Be Positive

Stay positive… that’s probably the phrase I hear most.  It makes sense for people to say it, but I do wonder whether it’s quite as helpful a statement as it first seems?  You hear it so often; it can make you question whether you’re giving off a negative demeanour.  Here's a little slice of reality... no matter who you are, having a negative thought, a negative moment doesn’t make you a negative person… it makes you human.

Having cancer isn’t so different to everyday struggles, to quote the famous poet Mr R Keating… “life is a roller-coaster, you just have to ride it”.  Maybe the ups and downs feel a little amplified or take on a slightly different meaning?  The highs are suddenly more of an achievement, a defiant victory; the lows a more disappointing deviation from that all healing pathway of positivity.

The fact is cancer does not change you.  Your approach to diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis will be a reflection of your personality and life experiences; those neurological pathways developed over years.

In the wise words of King Ezekiel (The Walking Dead)… “the pessimist looks down and hits their head, the optimist looks up and loses their footing, the realist looks forward and adjusts their path accordingly”.

So when I say my initial reaction to my diagnosis was acceptance, please do not mistake this for pessimism.   It is simply an acknowledgement that there is no certainty about the future, but whatever it holds I am prepared.

I am realistic about the journey ahead; I know there will be challenges; I have fallen, and I’ll fall again.  The uncertainty about the future sometimes feels scary and overwhelming, but these emotions are a snapshot in time; natural momentary doubts which pass.  I forgive myself, remembering I have and will always have an unwavering determination to fight and to win.

I am exceptionally lucky and grateful to have so many family and friends to keep me positive, motivated and focused.  None more so than my football team.  I recently heard someone comment that my teammates are my secret weapon and will be the ones who’ll get me through this.  At the time, it seemed a strange observation, considering I didn’t know these people last year. 

I retired from football at 22, I’d started to fall out of love with playing and when I had surgery to remove a tumour, I didn’t feel the motivation to return.  Over the years I had made a few brief come-backs, but I struggled with anxiety and never felt comfortable enough to stay. So, in January this year when my cousin persuaded me to go training with Willows; I was sceptical.

The first few sessions I was as anxious and quiet as ever; there were such a range of characters, but it was a new team and I sensed I wasn’t the only awkward soul.  Over the weeks more players arrived, whilst others disappeared; however, I remember the arrival of one player in particular…

It was a crisp February evening and a few new players had joined us for training on the tennis courts at Pentwyn Leisure Centre.  One of the girls was instantly distinguished from the rest; she had short bleached blonde hair, it was a bold look that perfectly matched her confidence.  The sessions always ended playing five aside and the ball had broken free, lining up a 50-50 contest against the new lass.  She was spritely and petite; I was somewhat more robust, but hesitant… you don’t go injuring the new girl… right?  She came clattering into my midriff; winding me with a blow that defied her size.  She was enthusiastically apologetic and I was unassumingly accepting.  Knowing her as I do now, I have no doubt she went away from that first training session insisting it was a fair challenge (it was) and that I was a diver (I’m not - I just underestimated the lunatic). 

That was the start of my friendship with Claire; she’s my polar opposite, but those differences are precisely what I find most beautiful.  She was the first person I told about my lump, she was the one who insisted I went to the Doctors and she’s the one who sang inappropriate songs with me (‘The Bad Touch’… “let’s do it like they do it on the Discovery Channel) in the reception area of the Breast Clinic, whilst waiting for the inevitable diagnosis.  Claire’s one of my rocks – she’s a little ray of sunshine.

I feel guilty mentioning one person; but after all, it’s a blog and not a novel.  Plus, I’m not certain that everyone would feel comfortable with me being so open, and some of the most personal moments, with the most special people, I’ll never share with anyone. 

In truth, every one of my Willows family are rocks; they are amongst the strongest people I have ever met and each have their own unique way of making a difference.  We are the most random and eclectic bunch of personalities, full of contradictions and poetically flawed.  You’d never put us together and if you did, you’d never think it would work, but it does and to look at us now you would assume we’d known each other for years.

When you stand at the top of a mountain, you can try to understand the view that befalls your eyes, or you can just breathe and appreciate the beauty of its existence.  There’ll be people in the team who may read this and will appreciate the metaphor, they’ll be others calling me “a soft tw*t” and others who’ll be asking “wtf is she on about?” I love that; there is such contrast and honesty in this group, but more importantly there’s an acceptance and appreciation of our differences.  At a time when the world seems to be choosing segregation over diversity, blame over understanding, it’s an all too precious rarity. 

The last few weeks have been challenging.  I have gone from being a key member of the team to being injured; a cruelly timed meniscus tear has ruled me out until I am able to have surgery.  The chemotherapy side-effects have also called time on the entertainment filled weeknights and weekends. I try to get out, when circumstances allow; but every decision has to be balanced with the need to minimise the risk of infection and conserve my energy. 

It’s such a stark contrast to the previous few months and watching from the side-lines is tough, in both respects.  It’s not that I begrudge anyone any moment of joy on the pitch or off it, but I do miss those times.

The frustration is subsiding and I’m starting to enjoy watching the games.  It’s a big football family and the touchline is always filled with supporters, kids and dogs; and the banter is sharper than our shooting (jokes).  I’m included in the match day squad photo, which seems a small detail, but those things make such a difference.

I’m learning to spend my time at home more productively and trying to hone new skills.  I’m finding cooking, playing guitar and writing really cathartic; I have no doubt my writing needs a lot of work, but my stew is pretty decent.

My team-mates are immensely supportive; their thoughtful messages and gifts are reminders that they care, so even when I’m on my own, I don’t feel quite so alone.  I’m so grateful for their time; it’s a whole different pace, but I’ve loved sipping tea whilst overlooking idyllic views of Garth Hill (it’s not a mountain) and getting my arse handed to me on Fifa 17.  There are so many of these simple, but precious moments that keep me smiling.

This week, I had the absolute privilege of having a birthday meal with some of these very special people.  I was given a photo board that reminds me just what an amazing adventure this year has been.  They also bought some gorgeous presents, including a hoodie that I’ll wear until it’s threadbare, quite simply because it’s from them. 

What they probably don’t realise…  they gave me so much more than tangible gifts. When I was asked to blow out the candles of my birthday cake to make a wish, my hope had nothing to do with my health, because for a moment, my friends had helped me completely forget about cancer.

By the end of the evening, I had never felt more motivated or excited for the future.  I’m looking forward to getting back on that pitch with my football family; fitter and stronger and ready the repay their faith in me.  I can’t wait to continue our adventures and make more incredible memories.  I’ll have moments when those goals will feel more distant than others, but I’ll always maintain that determination to achieve them.

I guess one of the messages I’m trying to get across in this blog is to maybe think twice before telling someone to ‘be positive’?  Instead, embrace your power to make someone feel positive; show them you care, remind them of their successes, reassure them of their abilities and give them hope for the future.

On a personal note, I have a much more important message... quite simply… it’s THANK YOU!!!

Cx