Choose hope…

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I was recently inspired by consultant Marcus Child to “choose hope” (and CW Metcalfe’s ideas of grace under pressure), I think about how we do this when facing bad news,

Head booms,

News looms,

Wait rooms,

Bleach fumes,

Choose hope…

Heart thumps,

Tit lumps,

Tired grumps,

Wish jumps,

Choose hope…

Scalp bare,

Not fair,

Faint prayer

Still there,

Choose hope…

Appearance matters…


Recently I had to fancy dress a book character and apart from the obvious fairy tales I thought of the wig days and then chose to be Bridget Jones…

You look at me like I have changed,

It wasn’t my intention,

They said I’d die,

But that’s a lie,

And something you can’t mention…

You look, but then you look away,

Is this a real bad hair day?

The style’s not swell,

I don’t feel well,

More core than disarray….

I’d sit a rabbit on my head,

At least I’d get a laugh,

‘Though you say I’m hot,

I believe I’m not,

Don’t be sweet on my behalf…

I am just about accepting this,

And I know you’re wondering too,

Not a panto’ queen,

Not a junkie’s dream,

This is it, and we’ll get through…

To be sure this wasn’t in my plan,

So it’s hard to see you shy,

Mirrors at the fair,

This look’s not to scare,

Incognito, Bond Girl, spy…

Fancy dress might be funny, but to people who have cancer and those who support them, it is hard to know what to say when people look different. I am blessed with a kind imagination, but I also found many people avoided conversations and talked to me like I had joined some fanatical sect! Then a friend said to wear a hat and sunglasses, like I was some kind of Bond Girl, and the dressing up started to be a little more fun…

Hope to cope…

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My ode this week is partly in respect for the book, The C Word, which I have been reading in anticipation of Sheridan Smith’s drama adaptation of the part. I feel very close, like this was my story too, yet I feel a little guilty that I survived it. But aside from the use of humour as a coping mechanism (and now that I am officially an old bag!), it is the refusal to believe in the fatal possibilities that I recognise best…

Let’s just whack the key words in Google,

And change how the outcome might look,

Ignore the fate call of the bugle,

We will bend in the wind when we’re shook…

We are steadfast and strong and survivors,

How bad can it possibly get?

Professional duckers and divers,

We’ll dry out again if we get wet…

Though butchery, poison and shortwave,

We are told is our fate (with a shush)

We won’t be the ones it could enslave,

“Mind the gap” as we stand in the crush…

You will sit by my bed as I crumble,

And tell me how grand I am still,

And we’ll never discuss the meaning for us,

For reality’s too big a pill…