What's another year?

What's another year? 

It's huge! It's a celebration of life and love. It's another milestone for me as someone who quite frankly is lucky to be still here. 

This day 8 year's ago I gave in and went to my GP. I had been really sick all over Christmas and I knew that something was wrong. Bryan forced me to go to the doc as he had watched me getting worse and stubbornly refusing to leave the kids at Christmas - Emma was 9 and Cathal was 2. 

I had been vomiting since 8 December - on and off - and was getting weaker and sicker. 

So on 2 January 2007 I took the kids and went to the GP. Bryan had gone back to work. 

The GP told me I looked ghastly and took a whole series of bloods. She have me an anti-sickness injection. I had missed the blood courier so I volunteered to drive my bloods over to Naas hospital for testing/analysis. 

We went home and I put Cathal down for a nap and Emma and I put on a Christmas movie. I fell asleep ....

I was woken an hour or two later by a phone call which went like this: 

Doc: Brenda it's Dr Ciara here. Your bloods are back from Naas. 

Me: ok - that was quick

Doc: I need you to go to hospital 

Me: What? 

Doc: I need you to go to hospital 

Me: can I go tomorrow - I'm home alone with the kids (it was about 4pm) 

Doc: no, you need to get to hospital now

Me: What's wrong? 

Doc: your creatinine is very high 

(I knew that meant kidneys were in trouble) 

Me: can I go to Naas hospital later tonight or tomorrow? 

Doc: no we need to get you to Dublin to either James's or Tallaght today, now,as soon as possible. 

Me: really? 

Doc: I am writing your referral letter now so which hospital?

Me: Tallaght? 

Doc: ok can you come in to me to get the letter. 

Me: ok

I was stunned. I knew I was sick but it was so bad I had to go to Dublin? 

I sorted the kids and drove in to get the letter. I cried all the way in. The receptionist was so sweet to me and that made me cry even more. 

The letter was sealed but I opened it and scanned the bloods. They were bad. The diagnosis was kidney failure with a question mark beside it. I put it away and rang Bryan who was stunned it was something do serious. He left his office to make the journey home. I cried all the way home at the thoughts of leaving the kids. 

I got home and made dinner for the kids. I arranged for a friend to take Cathal and told Emma to pack up some stuff. I emptied the dishwasher and did some ironing (as you do).

Bryan arrived and we packed a bag for me too in case I was kept in. 

The doctor rang to see if I was on my way! That made me even more scared. 

We dropped Cathal off and headed for Tallaght A & E which is no fun at any time of the year but on Jan 2nd it was a nightmare. 

There was a guy in a suit liaising with patients to tell us how long we had to wait. After an hour or more I wanted to scream at him to stop telling me I was a major and would be seen ..... I was really miserable.

There were time wasters and people treating it like a social club. I remember one woman who had dropped a wine bottle on her foot in NYE and she was phoning her friends telling them to come up to A & E for the Craic.

I was feeling worse by the minute. I think the anti sickness injection was wearing off because I started vomiting and having explosive diarrhoea again which in very unpleasant to manage in a  public toilet. 

The triage nurse came out and took my letter. She was back 5 mins later to tell me they were preparing a place for me. When I heard those words the passage from John's gospel flashed across my brain "there are many rooms ..." It's a popular reading at funerals! I was losing it... 

Emma chatted away and Bryan worried. I was taken through to a bay after 10pm and I was sure I was going to be home later that night. 

By 11pm I had bloods taken and vitals were assessed. There was a lot of head scrAtching. They said it was most likely a virus and asked if I had been to Africa or anywhere else like that where I might have picked something up. They mentioned rheumatic fever at one point. 

I told Bryan and Emma to go home as it was so late. I was convinced I would be calling home in the early hours trying to arrange a lift. 

I spoke to a nurse at 11.30pm and asked her did she think I would get home that night? She looked at me and said: "no Brenda, you are a very sick girl". 

I settled in for the night in the cubicle ...running to the loo every 10 minutes and vomiting into my cardboard dish in between. I was given more anti sickness meds and put on fluids.

I was told I was dangerously dehydrated. Sure I had been losing any food and drink I ate since early Dec through vomiting etc

I had a haemoglobin of 7 which is why I was breathless and weak. 

Docs were shocked by my bloods and were amazed I was able to stand. 

I saw more docs and was eventually moved away from the A & E madness into a small side room for observation overnight.

They were pursuing the sickness as a virus but could rule nothing in or out. 

I often wonder looking back and knowing what I know now about bloods - did they know it might be cancer ? 

I never for one moment thought it was cancer. 

But it was. 

Thankfully here I am on 2 January 2015 - a date I never thought I would be writing.... 

Here's to good health in 2015. 

Some thoughts about mental fitness and young people

My 17 year old daughter wrote this for her school mental fitness week which began today. She read this on her school intercom system: 

This week is Mental Fitness week, which for a lot of you probably means the long an arduous process of picking out an outfit to dazzle the entire school with, but for a few of you, it might just mean a lot. Because the fact is that 1 in four people will, at some point, experience a mental health difficulty. This week is about you, and it’s here to remind you that you are most certainly not alone. 

I don’t want to bombard you with facts, so instead I’m gonna do a little speech.

I like speeches.

Sure, by itself, the world is just trees and rocks and clouds, but if there is some magic, it’s in people, as much as I would love Hogwarts to be real. You can either accept that life is an individual experience or a collective ordeal. You’re not wrong, either way, but only together can we make human life worth something. We may not feel inherently valuable, but as countless love stories have told us, we have the potential to mean everything to another person. As J.K. Rowling said, “We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.”

Alone, we might not really feel all that important, but if you add just one person who cares, you become as great and incalculable as the universe itself. Sure, the universe is big, but that’s only because every planet is millions upon millions of miles apart. There are seven billion of us squashed together on one insignificant blue planet floating aimlessly around a tiny star, but just look at the things we have done. Things like Christmas and the Mona Lisa and Mario Kart.

There are times when all of us feel alone, or overwhelmed, or disgusted with ourselves, but that isn’t a reason to become disillusioned with the world. Don’t be sad because your life isn’t as exciting as the books you read or the films you watch, because once you get past the tininess of the community you’re living in, there are millions of things you don’t know about the world. Watch documentaries about planet Earth and see all these things you hadn’t even thought of. Revel in the hours of fun children manage to have with the ketchup packets in restaurants. What it that even about?

There are so many things to be amazed by, so many books you’ll leave unread if you give up this stupid huge, tiny world. 

No matter how bad things are right now, remember that everything is temporary, and that you have the strength to be more than what you’ve done so far. You can be the things that you will do, the promises you make to yourself.

Maybe you’ll paint a masterpiece, or write a classic. Maybe you’ll write a song they’ll sing in a thousand years, or maybe you’ll discover something that will save lives. Maybe you’ll do nothing but love and be loved. The point is, unless you keep beating on, you’ll never know.

This week is for you, a little reminder that there are people who can help, and a world that aside from all its flaws is pretty cool and worth paying attention to.

Emma Tobin 

Age 17 

Read out on school intercom system for mental fitness week 6 October 2014 

Hearing the 'R' word for the first time

At times during my treatment for Multiple Myeloma (cancer of the plasma cells in the bone marrow), I wondered if I would live to see my next birthday, never mind living to hear the 'R' word (Remission) but here I am on Friday 26 September 2014 celebrating seven years of remission.

It's a feeling of indescribable joy really to still be here and to be mostly fighting fit. 

I was reading through my 2007 journal last night and this is what was happening seven years ago:

Wednesday 26 September 2007
DAY WARD RESULTS 

A couple of weeks earlier I had a bone marrow biopsy (ouch) to see if my stem cell transplant had worked and to see if the myeloma was gone. I attended the haematology day ward in Tallagh hospital for results. This diary entry was written at the end of that day seven years ago.

I can't describe how in bits I was this morning. I was wide awake at 5.30am walking around the house, pacing up and down. Sleep didn't come to easily last night either. I got very emotional with the kids this morning - I know they didn't really understand why. I was uptight, nervous and it was very difficult to speak any words that made sense.

I had decided to go to the hospital by myself and I know my family members weren't that happy but that's the way I decided to do it today. If it was bad news I would have time to absorb it myself before I had to break the news to anyone else. People knew I was getting my results today so my phone was hopping with texts all morning with good wishes and offers of prayers.

I dropped the kids to school and delayed a bit chatting to people - all the time prolonging the journey to Tallaght Hospital.

When I got to the hospital I had to have my regular bloods done so I headed straight to phlebotomy. Then it was up to haematology. I had a fair idea that some of the nurses knew my results but they couldn't say anything. I had to hear whatever the news was from my consultant Dr Slaby.

In fairness they all knew how nervous I was and they got me into a side room to wait for Dr Slaby almost as soon as they saw me. He arrived and was a bit concerned about the cough I have. I was sitting beside him and I could see the computer screen. I was afraid to look at it as he pulled up my results. My left hand was shaking so much that I had to sit on it to stop it. I glanced at him and then glanced at the screen and lots of numbers and words blurred in front of me but then I thought I saw the words 'no myeloma present in the bone marrow sample'. I thought I was seeing things so I closed my eyes and then he said the words: "We've done it. The Myeloma is gone'. I punched the air with both fists. I wanted to scream the place down but I somehow composed myself. I don't know how or why.

I honestly didn't hear a word he said to me after that - something about maintenance treatment. Then he realised I wasn't hearing him and he said - that's for another day. He said he was concerned about my cough so he insisted I hang around for an Xray. I was bursting to get out of the office and he eventually said that's it and we shook hands.

I ran out into the day ward and ran straight into one of the nurses who had taken care of me and I said 'I'm in remission' and she said 'I know' with a huge smile on her face. She hugged me and realised how badly I was shaking from shock so she put me into a side office and told me to dial 9 for a line out and not to come out or attempt to leave the hospital until I was a bit more settled. She said well done and left with a huge smile on her face.

Pic of me taken in Autumn 2013 

I dialled 9 and called my hubby Bryan but there was no answer. Then I dialled my mother and just as she was about to talk to me I cut her off. I couldn't work my mobile as I was all fingers and thumbs. Bryan rang me back and it was one of the most emotional moments of my life and I could hardly get the words out. I'm in remission I said and started to cry - tears of happiness. He said 'you deserve champagne tonight so that's what we will do'. It was just a moment of amazement I will never forget.

I called other friends and then my work colleagues as I knew people were waiting and there was such joy and love coming at me down the phone lines from family, friends, colleagues. My phone went into overdrive.

I switched the phone off and just sat by myself for a while taking it all in. I did it. I was in remission. All the awfulness, all the suffering and trauma, all the worry - I had done it. I was in remission.

End of diary entry 

I remember leaving the room and meeting the other nurses - they were all thrilled as they had all been willing me to be well. I owe my life to this team of amazing men and women in the day ward in Tallaght. There was no way to ever repay them for giving me my life back but I am determined to try by staying well for as long as I possibly can.

There was such joy in the dayward but we all had to mindful of people around me who were not receiving good news on the day I got my life back. I went off for my Xray and skipped out the door of the hospital. I wanted to stop everyone I met and tell them that I had done it! I am in remission.

I remember heading home down the N7 singing along to the radio. My daughter Emma who was 9 at the time knew that I was getting results on that day. I remember her school bus pulling up and seeing her walking across the green outside our house so I ran over to her and we just stood in the middle of the green hugging after I had told her the news. She was so happy for me.

It was such an incredible moment. At the time I had no idea that my neighbour was watching - she knew I was getting results that day and she dropped in a card later that day telling me that she had stood at her window watching this beautiful moment between mother and daughter unfold before her eyes. She said it was impossible not to cry!

That was seven year's ago today and there have been so many more beautiful moments that have unfolded in my life and I so grateful for every one of them. 

We all take things in our lives for granted - time being one of them.

I've watched my daughter grow into the most wonderful 17 year old girl. 

I've watched my baby boy grow into a charming and witty 10 year old. 

I'm getting to grow older with my hubby of 19 years. 

Time is the thing I find myself most grateful for. It's wonderful. 

Here's to continuing to kick cancer's butt and to savouring time. 

Brenda 

xxx

The Sins of the Children by Emma Tobin

The mute, mothball shrieks of children dying under mother’s hands
And the fractal bursts of fractured light that hit
As the world tumbles over itself, leaving vague moments...
Like fingernails between the stones

While we, like disapproving books on dusty shelves
Clasp coffee cups against the precious beating of our hearts
Toss cynicism between one another, each drop of sweat a privilege
Each breath a human right

Stuffed straw mouths and shining hair
Religious freedom weighs more than dead children
Leaving corpses littered like cigarettes
Colours in a twisted dream of heaven

Matchstick ribs jutting, but we stood on the moon
How fragile have we made our one,
short and common life? How easily
our complacency is bought.

And in the dull light of big- mooned skies
Ragged lines of blood stutter down, rough
touches underneath a fluorescent fire. Severed
heads belching, toddlers left for flies.

In empty houses seashells wait for pudgy fingers
now bludgeoned shades of navy blue. And
our tots writhe on the warehouse floor, unable
to comprehend a world without Lego.

These shells will not creak in a gruff wind
Stretched lopsided over an imagined territory
An imagined safety, an imagined,
tender world.


Copyright: Emma Tobin (age 17)
September 2014

To Autum and Flu Season

To Autum and Flu Season by Brenda Drumm 

SEASON of mists and mellow flueyness 

Coughs, colds and sore throats 

Conspiring to make me bark and sneeze

  Despite lemsip, paracetamol and dissolvable disprin 

Despite flu jabs, vitamin c and Manuka honey 

Despite old wives' remedies and flat 7up 

        

    You swell my glands and plump up my nose 

You dry my skin 

And block my bronchial tubes

Make my eyes stream and tear up 

Create mountains of Mucus and swollen nasal membranes  

 Until I think my dripping nose will never cease 

  Oh yes the flu has o'er-brimm'd my clammy cells.  

 

Who hath not seen this strand of flu coming? 

Where is my immunity? 

 I am drowsy from the fumes of Vicks vapour rub 

Semi unconscious from the odour of Olbas oil 

    You sit and watch my oozings hour by hour. 

 

Where are the songs of Spring?

Where is our Indian Summer? 

Am I now at the mercy of Autumnal change and Winter weariness? 

Hot water bottle and heat pads to keep me warm 

Ice packs and cold drinks five minutes later 

I'm overheating 

Do I stuff this cold? 

Should I starve my fever? 

Must have lots of fluids

Must eat a little of what I fancy 

Must have Lucozade and multivitamins 

Mustn't have lemsip as well as paracetamol 

Must sleep 

I'm sinking into a duvet day 

Dosed up 

Choked up 

Blocked up 

Chest and nose are whistling 

Not really a lullabye

But I finally

Drift off

Into another season of mist and not so mellow flueyness 

Copyright: Brenda Drumm 

7 September 2014 

Guest post - POEM by 17 year old Emma Tobin

This is my daughter Emma's poem that she wrote for Hopkins Summer School and which no doubt contributed to her winning the overall award. 

One Giant Fuck-Up is Mankind

I.
It was midnight and I lay reeling
Painting myself red.
Wondering why the world felt, suddenly
Like a cage and not a castle.

I have practiced dying all my life
Like a dancer, the poetic pirouette.
I’ll cut so you can’t stitch me up
Horizontal – like the line I crossed

Were puppets meant to cut their own strings?

These razor-bites are questions
I’ve sewn my shaking lips shut
This is my mustered eloquence
Wet stains on toilet paper

Humankind: A Question, posed out of rhyme

II.

When did the light behind our eyes
Morph, meticulously into black and white?
Our morals like soldiers, lined
Neatly, streets stacked with
-Corpses, like hedgegrows

When did it become polite to look away?
When did warzones come back into fashion?
Diplomacy the excuse you cite, credentials
Who said it was neat to build towers on corpses?
Because those are some shaky foundations

When did happiness become a privilege?
When did constellations become stars?
When did it become all we could do
not to slit our life open – little fish?

A kiss would push your breath back in you
But today it is a crime to love
A sin to steal a kiss
Today who we love is a label.

We are the martyrs
We are the clowns
These are our screams
This is our blood
Can you feel it?
Sticky on your hands.

III.

It was midnight
It was morning
I was mourning

For the children with severed hands
For the lovers with electrodes and shaved heads
For the girls with blood on their thighs
For Jesus, who thought we might learn to love

For the ghosts of Mai Lai
For the starved with numbers on their arms
For the healers burned in fear
For the mothers tied to beds

For the victims of justice
For whiskey’s favourite punching bag
For the people who were owned
For those who fell off the buck
When it stopped here

These cuts are questions
This blood, the reply.

Copyright: Emma Tobin 2014

Cancer Demons

Most days I just get on with life - school lunches and school run in the morning, feed the cats, head to work, plan my evenings, prepare for my radio shows, attend meetings, try and get a walk in, collect the kids, make the dinner, do laundry, supervise homework and all the rest of the day to day chores that mums/parents do.

Most days I am so busy that I don't have time to think about having cancer. I don't have time to be thinking about the what ifs or the possibility that I have a shortened life.

Then there are the days when having cancer is all I can think about. Having cancer is the thing that permeates every waking thought and every deep dream while I am sleeping. But it's not so much the having cancer that bothers me or that keeps me awake - it's the thought of living with dying, the thoughts of having to say goodbye to a world that I really had planned to grown old in.

These thoughts are my cancer demons and most days I manage to keep them at bay but sometimes I let them win. I don't mean to...... there are just days when I am feeling low physically or feeling tired and they get the upper hand.

These cancer demons days are spent on the verge of tears. These are the days when I need extra hugs. These are the days when if anyone is particularly nice to me, I might just cry.........These are the days when I start to visualise the end and what it might be like. These are the days when I try to comprehend how my husband and kids are going to manage without me. These are the days when I wonder have I told them and shown them how much they mean to me. These are the days when I wonder have I given enough and done enough to be remembered by them. These are the days when I wonder should I write to them so as they have a card for each of their forthcoming birthdays (just in case). These are the days when I just want to stop and be and savour smells, sounds and sights all around me.

My cancer demons make me fearful about more pain and suffering. I've been there, done that and have the T-shirt! I have courage and faith but treatments are so harsh and have put me into freezeframe in the past. I am strong, but I am not sure I am strong enough to do it again and again and again.....

My cancer demons make me worry about my faith - I do have faith but I worry sometimes that it won't be strong enough to sustain me ........

I have confidence in the medicine and in the fact that there will one day be a cure for myeloma and all forms of cancer.

On these days when the cancer demons are at large, it can be difficult to visualise a future. I feel smothered by the all consuming need and wish to be around for my kids and husband and for myself. I find myself getting jealous of older people and the years that they have had..........The cancer demons make me feel pressure to do all I want to do and to fit in all the things I have not yet achieved.

The cancer demons make me draw a blank sometimes when I try to look at my future.........

Having cancer is a bitch
Having cancer demons is a total bitch

I have waved the cancer demons away for the moment thanks to feeling stronger today. I hope they will stay away for a while and allow me to get busy living rather than focusing on the fact that I might die sooner than I had planned.

Brenda xxxxxx