The Last Chocolate Brownie Ball – Ticket Details and Booking Form

Dust off your dancing shoes! This September 8th we are holding our “Last Chocolate Brownie Ball” to raise funds for the Breakthrough Breast Cancer and the Woolverstone Wish Appeal. All the details for the event are below and you will find a form where you can reserve your own tickets. Miranda and I would love you to be there. We have 350 tickets to sell and we plan to sit people in tables of 10 so please feel free to join together with friends and book your own table. Alternatively just buy your tickets and leave the table planning to us!

Below you will find a booking form so please complete and send back to us. We will then email you confirmation and the payment details. We will be taking payment either by cheques (made payable to “The Last Chocolate Brownie”), via bank transfer direct into the Last Chocolate Brownie account or the rather quaint, old fashioned cash. Unfortunately we can’t take payment by paypal and the like as the commission charges are just too high.

We look forward to seeing you on 8th September.

Ticket Reservation Form

Please complete the boxes below and click on the submit button. We will be back in touch to arrange payment and confirm your ticket reservation. Please note that we cannot send out any tickets until we have received payment in full.

Name(required)

Email(required)

Contact Number(required)

Number of Tickets Required(required)

Names of Guests in Your Party

Proposed Method of Payment Cheque Cash Direct Payment to Bank Account

Notes (e.g. special dietary requirements)

A Different Way

I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I love the atmosphere in the shops in the build up. I love the carols and the songs. Well OK maybe there are only so many times that you can listen to Roy Wood’s “I wish it could be Christmas everyday” but you get my point. And I love mince pies and mulled wine. I love decorating the tree. I love turkey, cranberry sauce and Christmas pudding with brandy butter. Do you know I can even cope with brussel sprouts! I love the excuse to have a whisky that has been “left out for Father Christmas.” I love playing board games around the fire. I love the anticipation of Christmas. I love buying presents and I love the excitement of opening them on Christmas day too.

But most of all I love the reason why we celebrate Christmas. I love the Christmas story. I love the sense of wonder that it evokes. I love the fact that a God so awesome and powerful should make himself human in such a vulnerable way and in such a humble setting. And I love the sense of the promise fulfilled. I love the fact that we have a God who loves us so much that He came to be with us, experience all the emotions that we do as we live out our lives.

Now isn’t it funny when you think you know every element of a story and then suddenly something pops out at you that you had never noticed before. Well I was listening to the Christmas story earlier this month and one line has resonated with me like it never has before. It’s the bit where the three wise men have presented their gifts and are about to leave. There are just three words I’d never noticed before. It’s at the end of the sentence that says something to the effect that the three wise men then left and went home ………… a different way.

Of course this could just mean that they left for home and took the Bethlehem by-pass rather than risk going through the town centre. Indeed they probably did take a different route as they were fairly keen to avoid old King Herod on their way. But I was listening to a talk by one of my favourite authors, Max Lucado, who was considering whether perhaps the three wise men actually left that meeting and went on to behave and live their lives in a different way as a result of what they had experienced. I think if I had been there and witnessed God in a manger, the impact would have been so profound that I would have left and gone onto live my life in a different way.

If you have been following this blog for a while you will know that I’m captivated by stories. I’ve realised that as we all live out our lives, we tell a story. And I’ve realised that it is completely down to us as to how good the story is that we tell. We can’t necessarily control the scenes and the environment in which our story is set, but we can control how we deal with the situations in which we find ourselves. We write the storyline.

The three wise men followed a star and ended up meeting God in person. They could have carried on living their lives telling the same story but they chose to go home a different way.

That all sounds blindingly obvious really but I was reminded that when we are faced with dramatic scenes or life changing moments in our lives we don’t always change the story we are telling. On a long drive home this week I was listening to a radio programme about homelessness. It was a tough programme to listen to but one of the things talked about is that Christmas is the time of year when most homeless people are rehoused as there is a concerted effort by government agencies and charities to get people off the streets. According to the programme around an amazing 75% of those homeless people who are found permanent homes at Christmas will be back on the streets by the end of March. It struck me that we generally don’t do change very well. Sometimes, just like those homeless people, we are telling a story that isn’t that attractive but we don’t always take the chances to change the story because we are so familiar with it.  So, no matter how bad the story, it is one we are comfortable with, and so we just keep telling it. We don’t take the opportunity to travel on in a different way.

A year ago today I started this blog. I wrote the very first entry whilst sat with my wife as she had her very first dose of chemotherapy having just been diagnosed with breast cancer. One year on I am writing the final entry in totally different circumstances, at home and with Miranda’s cancer gone, hopefully forever. Of course, Miranda still has some more Herceptin treatment to go through and the not insignificant issue of reconstructive surgery but this feels a good place to close this chapter of our story. This is the final entry in The Last Chocolate Brownie.

Of course our story will continue, and if you would like to follow it then I will be telling it via a new blog that you can find here:

www.underbeautifulskies.wordpress.com

Thank you so much for walking this journey with us. Your support, messages, comments and encouragement has been invaluable to us along the way.

The one question I have been asked more than any other over the last few weeks is this. Do I think the experience of Miranda’s battle with cancer has changed me? I always think that self analysis is so difficult but I am currently thinking that it hasn’t. I don’t think I am a different person for the experience.

Obviously I never chose that cancer battle scene in which to live out our story for a while. And parts of the story have been brutal, difficult and uncomfortable. But parts of the story have also been amazingly encouraging, empowering and enthralling. And the overriding feeling is that I have learnt so much. I have discovered things about myself and my family over the past year that without living through this experience I would never have learnt.

And I am determined to move on in a different way. I am determined to make my story as compelling and exciting as I can. And I want to be the kind of husband and Dad that encourages my wife and children to do the same.

We are all on a once in a lifetime journey. Literally. We can’t always influence the twists and turns that we will face but we can totally control the manner in which we take them.

Thank you for reading our story.

If I have one wish to leave you with, it is this.

My wish is that by travelling with us, by reading our story, you may in some small, tiny way have been encouraged to live just the best story you can.

And, if that means you need to continue your journey in a different way, may you find the courage to do so.

Travel well.

Mastectomy – a Bloke’s Perspective

A few weeks ago I met up with the PR team from Breakthrough Breast Cancer who are going to help me promote the book when it comes out next year. What struck about the meeting was that the main interest in my blog from their perspective is because they recognise there is very little information available to support men who are trying to help wives or partners through a battle with breast cancer. In some, small, tiny way they think this blog may help to fill that void and that is why they are keen to help support the book launch.

So it is with that in mind, and with the need to help me process what we have been through over the past year, that I embark on this post and try to cobble together some coherent thoughts on what it has been like to be a husband watching my wife go through a cancer battle and a mastectomy. And I want to make clear from the start that I do this in the context that the difficulties I have faced over the last twelve months pale into insignificance compared to what Miranda has been through. And that is why I wanted this post to follow Miranda’s story. It is without doubt, a much better place to be the bystander than the individual engaged in the battle. But it is still not easy or pleasant and having experienced it; this is what I now know.

So where do I start? Well, let’s be honest, for a bloke, your wife’s breasts are a major part of the more intimate and physical side of your relationship. When Miranda was diagnosed there was the initial shock and obvious, natural concern for her welfare, both in the short and long term. I think I went through a process of just trying to get my head around the news and how we were going to cope. And then inevitably, the thought turns to what impact this would all have on me. I still haven’t decided whether this is because I have a deep lying tendency to be selfish or whether that is just a natural reaction that most men would have.

At the outset there was some debate about whether she would need a lumpectomy (removal of just part of the breast) or a full mastectomy. There was even some suggestion that maybe a double mastectomy would be advisable. I can remember vividly thinking that Miranda had to have whatever was going to give her the best hope of surviving and that I would be vehement in supporting her, irrespective of what that operation might be. Secretly I’ll admit to hoping desperately that this would turn out to be just a lumpectomy!

As you now know it transpired that Miranda was going to need a mastectomy and I was careful not to try to influence her decision but grateful too that she was determined to go for an immediate reconstruction. I had a fear about how a one-sided wife would affect the physical side of our relationship.

And whilst I find myself talking about the “ahem” (coughs nervously) physical side of our relationship let me set the context into which this concern was being considered in my head. One of the side effects of the chemotherapy that Miranda was undergoing was the suppressing of her libido. Our relationship went from being one with a normal physical aspect to it, to one that was largely platonic. And I want to point this out because it took a fortuitous bit of internet research on my part to discover this consequence of her type of chemotherapy. We had lots of leaflets and explanations but no one told us about this particular side effect and I think, as a bloke, this would have been a good thing to have been told in advance.

The best way I can describe the impact of a cancer diagnosis on a relationship is that it is like being caught in a whirlwind. There is so much to cope with, so many changes, so much worry and everything feels under threat. Dealing with your partner rejecting any attempt at intimacy would have been easier to deal with if the reason why they did so was understood. One less perceived threat to deal with.

As the story transpired Miranda had her mastectomy in the summer but was denied an immediate reconstruction due to her low blood count and now, where once was her right breast, is a large red scar. But to be totally honest that has been so much easier to get used to then I ever expected. And that has caused me to re-evaluate what is at the root of a relationship, what is at the heart of attraction. What really is love all about?

Those questions have made me go back and watch a “Nooma” DVD produced by Rob Bell which explores what it really means to love someone as we were created to. In it he looks at three Hebrew words which all translate to mean love.

I do think that sometimes we struggle to express what we really feel, not because we haven’t the capability to describe it but simply because the English language doesn’t allow us too. Take the word “love”. We use it in so many different contexts. I love going to Starbucks and I love my wife.

One word. Two very different meanings.

In Hebrew there is a word for love which is “raya”. Raya would translate as the love you have for a friend, your mates. I have raya love for the people I work with, for my cricket mates, for the people I hang out with, my business partner and “bestie” Steve and, of course, I have raya love for Miranda too. We met through work and our relationship was purely a raya love kind of relationship before it developed into something more.

The second Hebrew word for love is “ahava”. This is a far deeper love, far more profound than a fleeting romantic feeling. It is about being totally commited to another person. It is knowing that you just want to be with them. Ahava love means that you feel a little bit lost when you are not with that person. I have ahava love for Miranda.

Finally there is the “dode” love in Hebrew which literally translates as “to fondle.” This is the lust part of love, the physical element. And I suppose the thought at the back of any blokes mind (and mine) is that when their wife goes through an operation, like a mastectomy, that will change her physical appearance, is will this affect my dode?!

What the Rob Bell DVD reminded me was that we are created to be in a relationship with someone for which we have all of the above three types of love. He creates the analogy of each of them as flames and that we need all three flames burning and entwined. We are never going to be completely satisfied without having all those three flames burning.

You see when we are younger there is a real temptation to focus on the dode type of love. We get into relationships, or at least I did, where the dode flame burns really hot for a while but because we have no real ahava love for the other person the flame goes out and the relationship ends. In my experience, that can be a painful and unfulfilling process to go through.

So I think what I’ve learnt as a bloke with a wife going through breast cancer is this.

Cancer will test your relationship, challenge it, threaten it even a little maybe. But if you are going through it with someone for whom you have the deepest raya love and a real sense of ahava then cancer cannot break it.

And what about the dode?

Does the change in physical appearance affect the physical relationship?

Well I’ve learnt that when you have all three flames burning, when your ahava is on fire, then dode burns as strongly as it ever did. The heat of the love is way too powerful to worry about the disappearance of some fatty tissue in the chest area.

Especially when that tissue contained a poisonous lump that threatened the life of the person you know deep down were created to be with.

Mastectomy – A Girl’s Perspective; Miranda’s Closing Post

Being someone who likes a little neatness and order (you should see my CD collection!) we have just a week left of “The Last Chocolate Brownie”! I am determined that the blog will conclude on Christmas Eve exactly one year after it started. So this weekend Miranda is making her final post and will reflect on what she has learnt from the last year of  living with cancer, and a mastectomy. We thought it would be good to close with a kind of “his and hers” review of what we have experienced. Miranda is going first and I will share my thoughts later this week before that final post goes up on Christmas Eve. So now that you know the plan here are the thoughts of my very brave wife……

As I sit and ponder over this, my final contribution to the blog, I can’t help but find myself considering and reflecting a little on the last 12 months.  You could say it’s been a funny old year, and it feels quite surreal to think back on it now.  This time last year we were all battling ice and snow; I would regularly wonder whether Dave would actually make it to work or more importantly whether he would actually make it home again.  For the first time that I remember, Dave conceded that my ever-cautious Dad may actually have a point, and that it would probably pay to be sensible and keep a shovel and warm clothes in the car … just in case! A sure sign it was a hard winter!

When I think back over the course of events, and what felt like endless appointments over that previous year (and of course this last one), the day that remains with me vividly is, not surprisingly, the day I was diagnosed.  When I was given the diagnosis, whilst shocking and devastating, it was somehow deep down what I expected.  And yet I can’t recall that meeting quite as well as the rollercoaster of emotions I was feeling during the subsequent 3 hours when I was left alone to mull over what I had been told whilst I awaited my surgery slot to have the lymph node in my neck removed.  I don’t think the nurses in that department quite knew what to do with this tearful woman, because of course they had no idea about what I had just been told by the Breast Consultant.  Inter-departmental communication is, in my experience, a little lacking!

But that really does seem such a long time ago and now life has returned pretty much to normal.

And it was ‘normal’ that I have tried so desperately hard to cling on to over the past 12 months and in a number of ways feel I have managed it:

My wig (which for an NHS hairpiece I don’t think was too bad!) enabled me to carry on life as normal to the outside world – obviously I had my ‘hoodie days’ in the privacy of my own home, but if someone passed me in the street, I would like to think they would not have known what treatment I was going through;

During the months of chemo, my mum would ask me how I was in a morning, and I would say “I’m ok”, naturally she was sceptical because apparently I “always said that!”, but if I was up, showered, dressed, and ready to take the Rose to school, I was, in my book, “ok”;

In my mind I had to remain visible to the world, because I knew that if I shut myself away then family life would change to beyond what our girls would recognise as normal and I would assume the ‘patient’ role (as my sister Lou, a trained nurse described it) which I was determined not to do!;

and as far as the outside world is concerned I continue to look like the next woman, albeit one with short hair and one who no longer flashes her cleavage!

The hair I can just about cope with, and although it is not yet long enough to have a hairstyle of choice it continues to grow steadily -3^rd trip to the hairdressers in 4 months next week incidentally, I had never realised quite how expensive and time-consuming  (and cold!) it is to have short hair! – however the lack of cleavage is harder to accept.

If you are long-term followers of this blog, you may recall the decision-making I went through when deciding on what type of reconstruction to opt for … and then the immense disappointment when that decision was taken away from me because my blood results were too low and the risk of infection subsequently too high, ultimately meaning that I was unable to have immediate reconstruction.

My decision to have immediate reconstruction was so that I would wake up from the operation as complete as when I went to sleep.  I believed that that was fundamental to enable me to cope better with the psychological and physiological effects of the surgery.  And when that decision was taken away from me, I felt awash with panic and dread at the thought of having to remain ‘incomplete’ for at least 15 months and having to face further surgery next year.

The prospect of seeing my scar for the first time also filled me with dread, but all I can say is that the thought of it was so much worse that the reality.  Isn’t that so often the case?  We build something up in our head to something much bigger than it actually is, and when we are faced with it, we acknowledge, accept and adjust.  Because there is really nothing else we can do.

So I have come to terms with how I am for the short term. It looks a bit odd, but then other than my husband and children, no one else sees that.  Everyone else sees “normal”.  It is much less drastic and life-changing surgery than might occur for other types of cancer, so for that I have to be incredibly grateful.  And I have the opportunity at a later date to have that abnormality rectified. What is really strange, and has surprised me enormously, is that I don’t actually miss my other breast – just glad to be rid of it if I’m honest –and I didn’t grieve the loss that I’ve heard is very normal in this situation. But I miss having a cleavage.  Not that I overtly flaunted it particularly often … well, not in more recent years anyway, before my school or University friends object at this point!  However it limits what I wear, makes me feel a bit less than whole and I feel I therefore lose a bit of my femininity. But that is such a small price to pay, and probably touches on the side of vanity if my biggest issues are just aesthetic.

I have come to realise throughout this whole process that how you look does actually have a strong correlation to how you feel.  I have come across a cancer support charity called Look Good … Feel Better, via a blog I have been following recently, written by the Beauty Editor of LOOK magazine, Sophie Beresiner, who was also diagnosed with breast cancer last December and whose journey has pretty much mirrored my own.  Both Sophie’s blog and the philosophies of the charity have reassured my need to look “normal” to the outside world.

How often do we wear a public face?  And some of us get very good at wearing it. I have worn my public face quite often over the past 12 months, but because I aimed to feel good about how I looked it became easier to convince others I was doing ok as I had managed to convince myself that I was. Equally, if someone had told me just over 12 months ago that I would be able to feel confident with short hair and only one breast I don’t think I would actually have believed them. But amazingly I can.  How? Because it’s not vain to be concerned about our appearance – if we feel good with how we look, we can actually feel able to take on the world and all that it throws at us; my faith has provided me with a source of strength that has enabled me to cope with things I never believed I could; but most importantly I have wonderful friends and family who have been relentless in supporting us through the challenges of the last 12 months.

At the risk of this sounding like an Oscar acceptance speech … thank you, we couldn’t have done it without you!

Save The Date – September The Eighth!

Isn’t it strange the emotions that we can attach to dates?

Obviously we love to celebrate birthdays and certain dates hold special significance for us. My Mum, for example, always wants to mark August 19th as it is the date that she lost both her Dad and her husband. They passed away 37 years apart but it seems incredible that the anniversary of their deaths’ fall on the same day. Whilst my Mum’s desire is perfectly understandable, I prefer to remember my Dad on his birthday and on Fathers Day rather than remembering the day he died.

And certain events link dates too. I will forever remember that my youngest niece was born on the same day that England, led by Michael Vaughan, finally recaptured the Ashes from the Aussies. The challenge is to remember the actual date that these two events happened! Only joking Sophie; I know it is September 12th really!

So all of that preamble is a way of leading up to saying that today is a date that is memorable for all the wrong reasons. Today marks the one year anniversary of Miranda’s diagnosis of breast cancer. It was on this day last year that we learnt that our world was about to be turned upside down. And much as I try to dismiss it, I can’t help but have that thought and the emotion of that day at the forefront of my mind this morning. In a slightly ironic way, Miranda is marking the anniversary with a trip to the hospital and her regular dose of Herceptin. That kind of sums up her year really!

But, strange as it may seem, as I look back on all that we have been through, I think that the overriding feeling I have is of being thankful.

I’m thankful for how well Miranda now looks

I’m thankful that our children have seemingly coped so well with the situation

I’m thankful that the cancer has gone

I’m thankful for the incredible support and love we have received from friends and family throughout the year

I’m thankful for all the things that this experience has taught me

I’m thankful for all that we can now look forward to

So while today, December 15th, is a date that sticks in my mind for all the wrong reasons, this post is actually designed to get you to remember a date that is yet to arrive. I want you to remember………..

Saturday September 8th 2012

You see that is the confirmed date for The “Last Chocolate Brownie Ball” and Miranda and I would love you all to be there. The event is to be held at Trinity Park Showground in Ipswich. It’s the biggest venue in Suffolk and we have 350 tickets to sell! The band are booked and, believe me, they are just the best party band ever! A trip to Suffolk in the autumn could be lovely and we will be trying to secure some discounted rates at local hotels so you can make a proper weekend of it.

It seems amazing to think that we have been meeting “virtually” on this blog for almost a year now and so we want to get everyone together in person and party. So put the date in your diary now!

The “Last Chocolate Brownie Ball” is all part of our fundraising plans for next year. We want to raise over £20,000 for Breakthrough Breast Cancer and the Woolverstone Wish campaign. Tickets will be on sale in January but feel free to reserve them from now on by calling us, emailing us or leaving a comment on the this post. The cost will be £45 per person including all entertainment and a three course dinner. You’ll never guess what we are having for desserts by the way! Why not invite your friends and book a table of 10?!

So September 8th – save the date!

I can’t pretend that the last year has been the best ever and I can’t pretend that today doesn’t invoke the odd feeling of sadness but I want to leave you with this thought. Not long after Miranda’s diagnosis I was feeling especially down and was heading off to a meeting for work. I checked my Twitter feed and found a link to the following verse. With delicious timing it really lifted my spirits so I thought I’d share it with you today:

What Cancer Cannot Do

Cancer is so limited that:

It cannot cripple love

It cannot shatter hope

It cannot corrode faith

It cannot kill friendship

It cannot suppress memories

It cannot silence courage

It cannot invade the soul

It cannot steal eternal life

It cannot conquer the spirit

There are indeed many things that cancer cannot do. I hope that by including that verse here there may be just one person reading this that will be as equally encouraged and helped as I was a year ago.

At the time I first read it, I wanted to believe it, I wanted to know that it was true.

One year on I can report, irrespective of the date, it is true.

A Big, Hairy, Audacious One

So the build up to Christmas is well and truly under way in the Courteen household. Last weekend we went back to Miranda’s parents for the traditional orchestra weekend. Miranda and her Mum both play in the Stratford-Upon-Avon Symphony Orchestra while her Dad is the conductor. The Christmas concert this year included the Nutcracker Suite so both our two girls were allowed to attend. It made for a very late night for both of them but it has become part of our family Christmas tradition. I also make full use of the fact that with rehearsals taking place on the Sunday afternoon I get to do some Christmas shopping with my two girls.

This weekend we’ve been to Lou and Julians, Miranda’s sister and brother-in-law. We’ve had a great time, exchanged presents and just chilled out. Our two nieces get on so well with our two daughters so it has been a really relaxing time. And now we are home and Miranda is decorating the tree, Harry Connick Junior is blasting out the Christmas songs on the CD and I’m writing this post. It feels like a normal Christmas. That is a good thing.

Miranda has had a whole week without any hospital visits. That is still a rarity and so it is something she has really enjoyed. Next week is her Herceptin week and she hopes to hear whether they are going to continue with this treatment for another year or not. We are really trying to look forward rather than back. With the anniversary of Miranda’s diagnosis looming large and the start of a new year just around the corner, we want to see this as a real watershed opportunity to “move on”.

Miranda is going to write one final reflective post and I have a couple of other posts that I want to write before I will put up the final post on Christmas Eve. That will be precisely a year to the day since this blog began. We both really think that our turn to claim the last chocolate brownie is over and maybe it is time to “pass the plate of brownies” on to others. Of course it doesn’t mean that our story is complete, just that we need to change the context in which we tell it. With that in mind I have set up a new blog which will be starting in January. Reflecting the fact that we live in Suffolk which is renowned for it’s flat terrain and expansive skies with incredible sunsets the blog will be called “Under Beautiful Skies”. So if you really want to continue reading my ramblings and thoughts then can I suggest you click on the link below and hit the subscribe button, just below the picture on the right hand side (assuming you are accessing it from a computer and not a mobile!)

http://underbeautifulskies.wordpress.com/

The other way in which we intend to make this move forward and to move on from the “living with cancer” experience is to give ourselves a goal to focus on for 2012.

And if you are going to set yourselves a goal then I think it might as well be a big, hairy audacious one otherwise what is the point frankly!

With that in mind we have set ourselves the challenge of raising £20,012 in 2012 with the proceeds split between Breakthrough Breast Cancer and the Woolverstone Wish campaign.

We have chosen these two charities as the beneficiaries of our fundraising for fairly fundamental and obvious reasons. The Woolverstone Wish is a campaign to raise much needed funds to help improve the quality of facilities on offer to those people receiving care in the Oncology Day Unit at Ipswich Hospital. Miranda has spent a lot of time here over the past year and has experienced first hand the incredible work the staff team carry out with limited resources. It seems pretty natural that we would like to do something to reflect our gratitude for the work they do whilst, at the same time, help others who are going through the horrendous experience Miranda has been through, to do so with a little more comfort.

There has been much made in the press over the last week about how people can avoid cancer by changing their lifestyle. There have been figures quoted of around 40% of all cancers being attributable to the lifestyle choices people make. For Miranda, her cancer clearly was in the 60% for which there is no obvious link to any lifestyle causes. Breakthrough Breast Cancer are working hard to research the causes of this horrible disease with the ultimate aim of finding a way to beat it. We both think this is a great aim, a big, hairy, audacious goal in its own right and one that we want to support as best as we can.

So much for why we are going to do this; now just a little bit about how we are going to do this.

As I have mentioned before this blog is going to become a book. I’m working hard on getting into a printable format and hope to have it published by April of 2012. All of the income I receive, which should be around £5 per book,  will be added to our fund. I hope to sell between 1,000 – 2,000 books so expect me to be trying to persuade all of you who have been following this blog to buy one!

We also intend to hold a “Last Chocolate Brownie Ball” to raise funds. We think it would be great if we could get as many of you who have been following this blog together as we possible can. We completed this journey together in a vitual way and we want to celebrate that in a very real way with just the biggest party ever. We are negotiating with the intended venue and hope to be able to sell 350 tickets. So watch this space for the date really soon and start planning to be at the Ball. You will need your dancing shoes on! We are hoping to make it just the most amazing night!

As many of you will know, my day job involves running spas and so next year we are going to be launching a “Think Pink” facial treatment. It will be a wonderful treatment and there will be a lovely moisturiser to keep at the end of the treatment. For every facial we sell £2.50 will be donated to our fund. We hope that over the course of the year we will sell over 3,000 Think Pink facials. So if you’ve never had a facial or been to a spa you now have the perfect excuse. Just find your nearest Imagine Spa, have a wonderful treat and raise valuable money too.

Finally, in typical Miranda fashion she is determined to get back to fitness and so is planning to run a 10K race next year. Given the punishment her body has taken over the past year this is a pretty amazing target to set so I am sure that so many people will be prepared to sponsor her. The thought of running to raise a huge amount of money will only serve to inspire her I’m sure. Knowing Miranda as I do, don’t be surprised if she breezes around the course and sets a new personal best!

So there we are. A few weeks ago I wrote about the fact that we needed to ask ourselves the right questions and accept that we didn’t have all the answers. We are learning to accept that we will never know why Miranda has had to go through this horrible cancer experience and we realise that we need to stop asking why and start asking what next instead.

So the answer to what’s next is partly that we are going to take on a big, hairy and audacious goal.

It feels like a massive challenge but, funnily enough, just about this time last year we took on a challenge that also seemed massive and big and hairy and scary too. At least this new one is self imposed and I really like that!

Oh, and by the way, we only managed to meet this years challenge because of your help and support and we going to need that support to help us achieve next years goal too.

Don’t let us down now will you?!!

Big Boys Don’t Cry

It’s fair to say that most of the posts in this blog have been written “in the moment”. By that I mean I get a thought, or something has happened in Miranda’s cancer battle, and I have written the post in response and posted it straight away. There has been the occasional post that I’ve written and then felt I wanted to reflect on it a little before posting. And there are one or two posts that I’ve written and which for various reasons have remained in my draft file. I wrote the first part of this post back in January and I’m rather ashamed to admit that I was probably a little too proud to publish it at the time. It has just sat there and now I’ve finally plucked up the courage to hit the “publish” button.

You see I was bought up in an era when I was always told not to cry. Even when I was as young as my children are now, I remember being told to stop crying – “big boys don’t cry” was the usual comment thrown at me when the tears were falling down my cheeks. Being a bloke too has meant I have always tried to suppress any emotion escaping, stiff upper lip and all that. Any crying I’ve done as an adult, has to a large extent been done in private with no one else around.

So when Miranda was diagnosed with cancer I felt an enormous pressure, self induced I hasten to add, to be strong for her. In reality I think over the first month it was actually the other way around! Miranda was incredibly strong and whilst she naturally had the odd tearful moment these were fairly few and far between. For me I just about managed to stay strong when I was with her, but when I was on my own I was in bits. I developed an art of working out where and when to have a good cry without embarrassing myself too much!

For example, 48 hours after Miranda was diagnosed I had my annual Christmas meal with the head office team at work. Having had the day in the office I knew I wouldn’t get through the evening without crying so I took myself off to the health club and cried my eyes out in the shower. Its pretty easy to cover up crying when you are in the shower! I learnt too that you can cry when driving. I just had to make sure I allowed sufficient time before I got to the meeting for the red eyes to go. Oh and its not great to cry if you are likely to get stuck in traffic! Or whilst queuing at traffic lights; that can get embarrassing!

I’ve also shed the odd tear or two with Rose when Miranda was having a tough time with the chemo. Often this was brought on by something Rose had said which just broke my heart but, having now had time to reflect I think crying with her was a good thing to do. It legitimised for Rose that it was OK to cry and enabled me to explain to her that crying is a natural way of the body responding when we are sad just like we laugh when we find something funny.

That’s the lesson I have learnt over the last year. There is obviously a time to be strong for your family but that must be balanced with the need to recognise that crying is a natural human response to a situation we find upsetting and, male or female, child or adult, it is OK to let our emotions be released through the act of crying.

And I was reminded of this post yesterday as I watched Shay Given visibly crying live on TV over the death of his close friend Gary Speed prior to kick off in the match between Swansea and Aston Villa. Later Robbie Savage was also seen on TV visibly upset whilst paying tribute to Speed. Clearly big boys do cry.

I’ve written about this before but since Miranda has been diagnosed with cancer I have found the death of high profile individuals much more difficult to deal with than I had before. And Gary Speed’s tragic death in the most awful of circumstances was no different. It rocked me and I could think of little else throughout the day. I think the reason for this is that the experience of Miranda battling potentially life threatening illness brings inevitable thoughts of losing the person closest to you. And that’s a scary, frightening thought. And so when someone you “know” passes away there is a sharpness and rawness to the emotions that get evoked.

I can only begin to imagine what his family are going through right now but there must be a sense of total disbelief and the burning question of why did someone they love so much feel they had no option but to take their own life. One of the deepest parts of the tragedy of a suicide is that the question of why is one to which there is seldom ever an answer.

Less than 48 hours after Gary Speed’s death is clearly far too early for any explanation as to why he committed suicide but there is clearly much media speculation that he was suffering from depression which he kept well hidden from his public persona. Incredibly well hidden it seems to those of us who saw him appear on TV just hours before he took his own life.

I have had first hand experience of depression hitting my Mum. It is clearly an illness and not a state of mind or approach to life which so many people can so easily mistake it for. In many cases it is a chemical imbalance that effects the mind and in the case of my own family once the correct dose of tablets was discovered to balance out these chemicals the transformation in behaviour was both incredible and unrecognisable from the depressed state she had previously been in.

The biggest problem with mental illness is that it is an unseen killer. According to NHS statistics just under 20 people a day take their own lives in the UK. Over the past day I’ve been thinking a bit about our attitude towards depression. As a result of Gary Speed’s death there has been a lot of debate on Twitter and in the press about it. Unlike the lumps under your skin that arrive with cancer there are no obvious outward signs of depression and therefore people understand much less about it. It has made me wonder whether the reaction to this blog would be different if it was about my wife’s battle with depression rather than with cancer. I’m not sure.

Prior to experiencing depression within my family I would definitely have subscribed to the “just pull yourself together” school of thought. Now I realise that “pulling yourself together” is precisely what someone with depression just cannot do no matter how much they may want to or try to. You can no more “pull yourself together” to get over depression than you can “pull yourself together” to get over cancer. And I so wish more people realised this.

So many people get angry with the person who has taken their own life and question how they could hurt those so close to them. It is an understandable reaction but the evilness of depression is that at the point of taking their own life, it is thought that in the vast majority of cases the individual’s mind is so unbalanced that they genuinely don’t think they will be causing any hurt or creating so much pain. It is a truly tragic illness in every respect.

If depression turns out to be the cause Gary Speed’s death, my only hope is that some good can come out of it and that mental illness becomes something that is more openly discussed and understood as a result of the media attention his passing generates.

And once more I’m left realising that the situation we have faced over the last twelve months is just a walk in the park compared to the challenges other people face.

I might be a big boy and I might cry from time to time but I have so much to be thankful for too.

We All Make Mistakes

Well we all make mistakes ………. as the Dalek said climbing off the dustbin! Sorry that is a really old school joke that I’m afraid I couldn’t resist repeating once I’d decided on the title. I appreciate it will obviously only be funny to those of you who were Dr Who fans during the late ’70′s but it’s not worthy of  any further explanation trust me.

But the point is we all do don’t we? Make mistakes I mean. You see earlier this year I made one at work. As mistakes go this was a big, fat, ugly one. A mistake that had a £ sign in front of it and a fair few “0′s” after it. I could have made all sorts of excuses but the harsh, honest reality is that a couple of years ago I didn’t read something as closely as I should and just signed it off. The reality of my mistake came to light earlier this year. Nightmare! Obviously I felt really bad about this, but the biggest learning curve in all this came from the reaction of my fellow Directors. The grace and support they showed me was unequivocal and there was a sense of let’s just move on, we are all in this together. Now, let’s be clear, I wouldn’t say they could be described as happy about the situation and we’ve made some changes going forward. I don’t sign those sorts of documents now without someone else checking them, which I actually think is a very good idea to be honest. And guess what, by showing me their support in such a situation, my fellow Directors have guaranteed I’m doing all I can to make up for my mistake and actually it’s now looking that it might not be quite as expensive an error as first feared.

So what’s the point of this confession you may wonder? Well now that we have had a moment or two to reflect on all that has happened over the past year, Miranda and I have been considering how we deal with her misdiagnosis. By way of a reminder, Miranda had been to see the Breast Consultant twice during the year before they found her cancer. She had mammograms, biopsies, ultrasound and MRI scans which all missed it. Indeed on the second visit the Consultant famously told her that “the lump was just how her breasts are”.

When I retell this story so many people have said something along the lines of “surely you are going to sue them.” And I understand why they say that. It is part of the culture that we live in which means we are actively encouraged to sue if anything we have bought or any event has happened to us and has been negative. We don’t have “accidents” any more – an “accident” has to have been someone’s fault and we should make them pay for it. Literally. The country is now covered with “ambulance chasing”, no win no fee, lawyers looking to make some money out of someone’s misfortune.

I’m not going to pretend the thought about making a claim hasn’t crossed my mind. I think we would have a pretty good chance of winning too. But when I analyse it, I find myself wondering what the purpose of such action would be. I mean do I think that Miranda’s Consultant wilfully or maliciously misdiagnosed Miranda’s lump? Absolutely not. I saw the look in her face when she had to break the news to us that the lump was in fact cancerous and it had now spread into her lymph nodes. She knew she’d made a mistake and I know how she felt because I’ve made mistakes too. Haven’t we all? Just because she does the job that she does shouldn’t mean those mistakes carry a far higher price than they do for those of us in less life critical job roles. I’m so grateful I don’t get sued every time I make a mistake! Imagine the atmosphere at work if we all worked in that kind of environment.

To be honest, I struggle with the whole concept of suing someone after a mistake or an accident. Clearly if someone caused you pain or suffering deliberately and in a negligent way then I understand the need to provide some kind  of recompense. I also understand that if the mistake leads to the desperate situation where the person is left needing long term care, or with life changing injuries, then they are absolutely entitled to all the money they need to live out their life in the best way they can. But when it is a genuine misdiagnosis then why do we seek money from them? By accepting a cash payment we are putting a value on the “loss” we have experienced.

Take Miranda’s case, if we sued the Consultant we would effectively be saying that all she has gone through over the last year, the loss of her breast, the chemo, the side effects, could be “put right” by the payment of a few thousand pounds. How do you put a value on that? I do think it is impossible to put a value on my wife’s breast – it is actually price less! (I do take a silly amount of satisfaction to have worked that last statement into my post by the way!). I defy anyone to try to justify a payment that adequately compensates us for going through what Miranda has suffered over the last 10 months, or what else she may face in the future. So why should we try to sue for an amount. Whatever we got financially would seem so irrelevant.

And my other consideration is that any money we got would indirectly affect the treatment available to others. I think sometimes people forget that liability payments do have an origin. Indirectly they will filter back to the NHS budget and that means less money to pay for the drugs that have helped rid Miranda of the cancer in her body. We genuinely would rather leave it in the NHS. Surely that is putting it to far better use?

Moreover, by suing are we likely to help ensure that less misdiagnosis happens in the future? I very much doubt it. Miranda is relatively young to have breast cancer, it is much more difficult to diagnose in younger people as the tissue is that much denser. This was a simple, honest mistake and whether we sue will make no difference at all to the likelihood of another mistake being made.

Miranda has been back to hospital twice this week, to visit the Consultant and to have her MUGA scan to check her heart. Just to clarify the Consultant Miranda now sees is not the same one who misdiagnosed the cancer initially. We would have stayed with the original Consultant but for her taking annual leave just as Miranda was due for her mastectomy. The second and current Consultant has been brilliant in every regard. All this weeks news is good! The mammogram on her remaining breast was clear, the Consultant was impressed about how well Miranda’s scar is healing and there was more discussion about the options on reconstruction which will probably happen at the end of 2012. The lump on her neck was given some ultrasound investigation and there are no concerns that it is anything suspicious. All just as we could have hoped and very, very encouraging.

So let’s just hope they are not missing anything this time around!

I realise that we are probably in a very small minority taking the approach we are to  the misdiagnosis, but sometimes I think we can all learn so much by taking a step back and asking why we are “following the crowd” in the actions we take. There are many of you reading this who will think that we are mistaken and are wrong to not pursue what is our “entitlement”. And you may well be absolutely right. But I suppose it does us all good to live a little counter-culturally from time to time.

So all those cold calling, no win, no fee, legal firms needn’t start phoning us. We won’t be trying to sue Miranda’s first Breast Consultant and why should we? After all, we all do make mistakes sometimes don’t we?

If the cup fits……..

Last week when I put Millie to bed I was explaining to her that our holiday was over and that everything would be back to normal. I went on to mention that this meant that I had to go back to work and Rose, her sister, would have to go back to school.

“Yes Daddy, I know,” she said adding “and Mummy will have to go back to the hospital”

Millie is 3 and it made me realise that for her, “normal” is Dad at work, sister at school and Mum having to regularly go to the hospital. That is what we do, or at least that is what it seems like for virtually the last year. And to a certain extent Millie’s perspective is not far from the truth, Miranda has indeed been back to the hospital again this week. This time it was for her regular dose of Herceptin but she was also able to get an unscheduled meeting with her McMillan Nurse Specialist and Oncologist. They were able to provide some very welcome reassurance about the symptoms Miranda has been experiencing over the last few weeks. They were able to confirm that these symptoms are perfectly normal, only what is to be expected after all that Miranda has been through, and they are not concerned that they could be any indication that her cancer is returning. That was a really helpful meeting to have.

The other meeting that Miranda had was with the prosthetics clinic. The purpose of this was to provide Miranda with a more permanent prosthetic breast now that her skin has recovered from the radiotherapy. This will be what she will use until she has reconstructive surgery late next year. As those of you who follow Miranda on Facebook will already know, I wasn’t allowed to attend this meeting. Apparently my uncontrolled sniggering at the last meeting when artificial breasts and, wait for it, support groups (childish I know but still funny) were discussed, meant that Miranda felt it was best she attended this particular meeting on her own.

Clearly I was gutted. I mean it transpired that the prosthetics clinic is held in a room which is floor to ceiling mirrored cupboards, full of boxes of breasts. Can you imagine?! I also felt I could have constructively added to the debate about which breast was the best fit, you know, held it in my hand that type of thing. No?! OK maybe it was best I didn’t go!

Until now Miranda has had a “comfy.” This is basically a cushioned pad which is inserted into a pocket on a specially adapted bra. The problem with this is that it doesn’t move as her body moves. The result is that Miranda occasionally has to make the odd discreet adjustment to get everything back in the right place. Think of Cissie and Ada, the older women characters played by the late Les Dawson and Roy Barraclough and you’ve got the picture!

Up until now the only experience we have had of a prosthetic breast is the one that Miranda has for swimming, which clearly is designed to get wet. When not in use this lives in a box in Miranda’s sports bag, although there has been the odd occasional hilarious moment when Millie has got hold of it and paraded around the room with the breast balanced delicately on her head. Feel free to add your own punchline here! I must admit, with Millie being a non swimmer, I always felt reassured by this addition to our swimming equipment. I mean, if ever Millie’s armbands failed, Miranda can just whip out the implant and Millie could safely get herself to the edge with this improvised “floatation” aid.

Anyway I digress. The key point is that Miranda is making one more step forward in her recovery from this whole process and will have a more permanent solution to her mastectomy. From her perspective, the key thing is that she will soon be able to go back to wearing more normal bras and tops and that will feel like a real step forward.

I realise that for many women the loss of a breast is a major psychological blow and I can completely understand why that would be so. I can also imagine that for some people, the light hearted approach we have taken to this subject will seem both inappropriate and maybe even disrespectful. Clearly this is not our intention and I apologise if you feel this is the case. Simply put, this is our story about how we have tried to deal with Miranda’s cancer and all it’s side effects. I am amazed at how well Miranda has coped with the physical changes she has experienced and, to be brutally honest, the physical things such as the wig and the false breast have been a welcome source of humour for us in what has been a pretty dark time. I am so grateful that I have a wife who is able to deal with these matters in such a positive and humourous way as I find laughter to be the best way for me to deal with such situations too. I hope you will understand.

Of course I am all to aware that in time the loss of a breast is something that Miranda may find more difficult to deal with but for now she is looking forward to the practical benefits of going back to her wardrobe and having a greater choice of outfits. After all if the cup fits……..

Looking Up to the Stars….

Today I’m experiencing that “end of the holiday” mindset where I am trying to get back to normality and thoughts of work and all the regular stuff that life is full of. From tomorrow, gone will be the gentle start to the morning, lazy breakfast and taking the day as it comes. It will all be about early starts, meetings and deadlines.

We have had a lovely week off and spending time together has been great. Ask the girls what their favourite part of the holiday was and they would probably say it was the visit to Peppa Pig World or the day trip on the ferry to the Isle of Wight. They’ve never been on a ferry before so that naturally was full of excitement and Peppa Pig World was just as you’d expect a theme park to be! There were lots of rides which even Millie was able to go on – I was very pleased that she was too small to go on George’s dinosaur ride on her own and needed me to accompany her! And none of the rides were too scary for either of the children, or either of their parents come to that! Peppa Pig World also helped teach us the value of patience, it was half term after all, and the average wait for a ride was about 25 minutes! The stars of the show were, of course, Peppa and George themselves and Millie was so pleased to get a chance to meet them and hold their hands. Her wide eyed excitement was just a joy to witness.

For me the favourite holiday memory was our walk in the New Forest. I think there is something special about the chance to just soak in the beauty of our surroundings when there is no time pressure or real purpose to the walk. We simply wandered through the forest following a path without knowing where it would lead us. We encountered the occasional pony who seemed to be appreciating the environment as much as we were. There was an incredible richness to the colours of the leaves on the trees, from the shades of browns to the fiery reds and ambers that adds a warmth to the autumn hue of the forest. There was a crispness and a freshness to the air of the kind that seems to seep into you in the most invigorating of ways. Miranda was busy identifying the variety of birdsongs that provided the soundtrack to our walk while Rose was “treasure hunting” for various items for her scrapbook. Amongst her best finds were a butterfly wing and a discarded horse’s hoof. Millie loved splashing in all the puddles until the cracks in her wellies failed and her feet became soaked requiring me to carry her for the rest of the walk. We walked until we found a stream gently meandering through this copse and wondered why the water took such a curvy route and then we headed back to the car. As we left the copse it started to rain quite heavily and I pulled Millie’s hood over her head, held her close to me to keep her dry as best I could, and we marched on. Every few paces I was encouraged by this little voice from beneath the hood saying “thank you Daddy, I’m not getting wet.” After a while Millie went quiet and as I gently lifted her hood I realised she had fallen asleep. I treasured the moment and despite the rain and the weight of my daughter I didn’t want the walk to end. We arrived back at the car quicker than I expected.

The afternoon was one more reminder of how we are surrounded by the beauty of nature and that I don’t take enought time out to create moments to appreciate it. How do I let that happen? I guess it is so often the fast paced life we live that means we forget those things we should be grateful for.

Like our health for example.

Whilst Miranda is feeling loads better compared to earlier in the year she still has the remnants of the chemotherapy in her system and the thoughts of reconstructive surgery to come. Her shoulder, where the lymph nodes were removed, regularly aches and she is accepting that this is now probably how it will always be. I think she is also experiencing the inevitable concerns that any cancer victim encounters at this stage in their recovery. Suddenly the everyday tweaks and twinges that we all get from time to time raise the nagging doubt of whether they are actually the start of something more sinister. And those concerns are hard to dispel.

We both know that we must look forward, that we must remain positive, but there are days when that is easier said than done. Bizarre as it might sound but when she was dealing with the chemo and the radiotherapy it was almost easier to do this. The treatment she was going through provided a clear reference point and the goal was to get through it. And she did, brilliantly in fact. Now of course the goal is a little more fuzzy and so it can be hard work to look forward and ignore the odd sympton she experiences which might be a sign of the cancer returning.

Never again will I take for granted the fact that I wake up every morning free from concerns about my health.

And tonight as I put Rose to bed we looked out of her bedroom window. Thanks to the putting the clocks back last night she now goes to bed when it is completely dark. We gazed up at the stars in the sky, grateful for the fact that we live in the depth of the countryside and our view is not spoiled by light pollution, noting just how brightly they shine. “Isn’t it amazing Daddy that we get this star show every night,” Rose said in a simplistically profound way that only a small child can.

But it got me thinking. Imagine if the stars in the sky could only be seen once a year. What an event it would be. People would camp out all night, hold star gazing parties, it would be covered by the media and we would all feel desperately cheated if it was a really cloudy night and we had to wait another year before we got a proper view.

So does the fact that the stars are out every night make them any less amazing a sight? And when was the last time that you took five minutes to just enjoy the night sky? I always feel so dwarfed by the sheer scale of what I see, knowing that some of the stars I’m looking at actually burnt out years ago but as they are hundreds of light years away they only appear to us now. Incredible.

For all of us there will be times when life is really tough and because of that I’m grateful that this week has taught me, once more, that we need to make sure that every so often we get our head up and look to the stars.

There is so much to be thankful for.