.

The town has since changed a lot – but then it would in 23 years. Now the High Street has a narrower range of shops (some of which are good, but a lot I don’t frequent as they don’t have exactly what I’m looking for), and the town has 3 sets of traffic lights (2 sets within 50yrds of each other) in order to allow pedestrians to cross between the steadily increasing flow of traffic. The hot-air balloon field is now a new housing estate, and the sheep are no longer on the hillsides (nor most of the trees – some of which were lopped when a house was built on the hillside). Wailing sirens of ambulances and police cars are almost a daily occurrence now, although fortunately usually not more than once or twice a day. And the town population has increased as Peebles lies within commuting range of Edinburgh and Galashiels and everywhere in between. It’s just a shame we don’t have a railway line to Edinburgh.

However, that said, it is still a lovely place to live – very safe (on the whole) – and a good base for those of the mountain biking or horse riding crowd. [Disclaimer: I am not being paid by, or representing Peebles Tourist Board from here on. I’m just posting some of my wee photo memories for me to look back on and enjoy, and anyone else who might be remotely interested in knowing more about the wee town we have called home].

Over our 2 decades here, we have loved rambling up all the hills that surround the town, many times……

Cademuir

The top of Cademuir

Hamilton Hill

I think this will take more than 39 steps to complete this….

……..and strolling down to Manor Valley, where the Old Manor Brig (built in 1702) stands. Funny to think that this old structure pre-dates the two Jacobite Rebellions.

The Old Manor Brig

We have also loved our walks along the banks of the River Tweed….

The Old Viaduct

……. and alongside the local castle:

The River Tweed and Neidpath Castle

Peebles is also a very literary town. William and Robert Chambers (who were eminent publishers – think Chambers Dictionary) and whom Chambers Street in Edinburgh is named after, lived here, and the Chambers’ grave is in the local cemetery:

The Chambers family grave

The Chambers Institute, High Street, Peebles

Peebles was also a place where the author John Buchan spent some time. His house (Bank House) still stands, and there is a museum dedicated to him on the High Street.

John Buchan’s house

And, of course, you’re not far away from Sir Walter Scott’s house in Abbotsford, near Melrose, (one of my favourite places).

What else………ooo yes. Peebles also has the Cross Kirk, which has associations with St Nicholas (aka Father Christmas): see https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/cross-kirk-peebles/history/. Apparently some of his bones were found following excavations here:

The Cross Kirk

Although I’ve been a member of a couple of gyms during my time here, nothing beats this one………

My gym. Even better when the park is deserted, as it is here

A nice location for a run along straight paths

So, we have some nice visual memories of this town. It seems a shame to leave. However, it’s time to up sticksfor many reasons including my wish to be nearer to my almost 90-year-old Dad, to be closer to the Uni for my work and OH’s too, and to be generally closer to everything again, it needs done. Since the kids have left home for work and study, we don’t need our 5 bedroom house any more and, besides, it feels odd here without them. Like something is missing. It’s amazing just how much things like that can change a place. Plus, it’s quite easy to feel lonely here – I’ve not been included in any local friendship ‘groups’, which can kind of get you down a bit, especially in a small town where everybody almost knows each other (or are related to each other). Our dentists, my hairdresser, and our church are all in the city therefore it makes sense to move back there. So, new adventures are on the horizon. We can always come back here for a day trip.

Onwards and upwards…….

Stay tuned for the mad moving house blog once we have finished the current house renovations. In the meantime, here are some more of my photo memories:

Haylodge Park in autumn

Up above the streets and houses….

View down Manor Valley from the Sware

The River Tweed

Ruins at Horsburgh Ford

Haylodge Park on a frosty morning.

New blog and new(ish) web/blog site:

If anyone is still following this dormant-ish blog site, please note that I have started using my new(ish) website for blogging. I’ll keep this one running concurrently, but I will be publishing more regularly (believe it or not) on the new one (link below)

New web/blog site: junelaurenson.wordpress.com.

See you there……

Apologies

Apologies for the blog-silence over the past month; PhD chapter deadlines, and a LOT of reading have left me less time to spend blogging, but the end of semester is in sight and I will endeavour to upload some more thoughts and insights on here.

I’m also in the throes of re-decorating my blog page; it was badly needing updated. Once I have got my teeth into it properly, I’m hoping the page will look much better, and less like that of the newbie – which I still kind of am!

Back shortly!

Reflections on a Special Day

Two days ago, I  attended the Open University Degree Ceremony in Edinburgh where, many months after finishing my Master’s degree, I was able to enjoy the glory that I had been striving towards for the previous few years. These occasions are notoriously emotional at the best of times, but on Saturday I spoke with some truly remarkable people who had overcome all manner of issues to achieve the success that they either thought, or had been told, they never would achieve.

I was the only person that whole day who was graduating with an MA in English; well, to be fair, there were only two of us in the whole of Scotland. My fellow degree-mate lives in the Western Isles which makes travelling to Edinburgh tricky at the best of times, so I was not surprised that she did not attend. I was sitting between two gentlemen in the hall: one had a string of other degrees, and had undertaken an MA in Classics just to widen his already vast knowledge base, whilst the other had left school early back in the 1970s, with no qualifications. Two complete ends of the spectrum. While one man has been to so many graduation ceremonies that he had thought about missing this one, the other had achieved his first Master’s degree, and his sense of pride was evident. Their stories are typical with those of others whom I have met over the years: some have had disabilities which left them struggling at school, some had had the fun of learning sucked out of them as teenagers, while others had been told that they were ‘too thick’ to go far in life and effectively written-off. I read an online post the other day by a girl who enrolled on an Open University degree course as a drunken dare, who then – rather than quitting like she thought she would – ended up graduating with a first-class honours degree very recently. Others have existing qualifications, but they want knowledge in a new area to keep them occupied in retirement, or purely for self-improvement. Even more had family members to look after while they were studying, or indeed the demands of employment to juggle. To see graduates in tears as they crossed the stage spoke of the obstacles each of them had overcome to be there and it was a truly humbling place to be. As person after person crossed the stage on Saturday, and as my hands became sore from clapping for each and every one of them, I saw hundreds and hundreds of human beings filled with well-earned potential to change not only themselves, but also their workplace, their communities, or even the world. Age and ability are not limits to success.

Of course, a university education is not the ideal route for everyone to pursue – there are very many skilled people in our communities whose valuable practical abilities I for one would never be able to emulate – no matter how many years it would take me to learn! However, if a diploma or a degree is the desired outcome, then they come at a financial and personal cost. Despite grants (for some), funding, and loans, pursuing a dream involves personal and financial sacrifices to be made by people many of whom already have very little time or money. Within the past few years universities have had to raise their tuition fees, a factor which now makes education even more elusive to the keen learner. At the moment, it unfortunately looks as if student loans are here for a while, but one can only hope that the grant system (similar to that through which I obtained my Bachelor’s degree back last century) somehow makes a re-appearance. Scottish and EU students get undergraduate study free – at the moment anyway – but it really should be the same from elsewhere too. As I saw on Saturday, education is a game-changer, the pride and joy of all the graduates and their families was priceless and just went to prove that self-belief and perseverance reap rewards. Although I didn’t know them, I was incredibly proud of them.

Many thanks to the Open University, my family, and my friends for getting me to where I am today.

 

 

 

PhD chat: Why Anthony Powell?

The usual pattern of conversation these days goes something like this…….

A.N.OTHER: “So, what is your PhD subject?”

ME:  “I’m researching the Gothic and spatial theory in relation to Anthony Powell’s ‘A Dance to the Music of Time’ novels”.

A.N.OTHER: “Sorry, who? And what?”

Thus ensues the usual short explanation of who Powell was, a twentieth-century author, who wrote many novels which are often viewed as comedies of manners in mid to late twentieth century Britain. My research is concerned with the twelve novels which collectively make up his magnum opus ‘A Dance to the Music of Time’. And then I try and stutter through the spattering of spatial theory I have actually understood (which isn’t much) over the preceding few days.

Then comes the question: “Why did you decide to base your research on Anthony Powell?” This is an easy, yet hard question to explain.

Two Folio Society editions of ‘Dance’. I’m searching for the other two

Just before I was diagnosed with my latest lot of cancer, I had taken some sick time off work, as I was in pain and feeling pretty poorly. To banish the boredom of lying in bed and to distract me from my symptoms, I read book after book. After having read ten in the first week, I decided I needed a nice thick tome to get my teeth into (I am a huge fan of big books), so I googled ‘the longest book in English’, and Powell’s ‘Dance’ series appeared near to the top of the results page, after Proust. Without hesitation, I downloaded the first three novels of the series onto my Kindle and from then my love of Powell began. Within 10 days, I had read all twelve!

What struck me about these novels? Well, this is where it gets tricky to explain. To me, the narrative evoked colours, so that while I was reading them, a huge oil painting was developing in my mind. Each character was a colour, each setting had its own hue. By the time I finished, I had this abstract mental image, richly coloured, in a circular pattern. I have synaesthesia (as I have blogged about here), and often see colour in music or words – their distinctiveness make some songs/musical pieces or books very memorable. But Powell’s novels went beyond that for some unexplainable reason; the experience of reading them making me feel like I didn’t ever want to stop as I would be unlikely ever to read anything like this again. It was like a form of literary sublime!

I was extremely interested to discover, in Powell’s journal, that he admitted to being a synaesthete, and I began to wonder if this was an underlying influence in his writing, which drew me to it:

“V and I were talking about someone (possibly Rimbaud) remarking that he saw letters of the alphabet in different colours. I said I did; V, uncertain herself, suggested I ought to write down what these colours seem to me, so I do so: A, very dark red, almost black; B, very dark brown, almost black; C, light blue, almost grey; D, very dark blue; E, lightish brown; F, slightly lighter brown than E; G, about the same sort of brown as F; H, black; I, black; J, lightish brown; K, fairly light grey; L, darker grey; M, purplish red; N, brownish red; O, white; P, light green; Q, pale yellow; R, dark grey, almost black; S, darkish green; T, dark red; U, very light pale yellow; V, palish brown; W, darker brown; X, black; Y, lightish brownish yellow; Z, black”.  (Tuesday, 10th June, 1986).

I have to say, compared those I ‘see’, the majority of Powell’s letters are very dark in colour and many are repeated. That could have been a PhD thesis right there, but it encroached too much into psychology, and I wanted to avoid that! I decided instead to focus on the darker ‘paint’ in my mental masterpiece: the more gothic strands to the series. I don’t want to give away too much on my public blog about my thesis – yet anyway – suffice to say that each re-reading of ‘Dance’ evokes different images and different colours that appear as a palimpsest painting. See what I mean about being hard to explain why? This hugely underrated author wrote more than just a ‘comedy of manners’, he wrote what I consider to be the best modernist/postmodernist (I can’t quite make out which) prose of the twentieth century, and my mission is to encourage more people to read it.

I would be interested to know if any other Powell scholars or ‘fans’ (apologies, I hate that word but it seems the best one to use in this situation) who are synaesthetes have the same experience as myself, and if it was this that attracted them to the ‘Dance’.

 

Cited work:

Powell, Anthony, Journals 1982 – 1986, (London: Arrow Books, 2015), p.245.

 

Re-awakening my blog with a catch-up

Since I last blogged on this platform, many moons ago, a lot has happened. First of all, in November 2011, I was diagnosed with cancer for the third time, not lymphoma on this occasion, but breast cancer brought on from the radiotherapy I had had for the first lot of lymphoma 18 years previously! (You can read of my past cancer encounters here , here and here). The upshot of this diagnosis was a cycle of biopsies, MRIs, CT scans, and 3 operations (2 minor and one very major operation), followed by 5 years of anti-cancer treatment. I recall sitting in my hospital room, recovering from my double mastectomy and reconstruction in June 2012, with tubes coming out of me all over the place, and thinking life is too short and precious for regrets – so why have them? I had always regretted shelving English for nursing when I left school, and I knew that returning to nursing after my treatment would not happen. So what better way to survive five years of treatment than to study for a new degree, and work towards a new career?

This is a long story, so I will keep it short. I enrolled with the Open University and undertook two undergraduate English literature modules (one Year 2 level, and the other at Final Year level) – I may have written about them before in this blog. I passed both of these with Distinctions – you have no idea just how proud and amazed I was to do this! My treatment gave me the condition known as Tamoxifen Fog which made concentrating, writing essays, and exam revision very, very hard. Sometimes I felt like my head was filled with cotton wool, and could barely think, let alone read. Couple this up with never-ending nausea (which made me lose so much weight that I ended up a UK size 4 at one stage), I was a mess. Thank goodness the OU modules were online, as I would have been in no physical or mental state to get to a brick University! So to get such high module results was a HUGE source of pleasure. (I had made a conscious decision NOT to tell the OU of my situation, as I wanted to challenge myself to do these courses on my own steam – and indeed my Master’s – without any extensions on my essays, or to be treated any differently from my course-mates). Because I was feeling so lousy and ‘spent’ all of the time, my blogging just stopped.

With my history, I was keen to get on and study for a Master’s degree – hanging about was not an option. I asked the Open University for their advice, and they said that as I already had a 2.1 undergrad degree (albeit in nursing) and two Distinctions in my English modules (which would have got me a First Class Honours if I had completed studying at Undergrad level) then I would be permitted to enrol onto their Master of Arts in English degree. By this stage, I was halfway through my treatment and I figured that, with the OU’s Master’s following a part-time schedule, I would finish my degree roughly about the same time as I was due to finish my treatment. So, rather scared, I signed up for it. In March 2016, I found out that I had passed the first part of my Master’s with Distinction; again, a huge source of pride and elation. My treatment was going well, there was no sign of any recurring disease, and I’d nailed Part 1 of my MA and earned myself a sneaky little PG Dip (Hum) at the same time!

After a little break, I started to get organised for Part 2, my Dissertation. I ended up writing this on Charles Dickens, and how he used representations of puppets, waxworks, automata, monsters, and ‘robots’ to convey his attitudes towards mechanisation in society, following the Great Exhibition. I absolutely adored writing this Dissertation, as Dickens is my very favourite nineteenth-century author. Again, my treatment was making things tough, as it had done since the beginning, but in the end I pulled through and submitted my work one month early. As it turned out, the last official day of my degree, in January 2017, was also my last day of treatment; that particular evening we had a double celebration! Eight weeks later, I found out that I finally had the permission to put the letters MA after my name…… I had passed my degree! A double victory!

That was not all. After I had submitted my Dissertation, I was at a loss. Suddenly I felt lonely, almost like a good friend had passed away. I don’t have a good social circle in the town where I live, and am not included in any social groups, so – apart from my family – my work was my everything…… and it was no more. Although it was Christmas time and all around me was excitement and anticipation, I felt as if a part of me was missing. I spoke to my hubby about it, and he urged me to apply for a PhD – if I wasn’t accepted then at least I would not regret having tried. To cut a long story short, three days after obtaining my Master’s degree results, I learned that academically I had met the entry requirements, and my Research Proposal was of high enough a standard for Edinburgh University to give me an unconditional place on their PhD in English Literature degree programme. This was literally a dream fulfilled: my dream university and my dream degree! (Yes, I certainly felt like I was dreaming!).

I am now just over one month into my PhD and, although progress is very s-l-o-w, my supervisor has helped me narrow down my research area enough so that I can start more focussed reading. I chose to change from nineteenth-century literature to twentieth-century to widen my knowledge base, as I am wanting to remain in academia when I eventually finish. I am studying for my doctorate part-time partly because of family commitments, partly because I am still recovering from Tamoxifen fog (which has vastly improved since January!), and partly because I am almost twice the age of my doctoral colleagues! I am involved in peer-reviewing and blogging for Uni magazines/sites, I’m a PhD reader for the Uni’s literary prize, and am about to set up a Twentieth Century Research Group with one of my colleagues. Life is really busy but is totally great, and is worth all of the horrid, painful, and depressing days that my treatment gave me.

Blogging for the Uni (whose blog can be found here) made me miss my own blog, so I have decided to raise it from the ashes, like a phoenix. I have decided to give it a literary base, so most of my blogs will be related to books I have read, literary places I have visited, or PhD- related things. There may be the odd random blog too, I daresay! I will endeavour to update it as much as I can, and they won’t be as long as this, you’ll be glad to know.

 

 

 

 

My dislike of snow conveyed in a poem and sung to a carol.

Sleepy June has just looked out

And was disbelievin’

At the snow that lay about

Deep and cold and even.

Grumpy she went back to bed

Snow’s a total nightmare

Pulled the duvet o’er her head

And is going no-oh-where.

 

Bring me coffee, bring me food

Bring my laptop hither.

Staying in bed today is good

Snow just makes me shiver.

I’ll stay cosy, read some books

They are my salvation

In my bedroom, if one looks

I’m planning hibern-ay-ay-tion.

 

 

Shopping in an online store

Really is the business

I just need a little more

Then I’m set for Christmas.

In my bed and drinking tea

Forgetting wintry woes

This is just the life for me

Who cares if it sno-oh-ohs?

Studying continues…..

This is not mess, it is productivity.

 

My blog has been sadly neglected over the past few weeks as I have had to rapidly catch up with my Uni reading list. However, now I am almost there, having just finished Othello this morning, and starting Webster’s The Duchess Of Malfi. Have to say, I have loved all of the books on the reading list so far (hope I haven’t spoken too soon) despite the last three I have read (Wuthering Heights, Othello and now DOM) being tragedies.

For those unfamiliar with Othello, or anyone reading this who has to study the play in academia, here is Othello in 30 Seconds:
IAGO to CASSIO: “You’re having a fling with Desdemona [Othello’s wife]; you have her strawberry-patterned handkerchief!”

CASSIO: “Yes I am….amazing woman she is too”.

OTHELLO: “Wahhhhh! This cannot be! She must be killed!”

DESDEMONDA ENTERS.

DESDEMONA: “Hi sweetie! What’s wrong…….? Pwthpwthpwth”…..<is fatally smothered by Othello>

CASSIO: “Wait a moment, I thought you said Bianca, not Desdemona. I’m not having a fling with Othello’s wife at all. Bianca’s my woman. The name sounds similar, I do admit….”

IAGO to CASSIO: “I know, I planted the handkerchief in your room as a joke. Muahahahahahaha!”

EMILIA [Iago’s wife]: *gasps* <dies>

OTHELLO: “Whoops! I’ve just killed my wife for not believing her and listening to that nasty Iago. Time to kill myself then”.

OTHELLO TOPS HIMSELF.

Now, I wonder if I can condense The Duchess of Malfi into a similar-sized act?  Watch this space……

 

 

 

 

My now complete mountain of literature

Yippee! The last piece of literature has been delivered, via the wondrous amazon.co.uk, for my Uni course and now I have a completed reading list. Fourteen pieces of literature under which I will be buried for the next year. Are you ready for this?……it’s a huge mountain…..

 

 

 

 

OK, I maybe hyped it up a bit. It doesn’t look much does it? In fact the Willie Shakespeare is deceptive – as I only need Othello out of that weighty tome. Thank goodness for Kindles!

Now as I write this mini-blog, I’m trying to decide where to start with the 10 books I haven’t read yet. I think that I will make that decision tomorrow……..

My Cancer Victory – six weeks on (published July 2012)

My Cancer Victory – six weeks on (published July 2012).

It’s a big day for me today.

It’s six weeks to the day since I had my double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery for breast cancer. It’s a day I have been looking forward to for months. The day when I can ditch the velcro band that I have had to wear 24/7 since the minute I came out of theatre (except obviously in the shower!). The day when I am allowed to drive again and get a bit of independence back. The day when I need not go to bed at night to try and get to sleep sitting up. So, yeah, it’s a big day!

 

If you haven’t been following my story so far, then a short re-cap. I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer in December, brought about because of high dose radiotherapy I had in the sternal area for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma 19 years previously. Although it had always been a threat, it still came as a bit of a shock when I was diagnosed, as I thought that maybe being so long after the radiotherapy, I was going to be ok. Then it was the decision what surgery to have. The hospital were advising me to go for the mastectomy option, whereas I felt I wasn’t ready for it, and was pushing for the partial mastectomy option with chemo follow-up. My surgeon was very sympathetic and didn’t want to push me towards something I wasn’t emotionally happy with so two days after Christmas 2011 I went in to hospital as a day case for a wide local excision and sentinel node biopsy. Normally, after such an op, most women (and some men – yes men get breast cancer too!) then go on to have low-dose radiotherapy to the area, but because I had been zapped before, this option was not open to me, and I was started on a course of tamoxifen 20mg to be taken for the next five years. Yep, it’s a long course! However, on receipt of the pathology results, my surgeon informed me that whereas during my WLE op they had managed to get the 11mm tumour out, there was still some DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ – basically cancerous cells that have not yet spread) remaining, and that a second operation was required to remove them. So in February, I went in for the exact same procedure – and this time it was successful.

On my follow-up after the second procedure, my oncology surgeon provided me with some rather scary facts – basically the likelihood of a more aggressive cancer returning within the next 12 – 24 months in one or both sides was extremely high, and I should still consider having a mastectomy – either one sided and the other done six months later, or both at the same time. Either that or I could continue with the tamoxifen treatment and just live “on a wing and a prayer” that the cancer wouldn’t return. Basically, the options were lose my boobs and live a happy and long life with no threat of breast cancer returning, or staying as I was and in doing so, cutting my lifespan short drastically. I wanted to see my kids grow up and get married, I wanted to do so much more with life that I decided the double mastectomy was the sensible option – get it over and done with – and booked myself in for the surgery at the beginning of June.

My hospital room

Although initially I hadn’t wanted implant reconstruction, the medics advised me strongly to get them – mainly because of my age (they recommend young patients to get them as the emotional impact on life thereafter is more positive), and all the information was given to me well in advance of The Big Day, including the necessity to wear a velcro band across my chest 24/7 for six weeks (to keep implants in place), do no housework for the first six weeks post-op, no stretching, no strenous exercise, no driving and no sleeping flat in bed. The next thing I knew, the op was over and I was the owner of a new set of smaller boobs and the victor of another battle against cancer. The surgery took a few hours (I believe) but within a couple of hours of getting back to my “suite” (my name for my personal hospital room) I was having the obligatory tea and toast; and the very next morning I was up and about, dragging two surgical drains in my wake. Recovery was uneventful – the painkillers were great as they were not only effective on making the whole post-op thing pain-free, but they turned me into a space cadet, so visitors were often subjected to me rambling on about nothing in particular usually about nonsense! Having had my surgery on the Tuesday, I was scheduled to go home on the Friday, but my drains were still filling up too quickly, so my stay was prolonged by an extra couple of days – very frustrating, but necessary – and then I was home!

Went back for my review appointment a couple of weeks later – the surgeon had in his hand the pathology results from the operation. He told me that in choosing to have the double mastectomy when I did was exactly the right decision, as they found that in the opposite side from where my tumour had been, there were numerous atypical cells and a 4mm section of DCIS – in plain English, if I had just stayed on tamoxifen treatment without having had this operation, I would have been in a worse position come this Christmas than I was last year as the cancer would have returned (a different and more aggressive type of breast cancer that is not affected by tamoxifen). So there you go folks! It seemed a bit of a drastic option to take, but it has literally saved my life.

Six weeks on and I have enjoyed bedrest whilst watching Wimbledon tennis on the TV, people running hand and foot after me, my Mum’s baking arriving by the tin-ful, flowers and cards from friends, and a few visitors. The reconstructive surgery is so good that many people haven’t realised I have already had the operation! My cancer nurse has warned me that I will shrink some more, and that by Christmas time (another five months away) my body will have taken on its new look. So I guess I am still metamorphosising as I type up this blog. I am back on tamoxifen (to purge any rogue cells that may have got into my system from the surgery) and that makes me feel nauseous most of the time, but I see that as a small price to pay for beating cancer yet again. I have the odd “wobbly” day when I have a self-image crisis, but that is because my chest still feels tight and like I have internal sunburn; and also because I’m still quite swollen, I think that everyone is looking at me thinking I look like Dolly Parton! But things are on the up, and having reached this milestone it’s the start of a whole new life chapter.

Cancer isn’t necessarily a death sentence folks – take it from a Pro cancer fighter like me. Stay positive – getting stressed or wallowing in self pity won’t make it go away. At times it is tough going, but persevere. Having a fantastic family, fabulous local friends, and an amazing array of supportive gems through Facebook and Twitter (most of whom I have never met!) has helped enormously, especially with the emotional side of things. Advice and humorous stories from one lady on Twitter who went through similar surgery to me a few years ago was appreciated most of all – thank you Sandy. Since then I have been able to help a couple of people online who are facing similar surgery to that which I have gone through. Cancer is scary, cancer is frightening, but when you beat it to a pulp, there is not a feeling like it in the world. There’s a great life out there for living.When I was in hospital, I often took a little stroll along to the adjacent General Oncology ward to chat to some patients who hadn’t got visitors, and compare surgical drain bags (yes the fun we stooped to in hospital!). In that ward I met some real superheroes, all fighting their own personal battles against the big C – some were winning, some were trying their best to win, but things were tough. It was a very emotional experience. I went back to my ward knowing I was one of the lucky ones who would be walking out of that hospital when my discharge day came. I still think of those brave souls today and wonder how they are getting on.

Scores on the doors: June 3, Cancer 0. Let’s hope this time it got the hint and never comes back

!P.S. An update to my last blog…..I completed my Race For Life in May and raised £1,057 in the process. Thank you to all who sponsored me.