Goodnight Lisa, Goodnight...

A few of you may have heard me talk about Lisa. She was responsable for "The Chair" and other blogs I have done about the suck-ass-bitch world of cancer.

I met Lisa on a cold winters night in 2014. That same year we were both diagnosed with Cancer and we both started treatment. She was stage 4 renal cancer, I was stage 3 cervical cancer. We talked a lot about how shit it all was. We joked about medication and the weird side effects. We laughed about how life had taken a turn for the unexpected and I said I would come and see her in California when all this was over...

She died today.

Lisa has a husband called Reil, and two children. She is a talented and spirited woman who can joke and laugh and make amazing (really) quilts and paintings. Lisa loved life. She loved every moment of it and filled it with friends and cats and blogs.

Lisa was brutal and honest in her writing. Her blogs are an inspiration to many of us who have cancer or who have been through cancer or have a loved one who has cancer.

Cancer is a terrible, heartbreaking, wrenching disease. But it will not stop us living. It will not stop Lisa's memory or make her fade away in our hearts. It makes us LIVE. We must ALL LIVE, always. We must create, be Mothers and Fathers and Sons and Daughters and Friends and Cousins, the list goes on... at the end of the day and the fight, Lisa LOVED.

We must all love just a little more. Hug a little more. Don't care about the small, small, silly things. Care about the things that may not be there tomorrow. Care about yourselves. Go to the Doctor, get looked at, be healthy. Be Happy. LOVE.

I will miss Lisa. I will miss her candid view on life. I will miss her photos. I will miss her voice. I will miss her art and joy and light.

Goodbye Lisa. Goodbye and know you are loved.

your friend,

Rachel

the Night of all Nights,

The Eve of the Night of all Nights,

On the 30^th of June 1916 the command arrived. Thousands of troupes across the trenches in France, Belgium and Germany were given the news: tomorrow at dawn, we fight. The epicentre was at the Somme, in France, in a Summer that was closer to November than July where rain and mud had wrecked the usual tranquil soil. No birds sang. No cricket chirped. No dog barked. The land was naked and bare and silent until the guns rang out.

Over 20,000 British Soldiers (of all races, over 50 countries fought for us) lost their lives on the first day. ONE DAY.  Over 60,000 were injured. Over 50 countries around the world fought for the Mother Land, which was England. Everyone regardless of race or creed fought for a country they had never seen.

Tomorrow evening, my father, Major Andrew George Greenwood will blow his 1915 whistle in Westminster Abbey to mark the “Going over the top” of 100 years ago. He will then read a letter from a German Gunner at the time who kept a diary of the horror and pain and desperation that he witnessed. Yes, he was a German but he went on to save many lives that was beyond the call of his country. Then his history and voice were forgotten, save his diary, no news was ever heard from that man. And he was just a man.

This is not sentimental or nostalgic. This is fact.

After many years of War, after many losses, the countries that were in combat formed a United Europe to avoid future conflict, to give asylum, to welcome the dispersed and understand the victims of war and dictatorship.

Sadly, many of these Ethics and promises have since been distorted and one week ago England voted to leave Europe.  As a European,and  as an English woman and firm supporter or Europe I am devastated beyond words.  History has shown that we have had our price to pay. In the last Century Great Britain was responsible for the division of India in 1947 and the creation of Pakistan whose consequences were devastating at the time with thousands of deaths and riots and the repercussions are the tip of the Iceberg, and don’t get me started on Palestine and Ireland and Cyprus and the list goes on..... Anyway, this is not a lecture about History. It is a mere invitation to reflect. We were supported by many, many countries during the two Great Wars and in turn the people who were drawn to England gave us so much, and they still do.  Lets not make the hate divide what was once a country that welcomed with open arms different race and religions.

This is just a gentle letter of remembrance, of peace, of hope and above all: LOVE.

I live in Italy, the first port, the HOPE of all the people who cross the sea come here. They are amazing. They really are. Many speak 3 languages or more, some are nurses, doctors, farmers who pick the fruit we eat. So please, remember the 1915 whistle and thank some far off Dynasty that we can vote (and if you didn't then that is a great shame), we can choose and we can (God willing) change.

for the better, for our future.

For my Dad, who I love beyond words

why the big Pause??

The Big Pause…

A bear walks into a bar and says “Can I have…………………………………….a coke?”

“why the big paws?”

ha. Ha. Ok it was funny at the time.

So, the Pause. There are two significant moments in life when hormones are given centre stage: the teenage years and the over 50’s. Cos it’s all about hormones y’all!

The middle bit is never really talked or thought about but DAMN are hormones important! And one never really gets it until they turn around and stop bloody working. Bastards. 

A few weeks before my chemo started I was given a choice:

1)    Hope for the best and get my ovaries blasted that will certainly lead to premature menopause but maybe some glimmer of God of Hormones hope will not turn the poor bastards into raisins and they may come back to life, at some point.

2)    Have surgery to remove my ovaries and have them implanted under my armpits (I shit thou not) thus continuing my regular hormonal self, yet recovering from surgery then going in for chemo and radio and raising my breast cancer AND ovarian cancer risk by over 50% (oh and as the ovaries are under my arms makes them rather difficult to manage.)

3)    Going on HRT for 10 years and risking vaginal hemorrage, breast cancer and bladder cancer by another 50%.

Gee.. thanks Doc! What a happy bunch of choices to make. I went for number one.

A year later:

I swear to the good Lord that I will never again make fun of hot flushes. Even the most literate among you cannot come up with words that describe how awful they are. And they just ARRIVE, out of nowhere, and BAM. Sitting with an important client eating sushi and talking v.e.r.y. i.m.p.o.r.t.a.n.t business? Ha! The flush doesn’t care! She comes in like a train out of hell and in 5 seconds you are reduced to a sweaty pink wreak. Sometimes a blessing in the winter but last year, we had the hottest summer on record and I felt EVERY SINGLE DEGREE and then some.

Other delightful side effects are:

1)    Grey hair. Easily fixed yet expensive maintenance.

2)    Mood swings. Mah… story of my life, next!

3)    Forgetfulness. This pisses me off, I have to write everything down. Not so bad though.

4)    Frequent urination. Ask my Mother, this has always been my speciality.

5)    Frequent crying. Again, see above.

6)    Wrinkles. Bastards… I will embrace lifting. When I can afford it.

7)    Insomnia. God bless books and the Internet.

8)    Weight gain. I just have to look at pasta. This is NOT cool

9)    Brittle bones, weak heart, cholesterol… Ugg. Can we stop now?

The articles are pretty funny, or just plain depressing depending on ones point of view: “With the decreasing female hormones the male hormone, testosterone, takes over and can result in facial hair, a thick waist, broadening of the hips and fat depositing on the abdomen and thighs.”

In short, dear readers, I am turning into a hot, sweaty, short-tempered, forgetful, grey-haired, emotionally challenged, incontinent, fat and hairy MAN.

I rest my case.

Call me Richard.

Conversations with my Mother, part 1

Conversations with my Mother…

My Mum is a rather bright button and thanks to the joy of Facetime we often have long face to face (virtual) conversations about life, love and the Universe well beyond my bedtime. Tonight, after the horrors in Belgium we spoke about Politics. A few things came to light which were rather interesting:

1)    My Parents are incredibly political and chose not to share this with my sister and I as children, so that we were always free to decide by ourselves.

2)    They have lived through several wars and bombs and scares to know that life goes on.

3)    They have taught me to stand up for my political and ETHICAL beliefs, however small they may seem at the time, thus, my declaration at a terribly young age to be a vegetarian was met with comprehension and tranquillity.

These are not in order, obviously, and took me about 30 years to really understand. Let’s discuss point 3 for example. I think I was about 4 years old when I decided of my own free will that “Pigs are my friends and I won’t eat them” was announced by my young self at the dinner table. My parents didn’t send me to my room or force me to eat what I clearly didn’t want to. Instead I remember very clearly a conversation about nutrition and the compromise that followed: if I didn’t eat meat I would have to eat all my veg and pulses to make up for the protein. At the time it was a radical move for two child rearing people in the 1980’s. Only hippies were veggie. And the word “vegan” didn’t exist. I remember my mother writing letters to my boarding school arguing my case about being a total vegetarian at only 7 years old. My mother argued that it was my choice that she respected and the school should do likewise. It was not an easy path to follow, yet she did it. In a sense it was a political move to send a vegetarian girl of 7 to school in Cumbria…And again my Father and Mother supported my choice to be a hippy kid. They embraced my sister and I when we wanted to wear eco clothing and write about politics. When I was 18 and desperate to vote they NEVER once suggested who to vote for. Or how to dress for a job interview. Or frown at us when we refused University and decided to make our own way and work and create our own businesses. NEVER.

I would like to think that this is all normal, that my parents are like every other, but time has taught me that they are really NOT NORMAL. Aside from being mildly nuts (yay!) they are quite extraordinary. And my Grandparents were too (a whole different amazing story will be dedicated to them). I used to think they were pretty average (blessed be the ignorance of the young) and I thought we were an average a 2.4 children family. We are not. We were not. We have had a lot of crazy tales and woes and madness (really!) and THANK God for that! So cheers to them. At the same time “divorce” was a dirty word when I was growing up, however my parents were completely understanding. We knew from a young age that sometimes these things happen.

And the most wonderful of all things, thanks to social media, is that a whole world of “family” is now open. Many of you are revealing what your “family” is to you, and most if it is quiet beyond the “normal”. So I say sod “normal”. What is it? It’s what we make it and how we live, together. A lot of people we know are remarried, separated with children, divorced, gay with children or without and the list goes on… I think the one thing that connects us is love. Not being soppy here, it’s about real love which at the end of the day comes down to a mutal understanding. Which I suppose is what I grew up with, from vegetarianism and all the rest. Simple! Or at least it should be…