and here I am again.
A different me. A new post.
Hectic times are here again.
I'm walking again. Down a river. Following it as it swells and winds. Down the trail, through brambles and over stiles. Past sleeping cows and curious sheep. Eating blackberries and elder. All the way to Bristol, where hospital awaits again.
Did I think I'd come here? Did I think I'd be the same? Do I even know who I am At All?
Mindfulness helps but sometimes it can eclipse the bigger picture altogether. I don't know what I'm doing. Only that I've decided to walk 210 miles to hospital and 130 back home again. Why? Because it was there.
I look at rivers on maps and see targets, I've realised. I see a journey, a beginning, an end, a change in the middle, a tale in the spinning, something achieveable...given time.
Time and workable hips. Functional knees. Unbruised shoulders.
Sharp shootings of pain are infesting much of me below the pelvis.
Not suprising; I just walked out of my front door and went to walk to sea. Even with or without cancer I was never physically fit. Just tough. And determined. Those will get you a long way, but the fight is harder.
Next year, I say. Next year I'll take a sleeping mat. I'll take a bivvy bag. A sleeping bag liner. I'll change my socks every day. I'll get a new rucksack. I'll cycle all winter until my leg muscles grow enough to carry me all the way round Wales. All the way from Bristol to Bristol, day by day by day.
I am a hobo again. With regular breaks every 4 days for a bed and a shower. I am walking hundreds of miles, to hospital and back because I will not be affected, long term, by a cancer diagnosis. It's gone. I remain.
Tuesday 11 September 2012
Monday 9 July 2012
Three distinct stages
I feel like I've come to a new stage of illness, or non illness, or recovering from illness.
First there was the fight. Where I had a tumour in my body and everything was an emergency. Where blood tests showed it might be cancer. Where I didn't have anywhere to live and was forced into the hospitality of family friends. Where the tumour would flash and boom with pain, a baby sized lump, floating where it shouldn't be, squeezing my organs out of shape. Where mystery fluid would appear in my lungs then disappear, dramatically, just as they were about to stick in a needle and draw it out. Where I started not to know what my body was doing any more, where it felt out of control, as if everything was up for grabs - giant tumour appearing out of nowhere, lungs filling and then draining of fluid, cancer cells spreading inside my body, to my omentum, my abdomen, my womb, my guts. Where I would shortly have major abdominal surgery; 5 days in hospital.
My stomach muscles cramped as I came out of the black aneasthetic, pain streaking through me; a nurse hovered over me, telling me to breath, bringing me to her eyes, back to the world.
Fight to lie on your side in bed; fight to sit up, fight to cough, fight to shit. Fight to stand up for longer than half an hour, fight to walk more than 200 metres.
Cancer is a constant presence, hovering in front of your face emanating fear and despair, a black spot blocking your vision, your awareness of anything but itself.
Then, three months later, started the recovery. No more cancer, no longer in danger. No tumour in my body. Just a scar, newly sutured muscles and a shuffling, traumatised person. I was scrumpled into three small balls, one each of mind, body and spirit. So I focused on healing myself. Not fighting but taking care of me. Finding a path to peace and my new life. A change of country, a change of lifestyle, a change of everything. Back to old friends, making them new friends - rediscovering who people have become after a three year gap. Counselling, art courses, gardening, walking, biking, swimming, crying. Lots of crying. Small things, daily, weekly.
Now, another three months later, it's the third bit. Where I've realised that I'm not going to get back to the way I was. That these changes to my body, to my self are probably going to stay. And I don't mean the return of the cancer. It has a more forward looking feel to it, a more outward looking feel. I can move out into the world again, limping but still moving. The things that remain in my body, mild nerve pain, scar tissue, they're not necessarily the return of the cancer, more likely just an internal limp.
And of course I'm not who I was, I'm not going back again to my hobo travelling, challenging lifestyle. I'm delicate, still pink and raw and a bit sensitive. I'd rather knit on the sofa than go wild camping. But maybe, in time, this will come back too, this wild part of me. I won't force it.
The first hospital check up has passed, where they prod my belly and do a blood test and wave me away for another three months. No cancer, no problem, come back in three months. And I've realised that it's over. No more fear. I'm healed, I'm healthy. And the third bit is a new phase, where I'm back again, not what I was but ready for what the new me is.
First there was the fight. Where I had a tumour in my body and everything was an emergency. Where blood tests showed it might be cancer. Where I didn't have anywhere to live and was forced into the hospitality of family friends. Where the tumour would flash and boom with pain, a baby sized lump, floating where it shouldn't be, squeezing my organs out of shape. Where mystery fluid would appear in my lungs then disappear, dramatically, just as they were about to stick in a needle and draw it out. Where I started not to know what my body was doing any more, where it felt out of control, as if everything was up for grabs - giant tumour appearing out of nowhere, lungs filling and then draining of fluid, cancer cells spreading inside my body, to my omentum, my abdomen, my womb, my guts. Where I would shortly have major abdominal surgery; 5 days in hospital.
My stomach muscles cramped as I came out of the black aneasthetic, pain streaking through me; a nurse hovered over me, telling me to breath, bringing me to her eyes, back to the world.
Fight to lie on your side in bed; fight to sit up, fight to cough, fight to shit. Fight to stand up for longer than half an hour, fight to walk more than 200 metres.
Cancer is a constant presence, hovering in front of your face emanating fear and despair, a black spot blocking your vision, your awareness of anything but itself.
Then, three months later, started the recovery. No more cancer, no longer in danger. No tumour in my body. Just a scar, newly sutured muscles and a shuffling, traumatised person. I was scrumpled into three small balls, one each of mind, body and spirit. So I focused on healing myself. Not fighting but taking care of me. Finding a path to peace and my new life. A change of country, a change of lifestyle, a change of everything. Back to old friends, making them new friends - rediscovering who people have become after a three year gap. Counselling, art courses, gardening, walking, biking, swimming, crying. Lots of crying. Small things, daily, weekly.
Now, another three months later, it's the third bit. Where I've realised that I'm not going to get back to the way I was. That these changes to my body, to my self are probably going to stay. And I don't mean the return of the cancer. It has a more forward looking feel to it, a more outward looking feel. I can move out into the world again, limping but still moving. The things that remain in my body, mild nerve pain, scar tissue, they're not necessarily the return of the cancer, more likely just an internal limp.
And of course I'm not who I was, I'm not going back again to my hobo travelling, challenging lifestyle. I'm delicate, still pink and raw and a bit sensitive. I'd rather knit on the sofa than go wild camping. But maybe, in time, this will come back too, this wild part of me. I won't force it.
The first hospital check up has passed, where they prod my belly and do a blood test and wave me away for another three months. No cancer, no problem, come back in three months. And I've realised that it's over. No more fear. I'm healed, I'm healthy. And the third bit is a new phase, where I'm back again, not what I was but ready for what the new me is.
Tuesday 6 March 2012
Letter writing blog giveaway thing!
I could have used a random number generator but as there were only three of you I wrote the numbers one, two and three on pieces of paper, screwed them into balls and picked one out and it was...number one.
Isabelle! at www.letterstoed.wordpress.com
Congratulations, you win a letter!
This letter was written half in Bristol and half in Sheffield. And that is all I will say about that.
To be posted as soon as we make contact.
Isabelle! at www.letterstoed.wordpress.com
Congratulations, you win a letter!
This letter was written half in Bristol and half in Sheffield. And that is all I will say about that.
To be posted as soon as we make contact.
Thursday 1 March 2012
Green
Mucinous adenocarcinoma of the ovary. Stage 1A
That's what I had, that's what they took out of me.
It all seems relatively bright, actually. The tumour was floating in the centre of a sac of protective cyst like the yolk of a bad egg...that's done me good, I think. It means the cancer was isolated and couldn't brush its nasty malignant cells up against anything else, and so, judging by the scans I've had so far, it hasn't spread anywhere else.
I just need two more tests to make sure and then I can go into follow up treatment.
So it's kind of a relief. Yes, it was cancer. But I think it's over. All I need to do now is recover. Find my way back to real life. Get a place to live. And start saving money so I can go out into the unknown again. Albeit with a regular schedule to return for belly prodding and pain questions.
Not sure if I'll blog again for a while; at least not until I've gone back to writing rather than news.
But I mean it about the letter, I'll check back in a week and ask someone for their address.
That's what I had, that's what they took out of me.
It all seems relatively bright, actually. The tumour was floating in the centre of a sac of protective cyst like the yolk of a bad egg...that's done me good, I think. It means the cancer was isolated and couldn't brush its nasty malignant cells up against anything else, and so, judging by the scans I've had so far, it hasn't spread anywhere else.
I just need two more tests to make sure and then I can go into follow up treatment.
So it's kind of a relief. Yes, it was cancer. But I think it's over. All I need to do now is recover. Find my way back to real life. Get a place to live. And start saving money so I can go out into the unknown again. Albeit with a regular schedule to return for belly prodding and pain questions.
Not sure if I'll blog again for a while; at least not until I've gone back to writing rather than news.
But I mean it about the letter, I'll check back in a week and ask someone for their address.
Tuesday 28 February 2012
In the spirit of taking my mind off it....
I wrote a letter. It's the kind of rambling letter that you write to someone when you have nothing to say except the wish to make contact.
Thing is, I'm in much more regular contact with all my friends at the moment, we have texts and phonecalls and skyping and visits. Really different to when I'm alone in an unknown location with a rucksack and I want to send a little five minute view of my dreamlike life back to my friend at home with their important objects like jobs and houses and schedules.
So I thought that perhaps I'd try a thing. You know, a blog thing where I invite comments and then give a prize.
This will combine two of my favourite activities.....sitting for hours in cafes, and the sending and receiving of letters. I have the idea that I will, every so often, go to sit in a public place and fill as much paper as I can with the things I see there. Then I will offer to send it to a reader.
Know this, you are very special because you are one of the miniscule number of people in this world who read my blog and if you want to receive a letter, a real life piece of paper in the post, that will maybe say something important but will more likely say nothing at all, then leave a comment and, in one weeks time, I will pick a commenter at random and it will be you! and I will send you the letter...anywhere in the world!
Here is what you can do in return..
1) Nothing, just keep a secret letter that only you and me have seen and that will never be repeated or published anywhere else because you have the only copy of it, keep it all to yourself, forever.
2) You could put it onto your personal internet world, blog, thing and it would be like a guest post or just an interesting link.
3) You could send me something by return of post (I'm sure I will get my own address very soon).
4) Reveal that you are actually a globe straddling book publisher and you want to make me rich.
5) Reveal that you are in love with me and want to come to my house and ply me with infinite pleasure.
6) Do the same on your blog for someone else, pass it on, like.
And because this is the internet and we are all scared of making real life contact; I will only use your address to send you one letter and then I will throw away the piece of paper it was written down on (and I will scribble over the address first in thick black pen, so you don't get cloned by the people who go through rubbish bags) and I will never contact you using this method again. I won't tell anyone your real name and I won't look you up on Google Earth. I definitely would never come and look though your windows while you were asleep (unless you were my next door neighbour and then the blog/real life coincidence might be so strange that I would not be able to resist taking a little peek....but I would probably tell you about it later in a self-depreciating, I'm so wierd, kind of way and hopefully we could laugh about it).
And while I'm talking about letters and post and other things. I will tell you that I have recently joined this website www.postcrossing.com which is for people to send postcards to strangers. And while it's slightly more boring than I imagined...mostly because it's not full of quirky, creative people who want to write strange things to strangers...some people just want to collect postcards (sad face)...I will tell you about it anyway because in my imagination, being a reader of oddness on the internet, you are interesting and creative and maybe you'll join too and make this website more like how I would like it to be.
Oh, and the mother fucking hospital visit where I'll Finally end this stupid limbo...tomorrow, 1.30pm. Fuck.
Thing is, I'm in much more regular contact with all my friends at the moment, we have texts and phonecalls and skyping and visits. Really different to when I'm alone in an unknown location with a rucksack and I want to send a little five minute view of my dreamlike life back to my friend at home with their important objects like jobs and houses and schedules.
So I thought that perhaps I'd try a thing. You know, a blog thing where I invite comments and then give a prize.
This will combine two of my favourite activities.....sitting for hours in cafes, and the sending and receiving of letters. I have the idea that I will, every so often, go to sit in a public place and fill as much paper as I can with the things I see there. Then I will offer to send it to a reader.
Know this, you are very special because you are one of the miniscule number of people in this world who read my blog and if you want to receive a letter, a real life piece of paper in the post, that will maybe say something important but will more likely say nothing at all, then leave a comment and, in one weeks time, I will pick a commenter at random and it will be you! and I will send you the letter...anywhere in the world!
Here is what you can do in return..
1) Nothing, just keep a secret letter that only you and me have seen and that will never be repeated or published anywhere else because you have the only copy of it, keep it all to yourself, forever.
2) You could put it onto your personal internet world, blog, thing and it would be like a guest post or just an interesting link.
3) You could send me something by return of post (I'm sure I will get my own address very soon).
4) Reveal that you are actually a globe straddling book publisher and you want to make me rich.
5) Reveal that you are in love with me and want to come to my house and ply me with infinite pleasure.
6) Do the same on your blog for someone else, pass it on, like.
And because this is the internet and we are all scared of making real life contact; I will only use your address to send you one letter and then I will throw away the piece of paper it was written down on (and I will scribble over the address first in thick black pen, so you don't get cloned by the people who go through rubbish bags) and I will never contact you using this method again. I won't tell anyone your real name and I won't look you up on Google Earth. I definitely would never come and look though your windows while you were asleep (unless you were my next door neighbour and then the blog/real life coincidence might be so strange that I would not be able to resist taking a little peek....but I would probably tell you about it later in a self-depreciating, I'm so wierd, kind of way and hopefully we could laugh about it).
And while I'm talking about letters and post and other things. I will tell you that I have recently joined this website www.postcrossing.com which is for people to send postcards to strangers. And while it's slightly more boring than I imagined...mostly because it's not full of quirky, creative people who want to write strange things to strangers...some people just want to collect postcards (sad face)...I will tell you about it anyway because in my imagination, being a reader of oddness on the internet, you are interesting and creative and maybe you'll join too and make this website more like how I would like it to be.
Oh, and the mother fucking hospital visit where I'll Finally end this stupid limbo...tomorrow, 1.30pm. Fuck.
Tuesday 21 February 2012
Inhale love, expel hate
And this is about how I am getting better.
to be in pain all the time, I have realised that this is happening for two months. I have been ill for two months. I have never been ill like this before. To be in low level pain all the time, to be dragging around your own body, to be tired, to be delicate. This is unusual for me. I have never thought of myself as poarticularyly hardy; but I suppose that when I wasn't drinking every day and poisoning myself with my own lifestyle, I was climbing hills and living outside and doing active things and being, actually, pretty tough.
My world has shrunk to my illness, I am not able to think around something so big, I don't care about anything else.
Yesterday was my birthday, I am 32 years old. I am waiting to find out if I have cancer.
And I feel sad that I can't write all the beautiful, elegant sentences about pain and limbo that form in my mind and then fly away.
I want to tell you how it feels to lose yourself, piece by piece, in a flood of screaming nerve endings that break you into small bits and parts of you float away, like your love of colour or ability to jump and you think you'll never find them again until later when you realise they just fetched up a little further downstream and now here they are and you can go for a walk and appreciate the cherry blossom all over again.
My cyst that might be a tumour boomed with pain, like a looming thundercloud that lit from within with flashes of white. Pain ached through me when I did too much, when I walked too far, the giant ovary, unanchored save for a small fallopian string that was really indadequate for the gargantuan size the cyst/tumour had become, the giant ovary started to rise up and try to burst out of my body, I had to clutch my stomach, compress myself before I could continue.
Now I just have a seam, a line of thick scab that I can't pick because I feel like I might undo myself, pull a scab and open a hole through which I will see my aching, purple bowel.
And I feel sad because I can only do small things like jigsaws and postcards and when I try and tell you about this, the waiting and the living, the pain and the immediacy of my life suddenly reduced to a single illness, it only comes out in jumbled stupid sentences and I start to cry instead.
So I'm sorry I'm not here, and I'm sorry I can't write. I wish I could because somehow I think it would make my life better....if I could make you see my world. Because if we could all see each other inside and out wouldn't that make everything much more peaceful?
I seem to have become confused, don't take anything I say right now as who I actually am. I'm not operating on sound, rational judgement. I can be quite funny sometimes. People like me. I'm not always depressed. Can you see that? I will have to wait, wait until I feel better. Wait until the doctors tell me what I can or can't do. My life has been handed over to a pathologist, and I must wait until next week when he will tell me, red or green.
to be in pain all the time, I have realised that this is happening for two months. I have been ill for two months. I have never been ill like this before. To be in low level pain all the time, to be dragging around your own body, to be tired, to be delicate. This is unusual for me. I have never thought of myself as poarticularyly hardy; but I suppose that when I wasn't drinking every day and poisoning myself with my own lifestyle, I was climbing hills and living outside and doing active things and being, actually, pretty tough.
My world has shrunk to my illness, I am not able to think around something so big, I don't care about anything else.
Yesterday was my birthday, I am 32 years old. I am waiting to find out if I have cancer.
And I feel sad that I can't write all the beautiful, elegant sentences about pain and limbo that form in my mind and then fly away.
I want to tell you how it feels to lose yourself, piece by piece, in a flood of screaming nerve endings that break you into small bits and parts of you float away, like your love of colour or ability to jump and you think you'll never find them again until later when you realise they just fetched up a little further downstream and now here they are and you can go for a walk and appreciate the cherry blossom all over again.
My cyst that might be a tumour boomed with pain, like a looming thundercloud that lit from within with flashes of white. Pain ached through me when I did too much, when I walked too far, the giant ovary, unanchored save for a small fallopian string that was really indadequate for the gargantuan size the cyst/tumour had become, the giant ovary started to rise up and try to burst out of my body, I had to clutch my stomach, compress myself before I could continue.
Now I just have a seam, a line of thick scab that I can't pick because I feel like I might undo myself, pull a scab and open a hole through which I will see my aching, purple bowel.
And I feel sad because I can only do small things like jigsaws and postcards and when I try and tell you about this, the waiting and the living, the pain and the immediacy of my life suddenly reduced to a single illness, it only comes out in jumbled stupid sentences and I start to cry instead.
So I'm sorry I'm not here, and I'm sorry I can't write. I wish I could because somehow I think it would make my life better....if I could make you see my world. Because if we could all see each other inside and out wouldn't that make everything much more peaceful?
I seem to have become confused, don't take anything I say right now as who I actually am. I'm not operating on sound, rational judgement. I can be quite funny sometimes. People like me. I'm not always depressed. Can you see that? I will have to wait, wait until I feel better. Wait until the doctors tell me what I can or can't do. My life has been handed over to a pathologist, and I must wait until next week when he will tell me, red or green.
Friday 10 February 2012
Dear Adam,
Thank you for your nice letter of January 12th.
It’s true, when I sent you a postcard mentioning a medical problem, I was definitely skirting around the issue. A pretty vague way of putting it. So here it is.
I have a large ovarian cyst, it’s swollen up out of nowhere to occupy the entire right side of my abdomen. I’ve gone from a flat stomach to a bloomingly pregnant 4 month bump in just 8 weeks. Cysts in themselves are not a great problem, apart from getting in the way when you’re trying to bend. I’ll have an operation next week to remove right ovary, cyst, appendix and omentum. The scary part is that a blood test shows a high level of something (ATP maybe?) that indicates it might be a rare form of cancer. Might be.
The cyst can’t be diagnosed until it’s removed so I’ll find out a week after the operation whether or not I had cancer. Which feels pretty neat and tidy.
What’s happening right now has been a whirl of blood test and scans, following the cancer alarm being raised. There was fluid in my lungs which appeared and disappeared just as they were preparing to draw it off. It’s been dramatic and worrying at times, especially finding a place to stay during the treatment. I’m very independent (as you might have guessed) and the thought of entering the post op period of great vulnerability in a place where I didn’t feel comfortable or welcome was a horrible prospect. But that has been resolved and I can now prepare for the operation in peace.
Another relief is that the CT scan showed no lumps anywhere else which means that I probably don’t need chemotherapy post-op. If this cyst does turn out to be a germ cell tumour then it will be out already and in the hospital incinerator and no other lumps means I just go into follow up treatment, regular scans .
So really it’s exactly as you’d hoped – serious enough to be impressive but not properly serious. I just need to recover after the operation, which is basically a caesarian cut. So a week in hospital and 8 weeks of no heavy lifting. I don’t know how mothers manage this with a brand new baby in tow.
I have half of another letter to you which I started in December, before events overtook me (as they have done quite often this year). I’m very aware that my correspondence has slipped, but the longer I leave it, the greater the backlog of events I have to relate and so it becomes more difficult.
Here, then, is June – December 2011
In Brief.
I went to Germany, bought a kayak, hitchhiked with it for 600km to Ingolstadt where I joined a group of people and together we set off to kayak down the Danube. I made friends, I annoyed people, I drank a lot, I found a boyfriend, I met hundreds of people of varying nationalities, I had amazing and crazy and intense and incredible and beautiful experiences every single day for 3 months, I was thrown out of the organised tour for breaking too many rules (and endangering my life) but I continued to the Black Sea anyway. When the tour finished I bought another kayak for the boyfriend...who I didn’t like very much by this point....and we kayaked alone through the Black Sea, down past Romania and towards the port of Varna, Bulgaria. We hitched a lift with a yacht outside the port of Mangalia, last town in Romania and had a mad 30 hours rounding the point towards the harbour, towing our kayaks behind the yacht and struggling for hours when they became waterlogged by the choppy sea. When I arrived in Varna I dumped the guy, sold the kayaks and lived on the yacht for a month while I searched for a place to live. Eventually I found a small, barely livable house in a small village in the NE of Bulgaria – free in exchange for basic decorating and gardening. I spent very little time there...3 days, then a visit to Serbia, 10 days, then a month housesitting elsewhere. But finally, for the month of December, I was there, preparing to settle for the winter, learning Bulgarian, meeting my neighbours and curious villagers, making tentative friendships, going to help in English lessons in the big school in the nearby town.
Trying, even, dare it be said, to approach the blank page and write something.
I wasn’t planning to come back to the UK but when it came to about the 20th of December, I got an urge. So I closed up the house and set off. 6 days hitching, a detour to Sarajevo and two lorry loads of Turkish tomatoes later, I arrived in London. A few visits to friends, a mention of the strange feeling I had in my stomach, a visit to the doctor and now here I am....nothing to be done but try and keep up with myself.
So there you are; it's been a while since we exchanged letters but now you've got a better picture of what I'm doing, lumps, bumps, travels and all. What's happening with you?
Lots of love
haveyouseenthisgirl
It’s true, when I sent you a postcard mentioning a medical problem, I was definitely skirting around the issue. A pretty vague way of putting it. So here it is.
I have a large ovarian cyst, it’s swollen up out of nowhere to occupy the entire right side of my abdomen. I’ve gone from a flat stomach to a bloomingly pregnant 4 month bump in just 8 weeks. Cysts in themselves are not a great problem, apart from getting in the way when you’re trying to bend. I’ll have an operation next week to remove right ovary, cyst, appendix and omentum. The scary part is that a blood test shows a high level of something (ATP maybe?) that indicates it might be a rare form of cancer. Might be.
The cyst can’t be diagnosed until it’s removed so I’ll find out a week after the operation whether or not I had cancer. Which feels pretty neat and tidy.
What’s happening right now has been a whirl of blood test and scans, following the cancer alarm being raised. There was fluid in my lungs which appeared and disappeared just as they were preparing to draw it off. It’s been dramatic and worrying at times, especially finding a place to stay during the treatment. I’m very independent (as you might have guessed) and the thought of entering the post op period of great vulnerability in a place where I didn’t feel comfortable or welcome was a horrible prospect. But that has been resolved and I can now prepare for the operation in peace.
Another relief is that the CT scan showed no lumps anywhere else which means that I probably don’t need chemotherapy post-op. If this cyst does turn out to be a germ cell tumour then it will be out already and in the hospital incinerator and no other lumps means I just go into follow up treatment, regular scans .
So really it’s exactly as you’d hoped – serious enough to be impressive but not properly serious. I just need to recover after the operation, which is basically a caesarian cut. So a week in hospital and 8 weeks of no heavy lifting. I don’t know how mothers manage this with a brand new baby in tow.
I have half of another letter to you which I started in December, before events overtook me (as they have done quite often this year). I’m very aware that my correspondence has slipped, but the longer I leave it, the greater the backlog of events I have to relate and so it becomes more difficult.
Here, then, is June – December 2011
In Brief.
I went to Germany, bought a kayak, hitchhiked with it for 600km to Ingolstadt where I joined a group of people and together we set off to kayak down the Danube. I made friends, I annoyed people, I drank a lot, I found a boyfriend, I met hundreds of people of varying nationalities, I had amazing and crazy and intense and incredible and beautiful experiences every single day for 3 months, I was thrown out of the organised tour for breaking too many rules (and endangering my life) but I continued to the Black Sea anyway. When the tour finished I bought another kayak for the boyfriend...who I didn’t like very much by this point....and we kayaked alone through the Black Sea, down past Romania and towards the port of Varna, Bulgaria. We hitched a lift with a yacht outside the port of Mangalia, last town in Romania and had a mad 30 hours rounding the point towards the harbour, towing our kayaks behind the yacht and struggling for hours when they became waterlogged by the choppy sea. When I arrived in Varna I dumped the guy, sold the kayaks and lived on the yacht for a month while I searched for a place to live. Eventually I found a small, barely livable house in a small village in the NE of Bulgaria – free in exchange for basic decorating and gardening. I spent very little time there...3 days, then a visit to Serbia, 10 days, then a month housesitting elsewhere. But finally, for the month of December, I was there, preparing to settle for the winter, learning Bulgarian, meeting my neighbours and curious villagers, making tentative friendships, going to help in English lessons in the big school in the nearby town.
Trying, even, dare it be said, to approach the blank page and write something.
I wasn’t planning to come back to the UK but when it came to about the 20th of December, I got an urge. So I closed up the house and set off. 6 days hitching, a detour to Sarajevo and two lorry loads of Turkish tomatoes later, I arrived in London. A few visits to friends, a mention of the strange feeling I had in my stomach, a visit to the doctor and now here I am....nothing to be done but try and keep up with myself.
So there you are; it's been a while since we exchanged letters but now you've got a better picture of what I'm doing, lumps, bumps, travels and all. What's happening with you?
Lots of love
haveyouseenthisgirl
Tuesday 24 January 2012
We interrupt this scheduled broadcast
Grounded, is what I am. Shackled, hobbled, paused, clamped. I have been hijacked by my own body; my will power, my freedom of movement have been subdued by a stronger force.
Something is growing inside me, an alien thing, the unwelcome expansion of a small organ. My body will kill me if this is allowed to continue.
I must go to the hospital, be cut open, have things removed. Then see the nature of the beast within.
I have the attention span of a bee.
I ache.
My brain cannot read text without stopping mid-stream. I cannot read, I cannot write. I can merely exist, see people and receive love and care. The only thing I have to give is my need. My awareness has shrunk to the size of my stomach.
But I will note this in the timeline of my life. Here it is; my hiatus. And hopefully, in a few months, I will continue, not unchanged, but as planned.
Something is growing inside me, an alien thing, the unwelcome expansion of a small organ. My body will kill me if this is allowed to continue.
I must go to the hospital, be cut open, have things removed. Then see the nature of the beast within.
I have the attention span of a bee.
I ache.
My brain cannot read text without stopping mid-stream. I cannot read, I cannot write. I can merely exist, see people and receive love and care. The only thing I have to give is my need. My awareness has shrunk to the size of my stomach.
But I will note this in the timeline of my life. Here it is; my hiatus. And hopefully, in a few months, I will continue, not unchanged, but as planned.
Monday 16 January 2012
Work
Work I have done for other people for money, taking the name of employment
I have cleaned, wiped and hoovered hotels rooms as a chambermaid.
I walked a dog.
I delivered newspapers.
I have picked strawberries.
I have worked on the checkout of a supermarket.
I have worked as a barmaid in 5 different pubs - a wine bar, a quiet country pub, a big town chain pub, a strangely decorated pub full of chain smokers and artists, a local town bar.
I spent one day on the front counter in a burger van.
I photocopied pensions as a temporary admin assistant.
I worked as an admin assistant for an examination board, first data entry and later examinations administration.
I worked in ASDA as admin staff.
I took money and filed videos in a video shop.
I helped gypsies and travellers to read and write, which actually meant helping them practice for the computerised part of the driving test.
I taught English to Spanish businessmen.
I chopped ingredients and washed up in a sandwich shop.
I worked as night staff in a homeless hostel.
I have stayed still, naked, for hours at a time as a life model.
I have sold pizzas at festivals.
I acted as a personal secretary/general dogsbody for one rich lady near London.
I cleaned an art exhibit.
I planted and prepared fruit, veg and flowers in a nursery.
Work I have done for other people for free, taking the name of voluntary work
I sorted and sold clothes in a charity shop.
I was a care and classroom assistant in a school for severely disabled children.
I helped at a summer playscheme for disadvantaged children.
I was a staff member at a homeless hostel.
I helped in the classroom of a EFL college.
I went door to door, collecting money for LEPRA.
I worked on a small plot of land, making cider.
I lived in a farm community, gardening and feeding animals.
I ran an albergue for pilgrims on the Camino to Santiago.
I helped in English lessons in a Bulgarian school.
I decorated tents to make them appropriately mind bending for festival goers.
I was crew for a festival bar/cafe/stage/cinema.
Work I have been made to do by the government of my country, taking the name of punishment
I painted the window frames of a junior school.
I cleared the gutters and undergrowth around a scout hut.
I carried buckets of gravel up a hill.
I laid a path in a graveyard.
Work I have done for myself, taking the name of self employment
I have sold vehicles.
I have taken a stall at festivals and sold vintage clothing, jewellery and my own hand made and hand knitted clothing.
I have sold clothes and craft supplies on Ebay.
I have sold illegal substances.
I have made small things from leather and sold them at festivals.
I have sold cider at festivals.
I served soup and cake to pilgrims in return for donations.
Work I have done for myself, taking the name of hobbies.
I have made pictures.
I have made graffiti.
I have organised art exhibitions.
I have taken photographs.
I have cleaned, wiped and hoovered hotels rooms as a chambermaid.
I walked a dog.
I delivered newspapers.
I have picked strawberries.
I have worked on the checkout of a supermarket.
I have worked as a barmaid in 5 different pubs - a wine bar, a quiet country pub, a big town chain pub, a strangely decorated pub full of chain smokers and artists, a local town bar.
I spent one day on the front counter in a burger van.
I photocopied pensions as a temporary admin assistant.
I worked as an admin assistant for an examination board, first data entry and later examinations administration.
I worked in ASDA as admin staff.
I took money and filed videos in a video shop.
I helped gypsies and travellers to read and write, which actually meant helping them practice for the computerised part of the driving test.
I taught English to Spanish businessmen.
I chopped ingredients and washed up in a sandwich shop.
I worked as night staff in a homeless hostel.
I have stayed still, naked, for hours at a time as a life model.
I have sold pizzas at festivals.
I acted as a personal secretary/general dogsbody for one rich lady near London.
I cleaned an art exhibit.
I planted and prepared fruit, veg and flowers in a nursery.
Work I have done for other people for free, taking the name of voluntary work
I sorted and sold clothes in a charity shop.
I was a care and classroom assistant in a school for severely disabled children.
I helped at a summer playscheme for disadvantaged children.
I was a staff member at a homeless hostel.
I helped in the classroom of a EFL college.
I went door to door, collecting money for LEPRA.
I worked on a small plot of land, making cider.
I lived in a farm community, gardening and feeding animals.
I ran an albergue for pilgrims on the Camino to Santiago.
I helped in English lessons in a Bulgarian school.
I decorated tents to make them appropriately mind bending for festival goers.
I was crew for a festival bar/cafe/stage/cinema.
Work I have been made to do by the government of my country, taking the name of punishment
I painted the window frames of a junior school.
I cleared the gutters and undergrowth around a scout hut.
I carried buckets of gravel up a hill.
I laid a path in a graveyard.
Work I have done for myself, taking the name of self employment
I have sold vehicles.
I have taken a stall at festivals and sold vintage clothing, jewellery and my own hand made and hand knitted clothing.
I have sold clothes and craft supplies on Ebay.
I have sold illegal substances.
I have made small things from leather and sold them at festivals.
I have sold cider at festivals.
I served soup and cake to pilgrims in return for donations.
Work I have done for myself, taking the name of hobbies.
I have made pictures.
I have made graffiti.
I have organised art exhibitions.
I have taken photographs.
Wednesday 4 January 2012
How now
I went to watch the sunset; tramping the short hundred metres out from my house to the edge of the village where I could see the horizon. It was far away over ploughed fields, the earth turned from a grey soil, pallid and sundried to a gooey, melting brown. Earth from the deep underneath.
But two things happened and I didn't see the sunset. It's a shame I didn't as the sun was glowing a strong friendly orange, outlining the line of clouds above it in brilliant gold. The clouds were grey and smeared across the horizon but the undersides glowed a surprising pink, as if unable to contain their merry nature.
The first thing that happened was that, as I crouched at the base of the first tree lining the straight rocky road, I saw a walnut and realised I'd chosen a walnut tree to watch the sunset by. So I started to scuff around in the leaves, head down, looking and not looking. It is often the subconscious that will see patterns in the landscape, the telltale circular shape among the curled leaves. I lost my phone the other day; I looked on my bedside table....lamp, book, mug, no phone. It was only after a few hours that I realised I had only looked around the book and not at it. Or on it. There was the phone.
The second thing that happened, back in the landscape, was that I found a cow skull, upside down, full set of teeth, remnants of membrane stretched across the cheekbones and leaves rustled in the nasal cavity. Itchy. There was still a topknot of white brown hair clinging to the bare bone and two fine horns, black tipped, protruded from the nest.
I looked at the skull and the skull looked at the grass, my presence did not amount to much I suppose, a mere whisper in time, a flicker on the wind, stirring leaves for a second and then, gone.
I scuffed some more, making a slow circle around the base of the tree and thought about how unmagical the skull is to me. No shock of a new sight, no amazement at the majesty of nature, still struck wonderment at the purity of the process of decay. The great crawling nature, condensed into an off white cowskull lying beneath a walnut tree in a windblown, bare landscape.
Somehow this magic has become mundane for me. I just shrugged, in a way. "Oh look, a piece of dead cow" and I wondered if I could rip the horns off and use them for something interesting. There was a hoof lying in the road the other day, an abandoned dog toy. Have I gained something with this nonchalance or lost it?
When I looked up to the sky again, the sun had gone and dusky blue light was settling, darkening down upon the land. I trudged back again to the house, pockets full, and stopped to return an axe to my next door neighbour. I offered her some walnuts and she said "Wait, wait", leaving me leaning against the doorjamb, watched by a nervous dog on a short brown chain. A hen fluttered down from the top of the door and I could see a row of turkeys nestled, companionable. She returned and dolloped a beach ball bag of walnuts into my arms. "But I wanted to give you something!" I protested, useless, unintelligible and we both giggled as I pressed my walnuts on her, my paltry pickings. Yesterday she gave me a single hen egg.
But two things happened and I didn't see the sunset. It's a shame I didn't as the sun was glowing a strong friendly orange, outlining the line of clouds above it in brilliant gold. The clouds were grey and smeared across the horizon but the undersides glowed a surprising pink, as if unable to contain their merry nature.
The first thing that happened was that, as I crouched at the base of the first tree lining the straight rocky road, I saw a walnut and realised I'd chosen a walnut tree to watch the sunset by. So I started to scuff around in the leaves, head down, looking and not looking. It is often the subconscious that will see patterns in the landscape, the telltale circular shape among the curled leaves. I lost my phone the other day; I looked on my bedside table....lamp, book, mug, no phone. It was only after a few hours that I realised I had only looked around the book and not at it. Or on it. There was the phone.
The second thing that happened, back in the landscape, was that I found a cow skull, upside down, full set of teeth, remnants of membrane stretched across the cheekbones and leaves rustled in the nasal cavity. Itchy. There was still a topknot of white brown hair clinging to the bare bone and two fine horns, black tipped, protruded from the nest.
I looked at the skull and the skull looked at the grass, my presence did not amount to much I suppose, a mere whisper in time, a flicker on the wind, stirring leaves for a second and then, gone.
I scuffed some more, making a slow circle around the base of the tree and thought about how unmagical the skull is to me. No shock of a new sight, no amazement at the majesty of nature, still struck wonderment at the purity of the process of decay. The great crawling nature, condensed into an off white cowskull lying beneath a walnut tree in a windblown, bare landscape.
Somehow this magic has become mundane for me. I just shrugged, in a way. "Oh look, a piece of dead cow" and I wondered if I could rip the horns off and use them for something interesting. There was a hoof lying in the road the other day, an abandoned dog toy. Have I gained something with this nonchalance or lost it?
When I looked up to the sky again, the sun had gone and dusky blue light was settling, darkening down upon the land. I trudged back again to the house, pockets full, and stopped to return an axe to my next door neighbour. I offered her some walnuts and she said "Wait, wait", leaving me leaning against the doorjamb, watched by a nervous dog on a short brown chain. A hen fluttered down from the top of the door and I could see a row of turkeys nestled, companionable. She returned and dolloped a beach ball bag of walnuts into my arms. "But I wanted to give you something!" I protested, useless, unintelligible and we both giggled as I pressed my walnuts on her, my paltry pickings. Yesterday she gave me a single hen egg.
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