I have Cancer

I wondered whether to write about this, but eventually the need to throw it on to paper (or computer) was too strong. I hope I am not being too self-indulgent, but I console myself with the truth that nobody is forced to read it. You can all go away and ignore me - and quite right too.

It all started about six weeks ago. My right breast felt 'peculiar', and it was painful. I made the usual excuses. It took two weeks to summon up the courage to go to my GP. I always suspected I was a cowardly wimp (is that a tautology?) and now I know. I'll spare you the details - we all know the drill. Actually, I won't spare you the details, but I shall milk them for all they are worth and so they won't all get used today. I shall tell you about appointments and so forth on other occasions. Suffice it to say today that I now officially have cancer. What is less clear is what sort.

There was me, convinced I had an adenocarcinoma of the breast (look it up - I'm not turning into a textbook!) when lo and behold I was told it could be all manner of things. Biopsies and scans followed. And we are still not sure. It is probably breast, but we'll know for sure (I hope!) after surgery. And then they can advise about treatment plans. And then........

Do you know what is really crazy? My greatest worry in all this has been 'who is going to look after Molly Cat if I have to spend time in hospital'. Now that is sorted out, I am much calmer and just want to get the whole thing over with. Frankly, it hurts and is unpleasant and I just want it off. Crazy.

And I need to say how wonderful all my friends have been. The support is immense and so special. More of that later. Now I'm going to watch the Wimbledon highlights. I timed this wrong by one week. I should have had the operation last week;  then I could have sat up in bed and watched all the tennis with a clear conscience. Typical!

For those of you who believe in God - please keep me in your prayers.

I've started my new job

I have started my new job. I am now, apparently, an academic. I work at a University and I have responsibilities for curriculum development, for teaching, and for research. So, I must be an academic. Right? And how do I feel about it? Well.....

1. I'm terrified: I am well out of my comfort zone but I feel that, being as senior as I am, I ought to be able to deliver. I fear failure like nothing else, but am slightly concerned at asking for too much help. I try to remember what I would say to others in this situation, but they were different people - far more junior. I don't think it applies to me.
2. I'm thrilled: My brain is engaged again - and is having some difficulty getting used to it! I cannot get enough of the challenges being thrown at me. It is so exciting being able to spend a whole afternoon discussing the best way to teach professionalism, or to realise that designing questionnaires is a new skill I need to crack in about a day. I love the challenge.
3. I'm transformed: I want to get up in the morning; I want to go to work; I even want to walk from the station to the University, in the hope that I shall eventually get fit! I have reacquainted myself with my passion for learning. I think I shall do a PhD - probably in medical ethics, but maybe in something totally different, like the History of Art.
4. I'm tortured: by the fact that I did not do this years ago. What a waste of time. However, it just means I have to work all the harder now to make up for lost time. Has anybody got a Time Turner?

In short, dear friends, I have no idea when I shall write again, because I am totally possessed by this new job and by the excitement of academia. However, pouring it all out to you is good, so I may write again tomorrow. 

Molly says 'GOODNIGHT'. And so do I.

Seat Reservations on Trains

When my alarm went off this morning I groaned, muttered and rolled over. It's bad enough having to get out of bed on weekday mornings without having to set an alarm on Saturday morning too. However I had, in a rash moment of enthusiasm, agreed to meet my cousin for lunch and theatre, so the alarm was duly set. Now, don't get me wrong, I know I shall have a thoroughly good day. We get on very well and always have a good laugh and catch-up, and I adore the theatre.  My only gripe is that, living where I do, I have to get up REALLY EARLY (i.e. 0830!) to get the train. I like my Saturday lie-in and don't usually get up till considerably later. 

However, having made the effort and got myself to the station, I was feeling very cheerful and really looking forward to the day. The weather might be miserable, but I was all good cheer. Until East Midlands trains stepped in. To be fair, it isn't really the fault of the company, but why has everybody decided to travel by the 10.02 this Saturday? The coach to which my ticket directed me was heaving with people. My assigned seat looked cramped and uncomfortable. I was dubious. Suddenly, I wondered if the whole train was this busy. There had not seemed to be that many people on the platform. I meandered through to the next compartment: there were four other people there, a quiet couple and a father with his daughter who looked about six and who asked a series of interesting and intelligent questions (e.g. "Why don't trains have seat belts?"). Sadly, the father was so softly spoken that I could not hear the answer.

So, to return to my original point, it was the train company's fault. Can anybody explain to me why they squash all their reservations into one or two coaches, leaving the rest of the train virtually empty? Does it make things easier for them, or is it just the way that the computer algorithm is set up? I must admit, it seems perverse to me. I am now contentedly watching the world go by. Or I would be, if the windows weren't so dirty that I can see virtually nothing. 

Have a good weekend everybody. 

HELP!!! Why am I so Useless with Computers?

Could it be a generation thing? It seems very likely. My brother is three and a half years younger than me, yet that was a very significant three and a half years. We both did 'O'-levels, yet he did considerably more Maths than I did, and even, I seem to remember, some computing. Now, even allowing for the differences between boys' schools and girls' schools (and they were considerable in the seventies) this must mean that they had a different syllabus to cover. The change must have come about then.

What form does my uselessness take? Well, that is a very interesting question, because I don't really know. The reality is, that no matter how many times my beloved, and very patient, brother sets things up for me, very rapidly things go downhill: back-ups don't happen properly; I lose access to my music folder; Spotify tells me that I no longer have access etc. etc. And all this without, I assure you, me having changed a single setting. I wouldn't be that foolish. Somehow, the computer recognises that it has an idiot to deal with, and promptly sets out to do mischief.

Now, before you put me down as a total fruit cake, of course I know that computers do not actually think, and that therefore this is not what is happening, but the facts are entirely as I have described them i.e. my brother sorts it out, it comes back to me, all is well for a while, then everything goes wrong for no apparent reason. Just to add to the confusion, this also happens at work, where I do not have administrator rights (well at one place anyway). The boffins there are completely mystified as to how things can go so wrong, back-ups stop happening, files going missing etc.

So, oh great computer persons out there, any ideas? I love computers. I have virtually gone paper free. I am a Mac addict, with every gismo there is (well, almost). I am not an idiot. So, what is going on? Any ideas?

Computer Chaos?

I was listening to Radio 4 (as I so often do) and heard somebody saying that research had demonstrated that successful and productive people had tidy desks. Untidy desks were likely to be associated with lack of productivity and general uselessness (I don't think that is the phrase he used, but it was clearly what he meant). I pondered this. What did this say about me, if anything, and could the research be flawed?

I have, now, to confess that every desk at which I sit is a tip. Currently, I have three desks: home, job 1 and job 2. Job 2 is a hot desk, so is reasonably tidy. The others are atrocious. The desk for Job 1 is covered in papers, most of them with scribbled notes. I know what they mean, and the issues get dealt with in order. If I walk under a bus, nobody else will have a clue.

My desk at home is a totally different affair. There are few papers, but there are pens, and scissors, and treat bags for Molly, and calling cards, and forgotten gifts, and post-it notes, and stamps waiting to go to charity, and abandoned phones, and wires, and CDs, and, and, and. In other words, total chaos, which Molly adores and plays with, thus making the confusion worse.

'QED' I hear you cry. But it is not so. The reality is, that I can always find everything on my desk. It is clear to me why things are where they are and I have no difficulty. This is NOT the case with my computer files. Here, I have been careful: everything is organised, tagged, filed in the right place - AND I CAN NEVER FIND THE ONE I WANT!!!! Perhaps I ought to try chaos in the computer files as an alternative? Has anybody else tried that?

So Close to Disaster

You will have gathered by now that I am very fond of Molly Cat, even if I am the most useless cat owner. I have learned a lot in the last nine months, and we get on very well now. Admittedly, we haven't completely cracked the food thing (I never know what and when she will eat) and she still makes it perfectly clear that she would love to go and explore the great blue yonder. However, we are generally happy and I love her dearly.

Now, as it happens, next week is Selection Centre week, and I have to be in Loughborough from Monday to Wednesday. Last Wednesday I was contemplating this while playing with Molly, trying to make decisions about what to take, when horror descended on me. I suddenly realised that I had made no arrangements for Molly. How could this have happened? How could I have been so completely useless?

Answer came there none. I do not know why I did not realise. But the truth is, that I had to sort something out. And fast. I am lucky: both my cleaner and my other assistant were prepared to help. In the end, there will be somebody here all the time. But it is a good lesson: I must not forget that Molly Cat needs sorting out if I am going away! It isn't just holidays that need arranging. Sorry Molly!

Feeling Wanted and Useful

As you will know if you have read my other posts, the NHS is being radically altered, and Public Health is being dismantled (no point in pulling punches at this stage) by the Health and Social Care Act. All through last year, the fight to save the NHS kept me going. I worked ridiculous hours, often till 2 or 3 in the morning then up again at 6. I wrote letters, sent emails, drafted papers.  When the Bill became an Act, I was devastated, but I did not realise the totally negative effect it had had upon me. Indeed, it is only now that I am beginning to comprehend the reality and to wish to comment on this.

What I had failed to realise was how deeply I had imbibed the constant message that we in Public Health had failed. Added to that, as transition came closer, more and more of what I did was dismantled. I do Health Services Public Health - NHS facing - and that is not popular with our new masters, the Local Authorities.  I felt as if my entire working life had been wasted. Essentially, unrealised by me, I felt a total failure.

Then, at the end of 2012, a job came up at a University. I adore teaching and training. To me, there is no more important task than passing on the torch to the next generation. We need to enthuse, to excite, to enthral. Sadly, I had never had the credentials for an academic job; and, anyway, I did not really want to spend all my life doing research - I wanted to do both teaching and research. Suddenly, here was the perfect job - a good balance between research and teaching, working with colleagues I knew and respected, in an institution I was impressed by. I wanted that job. Badly.

I applied. I waited. I was called for interview. The interview was daunting, but I felt I had not totally disgraced myself. Then it went quiet. For days. I got increasingly nervous. On Christmas Eve, I was offered the job. To say I am ecstatic about it is to seriously undersell my reaction. As I start to meet people and to understand the job better, my whole life seems more interesting. Suddenly, I want to get up in the morning.

That was the realisation that came to me today. For the first time in months, I believe that I can make a real contribution, that I have something to offer. I am feeling wanted and useful. I cannot tell you how that feels: the total relief and sense of purpose. And I realised that, for so many, they never have that feeling, and that is soul-destroying. We need to take more notice of people's need to be needed. It is an intrinsic human trait. We all accept that long-term unemployment is bad for people, but so is working in a job that people do not perceive to make a contribution. The contribution does not have to be ground breaking, but we all need to feel wanted and useful. Employers and Government would do well to remember that.