Today, I am emerging from behind my desk where I have been toiling
at my strange strategy for cutting the word count of the final, final, FINAL
draft of
Glass Houses by deleting a word and adding ten more, to visit the
wonderful
Haven in Leeds.
They are hosting the
Big Tea Cosy, 1-4 pm, 10th February, the opportunity to have a brew – and cakes, certainly cakes – raffle and chat as well as a tour around The Haven, with a
chance to learn a little more about what it does. Of course, all proceeds go to
keeping this charity going. If you
generally need a little more notice for your day off (what do you mean, you do have a life?) then could you consider
hosting your own Big Tea Cosy? There's more information
here.
And I'll be signing copies of
Tea & Chemo so please do pop along if you live
locally. We’d love to see you.
All profit from Tea & Chemo is divided between three
charities of which The Haven is one and I hope the extract below will explain
why.
So, I was having physio after
breaking my foot running and then I was diagnosed with cancer on December 27th 2013.
…
I didn’t know if a cancer diagnosis had any bearing on physio
but as far as I was concerned, I was waiting for my mastectomy, hadn’t started
chemo, wasn’t teaching and wanted to run. I also knew that if I could run
during treatment, that it would help get me through. And it did.
So I kept my appointment with Helen, (she's not really called, Helen) my physio.
"Good Christmas?" she asked.
"A bit different," I said.
After years of chatter while Helen had pummelled my sore hamstrings,
calf, other calf, bottom and, oh, the
pain, my back, she’d never told me about her auntie. Until now. I learnt that
her auntie had had breast cancer in her 50’s and The Haven had been her, well, haven. Helen said that it had also been
good for her as a relative. She said
that I would have to go. I’d get lots of free treatments which would really
help in chemo and I’d meet other people in the same situation.
"Right," I said. I didn’t want to be rude but I
intended on running my way through treatments and going for cappuccinos with my
existing friends in between. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to meet new people –
or whether it would be helpful.
"And you’ll have to model in the annual fashion show,"
she said.
You can probably imagine how I felt about that. Aside from the
fact that nothing ever fits me at the lofty height of five foot one and three
quarters, walking down the stage with only one boob and a bald head? Thanks for
the offer but I think I’ll be at home pairing socks that night.
Back to the task in hand and I was told that I wouldn’t be
able to have my usual physio that week but that Helen could gently massage the
affected area in my foot, which sounded a fairly pleasant alternative.
The only hint Helen gave that my news had shocked her was when
I became aware of her massaging the wrong foot. At first I wondered if this
alternative to the usual bending and prodding was a 2 for 1 deal, but when she
tapped the wrong foot and said, ‘All done!’ I realised that my fiercely
organised physio was flustered.
Flash forward a few weeks and yes, I did visit The Haven. On
my first trip I sat for an hour with the manager, Debra Horsman, and cried. I
very rarely cried about cancer in the early days. Normally, outside of The
Haven, I think I was scared to lift the lid in case I couldn’t get it back on
again. I was sent away with a programme of treatments including reflexology, a nutritional
consultation and acupuncture. Acupuncture saved me from sleepless nights from
chemo and Tamoxifen induced hot sweats – plus I loved our chats.
And guess what? Nine months after diagnosis I was involved in
my first ever fashion shoot, wig still firmly in place, for LK Bennett in aid
of The Haven. And just over a year later I was part of the Bo Carter modelling
group in the annual Haven Fashion Show, without the wig this time. It was the
most uplifting experience and I feel privileged to have had the opportunity. I
hasten to add that the rigorous selection process for the modelling involved
sending an RSVP to say that I was available.
My physio was right. The Haven is a godsend for people with a
cancer diagnosis and their family and friends. But it is RELIANT on fundraising.
Meanwhile, I'm back to *almost* the final edit of Glass Houses, deleting 'turn' and 'saw', 'then' and, 'just' (forgive me for allowing one of the 205 - oh the shame - occurrences of 'just' to sneak into
this post) and searching for different words for 'smile'. Wish me luck! I have
three days… 
