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Monday, September 15, 2014

Growth has grown up (or down?)

Are you on the right blog? Did she finally delete that old depressing thing that was never updated? Did she only use it to moan about her trials, and now that she's off having fun she can't be bothered with the online community?

And who the heck is 'Beebs'?

Well, she is the new author of this blog. This is the handover speech. And yes, you are still in the right place, and yes, she is off having fun. 




It was only as I was regaining my energy at the end of chemotherapy that I realised how far it had taken me down physically. I was buzzing. Blood pulsing through my veins, the energy was like a wave. 

Six months later, it was only when I started regaining my dreams that I realised how far it had taken me down psychologically. I was buzzing. 

Although I fought it, cancer had made me content with life as it was. I had become a nurturer, protective of life. If we're happy, why change? The future was a great unknown, a blank slate. 

The human brain as we know it went through a period of unprecedented growth over the last two million years. While the brain of Homo habilus had spent nearly 500 million years getting to its just-over-half-a-kilogram size, our anatomically modern Homo sapiens' brains have near tripled that size. This growth was almost entirely the addition of our frontal lobes. Here's my pretty (dented) one:



Until fairly recently, writes Dan Gilbert in Stumbling on Happiness, scientists thought the frontal lobe wasn't any good to us, because people whose frontal lobes were damaged seemed to do fine without them. However in the twentieth century, scientists began realising there were actually calming benefits to removing part of the frontal lobe, and thus arose the lobotomy. 

...needless to say, scientists then began to take note of what was being lost. People who had frontal lobe damage or partial removal seemed normal (perhaps happier), functioned normally, and tested pretty normally. However, when given a task that involved planning and conceptualising the future, they tanked. 

"Live in the moment" and its many variations is one of the most common mantras in happiness studies and philosophies. Ironically, James and I had recently decided to study happiness, to find a way to make it fit within capitalism so we could make a living while increasing the world's net happiness. With his support, I had quit my job to work on this.

The Beebs revelation came to full fruition on a weekend road trip to the East Coast. For the first few weeks of my 'new job', we had struggled with me being happy to do the work for our businesses, but easily distracted by what I saw as more pressing tasks for our lives, now. I was frustrated that James wanted me to be more driven, more pumped up about a future I couldn't seem to fully grasp. 


He was the future person, I said, please, take care of that because I'm so sorry, I can't see it. I'm the now person, let me take care of the now things - the next meal, groceries, the dishes, taking care of our plants, exercise, smiling, those things that make our everyday lives more comfortable and joyful. These words, although I had never felt more earnest about anything, also felt like a stranger's words coming out of my mouth. This wasn't me, before. But this is how I feel, now. 

Beebs was a pet name for me James developed post-treatment. Beebs was the me that was a bit aloof, that always had crazy hair (or no hair, or half-hair), that danced in the kitchen in bootie pants and a Swandri, that grinned at the sight of a bee or a cool tree (there are so many!), that blasts Ice Cube while doing dishes with bright yellow rubber gloves. Every meal was the best meal of her life (the more experimental, the better though), she mismatched clothes on a daily basis and beamed at strangers as they walked by, giggling at the sheer joy of being alive. Beebs was how I coped. 



I'm sick of being Beebs, I said one day. Feeling a little sexually frustrated and wanting to be taken seriously, I missed the way James used to look at me. As Bethany. As an intellectual equal, a business partner, a woman. I love Beebs though, James smiled. She's part of you. 

In the late 1960's, Harvard professor Dr Richard Alpert quit his job and took off to India. There, he met a spiritual guru, later returning to the US as 'Baba Ram Dass' to write the popular book Be Here Now. It's well known that to quiet the mind - to live in the now as Eckhart Tolle puts it, or in Osho's words, moment-to-moment - is no mean feat for humans. Our mental chatter can be incessant, tiring, addictive. Yet this "present moment" is also well known to be a path to happiness. 

Now hang on - if we were just all happy, living in the moment all the time, meandering like bumble bees getting drunk off pollen from one flower to the next, then what would the world come to? Why would anyone strive? 

Natural questions, ones that I was relieved to find psychologists and philosophers have already pondered and found certain answers to, so we don't have to. Subjective Wellbeing calls momentary-happiness 'positive affect', and therefore to measure our happiness, we subtract our amount of negative moments from our amount of positive feelings, and add that to how satisfied we are with life-as-a-whole. Martin Seligman, the 'father of positive psychology', initially separated happiness into three "happy lives" - the pleasant life, one filled with happy feelings, the good life, in which we cultivate strengths and virtues, and the meaningful life, in which we use our strengths for the good of others. Many more have developed their own definitions to explain the different types of happiness; Ed Diener, Tony Fernando, Dan Gilbert, Bradburn, Ruut Veenhoven, Bentham, even the United Nations. 

And so, my research into happiness and personal life beautifully, painfully collided. I have been so 'happy', but struggling to see the future has led to tension - with James, yes, but mostly with myself. 

That's why I've decided we've just gotta roll with it. Maybe it's okay to be the person who can be happy in the present moment at the expense of imagining the future, maybe I should be valuing it, even sharing it. To not have it "all planned out". 

You can expect much, much shorter posts from now on. And much lighter. 

Handing you over to her now, all the best!

Bethany

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Remembering (already)


Remember this feeling.

Being engulfed in an alive yet soulless building, I hear it hum beneath the robotic tapping of keys, muted conversations, opening and closing doors. Ignored, but ever present.

The eyes that brush past me with a sweet, almost pitying, parental smile – someday, the eyes say, you’ll climb the ladder. You’ll escape from subservience, gain some different words by your name and earn more to support a bigger house, family and lifestyle.

Experiencing the little maypoles of our lives, the computer, and how it has become the axis of existence from sunrise to sunset.

And above them, rapidly flickering, rectangular moons lined in formation, saluting productivity and humanities conquering of nature.

The furtive comments in the kitchen – “Thank God it’s Friday,” “Oh, things could be worse, after all it is a Monday…”- worship of the Monday to Friday Gods.  

Hearing the words “child poverty”, “social housing” and “welfare reform” tossed around like balloons at a child’s party…wondering about those kids.

Shiny plants bending toward sunlight they never see, sucking supplements from coloured pots of doctored earth.

 How free the seabirds seem outside, ducking and diving over the divide between civilisation and the oceans

Remember lying in a hospital bed, bound by hollow vines…

The silent question resting on my lips: what on earth am I doing here?

*

So I try to hang on to this feeling. To keep it in my bones to remind me of the reality I could have chosen.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The call of the wild


I quit my job today, citing “the call of the wild”.

Perhaps some may be surprised that I just spent the last three, silent months working for the Ministry of Social Development.

Let’s not go into specifics. It was nice- nice people, relaxed environment (it is a government ministry after all), and great to experience the daily grind, the countless post-it notes and the feeling of being part of something bigger for a few months. I enjoyed smiling at people, sending borderline-uber-friendly emails and watching the flag on top of the Beehive (that’s NZ's parliament) be blustered from north to south, north to south.

But there is a point where you have to change from “building capital for the future” to “doing what you want to do and making it work.” So that’s why I quit. I quit to be an artist. An entrepreneurial artist. Fear was tempting me, luring me with the promise of comfort and security of an income. It wasn’t that we were forgetting our dreams, it’s just that life was getting in the way.

We have to choose the lifestyle we want, and set about creating it. Now. Because life doesn’t wait.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Six months


"So are you in remission?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I have always replied, despite never hearing the word uttered to me at all. 

But I've never really believed my answer, either. 


"Remission," according to the great Wikipedia, is the "state of absence of disease activity in patients known to have a chronic illness that cannot be cured. It is commonly used to refer to absence of active cancer... when expected to manifest again in the future."

The average time it takes for an anaplastic ologidendroglioma to creep its way back into one's mind (sorry, brain) is five to thirteen years. So I've been told. 

On Wednesday night I had my six-months-post-treatement MRI. Being back in the tube was a surreal experience, forcing back memories I had shoved aside into the dark abyss of cancer memories. Yet it was also extremely hopeful; I knew it was gone. I lay there knowing that the past year or so has been an experience to never forget, yet not always remember. One to put in the past, yet inspire a bolder, more understanding future. 

In a couple of weeks I'll likely hear my oncologist utter the R word, and I'll smile. It's just a safety word. A word that makes "we have no idea" sound medical. It's not coming back.


Sharing the journey

...as if, you have a right to think, I haven't done that enough. This expose has been sitting in almost every coffee shop in Wellington for a few months now. Sorry for not posting it sooner.






Sunday, December 1, 2013

What I already know


There are certain things we know consciously, and a whole lot more we know. The two can even conflict with one another at times -

I know the tumour I had typically comes back in five to twelve years, and that I am never technically healed from cancer, living in an unknown state of remission.

However, I also know that odds can be defied, that the power of the human spirit can conquer physical ailments and disease.

As I fell apart in front of him, James gently reminded me last night that I have recently been letting the burden of expecting to live a normal successful life weigh me down.

With all the love I have ever seen in a human’s eyes (it humbles me), he noted that I’ve been planning for a ‘regular’ career path. “Think about what you want to do in your life, and take action,” he said.

“If, in five years, the tumour comes back, do you want to have lived 100% of your life by that point, or just 5%? It’s not that I think it will, but you have to keep it in your mind as a possibility. You can’t just live in denial of it.”

It was my lover who has been the spark in reminding me what I already knew, but had forgotten. He reminded me that life is ephemeral; we never know how long we have, or which precious moments we may miss the joy of fully experiencing.

It’s an interesting dichotomy, choosing between believing I will conquer this thing and harnessing my confidence in the future to do so, or letting cancer be a reminder of the impermanence of life.

On one hand, the power of positive imagery is certainly something I know, albeit subconsciously a lot of the time. Mental projections of a long and happy future surely can’t be bad, right...?

That’s what I’ve thought, up until today. However I’ve noticed that because of this belief, I’ve been slipping into a thought pattern that is afraid, that plans and waits, that thinks getting a typical journalist’s newsroom job could be a ‘good starting place’ for a career.

The other option may not sound so positive, in fact, it may seem mildly depressing. However when I feel it - feel the affect it has on me - it feels exciting and healing.

If you only had five years, what would you do differently?

This question has been turning over in my mind today, thanks to the timely reminder I had last night.

I would love, give, write, forgive, and be grateful. I would take more risks. I wouldn’t work in a low-paying, high stress job - financially, I would work to build assets for James and I (and our family) rather than rely on an income. I would share what I have learned. I would live more in the present moment, because that is the only life I have left.  

Interestingly, I picked up an old diary of mine this morning as I woke with the light streaming in. In it was written a New Year’s resolution from a couple of years ago -

To love unboundedly
Live consciously
Breathe slowly
Feel passionately
Know deeply
Listen wholeheartedly
Move freely
Speak sincerely
Laugh wholly
Grow constantly


…this I had forgotten. It’s so easy to forget.

It’s time to remember the fragility of time, the value of each moment, and forget fear.  



Sunday, November 17, 2013

The year that was


I saw my brain today. It gave me a fright, and left me feeling a bit shaken.

There it was - sitting on the screen of Dr Hamilton’s computer for my follow-up appointment. And the star of the images... that big, glowing white ball.  

I hate that thing.

It is one year exactly since I called my mum telling her I had a headache and my eyesight was a bit blurry. November 18. It’s about time I write something.

Survivors should be happy, right? Celebrating every single breath. And survivors should be strong, Fearless.

These feelings weigh on me when I realize I’m often afraid, a little cynical (am trying not to be!) and get frustrated about not knowing what I’m doing with my life.

For after all, I was reminded today that anaplastic oligondendroglioma’s typically come back within 5 to 13 years.

I just don’t want to know this.

I came home today and sat down. To be honest, I felt a bit bewildered. I walked like a zombie to the kitchen (okay it’s only two metres away from the ‘lounge’) and had a few big bowls of cereal in lieu of the healthy, cancer-kicking dinner I had planned in my mind. 

Now my head pounds. Yes, it had sugar in it, which I haven’t had in almost a year. It gives me an awful headache now. It may well be all in my mind (pun not intended), but can feel the pain emanating from my right frontal lobe.

Now I’m wondering what the issue really is. Is my life not wonderful, and so privileged? Yes, I know it is. 

I think I feel guilty. I feel guilty for people admiring me, thinking I’ve dealt with this all so well, “oh, I don’t know how you’ve done it,” “you’re so positive, strong,” etcetera. 

"Misleading the public" is what they call it in journalism.


It’s been a big year.

(Writing that last sentence just brought tears to my eyes.)

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Fear and creating a life here


I’ve jumped out of a plane again.

Much to the disappointment of my parents – who thought I had given up that reckless habit – I jumped as soon as I physically could.

In a skydive you have to trust the air, trust the gear, but most importantly, trust yourself. Your life is in your hands, and only yours.

I haven’t got to the point yet where I feel fearless on the ride up, but I was surprised by how natural it felt to throw myself out after twenty months bound to the ground.

Yet the bright lights of Wellington twinkle and I am afraid.
Up until now, I’ve been hiding in my hole up in Cluny lodge. It was safe, comfortable and nurturing. That existence understood that I was ‘sick’, and therefore less able to be adjectives such as “fun”, “adventurous” and the like.

There was always something. Some reason to be different, some reason to stay in my safe little hideaway. First it was recovery from brain surgery, then IVF, then radiation sapping my energy, then chemotherapy.

But now what?

I find myself living with my incredible husband in a little studio in a city called Wellington, the capital city of New Zealand - a city with a soul and a mind. Yet I find myself feeling alone, feeling old and worn. Yes, even introverts can feel alone.

Hang on a minute – old and worn?! Bethany, you’re twenty-one for God’s sake! Have you not you just learnt that life is precious, that it may expire at any time, that every moment is a gift to be grabbed and lived to the fullest and fanciest?

Let me begin the next chapter by deeply apologising to you if you have viewed me as a valiant heroine fearlessly kicking the ass out of cancer. I’m far from it.


I’ve been afraid, stumbling along the road of life and following its twists and turns because there are no other roads to take.

The journey is certainly not over. 

***

So, enough theorising. I went to Adrenalin Forest with James and his workmates over the weekend, and had fun. 

Yes, fun! Is it strange that someone my age is having to make goals to have fun?! Well, that's what I'm doing. With my lack of excuses and increases in energy, I am going to share my goals. It's a little scary making them public...but for the sake of holding myself accountable to fun, I'm trusting you with them.

- Learn to be an acrobat with Leonela
- Learn to Poledance (have already taken one class) - make a friend
- Take an art class and make a friend there
- Have dinner with at least one girlfriend every week
- Have a glass of wine with dinner every night
- Dance with James each day
- Read fiction for pure enjoyment - always have a book on the go.