Next week sees the 2nd anniversary of my diagnosis, an appropriate, if long overdue, moment to celebrate life and the friendships that have been vital in getting me well and back living life.
Diagnosed a week after Donald Trump shocked the world by being elected as President of the United States, it quickly became apparent that, for many, my leukaemia diagnosis came as even more shocking news.
My husband and I had a sense of just how shocking by the number of messages we received. I tried to keep up my replies to them all from hospital, but it was too much repeating the same thing over and over, and thus the Cheering Squad Whats App group was born.
In the beginning the group was a way of giving medical updates, only having to say things once. in time it became a lifeline, a connection to the real world. My in box was filled with humour, jokes and anecdotes, teasing each other and me with stories past and present.
Looking back through the messages I spent a lot of time moaning about how awful I felt. The squad sent me messages about how inspirational I was, how I’d come so far I could keep going, reminding me to take small steps and keep going. It’s amazing they stuck with me, particularly when my sometimes heavily drugged state meant it took me hours to send a simple message that looking back made absolutely no sense what so ever!
The beauty of the group was they could see what each other had written, they always knew if some one had been in touch, they didn’t have to be active on it every day but could dip in and out when they were able to.
But it was the practical response that humbled us most. Edgar Watson Howe, an American author, said "If a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it." The Cheering Squad did exactly that.
When other people have newly diagnosed friends they often ask me what I found helpful by way of support. it’s a strange specialist subject to have but I hope sharing our experience will help others feel the same sense of friendship and support. So the following are just some of the things that people did for us, as they say on Strictly they are in no particular order.
Our two children, then aged 10 and 6, were swept up and cared for. Friends worked together to make sure they got to and from school and clubs, having them round for playdates, feeding them, giving them the space and time to have fun with their friends, giving them a sense of normality. Even ensuring they had the right costume for the nativity play. Photographic evidence was plentiful.
School teachers sent me weekly updates of how the children were doing at school, what they’d been doing, reassuring me they were ‘looking after them as if they were their own’. They allowed a nativity rehearsal to be filmed and sent to me on DVD for my private use. Cleary all these things made me cry as I missed the children, but it was wonderful to see them smiling and to be connected to their lives.
When I was finally well enough to attend school events I was reserved a seat to save me having to queue up and to guarantee me one near a door away from the throng and those dreaded germs.
Family looked after the children in the school holidays - the Midlands aren’t known as a summer holiday destination but they were kept entertained.
Family also came to stay with us to help run the household and babysit me during the day and night as at the time I wasn’t supposed to be left alone. Just having someone else in the house for company was reassurance that I was safe.
I was never without a lift to and from hospital appointments. Sometimes friends stayed with me for the duration. Waiting around in hospitals is tedious at the best of times, so watching me have treatment and being so poorly must have been pretty unpleasant.
All sorts of gifts were sent: lucky crystals, smellies, a bean bag for my iPad, a snuggly blanket, fluffy socks, anti-sickness sweets, craft supplies, jigsaws, a crystal guardian angel to hang on the ward’s Christmas tree. There were loads of bright colourful get well cards, and magazines.
A pillow case decorated by a a friend’s child for me to keep things in at hospital was much admired.
Friends generously clubbed together to buy me a Kindle and an iPod to use in hospital. Vouchers to buy Kindle books followed along with book suggestions. I was invited to join a book review group on Facebook.
There were lots of upbeat music suggestions - Chumbwumba was a favourite, ‘Boom Chicka Boom’ from the Guide campsite less popular!
Colouring and puzzle books, notebooks and pens were fabulous too, although my ‘chemo brain’ meant simpler puzzles were easier! I still have some of the colouring, I asked fellow patients and staff to name the animals I’d coloured, looking at them now they make for strangely happy memories.
A friend lent me an iPad to keep in touch from hospital.
Another friend, who isn’t local, wrote a letter to me every week for a year about what was going on in her world. There’s something very special about receiving a letter, reading that normality still existed was reassuring, it kept me engaged with it.
I was kept in good supply of my new favourite food, Custard Cream biscuits!
A crafty friend crocheted me some beanie hats.
A school Mum voluntarily took over my role as class rep - now that’s a rare treat!
Errands like going to the Post Office or collecting things from shops were done. Doing the ironing. Putting our dustbins away. Cooking dinners and cakes, and bringing bottles of beer to cheer my husband.
Armed with a list of what was for who, my Mum wrapped all the Christmas presents that I was ordering on line from my hospital bed.
My husband was invited out by friends, giving him invaluable time out and moral support. I heard a rumour he had a few hugs from Mums at the school gate too.
The window cleaner offered to give blood. People registered as stem cell donors, not for me, but just because they suddenly realised how important it was to do so.
People have used their areas of expertise to show acts of kindness, for example repairing a sentimental bracelet for free, offering advice on fitness and diet, organising a mobile hairdresser to visit me at home.
Between them they’ve raised over £23,000 in aid of the Royal Marsden Cancer Charity. Watching over 20 friends cross the finish line of the Marsden March from my hospital window was a very moving experience.
Ultimately just knowing people were there for us, ready to help when asked made the world of difference.
There are some who choose to journey through cancer alone, I admire their determination and bravery. Personally I wouldn’t have got as far as I have without our support network. Their kindness left me with little to worry about apart from getting better. So to all of them, thank you, you too are an inspiration, I love you all x
"Friendship, said Christopher Robin, is a very comforting thing to have."
- A.A. Milne
