Next chapter.

I've only flipping gone and done it - I am officially, and voluntarily, unemployed. Soon to be self employed. This may be what's known as a midlife crisis. Eek.

People often ask me if having kids has changed me. I mostly say no, I'm still me underneath, just more tired and a even more bedraggled, if that was ever possible. But I'm starting to notice that actually I have changed. I'm not so sure it's down to having kids, or even braingate, so much as just getting older.

I often find myself not giving much of a shit about things that would have previously bothered me. Like sitting in a pub on my own. Or having clean hair. I mean *not* having clean hair... what's clean hair? But at the same time I have become weirdly focussed on things that I care about.

Nowadays, I care about my children and spending time with them. But a lot of what I really like doing with them is expensive. It's sitting around with our friends in cafes and pubs and groups where they jump around and exhaust themselves. It's getting pizza for lunch and going to the London Transport Museum. It's buying comedy mini clothing and brand name trainers. (Guilty).

So I need to work. Not just to pay for all that stuff, but also to keep me sane. I love being useful at things and adding value, but only some of the time because I really, really want to see my children at least three days out of the week. Ok, four.

Having initially found my employer wasn't too keen on me only working three out of five days, I focussed on finding a way to go it alone, as a contractor. My plan was to earn a shed load of money - full time if I needed to - on an astronomical day rate, then take some time out of work to dally around in the cafes of Camberwell. So I gung-ho-style handed in my notice.

THREE MONTHS down the line, and I have finally left.

I have always been the most risk-averse person I know, except for Dad, so I'm not quite sure how I managed to convince myself to do this, and why I'm not more terrified. I have changed. The things that matter to me now, matter more than anything has ever mattered, and that makes the risk worthwhile. I am more confident, more willing to go for what I really want and genuinely excited that things are about to be very different. (And I'm also a little bit terrified...)

Hit me up if you need any freelance writing or project / change management doing :)

Angry days.

I am a seething bag of fury at the moment. It has been steadily bubbling since Friday, when more than half of the people who bothered to vote in the EU referendum chose to make our country worse. It hasn't been my first taste of political frustration (erm, last May anyone?) but it has hit me much harder. I feel actual nausea, how did this happen?

And THEN, I found out that my application to work three days a week was rejected. Although not yet clear on the reasons, it has really made me angry. Angry because I am effectively being forced to choose between my career and my family. Angry on behalf of all womenkind.

Is it any wonder that there are so few female CEOs or senior management or directors? I have of course heard it all before, but somehow it didn't sink in. I guess it wasn't relevant to me, and I didn't think about the mechanics. Well, now it is.

I am furious because I'm not done working yet. Me and my parents and various previous employers have invested huge amounts in training me up to be a valuable asset. I could have the best qualifications in the world, but because of the lack of flexibility in the medium term (two years), I am looking at chucking it all in to work as a school secretary, or a waitress.

Not exactly the role model I wanted to be. So bloody predictable. And to top it off, we'll have to move out of London and live amongst the Leave voters.

Onwards.

A while ago, it became apparent that we'd lost the charger for our good camera. Inertia kicked in and nothing happened for a while, but then Oliver bought a new one. Last night I went through the photos on the card and had a very timely overview of our 2014.

As a whole, it has been a great year. Alfred has grown from someone who could barely sit up to a fully functioning toddler, and it has been fascinating to watch. We've been away loads and had a brilliant time with friends - all captured on this card. 

But then there's a big black hole since September. No photos, on either camera. No positive memories at all. Just a whole elongated pain in the arse, which I am now going to list so that I have proof in years to come that it genuinely has been "a hard time".

• Teeth
  Bloody teeth! Why aren't they just born with teeth? I used to roll my eyes and yawn when parents moaned about their kids getting teeth. "You chose to have a child, and it's a well known fact that children grow teeth. Deal with it". The reality is of course that I don't care about the actual teeth, I care about the sleep deprivation on top of a full time job. Two solid months of four hours sleep a night, simply isn't enough, when it's impossible to catch up during the day.

• Burning bottom syndrome
  I don't know what this really is, but basically it seems that when our child is ill, his body rebels by expelling pure acid into his nappy every five minutes, which swiftly dissolves the skin on his bottom. Cue pain, upset, and more sleep deprivation.

• Aeroplanes
  Put it this way: I am not stepping on another plane with Alfred until he is 16.

• Broken electronics
  First it was Oliver's Macbook Pro, it proper just died. Then the iPad, with it's cracked screen. Then, of course, my Macbook Pro. The screen mysteriously cracked itself one day... I still haven't got it fixed due to the fear of having to remortgage to pay for it. But I probably should get it seen to.
  
• Upstairs builders
  Our upstairs neighbour (who is lovely, you couldn't ask for a better neighbour) has unfortunately employed some cowboys to renovate her flat. They have taken ten weeks (so far) to do a three week job. They are incapable of speaking at normal volume and have taken up the floor, so I can pretty much hear them breathe - let alone drill and bang and thump around. Getting a child to sleep is tough enough at the best of times. Humph.
  
• Leaks from upstairs builders
  We've had six leaks (and counting) of varying seriousness from the resulting chaos of the upstairs builders. Those are the ones we know about. The worst of these poured through the bedroom ceiling onto our bed, ruining our (incredibly expensive) mattress, the cover, topper, quilt, pillows and will to live, the week before Christmas.
  
  Insurance is a great thing, but they don't compensate for sleeping on the living room floor every night. And for the added sleep deprivation caused by both of us being up with the toddler during his 'refusal to sleep' period, as there isn't another room to use. And the fact that my dad couldn't come to stay for Christmas. This whole experience has made me very sad. I love our bed, it's my favourite place in the world and I hate that some idiot left a tap running and ruined it, just like that. 

• Smoke alarms
  Another consequence of the leaky builders is that they short circuited the electrics running the smoke alarms in the whole building. There are four in total, and they all went off at different times during the same night, on various floors, in different flats. Oliver, (in my head dressed as a superhero, with earplugs) heroically located and smashed each of these as they went off, dodging buckets catching leaks, in pitch darkness, armed with a "big nail" apparently...

• The crack head
  We were woken early one Sunday morning (one of the rare ones when Alfred was actually asleep) to a suicidal crack head on the door step in the throes of a panic attack, searching for Wesley. I added this in for comedy value, but it wasn't very funny at the time.

• Hand foot and mouth
  In itself, not a very serious disease at all and nothing to do with cows. Alfred managed to get a secondary infection, a nasty rash all over his face and bottom and parts of his legs. He was uncomfortable, with a temperature, unable to eat and generally miserable - and awake - for about two weeks. Enough sleep deprivation already.
  
• Ebola
  My mum is out in Guinea, helping with the Ebola efforts, which of course is very commendable - as long as she doesn't get Ebola. It hasn't helped my anxiety.
  
• More teeth
  And then, out of the blue, I realised that we hadn't had any new teeth for a while. And so... yup here they come.
  
• Broken car
  Poor faithful Fergus. He has something wrong with him. The day before Christmas, when we needed him most (the supermarket closed at 5pm and I'd of course left it until the last minute) he packed up. Just like that. What we really needed was an extra little something to make the logistics of Christmas less smooth.
  
• Morning sickness
  Throughout all of this I felt like crap.

I've not been feeling the most positive about 2014, if I'm honest. Although lack of sleep seems to make everything just worse, so I put a lot of it down to that. Anything we own, of any value has been damaged. And I'm tired.

So it was really quite an eye opener to see months and months of fun on this memory card and realise that we've in fact had a great year overall, just a tough couple of months. It's almost the end of the year, and although it's an arbitrary line in the sand I'm looking forward to a new one and a chance to start afresh. 

Happy new year everyone, I hope 2015 treats us all kindly xx

October 2014

It's been two years now, since the surreal experience of being told I had a brain tumour. Last year I really succumbed to the memory of it. I spent ages explaining in detail to anyone that would listen, what happened when. I enjoyed prodding the scab of my still bruised psyche and in the process, pushed the patience of my closest ones to the limit.

I thought that it was a one year thing, and that I would then move on.

But here I am. Two years have passed and I'm still banging on. I can't stop thinking about it. I know exactly what I was doing at this time on this day two years ago. It's taking all my will power to not keep reminding people as each hour moves on. (Right now, we were in A&E and I was just about to go for the first scan. We didn't know yet. We didn't know.)

Today and tomorrow were dramatic. Although my day today is fairly mundane, in the background, I still feel low level adrenaline and anxiety. Poor naive us, sitting in A&E, oblivious.

I wonder if I'll ever move on.

Hi ho, hi ho. Sob.

I'm going back to work tomorrow, after almost a year on maternity leave. Before that I was pregnant whilst recovering from brain surgery. And before that I was off sick for multiple months. It's been an odd few years and work has not really been a priority.

I've been in denial for ages about it. It's not that I don't want to work it's just that I don't want to not be with Alfred. I will miss him, and I will miss out on him. I won't be the one that sees him develop and knows what he likes. It's selfish, but I like being that person. The one who knows him best.

I know he will be fine. Of course he will be fine. But I worry that he will think I have abandoned him, and I worry that he won't notice I'm not around any more. And I worry that nobody will care as much as me and I worry that I won't be in control anymore. And mostly I worry that I will hardly ever see him.

But my bag is packed,  my office appropriate clothes are washed and my lunch is ready in the fridge. There's no denying it now.

I don't want to go to bed as that means morning will come quicker.

A question of identity.

I've been thinking about this for ages, but without any real conclusions or a spare minute during the day, I haven't quite got to writing it down. I'm going to start now and see where it goes. Bear with me!

Before tumourgate, it's tempting to think that I used to be this set person, just waiting for my life to be turned upside down. And now that it's happened I'm somebody else. Someone who has been through it and changed and now I'm me. But in reality it wasn't like that. It wasn't as if my life was uneventful up until that moment. The things that happened in the previous life were just as massive to me then, because I didn't know that in comparison to what was coming, they were pretty insignificant.

Identity - by which I mean how I feel about myself - has always been a bit fluid. For a long time I felt as if nobody knew the real me, the one I kept hidden because surely if anyone did know they wouldn't like me. The worst insult growing up was always "nobody likes you". So simple. 

I suppose that how I identify myself is dependent on others around me. My sister is a brainbox, always has been (she's not so hot on remembering punchlines, though) and so I always felt quite stupid. Being the youngest probably didn't help with that. My handwriting was always messier. I couldn't run, draw, read as well as her. My hair was shorter, straighter, she had better clothes and more friends. I felt like the little sister who can never catch up - she'd always moved on whenever I got there.

When I got to A Levels I realised maybe I wasn't stupid as such - just not a natural academic. That was the first time I remember my actual self identity changing. But it's happened a lot of times since, when I think about it. 

Being older is way better. I'm one of those "everything gets better in your thirties" people, definitely not one of those "school is the best years of your life" people. Since being 30 I have enjoyed life much more and I believe that is in no small part down to being happier with myself and confident enough to let people really know me. I'm happier with my identity.

Telling people I've had a brain tumour is really strange. It has this kind of fizzly silence just after you've said it that people just stare at. A tumour is bad enough, but the brain element is what makes it mysterious. The black box of humanity. I read a great quote once: If our brains were simple enough to be understood, we wouldn't be smart enough to understand them. (Incognito by David Eagleman, it's brilliant). Brains are scary. A friend of my dad had a brain tumour when we were little and I was astounded that he was still alive. I thought it was definitely something you died from. 

It still doesn't really feel like I had that. I've never really identified as someone with a brain tumour. Maybe because it was over really fast, and maybe because as soon as it was over, the impending Alfred took all my focus. Or maybe it's just a reaction to extreme stress, my brain has rejected it. 

What is strange is that other people identify me by it. I'm the one that had the brain tumour. Any new people I meet now, it's a big thing to explain - when do I mention it...? And when I meet people who I already knew, I get the question. How are you? They're not asking how I am, they want to know about the brain tumour. Really though, how are you? 

And in that instant, I finally do identify as a brain tumourer. 

I am, technically, a mother. I have a baby, that I grew! And have fed and clothed and washed and carried around for nearly 11 months. He is my baby and I am his mother. But I don't really feel like one. I'm not old enough for starters. When we're together it's obvious that I'm a mother, but what about when he isn't there? Do people know I have had a baby? Do I even remember I've had a baby. Erm...

The question of identity had been brought more into my thoughts through motherhood than brain tumouring, but really the same principles apply. At first, when in the throes of shock, there are clear physical signs. When the signs have gone and you can choose which version of yourself you want to show the world, it is all about how you want to be judged.

I'm about to start work again after a long time off and some huge life changes. I don't know my new boss or anyone on my team. How are they going to see me? Who will they think I am based on what they know about me? And will that change my identity, and how I see myself? 

Work rant.

Since I've been off on maternity leave, work has been playing on my mind. There is a massive global "company restructure" in the offing, and whole departments have been demolished. My department. And my team has already limped into obscurity. I thought it was odd my role didn't warrant maternity cover, and then my boss got "reassigned" just before I finished. That left one person... who subsequently moved on within weeks. So I'm waiting for a phone call.

I think it's unlikely I'll be made redundant, but given that I don't technically have a job right now I've been doing some thinking. What would I choose to do - if I had the chance to completely start again?

I'm dead jealous of Olly, he loves his job and has a great time doing it. He's so passionate about it he would rather work than be on holiday. I'd like to do something like that, if only I could discover what I enjoy.

I love being at home with Alfred. We've had such a good three months, way better than I was expecting, and I was expecting it to be pretty good too. We've done so many things and met so many people. Everywhere we go people want to know about him. And he smiles at everyone. He's great. And I don't want to miss any of his growing up.

Having said that... I miss work. I miss being on time and in control. And busy in a way that isn't to do with housework. Also, it's still a novelty (not being at work) which may well start to wear off soon.

How to combine both? (And earn enough to live on?)

Seeing as the movie rights to my life haven't been sold yet, and this blog doesn't make any money, and I can't think of a creative idea to write a book about, I'm going to have to do something employment wise. I've been looking around at ideas and I think I've had a good one. Not for me, but a company called Pepperberry. They specialise in making clothes for women with bigger boobs.

Rant warning! Coming up, a big old rant.

I contacted them last week with this idea which I thought was a no brainer, annoyingly they don't seem to understand and aren't interested in listening. The whole experience made me feel really helpless and frustrated. If this was my company I would jump at the chance to talk to people who want to contribute ideas. In this case I got stuck at the first line: customer service.

My idea is this. When people have a baby, they make loads of milk and consequently their boobs get bigger. If they breastfeed then this could be a long (ish) term effect (enough for them to have to buy new clothes to fit). This is potentially huge for Pepperberry, they get extra spend from existing customers as their size has changed, and they get incremental spend from brand new customers catapulted into the bigger boobed bracket.

We are now officially in a baby boom so this could be a big market. And in general the age that women have babies is being polarised, either really young, or (I hesitate to say really) old. Like me. I'm old enough to have a good job (still, hopefully) and enough money to buy nursing clothes.

Except - and here is the killer - they're isn't much out there to be found.

Pepperberry already specialise in one of the two requirements - clothes for bigger boobs. All that's missing is the ability to breastfeed in these clothes. No. Brainer.

My first reply from them explained that "Unfortunately we have no current plans to expand our range of styles to cater for maternity swimwear at present and I realise this will be disappointing for you". Well yes, I am disappointed - you clearly didn't read the email I spent ages composing. Maternity? Swimwear? Where did you get that from?

So I sent a quick reply just to clear things up, but didn't get any further. 

On the plus side, the whole experience made me realise something. Strategically, for Pepperberry, this would have been a good move to make (I believe), and setting it up would be a challenge. I would love to be involved in it. It made me see that I'd like to have a more strategic role, to be involved in something more fully, rather than just being a little cog sitting at a desk.

So I'm still thinking.

When I grow up.

It's odd to look back at last year, given how much has changed. The person I was then seems naive, and simple. But I wonder if that would always be the case when looking back at a former self.

Last year was momentous in many ways, we had such a good summer - carefree and excited about the future. Although if I honestly look deeper than the surface, it wasn't all great. I loved the Olympics and we did some really fun things, but I didn't feel well for months and there were other difficult times. I seem to easily overlook this in remembering.

It's easy to feel a bit sorry for the person I was a year ago, I had absolutely no clue what was coming up. In some ways that's the best way to be and so it's also easy to feel jealous of that person. I can never be that again - I know what can happen now, and it's always there at the back of my mind (has it grown back yet?). Also I know that I'll never know what else could happen. And anything could. Things will never quite be as carefree in the same way.

But - that feels like a good thing as well as a sad thing. It feels like we're all growing up. Quite suddenly everyone has stepped up a notch, moved forwards. Not that long ago we would go out and get raucously drunk and sing in the street at 3am. Now we meet for an afternoon drink with our babies and bumps and new boyfriends. Or husbands even.

Which is scary, because I haven't yet decided what I want to be when I grow up. I am now at this point in my life where everything is in the middle of changing. Emotionally, physically and psychologically, this year has changed me. What I want out of life isn't the same anymore - but I don't know what I do want.

This next six months is going to be the most different my life has been to anything I've experienced to date, I can't comprehend how different it will be. But I'm hoping to use it to figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life. Answers on a postcard please - I have absolutely no idea.

A jumble of thoughts on being pregnant.

Maternity leave is frigging awesome. Especially in July. There are so many things to do, I don't know how I had time to go to work before.

I always thought I'd be rubbish at not being at work. The thing is, I've never really been one for housework, so the thought of my days being taken up with clothes washing and cleaning has never filled me with much enthusiasm...

When I was off sick I didn't really enjoy the time I had off. It wasn't a holiday and I felt quite guilty. I couldn't allow myself to do anything fun and actually I felt like shit most of the time so I wasn't really up to much. This time it's different - technically I'm on annual leave at the moment anyway so it really is holida-ay time.

The British weather has really pulled one out the bag - although eight and a half months pregnant in this heat is not quite what I had in mind. Still, it's brilliant. Everything seems so much better when it's sunny. And it's amazing how quickly washing dries in the garden. Who knew?

Seeing friends and family, reading, watching Gossip Girl (I finished Dawson's Creek last week) and generally hanging about in the garden or at Olly's office is really time consuming. But it's great to not be at work as I am so tired. It's brilliant not having to concentrate on anything very hard.

Despite digging my heels in stubbornly for the last half a year, I have had to admit that I have indeed succumbed to the most obvious of pregnancy cliches. I am an emotional wreck. I cried at a bus advert last week, and those charity adverts with homeless dogs in them? Oh dear. I don't even like dogs.

Also the cleaning. I really thought this one would pass me by, but today I felt an irresistible urge to wash the sofa cushion covers. So I did, then hung them out on the line in the garden, and then put them back on (Cohen 1 - 0 Sofa Cushions. But it was a close call). I am right now sitting on the nicest smelling sofa - quite smugly if truth be told.

And much as I hate to admit it, I suppose I have been quite forgetful and a bit vacant. But I will never as long as I live accuse someone of having baby brain - it's so annoying. I will also never touch / rub / pat someone's tummy (pregnant or otherwise) unless I am in a relationship with them or they're a cat. Or they have asked me to - but even then to be honest I'm not sure I would.

So frighteningly, it appears that I've finally got myself motivated and I've got some hoovering to do. I'm actually looking forward to it - I don't know what I've become. Just in time too, it's the final countdown!

Doodle-oo-doo.

Doodle-oo-doo-doooo...

Sleeping. Or, more accurately, not.

Warning: this post is a self indulgent rant. Formulated in my head over night and possibly (definitely) contributing to my inability to sleep.

I've always suffered from bouts of insomnia so this is nothing new. But since going back to work I need much more sleep than I did before surgery in order to function and concentrate properly. The effects of not sleeping are much worse now.

I found a great term in a trashy magazine at the hospital yesterday. It was an article about surviving 50 years of marriage, and mentioned "night rage" (as in, don't have it). I love this, my definition: irrational rage in the middle of the night aimed at any number of inanimate objects and / or unfortunate husband or cat. Something I could really learn from.

Last night was particularly bad and I found myself raging away. It isn't productive as I end up actively searching for things keeping me awake to add to the list. Plus the adrenaline caused by the outrage puts falling asleep into the realms of impossibility.

So my plan is to treat this as I would a work project. By exploring all the things that give me night rage, I can identify the ones I can do something about. Then do it. Then get some sleep.


Ok, let's go.

1. Lack of curtains. Easily fixed you might think, but requiring decisions. Difficult ones! We have a huge bay window with shutters on the bottom half. The curtain pole we inherited was never fixed on properly when we moved in, and finally gave up the ghost about a month ago, so we took it off completely.
   
   The question is though, blinds or curtains? Or both? The other question is, curtain pole or rail? And the other one is, fix the curtain pole (or rail) to the wooden frame or to the wall? And how much would it need to stick out in order to allow the curtains to fit over the shutters? And how to measure it properly, given the bends needed for the bay? Also - what colour curtains?
   
   I am paralysed by indecision. And awake.
   
   In other news, there's a street light ideally positioned just outside to shine directly in ones face at a certain point in the bed And if you move to avoid it, then it reflects in the wardrobe door - directly into ones face. Also, the sun has a habit of coming up each morning, and since British pretend summer time started recently I think that's probably going to get worse.
   
   
2. The bloody cat. In an attempt to find out if Oliver is allergic to said cat, she is no longer allowed in the bedroom. Plus, sometimes she makes this horrendous smell, which I won't go into. Not impressed by this turn of events, she has taken to scratching the bedroom door repeatedly in the dead of night. She even adds dramatic pause for effect, then starts up again. She has amazing stamina actually.
   
   
3. The radiators. Since the new boiler incident about two months ago, the radiators make a clicking, groaning, straining, hitting-self-with-spanner kind of noise every morning. It's really irritating. I'm always just waiting for the next click.
   
   
4. Being pregnant. Weeing. Or specifically thinking I need to wee when I know that I actually don't need to. Also, not being able to sleep on my front (preferred sleeping position for over 30 years) or back (in case of aorta-squashing). This results in major paranoia about whether I'm harming unborn child in my sleep, by depriving it of blood whilst merrily dreaming away. Ha. And another thing - heartburn. Sigh.
   
   
5. People breathing. And turning over. How dare they? Actually I'm adding this in for effect as Oliver is away this week so he really can't be held to account. I can't hear him breathing from Germany.
   
   
6. The bin men. Rudely awakening me (I know - I've used this already, and it isn't Wednesday). We have single glazed sash windows, which are lovely but not very good at sound proofing. Despite initial concern when we moved in about the level of outside noise, mostly it's fine. If an argument does happen to take place just outside our window, I generally find it quite easy to drop off to sleep again (plus it's quite entertaining).
   
   The bin men on the other hand, Jeez Louise. Do you have to make such a song and dance about it? Will that bin lorry rev any louder? Can you make more of a crashing sound with each bin, getting closer and closer with each crash and shout... then sloooooowly, further away down the street? Maybe if you dropped the bins from a bit higher up you could get more volume going on the crash, but frankly I doubt it.
   
   And what - is every day bin day now?
   
   
7. The car alarm. I'm not sure it is a car actually, maybe a building somewhere opposite, but it goes off with alarming (ha ha) frequency. Only at night. See previous post when just out of hospital.
   
   
8. This blog post. Gah. I've been composing this all night in my head, which has inevitably been keeping me awake. It's now almost time to get up. The radiators have stopped clicking, the cat has given up scratching, the husband isn't here, the car alarm isn't screeching and the bin men are long gone. Even the street light has gone out - although it is broad daylight.
   
   Perhaps my time would be better spent getting a doze in instead of ranting on my iPhone.

Life goes on.

In my first year at university I learnt about personality. I can't remember what the thing was officially, but the concept struck me as good. It proposed that you didn't have one clearly defined personality, but many (or an incredibly flexible one) - and you unconsciously used them differently depending on who you were interacting with. Hence the uncomfortable feeling when your friends meet your granny.

At the time I had many different groups of friends from different environments, and when they got together it felt strange. I didn't know who to be or how to act, so this idea made a lot of sense to me. I liked it.

When I started Henrietta, I was in a pretty weird place. None of the usual politics bothered me, and although I didn't want to offend anyone with what I wrote, my attitude was fairly blasé. I didn't really care that much to be honest.

Being ill had a way of focussing me. I could suddenly see really clearly what mattered - and what didn't. I became a single personality, the same person to everyone. I didn't feel the need to hide parts of me, or mould myself to what I thought people wanted me to be. I just was me. One of the best things was just being able to write. It was liberating: not giving a shit.

I made some resolutions during recovery, about how as I felt my way back to normal life I wouldn't slip back into the old ways. The ways that I had suddenly and clearly seen as unnecessary, like worrying too much and not aways saying what I think. I also resolved to do more exercise and eat more healthy and generally view this as a second chance, a way to start again (but better this time round).

None of these things have happened.

What I am particularly sad about is this loss of not caring. I now really question what I want people to know and I find myself not communicating as openly anymore. That's the real reason that I stopped writing so much. I can't be as honest. Life has got in the way.

It is sad, but it's real, actual, life. I feel naive to think that I really thought I could maintain the simple mantra. I go back to work tomorrow, and I'm very much looking forwards again and getting excited about the future. I don't actually mind that much really - it's been such an interesting experience but it's nice to feel a bit normal again.

Life goes on.

Two monthiversary.

Two months today. I thought it would be worth writing a little about how things are going, seeing as it's a bit of a milestone.

In some ways it doesn't feel like two months can have possibly gone past. In other ways I am a different person now, it was a lifetime ago. Thinking about the week after surgery makes me shudder. I can now remember things that I must have originally blocked out of my mind, painful and nauseous things. It's not nice to remember, but it's good to compare and see how far I've come.

Christmas is here and along with it plenty of seeing family and friends. It's great that I am not the headline news anymore - we have all moved on. It was a massive shock when it happened, and the legacy is still rumbling in the background for me, but there has been a shift in the last few weeks towards normality. I think not writing Henrietta has helped me move on too.

As I get ready to go back to work, the main thing worrying me (surprise surprise) is my hair. Why won't it grow faster? I had it cut this week, and it actually looks much better than it did, but there are still huge shiny bald areas over the scar. Which is disturbing for anyone taller than me.

The only pain left is scar pulling, but that is getting less frequent. In fact I've started to get some movement back under the skin, thanks to massage. And that is encouraging as I wasn't sure if that would come back at all.

A good thing is that I have had a date through for my next scan, in early February, and I'm really looking forward to it. I want to see the space where the tumour was. Will there be brain? Or a gap? A bit of both? I guess it will be proof to me that it has actually gone...

So that's it. Back to the marathon eating required of Christmas. Have a good one everyone!

Under pressure.

Having always been a bit of a planner, it's annoying that there isn't some stake in the ground - a point in time by which I know I'll be fully recovered. How can I plan when I don't know how long it will take?

And how do I know if recovery is taking too long? I have nothing to compare it to, so feel this pressure to be recovered already. And be heading back to work.

I'm not very consistent in my own understanding of my recovery. Some days I'll convince myself I am totally ready to go back to work. Some days I can't bring myself to get out of bed. There doesn't seem to be any pattern, and there isn't anything visible to judge it on. I worry that people think I'm putting it on. Making it up.

I know they don't think that really, but I feel like I have to go over the top to explain myself.

There is progress, it's just not linear, and not visible. I feel a pressure for me to be better, be recovered more - and I put that pressure on myself. I feel guilty if I laze around not doing anything, but I feel guilty if I'm out doing something, because maybe that means I should be back at work.

I just can't win with myself.

A lie in.

Up until now I have tried to make sure I get up at a "normal' time so that I don't turn into a nocturnal being, which I'm sure is my natural state. I am not a morning person, I hate getting up. And I like staying up late and am at my best in the evenings. And I really like being in bed. As a teenager, during exam leave, I generally slept until 1pm every day, and stayed up all night. I've been a bit worried about falling unto that habit again.

At first it was easy as I couldn't sleep anyway. I was awake by 5am every morning and waiting eagerly for someone else to get up. But as time has gone on and I've come off the steroids, I'm sleeping better (and so much more) and it's become a bit more of a challenge to get up in the mornings. 

When I do drag myself out of bed I quite enjoy the mornings. You have so much more time in the day! And it's nice to potter around with mum before she goes to college. Generally Olly gets up as she leaves so then I get to potter around with him before he goes to work. 

This morning I slept until 10am and when I woke up everyone had left. I would like to think that it's because I haven't been sleeping much recently and I was catching up. But I'm getting minimum nine hours a night, and an afternoon snooze to boot. 

It's nice to have so much sleep but I'm not sure how well I'll adjust to the real world again when the time comes. I wonder if work will let me have an afternoon snooze under my desk?

Flying time.

I'm not sure where all the time is going. I've been out of hospital over three weeks now, and I can't think of anything of value I've done in that time. That's a lot of days to fill and I can't remember any of them. What have I been doing?

I've got a list of important things to do, but I don't even know where it is anymore. Let alone what's on it. I have a varying sense of unease that I'm wasting this time, I'm usually quite good at getting things done but now I don't care enough to do them, but still care that I'm not doing them.

When we moved house, about two months ago, we decided to do away with the telly. We didn't really watch it anyway, except for formula one which we can still watch online (yes, we're paying the licence fee). I'm quite glad we did that now, as it would be too easy to slump myself on the sofa all day watching daytime telly never getting anything done.

Much like now really, but less sleeping and more telly-watching. I would feel worse about that.

But back to the time thing, I wrote before surgery that time had been elastic. It's strange how living through it takes ages, but when you look back you can't believe how much time has gone by in such a short space of, well, time.

In one sense I have been wishing time away, for example I can't wait for this Wednesday - it'll be four weeks and I can go swimming. And also wishing it would slow down so that I can recover more, faster, before I go back to work.

Looking backwards, it feels like time has gone so quickly. It's insane that I went to the fireworks a week after getting home. It was eight days after surgery and I was frustrated that I couldn't walk faster. I'd just had brain surgery what did I expect? But at the time it felt like I'd been home for months.

I wonder if I'll look back on this time in a similar way. Three and a half weeks seems ages from where I am now. I wonder if from a future perspective I'll see it differently.

Meh.

Feeling a bit down today.

It's like, when everyone goes off to work and college and I'm left to my own devices, I am not doing anything constructive. Yesterday I watched IACGMOOT on catch up. It really made me laugh (although it's disturbing that their bandanas are the same as my favourite headscarf). Then I ate some crisps, had a sleep on the sofa, read Heat magazine. I didn't have a shower or manage to get out of my pyjamas and slippers all day. I didn't do anything of value.

And my hair looks ridiculous.

When there's nobody else here I don't have any will power. And I feel a bit guilty for doing shit all. Like watching rubbish telly and eating crisps! (It's not rubbish, it's brilliant. Love Ant and Dec). I'm just wasting the days away. I think it's the guilt more than anything that is getting to me.

And the fact that I feel a bit aimless. Long term, there are loads of things to look forward to, but in the short term I'm just trying to get through the day for the sake of getting through the day.

Hopefully it's just a blip, I'm sure it is. I didn't do any of the things on my list yesterday, and I know it would make me feel better to do something constructive, but I just don't have the motivation. Or energy, it feels too much like hard work.

I suppose it's only been two days, I'll do something constructive soon - maybe after I've watched last night's IACGMOOH...

A sudden motivation.

Officially, baby sitting ended last week when the post-surgery risk of a seizure reduced. But Oliver had terribly bad man flu so worked from home most days, and mum was on reading week so was around a lot too. It has been great to have people to talk to during the day, but I am looking forward to spending some time on my own. I can't remember the last time I was on my own (except the night before surgery).

It's Monday and I have loads to do. I discovered two amazing websites this weekend through the Guardian, both about education. On Saturday I found the Guardian Chinese Challenge on Memrise and over the course of the morning - in three minute bursts (perfect for my concentration span) - I learnt about twenty symbols. You can learn loads of things on Memrise, I plan to learn some French vocabulary and all the flags / capitals of the world. Something I can show off with down't pub.

Then on Sunday I read about Udacity, which really intrigued me. I haven't had a good enough look yet but I believe I can learn to programme in several languages, and something about artificial intelligence. Awesome! It may require more concentration than I currently have, but I plan to research it today.

So I have lots of learning to do. If I'm going to be off work for a while this will make sure that I am still using my brain. My newly uncramped brain.

Also, drum practise - I need to do some. And get some passport photos for my freedom pass application. It's great that if you can't have a driving licence for medical reasons (as opposed to being banned for drink driving) you can get a freedom pass which gives you free bus travel after rush hour. I'm not looking forward to the passport photos though, I hate those booths.

Right then, busy day ahead, and my list is waiting. Best get cracking.

Symmetry of time.

I went on a course once about personality types, and was identified as a type of person who remembered dates. I've been thinking about dates a lot recently, and the weird symmetry of time.

It was a year ago yesterday that Oliver and I decided to get married, over Sunday lunch. It was such a good decision, and Oliver was on Jen-sitting duty yesterday, that I think that set me off thinking about the year we've had. It's been a great one, 2012. We've done some brilliant stuff and this is just a weird part of that.

It was a year ago today that I started my new job at Pearson. I feel quite bad about the fact I hadn't yet been there a year when this all kicked off, and they've looked after me so well. But it is a marker of the passage of time.

And then there's the whole tumour business. It was the 1st October when we went to see the GP (I remember asking Olly to send a pinch and a punch email to Tristan as I knew he was away and would forget. It made me laugh through the pain). Before then, we had no reason to believe this was anything more than a bout of migraines, it was less than a month ago.

Today is the 31st of October, I am taking the last of my drugs today and having the stitches removed from my head. It will all be over by 6:15pm tonight.

October 2012: tumour month.

Dark surgery thoughts.

I've been wondering how much thought I should put into the possible outcomes of surgery. I do like a list, and have been thinking that if I wrote the potentials out in order of worseness, would it help to see it in black and white and allow me to contemplate what I'm worried about? So far it has been there on the fringes of my thoughts, but I haven't really explored it.

I know the bad stuff is incredibly unlikely to happen, so it's hard to not start everything with "I know this is unlikely but...". Maybe I do just need to get it out and then look at it for a while.

In a particular order, or just as they occur to me? I'm just going to start.

What could happen?

1. I could be fine. I could wake up after surgery and have a little headache but be fine. Yes please. 
2. I could have temporary loss of movement in my right arm and leg. Physio, recovery time, maybe a week or so and then back to normal and home. That would also be fine.
3. Not-so-temporary loss of movement / weakness. Hmm, less fine. It's clearly not ideal but something I can work through. I'll have another arm and leg, and the capacity to learn new brain pathways (apparently) and physio and stuff.
   The main problem here is things that just don't seem too important right now, but I think will later. Like handwriting (I like my handwriting) and chopping. I love cooking, and I love chopping. I'm really good at chopping garlic finely, it's just something I have a talent for and it would be a shame not to be able to wield the knife anymore. Does seem a little unimportant though, in the big scheme of things. And playing pool (I am shit at pool unless I've had 2 and two thirds of pints of lager, for about three shots. I also haven't played pool for about three years, but I may want to again).
4. Speech impairment. Bad, this is bad. Communication is something that I really need. I'm sure there are lots of things you can do to improve it, speech therapy and hard work, but this is something I do not want to happen. Big worry.
5. Sight impairment. Also bad, but to be honest not as bad as the speech. I would still be able to communicate and that definitely seems more important right now.
6. Long term damage to concentration / memory / general confusion. This would be terrible. It really would, like the communication. I'm struggling with concentration and noise at the moment, but I'm hoping that it's just the exhaustion and generally weird situation. Going forward, any memory problems would be a disaster. Or ability to multitask. Basically anything that will prevent me from doing my job, well. This is a real worry too.
7. Locked in syndrome. I know, I've been reading too much and they told me to stop reading at the hospital but I can't help it. I do not want locked in syndrome. If I get it, please stop all medication and food immediately. I would want to check out.
8. Anything that leaves me with a long term physical disability that would prevent me working and would ruin Oliver's life as well as my own. This is really I suppose the problem. If I lose dependence for myself, and have to rely on other people caring for me then I just can't see a positive to that right now.
   That is very sad because there are so many people who live that way and I'm sure are wonderfully coping with it, but I just can't imagine the burden. The guilt. The dead end and fruitlessness. It's ok doing doss all for now, but not being able to work ever again, I just. No. This is really the problem area. Don't want this one.
9. Anything that leaves me with a long term mental disability - as above. Although I guess that's marginally better as I may not be aware of it as much. Selfishly.
10. Death. To be honest, I'm not worried about this one now. If I imagine it then it's sad and I think of Beaches and have a little cry - but I'd be dead so I wouldn't care. 

Look at that, a nice round 10, who would have thought.

Basically, on reflection then, I think it boils down to independence. If I can manage to look after myself and get back to work in a capacity to excel, then I'll be happy. It could take some time and hard work - and I may not ever have quite the function I do right now - but this would definitely be a good case scenario.

If I can't look after myself and need to rely on someone else I care about giving up things to physically look after me then this will be very difficult. And if I can't function in meaningful employment that would also be incredibly bad.


Right. Well that's good to have sorted out, at least I do know now what I'll be wanting to find out when I wake up. And also an idea of what to focus on and work towards: independence, and getting back to work.

I haven't touched on what is worrying me about the surgery itself, think I'll save that for another treat. But this has actually been really helpful, and not at all as morbid as I was expecting. I'm glad I thought about it.

What a thing to happen.

It's funny but, despite everything, I really am quite glad that this is happening.

Obviously there are some downsides but I wanted to capture this feeling of positivity that has come out of the experience overall. I've touched on it before, and it is definitely still there throughout the down days - but the underlying feeling for this entire situation really is a positive one. Odd.

Several reasons:

1) Timing.
There would never be a brilliant time for this to happen, but if I had to choose when would be best - then it would be now. Quite a few actually spooky things came together to make it all very convenient. Mum starting her MSc and being in London. It happened on the exact same day she started her course and was staying with us anyway. Last month it could have been Somaliland or Timbuktu.

And we're only six weeks moved into our brand new house, which has provision for me to sleep downstairs if I need to, post surgery. And can accommodate mum in the spare room. What if it had happened before? I don't think we'd have still got the mortgage to be honest.

Also, I'm still relatively new in my job but I almost accepted a contract offer instead. I chose lower paid permanent work with a company I believe in for a team that I knew would work well together. What a decision was that. Work have been immense in this entire situation and I have totally lucked out.

And the other thing is that Beka is on maternity so I get to see loads of them and the kids.

2) Time out.
This is forcing me to take a little time out of life, and try a whole new pace. It wasn't easy at first and didn't come naturally - I really missed work and the structure and motivation it gives me. But I'm enjoying it more and finding new ways to motivate myself now that I'm getting a bit stronger. It is a lull right now as I count down to surgery and finding out what side effects I will need to contend with - and I fully expect post surgery to be focussed on returning to work but I know it will take a while.

In the meantime, it has been a very positive experience trying something different in terms of structure and motivation. When else do you get the chance to do that?

3) Contemplation.
Time to think. I am being forced to think about what I really think. And I'm really enjoying it. I just spend time thinking, and I don't feel guilty about it being a waste of otherwise useful time. I don't sleep much and I don't get out much, and I've been just thinking. I love thinking! And then writing down my thoughts. And then moving them around a bit until they make sense. I think I will miss this when normal life resumes, and I don't have time to sit around in my pants all day thinking of things to think about. (I don't sit around in my pants, I have pyjamas on at all times).

4) And where am I?
This one is the real crux but I've banged on about it for ages already. I just can't believe how I have managed to end up here, with everything anyone could want. I don't need anything else, I have just really landed on my feet and although I knew I was happily sorted this situation has really hammered it home. I'm so lucky. If everything went totally tits up now, I would be happy to have reached this point. I think that it totally amazing and you all know who you are that got me here.

5) Created a milestone.
This was a complete surprise, and a real bonus. It happened almost immediately. I have been feeling kind of old recently, and a bit behind in my life goals. A bit pressured and kind of needing to get on with things. I'm 33, and I remember so vividly my mum turning 33 - I made her a birthday card. She was at university studying medicine and I was eight years old. She also had my sister, 10. That is just incredible what she had achieved by my age and this weighed on me as I reached my 33rd birthday.

On top of this I have really started to notice that I need to work harder to remember things, and stay focussed and hearing and general little niggles reminding of the march of time. I was starting to feel old.

But not any more - how weird is that? I'm only 33! In five or ten years time we can look back on this and say wow remember when you had a brain tumour - you were so young! You were only 33! This has created a big milestone in my life, and when you think of it in the grand scale of my (hopefully much longer) life, 33 is nothing. It's the beginning. This will be a huge milestone and something that we will always remember. In a good way. So just to clear things up, I'm not old - right?

6) It's so interesting.
Vain! But really, this makes me more interesting - especially to myself. What with the self contemplation and the whole process, it's just really interesting. I'm watching myself deal with this and I can't wait to read all this back when I'm done and think wow did I really think that - I'm mental. But I'll have a record of how interesting it is. I hope its interesting!


After surgery I will know what the full impact of this will be on my life, and that is obviously the big worry right now - what will I physically have to cope with and work through? But it's good to see that at this point I feel a positive impact of a brain tumour. I had always been pretty sure that I'm a massive pessimist, but worryingly / surprisingly / interestingly I'm not sure I am anymore. That's weird.

This time next week I'll be waking up about now, with a brand new space in my brain for more crazy thoughts. Get ready Uma, coming to get you.