...and a Happy New Year!

As Christmas Eve darkened, the family headed to pub in high spirits.  The Rose, swathed in lights of all colours, greeted us from across the road.  As we stepped across I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach.  Perhaps it was all the excitement....

No, it was Norovirus.  From about 9pm on the 24th December, Christmas was a write-off.  The only presents I could think about was the lingering presence of nausea and stomach-clenching cramps.  The 25th....the 26th....no Turkey for me.  Finally, the 27th looms and here I am, contemplating getting out of bed!

Sitting in bed with a bowl and a dry biscuit while listening to the merriment downstairs has given me more time than ever to plan my New Year's Resolutions!  Not something I have ever previously made a habit of, I have decided that having a general direction in life might be a good idea.  I am, after all, hovering in my late twenties.  'Still young!'  I hear you cry (and I cry with you, a Disaronno in my hand...) Yet there are a few changes that need to be made.

Firstly, I do register that I am very lucky.  Any changes are relatively minor because I do already have the important things in life.  I am surrounded by people who love me, who bring me porridge coated with sugar and attend my every need while Noro clouds my vision.  I know I have lots going for me, despite some difficult times.  Yet I do still feel that next year, things need to be shaken up a bit. 

As the days, weeks and months pass, it becomes increasingly evident that I no longer enjoy my job.  The pleasure of teaching, once a vibrant daily reminder that I had finally obtained the career I loved, has slowly evaporated leaving behind a withered husk of memory.  Despite my best efforts to rekindle the past: that unwavering loyalty towards the School; that passion; that sense of inclusion; I feel I must admit that those brief  'golden days' are long gone.  Initially, I panicked.  Was it teaching in general?  Had I lost what I had previously thought was a deeply engrained calling?  Were those feelings merely passing fancies? 

Realistically, who goes back to the place they had a traumatic, life-changing, image-altering accident and just 'gets on with it,' no issues noted?  I am pretty sure that I am having a minor crisis of thought because of the School, not because of me.  So in the New Year, this is a high priority to address.  For my own sanity I must look at the avenues available to me so I can go back to being the enthusiastic, blindly-buoyant teacher I was before. 

Another thing I will focus on next year is my health.  Although it has improved greatly since the accident, I have spent a year 'making up for lost time.'  I've done little exercise, I've let myself get increasingly stressed (until my heart is pounding so hard I think I'm going to pass out!) I've drunk too much, eaten too many gastro-pub burgers and generally taken it all for granted.  In November I reluctantly took up Yoga, more because I was feeling guilty about my lack of activity rather than any real desire and was shocked, SHOCKED I tell you at how weak I was!  My muscles quivered under the strain of downward dog.  I looked around the room at all these middle aged women in leggings, balanced in the art of Zen and then back to my own shivering form.  Oh my.  So, I need to remember that this body has to last a long time.  Instead of filling it with 'bombs and burgers perhaps I should turn to my new Nigel Slater Cookbook (a recent Christmas acquisition) and embrace late-twenties domestication.  (Or maybe, I'll just cut back a bit and make sure I don't bail out of Yoga due to the weather...it is indoors after all!)

Finally, I must remember to be more kind in general.  To others and to myself. 

So.....forgetting the 'Merry Christmas' as I completely missed it!  Here's to a Happy New Year instead!

A short battle, a massive aftermath.

Nearly a New Year.  Time for a New Start. 

A short battle, a massive aftermath.

The battle of San Jacinto, 1836.

 

***

 

"San Jacinto"

Thick cloud - steam rising - hissing stone on sweat lodge fire
Around me - buffalo robe - sage in bundle - rub on skin
Outside - cold air - stand, wait for rising sun
Red paint - eagle feathers - coyote calling - it has begun
Something moving in - I taste it in my mouth and in my heart
It feels like dying - slow - letting go of life

Medicine man lead me up through town - Indian ground - so far down
Cut up land - each house - a pool - kids wearing water wings - drink in cool
Follow dry river bed - watch Scout and Guides make pow-wow signs
Past Geronimo's disco - Sit 'n' Bull steakhouse - white men dream
A rattle in the old man's sack - look at mountain top - keep climbing up
Way above us the desert snow - white wind blow

I hold the line - the line of strength that pulls me through the fear
San Jacinto - I hold the line
San Jacinto - the poison bite and darkness take my sight - I hold the line
And the tears roll down my swollen cheek - think I'm losing it - getting weaker
I hold the line - I hold the line
San Jacinto - yellow eagle flies down from the sun - from the sun

We will walk - on the land
We will breathe - of the air
We will drink - from the stream
We will live - hold the line

 

 PETER GABRIEL

Sink or swim...returning to work.

As I travelled that familiar route on the first day of the new term, I found myself filled with elation.  Positive thoughts emanated from me; ideas for new lessons fought for space in my mind. 

I truly believed returning would be easier, less traumatic.  I'd spent a year preparing to start where I had left off .  Instead I found myself cringing from the sheer noise of it all.  Not just the physical slamming of doors and shouting of boys but the mental noise; that inner voice reeling off to-do lists, responsibilities, demands and urgencies.

And it seemed everything was urgent.  My ability to prioitise was flabby, under-worked for months.  For a year my biggest chore had been supermarket shopping.  Now it was to fill out current grades; target grades; plan lessons; attend meetings and somewhere in that overgrown space, teach.  I had to desperately weed out the creeping ivy of unnecessary tasks that from day one, began to choke me.  I had to fight to clear a gap for each real focus.  I began to flail in panic, drowning.

My place of work hasn't exactly made it easy for me.  If anything, their endless demands have escalated the trauma of my return.  I've almost buckled under their 'innovative' yet crippling plan to complete a GCSE in a month.  I've been counting down the days until the exam (tomorrow!) Thick black crosses cover the calendar, marking my path to freedom. 

I've been hunted down for current grades for children I've known for a mere two hours; children whose names alone escape me.  11 hour days have eaten my soul and left me asleep on top of the sheets, fully clothed.  My first observation in two years took hours to prepare and hovered over me like a black cloud.  I didn't even have time to celebrate the 'good-with-outstanding-features' result before I was catapulted back into the heaving tide of purposeless administration, pupil admonishment, barely-there progress and under-achievement.

I've shocked even myself at the slow loss of my can-do attitude, my sudden slide into nervousness. I've become one of the self-loathing whingers I despise.  The days have swirled past in a furious tsnaumi of panic, the occasional tear and the constant shedding of confidence.

It's been devastating. 

Teaching has been my greatest love.  The moment I stepped in a class-room during my GTP in 2009 I knew it was meant to be.  An innate ability to teach resided within me, needing to be nurtured into a full skillset.  I was thrilled and relieved to find my calling.  I lived and breathed teaching.  I planned activities as I washed my hair, I visualised lessons behind closed eyes on the train, I pondered ways to engage my pupils and created new interventions to implement.

This has been ripped from me, torn away like a conjoined twin.  I feel like less of a person without that necessity to teach.  A passion shaped hole weeps inside me.  Instead of a positive rebounding spirit, I shudder at the thought of being too challenged.  I fear failure. 

My confidence lays shattered.

The silhouette of my body outlined on the pine-needled floor of the courtyard haunts me, whispers ugly memories.  It has faded for everyone else but it taps me on the shoulder at every turn, beckons a blistered finger towards the window, forcing me to look across that landscape of horror.  Not only has this school taken a year from me, they have twisted teaching into something that is no longer enjoyable.

I am trying to recall the joy of this job.  Accepting that life will not remain untainted by this episode does help.  I comfort myself that the problem isn't me.  I am still a teacher, it is the school that changes everything.  Already I am seeing fleeting glimpses of before.  That dawning light in a pupil's eye as 'metaphor' sinks in...those fragments of progress...it's all a step closer to where I was before my career was rudely interrupted.

Yet already the mornings are punctuated less with panic, more with the pleasant acceptance of the day's events unfolding.  Each morning, as the alarm chirps into the breaking darkness, the sense of disaster becomes fainter.  The doom-and-gloom teeters on a precipice instead of always pushing me over the edge. 

It's not my duty to continously remind people what has happened.  It's only been 7 weeks since I returned to my job and the site of my burns.  I am feeling my way fearfully, desperate to reach the day when I wake up with my pre-accident sunny disposition and look forward to my working day. 

I know that in years to come I will stand in a classroom and feel that sense of self-worth and satisfaction blossom again.

Photo 'drowning woman' http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/underwater-room    http://briannapancakes.tumblr.com/

The Black Swan - a lesson in randomness

The Black Swan didn't exist until it was discovered at random in Australia.  Just because something has never happened before doesn't mean it won't.

An accident is a 'black swan,' a random event that could not be anticipated.  It's an unexpected, rare occurrence with massive after-effects.  According to 'The Black Swan: The impact of the highly improbable,' these events lie outside 'the tunnel of possibilities.'  They are entirely unpredictable, random and unlikely to ever happen.  Yet they do.

According to Psychologies Magazine, (November) the concept of randomness makes people uncomfortable.  Human brains are designed to create connections and to utilize past experiences.  When something out of the ordinary happens humans strive to explain it, quantify it, analyse it.  We look for certainty in an uncertain world: predicting the weather; forecasting economics and planning ahead.  We forget that we are not in control and that every day we live we are drifting this way and that, under the influence of larger factors at work.  Take the Butterfly Effect, for example, a theory beautifully explored in Micheal Cricthron's Jurassic Park and the 2004 Aston Kutcher film of the same title.  

The Butterfly Effect, another term for Chaos Theory states that the sensitive dependence on initial conditions means a tiny change in circumstances or influences can result in a large difference to a later state. A theoretical example of this is the musing that a hurricane's formation could result from whether or not a distant butterfly had flapped its wings several weeks before.

An accident is too often caused by a series of unfortunate events, an inexplicable combination of factors that when written on paper could be the premise of a terrible Soap Opera episode.  Life is often stranger than fiction.  According to philosophers, the key to the Black Swan is being able to take from this sudden, highly impactful occurrence.  How can we take from the negative and turn it into a positive outcome?

Many success stories in history are due to an individual being able to view a seemingly negative event as an opportunity and turn it into something else.  People assume it is hard work or persistence that turns people into 'greats' but it is often resilience in the face of adversity as well as luck.  These people have the ability to turn an highly improbable and unpredictable occurrence to their advantage.

Crucially, it's these 'Black Swans' that have the biggest impact on history.  The biggest changes often happen in times of uncertainty and instability when increasing numbers of unusual opportunities open.   Examples include companies like Facebook and Apple who have seized the market through their ability to optimize today's culture.  Starbucks came along when Howard Schultz attended a homeware conference in Milan and was struck by the city's coffee bar culture. Katie Piper had a life-changing experience and decided to open a charity in order to support others, changing the course of her life.  Pasteur discovered penicillin when he forgot to wash up some petri dishes and because he had a naturally curious nature.  Many notable inventions in history have occurred because something happened by chance and someone took the opportunity to pursue it.  In Bill Bryson's novels 'A Short History of Nearly Everything' and 'At Home: A Short History of Private Life,' we are shown time and time again how our history is made up of layers of serendipity, luck and chance.  Hard work and persistence do pay off but it seems they only have an impact if the stars are aligned!

So how does this affect you or me?  It's important to embrace randomness and to try to not to be affronted when things don't go to plan.  It's about seeing your accident or life-changing circumstance as a door to something new and not being afraid to open it.  We must stop predicting how life will turn out and instead, try to be prepared for it.  I can't predict whether or not my scarring will fade to a level I can accept but I can prepare for life if it doesn't.

I would not be the person today without my accident.  However much I accept this, at just over a year later, I can still safely say if I had known that someone would throw a flammable on a BBQ I would have gone home early.  I'm not at that stage where I can fully accept my fate.  Yet I can see how the path of my life has changed because of the experience and where I have utilised opportunities that would never have presented themselves otherwise.  My identity has developed, my outlook has altered;  I imagine in the future I will be more content with my lot.  My relationships have strengthened and I've met many people from all walks of life which can only expand my mind.  I've found solace in writing and fortitude in knowing that people read my words.  In the future I know I will choose a different route because my priorities have been influenced by Friday 22nd July 2011 - my very own Black Swan.





References:

The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable by Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Seize the Day, Psychologies, November Issue

A Short History of Nearly Everything and At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson

Wikipedia 

FAT CHANCE

Here's a short story I wrote for anyone who has put on weight due to accident, illness, babies or just because Mother Nature can be damn harsh on us women!

****

As she got thinner, she only felt more invisible.  Three months of calorie-counting and taking the stairs had shorn the flesh from her hide quicker than a souffle rises. 

'Results!'  Screamed her Weightwatcher mentor with hysterical envy.  'Look at those results!'

Yet, Beau felt no elation.  She went home and choked down strips of beef jerky, visualising her fat cells spontaneously combusting with each salty chew.  Her shoulders slumped, her lungs deflated and her face sagged.

Her face.  Her once cherubic cheeks had lost their youthful plump.  Now her reflection contained traces of Roxy, the exercise-pumped PA at work.  Roxy was mean-looking and mean-spirited.  Beau knew the men at work liked that lean, hungry look.  They wanted Roxy to consume them with ravenous gusto.  Beau knew this would never happen; Roxy was preoccupied with the backs of packets and protein shakes.  And as for Beau...she had been contented up until now.  She'd savoured the way her thighs had that closeness, her stomach that womanliness.  Three months on and she was filled with air instead of life.

It wasn't Beau's idea to go on a diet and lose precious parts of herself.  It was Gerard's.

'It's unhealthy Beau,' he reprimanded her, prising the Pinot from her clenched fingers.  'And you said so yourself, you don't want to be a fat bride.'

It was the way he held 'fat' in his mouth like an unpleasant oyster that ruffled her feathers.  She began to waver over that extra slice of pizza, hesitating over the chocolate box.  Then one day she decided to just get it over with.  She signed up to losing Wednesday evenings and a portion of her dignity.  Weekly weigh-ins vanished any last vestige of sexy that Beau had. 

Now as she sized up her diminishing bottom and surveyed her once-luscious breasts, she reconsidered her options.  Gerard was no God, that was certain.  He drank beer on Fridays and Saturdays and it had accumulated centrally.  His hair had taken a step back.  As she looked slimmer, he looked comparatively worse.  'A bulbous toad!'  She thought defiantly, swigging straight out of the bottle-neck.  While she was at it she turned on the hob and voila!  The new meal plans fluttered to the tiles in a flambé of charcoal.  'Cooked!'  She giggled, appreciating how her tummy jiggled with mirth.

Grabbing the Dairy Milk and a magazine she sacked off the gym for her comfortable chair, tucking the blanket around herself, neatly.  She flicked fabulously through the glossy pages.  Let Gerard come home and find her in a chocolate coma with nutty evidence in her creases!  She'd find herself a new man, she mused.  An Italian!  Someone who appreciated real women.  And as for ever returning to that counting, nibbling, jogging way of life?  'Fat chance!'  Beau thought.

A poisonous witch

Sometimes you come across someone masquerading as one of the good guys.  You haven't seen them for ages so you invite them in.  You welcome them with a smile.  And then BAM!  The clouds gather, the lightening splits the sky in half and they open their mouth and say...

'You look alright.  I heard your face had melted.'  Cue melting face hand gestures and pointing.  Then, as if I hadn't heard the poisoned barb the first time, 'you look fine.  I heard you'd...you know.  Melted.  Your face.'

At this point most people met with stony silence would realise the faux pas and back slowly out the door.  They'd plead for forgiveness.  Make some effort to retract such a statement.  Instead the poisonous witch looked at me quizzically, as if perhaps it was I who had some social problem.

My mind filled the silence that followed with a montage of images: having my face debrided (scraped;) the white V for Vendetta burn mask; the mirrors being taped up; trauma counseling to quell the dreams of melted, blurry faces and no reflections; not to mention the hours and hours and hours of 'face-care;' careful massaging and creaming.

I healed well.  I know I'm lucky.  I only have a couple of faint scars under my chin, on my lip and forehead.  Yet I still fear the loss of my face; it very nearly happened.  I don't need to be reminded of that ever, ever again, thank you. 

That witch has flown (off on her broomstick) and left behind only a trace of bitter spell. She probably hasn't given our encounter a second thought.  But...I won't be forgetting in a hurry and I won't be welcoming her again.  Life is too short to fill it with poison. 

Prioriteas - and biscuits please!

I have been back at work, full-time, for two weeks.  Where have those 14 days gone?  It's as if I blinked on Monday 3rd September and when I opened my eyes again it was Sunday 16th!

Now, I will have to be very careful how I phrase this post, in order to make sure I'm understood.  I've explained how I'm feeling about work to a couple of people so far and I've been met with doubtful faces and concerned expressions.  Really?  Their eyes worry.  Are you really feeling like that?

So.  Here it goes.  The truth in it's unglossed form.  Work doesn't have the same hold over me at the moment.  It's not the be-all and end-all of my world.  If I can't meet the deadline; I can't.  If I can't mark 78 assessments in one evening; I won't.  And at end of the workday, after hours of whinging teens, (my homework's on my USB...he's taken my pen...why can't I use my phone in class?) if I don't feel like doing any more work then I'm not going to.  I'm going to read a book.  Or watch X Factor.  Or go out for dinner.

I used to get so stressed about work.  It was the centre of my life.  Being a teacher defined me; it was often all consuming.  The planning monster lives alongside most teachers, eating their evenings and then chewing them up and spitting them out too.  By the time they drag their shredded selves back to class, the pupils are poised to pick at the rest of their remains.  It makes it hard to be an effective teacher but you make yourself reach that self-instilled goal  because you love your work, you believe in education and these little people, these 'young adults,' are relying on you in a way that is almost heart-rending.  You tick many boxes, alternative role-model and bringer of educational and financial future being but a few.

I am still passionate about my teaching role.  Yet as I sit here now and observe my list of life priorities I am aware of how far work has slipped.  My loved ones are waving from the top seat.  My health is there too.  My quality of life perches somewhere amongst them.  Doing the things I love, the things that enrich my life and make it a better day are dangling way above work and sticking their tongue out.  Work is there amongst the fray but it is now a crowded place and not a reserved spot.

It's at this moment in my explanation that people look at me as if I'm having a mental moment.  The worry wavers in their strained smiles.  This isn't normal behaviour for a career-driven young woman who's spent her early-to-mid twenties riding the qualification train.  Am I not fulfilled?  Perhaps it's the school I'm in, they offer gently.  Maybe it's because I've had a stressful year and after some time, a term perhaps, I will feel better.  Here is where people are missing the point.  I do feel better!  It is wonderful to come into work wondering about what I'll get done today instead of stressing how I'm going to construct hundreds of reports, mark reams of writing and deliver all-singing all-dancing lessons to x-box heads.  These days I make a list, complete what I realistically can complete...then head home.

My priorities have altered.  Instead of panicking about the things-to-do list I'm much more likely to sit down with a cuppa and a chocolate bourbon and have a little watch out the window.  I've found that this attitude has actually made me a more effective teacher in a really round-a-bout way.  My lessons are calmer because I am calmer and this rubs off on the children.  Bizarrely I am still getting everything done.  Being less obsessed about moving on to the next thing means that the task in hand is completed more effectively and I don't waste time procrastinating!

Life is the cake.  Elements like health, quality of life and friends and family make up the icing.  And work is merely the cherry on top.

Now, it's time for a Tetley and a biscuit followed by some marking.  I really do have 78 assessments to make a start on....but if I don't get them all done before Downton Abbey comes on, tomorrow is another day!

For Better Or for Worse - Back to Full Time work!

Having a full-time job is a bit like being in a serious relationship. It takes up all your time, it permanently occupies your mind and it can bring you amazing highs and horrible lows.  It can be very stressful.  It makes you leave the pub early.  Your colleagues became the family you've married into.  You spend more time in your marital house - your place of work - than your real house.  And, especially for teachers, you're expected to give everything for it.  In the end you're married to your job; til death do you part.

It's all a bit scary really.  Especially if, like me, you've had over a year to either do what you like or work very flexibly.  Obviously I was ill for a long time.  Up until February 2012 or perhaps later, I felt so unwell that the time was never that enjoyable.  I kept myself occupied and I managed but inside I often felt off-key; as if I was in the twilight zone.  (This feeling still ebbs back every so often but I know one day it will vanish.) It has only been recently that I've suddenly stopped and thought, 'I'm enjoying myself' fully and completely, without any hidden edge.  It is accompanied with a burst of pleasure and a strong sense of freedom; a winning combination.

So it's going to be hard to let go of that feeling when I'm back to the ball and chain from Monday.  Life is going to be given back to my career, one of my most serious relationships.  I'm back to a full-time post, for a whole school year! On Monday!  I am equally terrified and excited.  It feels like coming out of University and getting my first job again, except there are certain expectations there already.  These come not only from the post I occupy but also from myself.

I have high standards.   I can be a control freak.  These can be positive attributes in a teaching role as it means I prefer very good behaviour in my class and am very organised.  It also means I can beat myself up if I fall short and get very stressed when I discover I can't work all evening, keep the house clean, do the washing, go shopping and sleep.  I have to continuously negotiate with myself.

My main concerns are confidence based.  What if I can't manage anymore?  What if the expected workload is simply too high?  What if I get really tired?  (I love sleep.  One of the things I am most worried about is getting up at 6am everyday instead of 7.30-8am.  Hideous!)  What if I don't enjoy it anymore?  What if it's too stressful and the reminder of what happened gets in the way?

In a nutshell, it's the fear of failure that rings in my ears.

I have to remember that once I walk through those 70's swing doors, these worries will probably dissipate and be lost in the chatter of schoolchildren.

Because that's what is important to remember.

I've done it before.  I loved it.  I was good at it.  It might take me a little time to get up to speed (we have several new school structures, a new Head of English and 2 new GSCEs for me to get to grips with) but I have done it before, from scratch.  I could do it then and I will be able to do it again.  I must try to take it in my stride and enjoy it.

What have I learnt a-midst the horror and suffering of this past year?

LIFE IS TOO SHORT.  JUST DO IT.  IF IT DOESN'T WORK OUT...HAVE A GLASS OF WINE, WRITE AN ANGRY BLOG POST, THEN DO SOMETHING ELSE INSTEAD!

Bruises, blisters and burns - Laser Surgery.

Yesterday I had laser surgery for the first time.  My main problem with it was the 'no drinking part.'  No drinking 4 days before the procedure and 2 weeks afterwards.  A dry bank-holiday...does such a thing exist?!  (For once I'm not talking about the weather!)

After I'd got over the shock of being a designated driver, I turned to the real concerns of laser surgery; bruises, blisters and burns.  Both to my credit and my detriment, I like to know what procedures involve.  It gives me a good idea of how things work and the results I can hope for.  It also gives me an over-blown, knees-knocking insight into, 'WHAT CAN GO WRONG.'

Have you ever read that piece of paper you get inside Paracetamol?  The flimsy, folded up small print covered in 50% instructions and 50% debilitating side-effects?   And that's just an over-the-counter remedy that people take without a care in the world.  You can only imagine what I'm like by the time I get to the hospital for my appointments.

Pulsed - dye laser treatment  is used for many skin conditions, including port-wine birthmarks, rosacea and acne-scarring.  It works by causing trauma to the scarred area and effectiveness increases when temporary bruising is caused.  From what I understand from my consultant, the blood vessels are destroyed and the cells broken down in the scarred skin.  However, the practitioner administering the treatment does not want to cause so much trauma that blisters and burns become present.  It's a fine line to walk.

The lady who treated me was very upfront about the treatment.  She said that blistering is a minimal risk.  As she administers the laser, she can see the skin changing.  This means she should be able to recognise a negative reaction in the skin; hyper-pigmentation, blistering or burning.  Hopefully I could expect the redness to ebb out of my scarring and possibly even see an improvement in the texture of the skin.  I signed my waver and off we went for a test round.

Laser has been around a while but seems a space-age thing to me!  The instrument that applies the pulse looks like one of those mini-whisks you use to froth up the milk in a coffee.  It is positioned over your skin and a ZAP! fills the air.  This is accompanied with a blinding, lightening-flash of blue-white light.  Blue lense glasses are required to protect your eyes from this Star Wars flare.

I had 2 shots of laser in 4 tiny areas, each about the diameter of a 5 pence piece.  This is to determine what results the laser will yield.  The first two areas were completely numb - I had no feeling at all.  This might be because my skin still has few or no nerve endings.  They were damaged during the burn and the graft procedure.  The two zaps further down my arm did sting and I am not sure how big an area I could cope with at a time.  The lady said she could stick to small areas and there is no rush.  There is no end to the course and I can have it for a year or more if needed.  So I guess we will take it slow!

Aloe Vera Gel was applied immediately and helped cool the zapped area down.  I was advised to apply it very regularly at home to aid healing.

Three areas went black immediately.  These are parts of the new scars from my most recent operation.  They didn't just bruise but turned deep black with a purple tinge.  It  looks similar to a large blood blister under the skin with a reddened outline.    They also swelled up quite a bit, considering how small the treated areas were.  I was a bit worried the swelling might pop into a blister but this morning they have gone down and are a bit flatter.

The worst area of scarring, the original burn scar, did nothing.  It didn't redden, blacken or swell.  It stayed the same! I imagine that means an increased pulse, or multiple 'zaps' can be used next time.  Especially as I didn't feel this one at all!

Before the treatment, in consultation, the lady said she has really good results with laser and hopefully we will see a positive change even in the little parts she has done.  I'm going back on October 12th to have another session.  Although this time the treatment was manageable both pain-wise and post-treatment-wise, I think having a larger area done at once could hurt.  It also might be quite shocking afterwards.  Having a few blood-blisters is one thing but having a large area of black skin might be hard to contend with.

Still, I am pleased that I've had the laser done.  Despite all the worry it was one of the less traumatic things I've had done and was far easier to cope with than the slicing pain of steroid injections.  I'm looking forward to the results...let's hope there's some improvement!

A previous post on laser - HERE 

The pursuit of holidayness - 50 shades of SPF and Flambe is not my friend!

As the plane landed on UK soil I felt an intense mixture of relief and pride.  I'd done it!  I'd set myself the challenge of going on holiday and I had succeeded.  In one year, I had completed one of my goals.

Challenge truly is the word to use.  Taking yourself from your comfort zone and experiencing a new country is daunting after a life-changing trauma.  I used to think nothing of sitting at close range to Greek Zorba dancing with flaming tables, snorkeling with sea-life or laying out in the searing sun.  Now everything feels like it could be a danger.  I am far more cautious nowadays.

This hyper-vigilance is something that had quietened down over the year and sat quietly in the background most of the time.  Yet in Turkey it reared it's irritating head once again, making it difficult to relax.  When you go on your first post-accident holiday, do expect this.  You are in a strange country with unfamiliar surroundings and you may be crazily observant and slightly illogical!

Before I list some of the things I found difficult, I must sing Turkey's praises.  We stayed near Side, a beautiful harbour town in Antalya.  The weather wavered between scorchers of 34 - 44 degrees Celsius and the vivid blue skies only emphasised the lush green of the country.  I was surprised - I expected Turkey to be reveal acres of parched, browned soil but instead it was lush; spilling over with greenery.  In fact, as the warm dusk fell, I looked out my coach window I could have been looking on English meadows complete with pylons!

We saw sea-turtles and dolphins, drank mojitos, bartered and went para-sailing.  Despite feeling on edge a lot of the time I must stress that I wouldn't have wanted to miss out on the experience.

Fifty shades of SPF

The holiday read of the year it seems...and the advice of the year!  I managed to cope in the heat and sunlight with great preparation.  I never went out in the sun without my 50 SPF UV rash vest on.  On a boat trip I wore it the entire time and I couldn't have been without it.  In the sea and the pool I strutted around like it was a fashion item.  It was hot, sticky and uncomfortable.  BUT I didn't catch a single ray through it's 50 SPF weave and the 50 SPF I'd slathered on underneath.  It made me feel safer.

I was a patchwork of suncream!  I had thick, gloopy sunblock on my scars, even under my rash vest and on my donor site.

My face fared slightly better; it was treated to a better brand of 50 SPF suncream.  I made sure I also did my lips and ears, as I'd burned these in the accident.

The rest of me was covered in 30 SPF, regularly.  It was less thick and white than the 50!

Then...to top it all off...I sat in the shade.  We were lucky because our beach had a slight breeze and miles of canopies so I could lay in relative comfort.  Even through the 50 shades of SPF I developed a faint golden glow on legs and lower arms.  And despite these lengthy precautions, my face pigmented slightly, as did my lower arm.  It goes to show you can't be too careful.

Fakir shows, fire-eaters and flambe!

One of the most difficult things to contend with during the holiday was the Turkish love of fire.  I encountered flames on at least 5 occasions. These were not small flames, but flambes and fire-eating fuelled by petrol canisters.

Terrifying.

I had a horrible experience in the first week.  We booked the Cuban Restaurant at the hotel and we had just finished our soup starters when the maitre'd wheeled out a polished chrome trolley with a little gas ring on it, a single saucepan and a substantial glass of brandy.

I'm not sure if I've ever seen a flambe before and I was not prepared.  He stood at the table next to us and threw the alcohol in the pan.  WUMPH!!!  A huge explosion of flame roared up, filling my vision.  The orange and blue flames licked the ceiling.  Then it was gone.  I felt a roil of panic tsunami over me and the tears sprang to my eyes at such speed, I had no control.  I got up, left the restaurant immediately and could not return.

I don't normally have such a strong reaction to flames - if you're talking candles!  Yet the flambe and the fire-eaters I ran away from (twice) are a completely different fire-game.  They have an accelerent involved and an explosion is caused, similar in form to the one which harmed me last year.  This is why my reaction is so strong.

Other things you might encounter are sparklers, bonfires and flaming hoops!!!

Can you smell gas???

A more illogical pet hate of mine is the smell of gas or the appearance of gas canisters.  They make me feel stressed and on guard.  Unfortunately there were canisters everywhere.  Staff wheeled them from area to area and they were often very obviously placed.  Some shops even had drums pinioned to steel struts above their roofs, providing their abode with gas.  Occasionally a whiff of gas floated towards you, enough to alert my internal panic alarm.

I was also a bit concerned about the music on the speed-boat and the pirate boat.  Electrical wires snaked threateningly out of the speakers and systems, winding their insidious way across damp decks and basking in the baking sun.  Water and electric....???  Hmmmm.  I tried turn my mind away from these constant observations and concentrate on the inspiring lyrics of J-Lo and Casper being pumped out instead.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Mostly I knew my safety concerns were groundless but knowing this doesn't make you feel much better about it!  The one thing that did make me feel better was SLEEP!!!  It sounds silly but when I was over-tired I became paranoid about things like the above.  Getting over-tired is pretty impossible to avoid when travelling but on holiday you must get enough sleep (and not drink too much) otherwise you will be as jumpy as a kangaroo.  Once I'd had a good night's kip my concern over gas canisters seemed laughable and the previous night's fire antics seemed a distant nightmare....almost.

And they all holidayed happily ever after.

It was wonderful to be able to do what the old me could do.  This was enough in itself to boost my confidence and of course...book the next holiday!  I'll dust off my vests, dig out the sun-cream and travel the world.  (Ok....the Canary Islands.)   Bring it on!  

Project Holiday!

Although I haven't expressly been told not to go on holiday to a hot country, the burns unit look at me with trepidation whenever I mention it. 'You do know you're not allowed to catch the sun or you'll hyper-pigment / burn easily / cause skin damage / WARNING WARNING WARNING!!!!!!' 

I am not about to miss out on another Summer or a family holiday because I have had an accident.  It especially riles me because the accident was not my fault (as so often accidents aren't) and I don't see why I should suffer for other's actions.  Anyway.... if I'm told I can't do something I will interpret that as a challenge and I have treated the countdown to the beautiful beaches of Turkey as a project.  I believe that in a situation like this, the answer to enjoyment is ORGANISATION!!!

SUN-CARE

First and fore-most, a burn injury means you can't sunbathe.  However, it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the sun.  Most sun advice applies to anyone, injured or not.  Here's your sun survival kit!

• Sun cream for body.  Don't bother trying to get away with a lower SPF than 50 otherwise you will worry about it or even worse, burn.  Especially if you haven't seen the sun for more than a year anyway.  
• Sun cream for face.  I get spots from sun-cream so it's worth getting a face-specific cream.  I like La Roche Posay Fluide-Extreme Anthelios.
• A hat.  There are plenty of hats out there!  I'd get a cap for swimming in (very TOWIE) and a large, poser-ish, wide brimmed number for reclining on the lounger, under an umbrella.
• Sunglasses.  I was burned around my eyes so giant, fabulous sunglasses provide extra coverage.
• UV rash vests 50SPF. As I intend to swim and go on a boat trip, I need more protection in the water than cream can provide.  The vests also work like spanx and give you a great shape whilst covering upper body scarring.  Score!  I have bought the O'Neill long sleeved one with a matching bikini and a short sleeved one too.

• A parasol.  I had a parasol last year and it was ace.  It means you don't have to panic about your sun-cream not being strong enough when you are wandering around eating ice-creams.  They can be very glamourous.  Make sure they are UV.  They also prevent you annoying other people by avoiding 'sun-panic.'  (I can't sit there! I'm too hot! Can we sit in the shade?  Note: however understanding people are, they will get tired of sun-panic after 2 weeks of hearing it!  It is up to you to make sure you don't have it.)

THE BODY BEACH 'LOOK'

If, like me, you've been having operations and you've been avoiding the sun, you might be feeling like a jelly-fish; wobbly and translucent.  It is worth taking some small steps to make yourself feel like the beach-babe you'd like to be!  Before 'burn-gate' I used to travel quite a lot and I would literally book it, pack the night before and hop on the plane.  This year, I have much more to address in order to feel 'holiday-ready.'  Call it vain....yes it's vain.  But I want to feel the best I can at this difficult time in my life.

• Spray tan!  If you're not able to go in the sun, it's worth having a spray tan.  I had trouble getting any one to do the tan as I am still under the hospital.  In the end, I was just going to have my legs done.  However, after further discussion, the lady is happy to spray all of me provided I cover my arm injuries in a tubi-grip.  Having a bit of colour will eradicate any lingering desire to sun-bathe and boost my self-confidence.
• Self-tan!  If you're uncomfortable with people seeing you, scars an' all, you might fancy self tanning.  I have just bought St Tropez gradual tanning to apply each night as I know my spray-tan won't last 2 weeks.  There are lots of products on the market these days and they don't smell like biscuits anymore!  When you use it, just avoid injury-areas if they are still being treated or sensitive at all.  And with all tans........PATCH TEST, PATCH TEST, PATCH TEST!  Leave 48 hours and do several areas including behind the ear and on your forearm.

Picture from Super Gorgeous Blog LDN:SKINS Gradual Tan

• Waxing.  It's worth considering waxing as you will have enough body maintenance with all the massaging and injury care.  Something else you don't need to worry about!
• Hair.  If you have your hair regularly cut get an appointment in just before you go.  I have highlights and I'm going to have some bleach-beach blonde put in around my face as if I have been in the sun....cheat!  I've also been growing it long so it helps cover the scarring on my chest.
• Body.  You have to be kind to yourself and remember your body has been through a lot.  It might not be feeling like your old body.  2 weeks before my holiday I've made sure I've been eating better, drinking less alcohol and I've been doing regular exercise every day.  Even if it's only walking, it does make you feel better.  I've been stretching my muscles too, in front of the TV!  Another tip is to dry body brush and then vigorously massage in firming cream.  Pummel those thighs if you can! You will feel much better for it.  Taking an interest in your body now, for two weeks, will get you reacquainted with it.

THE HOLIDAY WARDROBE

Let's face it, I don't really want to bare my scars to the unforgiving world.  So my usual Summer clothes all went to the charity shop and I started again.   Evening wear is particularly difficult if you are covering up and need to be both cool and fashionable. The best place to find exactly what you need is online.  I also bought lots of pretty, floaty tops from charity shops to wear on the beach.  Here's my holiday list...

• A variety of kaftans or loose, glamourous tops to wear over top half to waft around the pool in.  I also bought a net, fringed poncho to wear over my bikini.  Think about how you are going to make your swim wear comfortable for you, considering what you'd like to cover up.  I think the covered-up look is more sexy anyway. Very few people look wonderful almost-naked!!!
• UV surfer chick rash vests.  Great for swimming.
• Long sleeved, floaty maxi-dresses.  Cover everything!
• Lots of one sleeved dresses/tops to cover my arm but get that less-clothed holiday look!
• I scoured the high-street for shorts and a denim mini-skirt that were long enough to cover my pigmented graft leg.  In the end, supermarkets came to the rescue! I also had a go at making my own denim skirt and a pair of shorts from jeans.  Then I could choose the exact length appropriate to me.
• As my neck is still quite scarred, I have lots of chunky necklaces to detract attention.

RANDOM THINGS TO CONSIDER.

• Air-conditioning. If you're going to wear compression garments you need to be comfortable when you sleep.  Book your accommodation wisely!
• Pool-side umbrellas.  Check with the hotel how many umbrellas they have...is it a very limited number?  You might just have to get up really early....now, where's my towel......!?
• Alternative entertainment.  Consider taking lots of books and be prepared to retreat to an air-conditioned bar/room if it gets too hot for you.
• Hand wash/washing facilities.  I'm only packing a couple of compression vests as the rest of the valuable room in my case is reserved for more exciting clothes-wear!  I am going to hand-wash my vests as I am only wearing them overnight.  Check washing facilities as compression garments can't be washed at too high a temperature/with softener.
• Enough medication/creams and back-up for anything you're susceptible too.  Goes without saying but worth mentioning!  Anti-histamine is a good idea too...in case the hot weather causes skin irritation.
• Travel Insurance. You might need special insurance if you have unusual circumstances or have recently had surgery.  CHECK!

So there you go.  No reason that you can't go on holiday, as long as you are organised.  Go with the mindset to enjoy yourself.  Prepare for the trip by doing all the things you can to make it easier for yourself.  I am counting down the days and I have lists coming out my ears!!!  I can't wait to doll-up in a kaftan, perch in the shade and read 50 Shades of a high-brow novel with a cocktail by my side and a pint of water at the other!  

So I'll be quiet for a couple of weeks but I'm sure I'll have a lot to say when I return.... 

Confession on Compression!

THIS IS WHAT YOU BRITS HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!!!!  ANOTHER SCORCHER OF A DAY WITH HIGHS REACHING 30 DEGREES INLAND.  MUGGY AND CLOSE AROUND MANY LOCATIONS WITH BOILING SUNSHINE ACROSS THE COUNTRY.

Thanks Daybreak.

It's official.

After wearing my compression vests 24/7 (and I would like to emphasise that 24/7 does mean exactly that.  They are removed only for showering.  I exercise and sleep in them too.)  I was near breaking point anyway.  But when breaking point merged to boiling point  I lasted one day in 30 degree sunshine.  As the temperature soared I had to relent and take them off.  I was so uncomfortable, itchy and sore.  I actually felt ill from the heat  and was really, really angry.  Anything my man said to me received a snappy answer.  

So off they came!!!

Firstly I went through the guilt.  Ten months is a long time but it pales in significance compared to the two years plus I am prescribed to wear these evil garments.  I really don't want to undo all my good work in a matter of days.  I had already prepared to take them off for 2 weeks on my holiday to Turkey and only wear them in the air-conditioned room when sleeping.  I comforted myself by acknowledging that if I still wore them for 12 hours overnight I would be uncompressed for only 1 week!  

Not wearing the vests in this weather really is amazing.  It is a feeling I can't really describe to the uninjured.  When I first went out without one on the air actually made my skin tingle.  I hadn't had fresh air on my bare skin for ten whole months.  I wasn't prepared for my clothes to chafe though.  Where my skin was so baby new and desensitised to touch I could feel the material against me.  Luckily that sensation vanished very quickly!

Another plus is the final stitch from my recent operation (which had gone quite nasty) finally worked it's way out in the fresh air.  I don't know how my body did it as there was a knot at the end of it!  No wonder it hurt when I pulled at it...!

I have to wear 50 SPF on my face, ear, neck and any exposed chest as I burn just from looking at the sun but this is a small price to pay for the freedom from compression vests!  I will keep them off until the weather cools down and then back on they will go.  The vests have made such a difference to my scarring so I won't be without them for long.  

I would advise against taking compression garments off unless it is necessary to your well-being.  Even then, it should only be a short period of time (i.e. a holiday)  I am not the little devil on your shoulder whispering in your ear!  The garments are vital to get the best results from scarring and operations and should be worn in accordance with medical advice.  However, for me, it was time to negotiate with myself in order to improve my quality of life and enjoy the sunshine!    

It's days like this I really appreciate my view!!!

One year later.

This time last year I was lying in hospital, wondering how it could have happened.  It was 24 hours after the worst day of my life.  I couldn't open my eyes or move my neck.  My bed was damp from the fluid that leaked from my scorched flesh.

4 seasons.  365 days.  52 weeks.  Time has passed; a whole year of it.

I am both celebrating and commiserating this long and dramatic 12 months.  You can only cheer when events like an accident are relegated to the past.  It's a relief when pain becomes a distant, faded memory spoken about in cliched terms, the words blurred through retelling.  This is the celebration side, feeling, in fact KNOWING you have lived through it and burst out the other side.

A year is such a long time and at 27 years old it's a rather large percentage of my life.  This is the saddest part; acknowledging that some of my precious time on this earth has been lost to pain, fear and recovery.

My mantra has been 'by this time next year' and that is partly one of the reasons I have found this anniversary so bitter.  It is now 'this time next year' and I still have a long way to go.  I'm still having operations and treatment, wearing compression vests and I'm not yet back at work full-time.  It's difficult to accept that my mantra will be valid until next year at least!

Now I've reached 'the day' I'm strangely settled.  Leading up to the final Friday at school I'd experienced a tumult of emotion and going in to work, the accident site, became a day-to-day struggle.  I've been feeling as though I'm repeating the same actions, even the same words, on the lead up to the summer holidays.  It's usually all part of the fun and the excitement of the last day of term.  This year, it just felt like Groundhog Day.

People keep saying, 'hasn't it gone quickly!'  Perhaps to them, it has.  For me, it's been one of the longest, most drawn out processes; agonizingly, tormentingly slow.  Think back to your last Summer Holiday, a year or so ago.  Now does it feel long ago?

The good thing about first anniversaries is that they only come once and now I can look behind me at it's distant figure, wreathed in the fog of the past.

The Crackpot Proverb

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.  At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.  


For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.  Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.  But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.  After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.  


'I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.'  


The old woman smiled, 'Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?  That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.  For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.'


Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.  SO, to all of my cracked pot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path! 

Posted by Katie Piper

http://www.katiepiperfoundation.org.uk/the-kpf-forum/#/discussion/comment/2169

Snow White and the Magical Spray Tan

Once upon a time there was a young-ish woman with fair, fair skin.  Her family called her 'Snow White.'  As Snow White grew up she became more and more aware of just how fair she was; just a few minutes too long in the sun could harm her delicate skin.  But Snow White also worked out that she could still go brown if she was very, very sensible.

One terrible day Snow White was burned by a dragon's fiery breath.  That was the day the birds in the trees stopped singing and the sun missed seeing Snow White's face basking in her rays.

As Summer slid into Autumn and Autumn browned to Winter, Snow White grew paler and paler. Sometimes she felt she might just fade away.  Spring brought new beginnings for the trees and the birds but Snow White needed to be patient for her new beginning.  She often looked out the window at the world rushing past and wondered when it would arrive.

When Summer poked her head out again Snow White was pleased to see her.  It had been such a long time since they'd greeted each other!  She could say hello to the sun this year but she couldn't sit in her beam for too long because her poor, burned skin was more delicate than ever.  The sun was both sad and angry about Snow White's troubles and so she spent the Summer shining brightly and then crying desperately.  Thanks to her tears 2012 was one of the wettest Summer ever!  Festivals were flooded and the skies were blue one moment and grey the next.

Snow White decided that she hated being 'Snow White.'  She decided to go to a wizard she'd heard about who could spray you brown!  Snow White was very excited about this idea.  She was tired of looking pale and tired of the way her dragon-scars stood out as red as the red, red, rose. But the Wizard shook his kindly head at her.

'I'm sorry Snow White.'  He comforted her.  'You will have to stay as white as snow.  My magic won't work on you and I'm afraid of making a mistake.'

Snow White was very disappointed but she understood.  She went away and thought hard.  She decided to ask someone else if they could help.

'Why don't you ask my Fairy-Friend?'  Enquired Snow White's Fairy Godmother.  'She lives close by in the Dry Woods.'

So Snow White packed her things and set off to the Dry Woods.  (She met many exciting people along the way but that's another tale for another time!)  The Dry Woods were nestled in the night of mountains but the Fairy-Friend wasn't hard to find.  The Fairy looked at Snow White and her dragon-scars with sadness.


'I'm sorry Snow White.'  She began. 'You will have to stay as white as snow.  My magic won't work on you and I'm afraid of making a mistake.'

The Fairy listened hard to Snow White's plight and decided to help if she could.  She consulted her fairy council who knew about these things.

'Shall I turn your legs brown, Snow White?'  Asked the Fairy.  'That way, some of you will be brown.  And when more time has passed and the birds begin to sing again, we can turn all of you brown!'

Snow White was disappointed about the magic's limitations but she understood why the Fairy was unable to perform the full spell.  They set a date for Snow White to return to Dry Woods.

'My legs shall be pale no longer!'  Sang Snow White happily as she skipped home.  'I will look more like my old self again!'

Somewhere, in the distance, a blackbird quietly sang back.

Sweets for my sweets, Manuka for my honey....

This week was been tiring and stressful and before I knew it, I had a cold coming on.  I'm not used to colds.  I rarely get them.  So when my throat felt sore and itchy and my chest a bit tight I just ignored it.

On Friday I hurried home after sitting outside in the Sports Day rain and went straight out for dinner in the city.  Around 10pm the crowds began to clear out of Leadenhall Market and I could suddenly hear myself speaking.

Or more to the point, hear myself not speaking.

Initially I hadn't noticed amid the noise.  Yet now I could hear that I had very nearly completely lost my voice.  Every one listened to my croak in surprise.  I was fine earlier!  Yet suddenly, I sounded like velcro.

The rest of the weekend went by in a cough and splutter.  The only thing that made any difference to my hacking choke was a mysterious pot of golden ooze given to me by my man's grandmother, Manuka Honey.

Now, I'm all for bees.  More than 70 of the 100 crops that provide 90% of the world's food are pollinated by bees.  Albert Einstein famously predicted that if bees died out, 'man would have no more than four years to live.'    These winged buzzballs provide us with many of the world's super-products: royal jelly, beeswax and honey to name but a few.  They are an under-appreciated species to most...but not to my boyfriend's Grandmother.

She explained to me that this strange, glistening magma came from New Zealand and had a 10+ antibacterial rating.   It was also infused with lemon oil which gave it a delicious depth of flavour.  Apparently Honey has been used through the ages for it's healing properties but it is Manuka, the King of Honey, that offers the most benefits.

According to the Telegraph: Most honeys contain a naturally occurring active agent, which is thought to support good health but is easily destroyed when exposed to heat and light. Manuka honey contains an extra, naturally occurring active ingredient, which makes it distinct from other honeys. This additional component is stable and doesn't lose its potency when exposed to heat, light or dilution. Its special quality is known as UMF and the higher the UMF, the more potent the honey and its powers (aficionados reckon that you need a UMF of 10 or higher for the honey to be properly effective). It has antiviral and antibacterial actions, which is a good excuse for scoffing the stuff neat at the first sign of a cold or sore throat.


The wonder-bush of Manuka (Leptospermum scoparium) is indigenous only to New Zealand and also produces tea-tree oil.  When researched it is clear that Manuka has been touted as having a spectrum of health benefits yet specifics are not often mentioned.   It's clearest recommendations are for 'general good health' and 'contributes to the normal function of the immune system,' which are quite broad claims.  It has also been tested in wound healing but has yet to show any definitive results.  


If you do buy Manuka Honey, you must ensure it has a UMF factor of 10+ or higher as this is the recommended and certified concentration.  More information can be read on the official website - http://www.umf.org.nz/


As I already use a lavender beeswax to massage my burn-scars (click here for post) I am happy to absorb more natural bee-products and reap any possible benefits they can offer me. My immune system has been somewhat deflated since 'BBQ-gate' so anything that can boost it will be consumed with gusto.


As Winnie the Pooh so rightfully points out...



"what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”


Time to get that porridge out from the back of the cupboard then......

http://www.rowsehoney.co.uk/#2012/05/demystifying-manuka-your-questions-answered/?bee=queen

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/3787867.stm

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/wellbeing/5979247/The-benefits-of-Manuka-honey.html

http://www.umf.org.nz/ (Official Unique Manuka Factor)

Square One

This sums up my week...

It's four bars are a hurdle,

that I often face,

I leap them and leave that

desolate space,

I'm out a brief moment,

but it's game of life's fun,

to roll the dice and spit me

back on Square number One.

Image 
Square Prison

by Lord Jezzer

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lordjezzer/

Poem
Myself.

Empathy - a blessing and a curse.

Recently I have had an influx of comments from people reading my blog.  These have come through texts, inbox messages and face to face feedback.  It seems that I have amassed so much experience on this blog that even people who have not had an accident or a burn are finding something to relate to.  This is good.  This is the reason I started to blog.  One of the internet's most worthy powers is it's ability to connect people with those who have been there, done that and worn the compression vest.

Empathy basically means that you can recognise the feelings that someone else is experiencing.  It is different to sympathy.  Sympathy is concern for another's well-being but doesn't hinge on sharing experience or emotion.  Empathy is of extreme importance to society as we need to understand what others have been through and what they are feeling in order to identify with them.  Once we identify with someone and then a group of someones, we are much more likely to build a community centred around them.  If we can't identify with someone, we may shun them as an outcast.

People have begun to contact me because they recognise a number of things I have written about: medical procedures; having counselling or living with metal health blips; having to change the way they dress to accomodate a new body; being out of work and so on.  It's comforting to know that other people understand and also, inspirational to know that people have usually conquered the hurdle that harangued them.

Since having a burn, I have found that empathy can also be a bit of a curse.  Initially, it was ambulances.  Everytime I heard the familiar wail, my insides went rigid and I held my breath.  Although I have seen many ambulances in my life, each identical white van meant nothing to me and vanished from my thoughts as soon as it had left my vision.  Now though...as soon as that blue noise enters my thoughts a deep sadness washes over me, because I know.  I know that the person inside is most likely panicking and in pain; two of the most horrific human experiences.  I know that their life may be re-set for a time.  I know that they have a long and difficult recovery ahead of them. 

Time and time again this empathy has caused me to stop in my tracks, it hits me so strongly.  At first I also felt the same tsunami of panic that I had felt in that situation.  As time goes on, this lessens.  Still though, I look upon that vehicle with a sense of upset for those travelling inside.  I spoke to some other burn suriviors about this and it turns out, this is something that happens to a lot of people.  We could empathise with each other, over the the empathy of others.

Empathy also grabs me when I hear stories of other burn injuries or see programmes advertised such as, 'the girl with 90% burns,' (which I would never be able to watch.)  During the recent gas explosion in Manchester a man suffered 80% burns and I haven't been able to move him out of my mind since I heard it on the radio.  Although I can't understand his plight exactly, as my injuries were much less than his, I can still imagine how unwell he must be feeling and the terror he is going through.  I understand now what people mean when they say, 'my heart goes out to them.'

On the flip-side, having an accident brings you in to the path of many, many people who:

a) Don't feel empathy or
b) Have difficulty voicing their empathy.

I have repeatedly been subjected to thoughtless comments and selfish remarks.  Most of the time I don't say anything as I still find myself too shocked by the callousness to formulate a response.  I've had people tell me how terrible the accident was for them.  Others have asked me silly questions about my injuries when it is clear they aren't really interested and they don't understand the extent of burn aftermath.  I know most of what is said comes with the best intentions but the lack of empathy shines through and blinds me every time.

Luckily, these people are in the minority.  Mostly, I am touched every time I open my inbox and find another kind message or a word of encouragement and for those out there who have done this; thank you.  It helps another day pass.