Tag: happiness and cancer

Breast cancer lesson number 107: Cherish those who hold you up!

On By Jackie ScullyIn Charity, Chemotherapy, Happiness2 Comments

You could be forgiven for thinking that someone with chemically-induced pains, thinning eyebrows and no tastebuds, has every reason to not feel happy – let alone lucky. But right now, sitting here on the sofa I feel like one of the luckiest people alive. That’s got nothing to do with the fact I am far from a bar showing the hotly-anticipated England World Cup game tonight and everything to do with the fact I have spent the day being reminded of just how beautiful this little world of ours really can be.

Ok, so it wasn’t your average supermarket shopping and washing Saturday. I was actually at a CoppaFeel training day for The Boobettes. As those of you who’ve read lesson 104 (click here for a recap) will know, I have started volunteering for charity CoppaFeel to help amazing founder Kris Hallenga (who is living with advanced breast cancer herself) and her small-but-perfectly-formed team in their mission to wipe out the late detection of breast cancer. Today was my official induction and I have to say, I haven’t stopped smiling.

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I thought I’d learn a lot. And I did, which was fantastic. But, what I didn’t anticipate was just how inspired and moved I would be by everyone I met. From mothers and teachers to singers, knitters and writers, this was a meeting of driven, passionate and beautiful people all united by one common cause, and I felt so humbled to be in their company. I came away thinking I would never have met these people if I had never been diagnosed (I am just not cool enough it has to be said). But, I am so so glad I did. Cancer hadn’t made these people beautiful. They were already that way.

As a quick aside, we were asked to name our boobs at the beginning as a way of breaking the ice. Mine are called cupcake (left) and muffin (right). The reason? Well, I love cake, I love baking, I feel my new right boobie is made up of all the amazing cake and chocolate gifts donated to me before surgery and the right continues to outgrow the left due to it remembering its origin (hence the difference in baked products). Just don’t ask me for the recipe! 

My great day didn’t end there. I drove home via a close friend’s birthday and seeing her face as I arrived at the table made me realise just how important it is to make the effort for the people you love. I couldn’t drink, I couldn’t enjoy the pizza or the homemade cakes prepared by her kind friends, but I could enjoy the company (most of which was people I’d never met who welcomed me immediately and didn’t say a word about my funny hat or the tube poking out of my arm) the chat (theatre, cake, more theatre, schools today) and a hug with my wonderful friend.

But, my great day didn’t end there. If we skip over the injection (which I deliberately took before my food so as to treat myself immediately afterwards), I got home to find a beautiful surprise on my doormat. Back at Breast Cancer Care’s Younger Women Together event in May (click here for lesson 87) we were asked to write a postcard to ourselves that would be posted to us after the event. While I found the whole event inspiring, I didn’t write about my experience but about the words of a beautiful young mother I met, who told me a great story about reading to her child throughout treatment. She often read the story We’re all going on a bear hunt and told me the words took on a whole new meaning for her. She said: ‘Cancer is like a bear hunt. You can’t go round it, you can’t go over it, you’ve got to go through it.’ I wrote this down and added: ‘So keep going’. I knew there would be tough times ahead when I wrote it and I thought it would make me smile. It actually did more than that. It reminded me of yet another wonderful and kind person introduced into my life because of this life-changing disease.

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But, my great day didn’t even end there. While making myself dinner I noticed a tupperware box filled with ginger biscotti that a friend had made and sent via Duncan. I am now munching my way through the tub and am delighted to report that I can actually taste them – and they taste wonderful. This box didn’t make me smile because it was filled with tasty goodies (although that certainly helped). This box made me smile because it reminded me that not only have I met beautiful strangers along the way, but people I already knew to be beautiful have become even more so (even though I thought that wasn’t possible). I never thought I would cry over a well-baked biscuit. But I just did!

But, my great day didn’t even end there. I check my phone and find on it a brilliant message from my sister-in-law about a book she had just picked up for her son. It’s called The Okay Book and it’s packed with great messages such as: ‘it’s ok to try new things’ and, amazingly, ‘it’s ok to have no hair’. I couldn’t agree more and I continue to smile at the thoughtfulness of this lovely lady.

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As a self-confessed perfectionist often on a mission to help others, I think I have spent too much time trying to be the best I can be and not enough appreciating just how amazing those around me really are. I feel truly humbled by old, new and hopefully soon-to-be friends (you know who you are)!

So, to all of those people who go out of their way to be kind, thoughtful, generous and basically amazing on a daily basis, I want to say thank you for being you.

I’ve had a wonderful day just by being reminded of how many of you there are!

Breast cancer lesson number 96: Happiness is a journey, not a destination

On By Jackie ScullyIn Brighter Life List, Chemotherapy, Happiness2 Comments

The title of this blog post is actually one of my favourite quotations. Last year I organised for it to be printed onto a sign for the living room to remind me of that fact every day. The reason? I think we often spend too much time wishing our lives away and not enough time enjoying the moment. A lot of the time, the destination doesn’t quite live up to expectations or the excitement experienced on the journey. I believe that if you enjoy the journey, you’re less likely to demand as much of the destination – and are therefore more likely to enjoy it. That’s my logic and I’m sticking to it!

I can honestly say I enjoyed every moment of Friday (which included four separate journeys and a destination that was also a journey if you can get your head around that!). I enjoyed the leisurely lie-in, the tea in bed, laughing on the tube with Duncan, the band playing as we arrived at the Orient Express check-in in the Victoria and the best cup of tea in a paper cup I have ever had as we waited for our train. I enjoyed the Audrey carriage with its colourful past (it used to be part of the Brighton Belle train, was once damaged in a bombing raid and has stunning landscape scenes on its wooden panels). I loved the five-course meal (including enough cheese to feed a small nation), the banter with the team on board and actually being in photos. I even enjoyed the drive on the M25 to the Cotswolds for the weekend after it was all over. I enjoyed the details and nothing else mattered.

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One of my favourite moments, however, is perhaps not what you’d expect. I will never forget the faces of the commuters on every platform we passed. The train, with its beauty and elegance was an unexpected element in their day. With wide-eyed children pointing, commuters staring in wonder and workmen stopping to wave, the train brought with it as many unexpected smiles as it did happy and well-fed passengers. I was happy to be on board, but happier seeing the mark it left on every platform.

In lesson 95, I challenged myself to get in front of the camera and take part in the memories as they are being frozen in time. I am delighted to report that I rose to the challenge, and dragged Duncan along for the ride too. I look back at each and every one of these and smile. It really was an amazing experience.

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If you’re interested in the Orient Express, you’ll be interested to know that we went on the British Pullman on a four-hour round trip from London Victoria. Each of its 10 carriages, described as ‘palaces on wheels’ has a different personality. Audrey is one of the smaller carriages, meaning we were virtually guaranteed an intimate table for two and a big picture window. I can also confirm that the gooseberry trifle was delicious and Duncan did sample one of every cheese on the cheeseboard (and earned the respect of the waiter in doing so).

This memory wouldn’t have been possible without the kindness of the wonderful Willow Foundation and my lovely breast cancer nurse. The Willow Foundation was set up by former Arsenalgoalkeeper and TV presenter, Bob Wilson and his wife Megs, as a lasting memorial to their daughter, Anna, who died of cancer aged 31.They wanted to give 16- to 40-year-olds the chance to escape a serious illness by enjoying a special day out. And, since 1999, they’ve been doing just that. I, along with the many young women diagnosed with breast cancer every year, will be forever grateful.

My nurse recommended them to me and helped me with the application form and I couldn’t recommend them highly enough to you. If you are based in the UK and are eligible, I would encourage you to apply today! Click here for more details and to find out how you can support this amazing organisation. 

Thank you Willow and thank you Orient Express for gifting me a day when I enjoyed both the journey and the destination. It is a day I will never forget.

PS: A lovely lady called Tric reblogged one of my earlier posts: ‘what you lose I dignity, you gain in confidence’ at the weekend on her own blog My thoughts on a page. It remains one of my favourite posts, so click here if you want a second look. Thanks Tric.

Breast cancer lesson number 90: Life is short. There is no time to leave important words unsaid

On By Jackie ScullyIn Happiness, Pink hearts3 Comments

I am grateful that last night was just a night of sweats, broken sleep and nasty nausea rather than a night wedded to the washing-up bowl (I must stress the bowl has been retired from active washing-up duty in case you were worried). And, looking at the faces of mum and Duncan in the morning, I think I wasn’t the only one who was grateful!

I made it through. But I had to dig deep. The nausea and night sweats were among the worst I have ever endured. The Aprepitant drug worked wonders on the sickness and the quick hat and sock changes helped with the hot flushes. But there is one other trick I’d like to share, which – in between the waves of nausea – made the whole experience memorable in a more positive way.

I have never been one for counting sheep or filling my mind with the colour blue in an attempt to drift off. So, last night I introduced a new technique. From the beginning, I listed out all the wonderful and kind messages and gestures people have sent through over the last four months. By this, I don’t just mean the obvious. By this, I mean the well-timed tips, the lucky pre-surgery safety pin, the comment from an old schoolfriend about what she thought of me back then and how I hadn’t changed, the thank you from a girl I once helped in a small way and never thought much of it. Just yesterday, a lady I had met a month ago and showered in cancer-related tips stopped me in reception to thank me for my kindness. Those words meant everything to me. Each one of these moments has made an indelible mark on my heart. And, yesterday, I used them to build a patchwork quilt of happiness to comfort me at my lowest ebb. The great thing is, when I got out of bed this morning I smiled knowing that I have just scratched the surface, with many more patches to add.

Being at the receiving end of a lifetime of kindness has got me thinking about just how much we really say to those that inspire us and make us smile. When was the last time you turned to a friend and thanked them for just being there? When was the last time you contacted an old acquaintance and told them just how big an impression they have made on your life? When was the last time you thanked someone and meant it from the bottom of your heart? People can’t guess you’re your thinking unless you tell them. When the business of life gets in the way, it is hard to step back, reflect and not take all those you love and admire for granted. But, I can tell you now, there is so much I want to say to people while they are still around to hear it! People come and go in life, tucked away in chapters. But, their kindness will live on through you. I’d love to think that if someone were to cut me open (in a nice, non-cancer-surgery kind of way), I would be made up all of the brilliant people who have touched my life.

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So, I have chosen today, laced as it might be with a cocktail of drugs and a vat load of liquid, as the day to hand out my first pink hearts. The first is for my astonishing and truly wonderful mum who is one of the most beautiful people you’ll ever meet. She may weigh less than me currently (although we are having words), and she may not be able to take the pain of a cancer diagnosis away, but she has made living with it as comfortable and relaxing as possible. She has put her life on hold, so that I have the chance to get mine back. As a daughter, I have not always thanked my mother quite as often as I should. But she means everything to me and I plan to spend the rest of my days reminding her of that. While I won’t share the contents of my letter with you, I will share one line: ‘Life is no easy street, but you have made walking down it, so much more enjoyable.’

And, the second heart? You’ll just have to wait and see! I will also be posting more details of my pink heart plan (first mentioned in lesson number 30 – click here) in the weeks to some to inspire others to send ripples of kindness all across the world.

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All I ask is that you take a moment of your day to thank someone who matters to you. What is it about them that makes you smile? What it is you should have told them years ago, but never thought to mention? How have they helped make you the person you are today? I guarantee you’ll feel good saying it – but not as good as the person hearing it (especially if it’s for the first time).

Make today the day you start following your heart. Trust me, there’s no time to lose.

NB: it will take years to deliver all these hearts, so do bear with me. The accompanying letters are all handwritten and contain a piece of my heart. Plus, I have to make sure I don’t get arm ache! 

Breast cancer lesson number 80: How to make the ordinary feel extraordinary

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness3 Comments

It started with Friday night wine. As a tradition to mark the beginning of a weekend together, it has a special place in my heart. That is, until chemo wrestled in on the action and stole away my tastebuds. Chemo has a skill of turning even a beautiful Cotes du Rhone into the most vinegary plonk imaginable. Trust me, it is not a party trick of which I am particularly fond and it certainly doesn’t do much to give you that Friday feeling.

I am, however, thankful to chemo the comfort-stealer for one thing. By targeting and eliminating life’s pleasures, it has provided me with the opportunity to enjoy them all again as if for the first time. Chemo turned a normal night into one of the best Friday nights ever because it decided to hand back my tastebuds (albeit temporarily) and with them my love of red wine. Every sip of that full-bodied beauty is now wonderful wine memory tucked away for me to draw on whenever the palette goes wonky again.

In lesson number 47 (click here for more), I wrote about the joys of rediscovering your ‘normal’ and the way in which something you’ve taken for granted for years can suddenly become exciting and beautiful once more. I hope that everyone gets the chance to do this (without the chemo drugs in tow), because it really is a source of great happiness.

Yesterday I took a day away from blogging and from cancer to soak up every moment of a typical bank holiday Saturday. And, you know what? It felt wonderful. The contents of my Saturday are not particularly blogworthy, but that’s the point. A breakfast of eggs in purgatory (if you haven’t had this amazing recipe, click here to head to my lovely friend Rachel’s blog for inspiration). A trip to the garden centre. Three hours of sorting and clearing in the garden. A glass of wine in the evening sunshine. A walk in the park and a lovely curry at home. Each one an ordinary moment that made me feel extraordinary. When digging out the composter with a trowel makes you smile, you know that you’ve started to see the world through different eyes.

As proof of our hard work, here’s Duncan in the garden trying out his top for our 10k run (it arrived yesterday). Quite why he felt the need to raise awareness for breast cancer in our garden was beyond me, but it was really nice to be able to spend some quality time together in the mud! (As an aside thank you so much to everyone who has given so generously so far in sponsorship for the run. I will thank you all individually over the next few months.)

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Duncan used a lovely gardening analogy when talking about the year so far over a very normal drink in Greenwich.  He likened cancer treatment to pruning a rose. Pruning is often brutal and can make a flower look messy and sad for a while. But, when pruned, a flower can come back stronger and more beautiful than ever before. He said there is no time to feel sad. Just time to take action and grow stronger. For a maths graduate, I thought that was pretty special. Will certainly make me remember that drink!

I know this feeling won’t last forever. But it is a feeling I want you to experience too. I want you to linger longer over those bluebells in the park. I want you to drink in the scent of spring on freshly-laundered clothes. I want you to read the back of a label of wine and try and find the delicate spices and vanilla (or have fun trying) in every sip. I want you to rediscover every normal aspect of your life and give it centre stage for just a moment. If the normal bits of life can bring you more happiness, just imagine what the surprises and special moments will bring?

May today be an ordinary day that makes you feel extraordinary.