Showing posts with label Health.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Health.. Show all posts
Monday, July 28, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Writer, John Green.
Author John Green on Writing and cancer.
By Sue Leonard.
Published in FACEUP Magazine, (for Teenagers.) April, 2013
John Green’s books for teenagers are so popular, that they’ve topped the New York Times bestsellers lists. And, the online video projects he performs with his brother – as the Vlogbrothers – are world famous. No wonder his recent event in Ireland was packed out.
But when, in his latest teen novel he chose to write about cancer, he realised he was taking a huge risk. So why did he do it?
“Before I became a writer, I was a student minister, and I spent five months working in a children’s hospital,” he says. “I spent a lot of time with teenagers who had cancer, and with their families. The experience left me sad, even traumatised.
“My struggle, working in the hospital was that I couldn’t forget the things I saw and heard. I remember one teenager saying she felt like a grenade. She felt she would damage everyone around her when she died. That was unbearably sad.”
John felt he was unsuitable for the work of a minister, and he left, and started writing for magazines. He tried, hard, to write a book based on his experiences in the hospital, but it wouldn’t gel. So he gave up on it, and wrote other books for teenagers. These became New York Times best sellers, and won numerous awards.
And one day, at a Harry Potter conference, John met a 14 year old girl called Esther.
“She read my books, and came up to talk to me,” he says. “She was smart and funny and we struck up a friendship. She had terminal cancer, and needed oxygen with her all the time. We kept in touch over the years, mostly on the internet, and I got to know her family too. She died at 16.”
Esther made John see how he could write his book.
“She taught me that a short life can also be a full life and a rich life,” he says. “Esther, obviously, wasn’t happy to have cancer. She didn’t enjoy the pain. But she was happy to be alive. She was loved and able to feel love. That gave me the hope I needed to pull me into the story. And to realise it would work much better if I wrote it from the teenagers point of view, rather from my own.”
Another event that helped him was the birth of his son, Henry, who is now 3.
“After his birth I realised that as long as either of us are alive, I will be his father and he will be my son. I realised that, in that sense, love does survive death. That was a great gift to me.”
The novel, The Fault in our Stars, is simply amazing. Through the wonderful teenagers, it makes you see cancer in a whole new way. And it isn’t too sentimental. It’s about love, and friendship, and family, as well as about cancer. It is sad in parts; but it’s also hilariously funny, thought provoking, tender and romantic.
“When people are sick they are still human,” says John. “They are still funny and joyous and sad and sarcastic and angry. I wanted to show all of that.”
Sowhat’s the Novel about?
Ever since Hazel was diagnosed with cancer, she’s known she’s going to die. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be rewritten. They become friends, then more than friends. If you want to know what happens to them, you’ll have to read it!
Wherever Hazel goes, her oxygen goes too. And people stare at her.
“A teen with visible cancer can never have a moment of feeling normal,” says John. “In public people pity her, or wonder why she is sick, or if she is dying. That, I think, must be really hard.”
How does he hope readers will react?
“I hope the book makes them laugh, but I guess it will make them cry as well. I want them to get a frame of reference so that they can ask all those difficult questions about life and death. I tried to be as honest as possible, even though the characters are made up.”
The Fault in Our Stars is now available in Ireland. But it was published in America last year. And it has proved even more successful than John’s earlier books. Does he have tips for teenagers who want to become writers?
John Green’s Tips for Aspiring Writers.
• You have to practise. Nobody picks up a violin and expects to play in Carnegie Hall. It takes a lot of practise to become a good writer.
• Take pleasure in learning to become better. And don’t mind when you have bad days. Just keep going.
• Read a lot. Reading is the best apprenticeship for a writer. It’s how we learn how people use text to create ideas in other people’s minds.
• Remember, that while not many people write novels as a full time job, there are many, many people who write books, newspapers and magazines. Writing is an achievable ambition.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is published by Penguin Books.
To view John and his brother Hank as the Vlogbrothers, youtube.com/vlogbrothers
© Sue Leonard. 2013.
By Sue Leonard.
Published in FACEUP Magazine, (for Teenagers.) April, 2013
John Green’s books for teenagers are so popular, that they’ve topped the New York Times bestsellers lists. And, the online video projects he performs with his brother – as the Vlogbrothers – are world famous. No wonder his recent event in Ireland was packed out.
But when, in his latest teen novel he chose to write about cancer, he realised he was taking a huge risk. So why did he do it?
“Before I became a writer, I was a student minister, and I spent five months working in a children’s hospital,” he says. “I spent a lot of time with teenagers who had cancer, and with their families. The experience left me sad, even traumatised.
“My struggle, working in the hospital was that I couldn’t forget the things I saw and heard. I remember one teenager saying she felt like a grenade. She felt she would damage everyone around her when she died. That was unbearably sad.”
John felt he was unsuitable for the work of a minister, and he left, and started writing for magazines. He tried, hard, to write a book based on his experiences in the hospital, but it wouldn’t gel. So he gave up on it, and wrote other books for teenagers. These became New York Times best sellers, and won numerous awards.
And one day, at a Harry Potter conference, John met a 14 year old girl called Esther.
“She read my books, and came up to talk to me,” he says. “She was smart and funny and we struck up a friendship. She had terminal cancer, and needed oxygen with her all the time. We kept in touch over the years, mostly on the internet, and I got to know her family too. She died at 16.”
Esther made John see how he could write his book.
“She taught me that a short life can also be a full life and a rich life,” he says. “Esther, obviously, wasn’t happy to have cancer. She didn’t enjoy the pain. But she was happy to be alive. She was loved and able to feel love. That gave me the hope I needed to pull me into the story. And to realise it would work much better if I wrote it from the teenagers point of view, rather from my own.”
Another event that helped him was the birth of his son, Henry, who is now 3.
“After his birth I realised that as long as either of us are alive, I will be his father and he will be my son. I realised that, in that sense, love does survive death. That was a great gift to me.”
The novel, The Fault in our Stars, is simply amazing. Through the wonderful teenagers, it makes you see cancer in a whole new way. And it isn’t too sentimental. It’s about love, and friendship, and family, as well as about cancer. It is sad in parts; but it’s also hilariously funny, thought provoking, tender and romantic.
“When people are sick they are still human,” says John. “They are still funny and joyous and sad and sarcastic and angry. I wanted to show all of that.”
Sowhat’s the Novel about?
Ever since Hazel was diagnosed with cancer, she’s known she’s going to die. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be rewritten. They become friends, then more than friends. If you want to know what happens to them, you’ll have to read it!
Wherever Hazel goes, her oxygen goes too. And people stare at her.
“A teen with visible cancer can never have a moment of feeling normal,” says John. “In public people pity her, or wonder why she is sick, or if she is dying. That, I think, must be really hard.”
How does he hope readers will react?
“I hope the book makes them laugh, but I guess it will make them cry as well. I want them to get a frame of reference so that they can ask all those difficult questions about life and death. I tried to be as honest as possible, even though the characters are made up.”
The Fault in Our Stars is now available in Ireland. But it was published in America last year. And it has proved even more successful than John’s earlier books. Does he have tips for teenagers who want to become writers?
John Green’s Tips for Aspiring Writers.
• You have to practise. Nobody picks up a violin and expects to play in Carnegie Hall. It takes a lot of practise to become a good writer.
• Take pleasure in learning to become better. And don’t mind when you have bad days. Just keep going.
• Read a lot. Reading is the best apprenticeship for a writer. It’s how we learn how people use text to create ideas in other people’s minds.
• Remember, that while not many people write novels as a full time job, there are many, many people who write books, newspapers and magazines. Writing is an achievable ambition.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is published by Penguin Books.
To view John and his brother Hank as the Vlogbrothers, youtube.com/vlogbrothers
© Sue Leonard. 2013.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Brain on Fire. Susannah Cahalan.
Susannah Cahalan
Interviewed by Sue Leonard.
Published in The Irish Independent Colour Magazine on 23rd March, 2013
At 28, Susannah Cahalan is one of life’s golden girls. Gorgeous looking, she has an enviable job on the New York Post, and comes from a privileged background. She’s great company too; and clearly talented. Yet just three and a half years ago, Susannah lost her sanity, and almost lost her life.
It was 2009 when Susannah displayed signs of bipolar disorder. Finding work increasingly difficult, she suffered severe mood swings, and then, a terrifying seizure landed her in hospital.
“That early stage was really scary, because I still had my faculties,” says Susannah on a visit to Dublin. “I could think, ‘this is not me.’ I had no control over my emotions, and I would see myself doing things that were outside my normal behaviour.”
One night, staying at her father’s house, she became convinced that her father was trying to kill her stepmother.
“I could ‘hear’ him beating her up. I was convinced that he had murdered her. I remember feeling, I have to get out of here. I wanted to jump out of the window. I remember all those hallucinations. Those were hard.”
She was, eventually, admitted to the NYU Hospital’s epilepsy ward. Her condition deteriorated into psychosis and then catatonia. She ‘lost’ a month. Susannah was seeing the best doctors money could buy. She had numerous tests, all of which came back negative. And nobody could come up with a definitive diagnosis.
There were constant threats that she should be transferred to a psychiatric ward. One psychiatrist diagnosed Schizoaffective Disorder. And meanwhile, Susannah, making constant attempts to escape, was convinced that everyone on the ward, and on TV, was talking about her.
Then, deteriorating further, her speech slurred, and she became almost like an animal, drooling, and letting her tongue hang out of the side of her mouth. Her short term memory was obliterated.
“I watched the same film over and over, thinking it was for the first time. I repeated questions, time and again. That was so annoying for my boyfriend, Stephen,” says Susannah. “But he never doubted me. He could see that I was ‘in there’ somewhere. We’re still together. He’s with me, here in Dublin.”
Her fortunes changed when a certain Dr Najjar was brought in on her case. He asked her to draw a clock, a standard neurological test, and she wrote all the numbers on the same side. That proved that one side of her brain was ‘on fire.’ After performing a brain biopsy, he was able to give a diagnosis. Susannah had Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis; a condition only discovered in 2007.
“I was only the 217th person to have been diagnosed with it,” says Susannah. “And if it took so long for one of the best hospitals in the world to diagnose me, how many people were going undiagnosed, and condemned to life on a psychiatric ward or nursing home?
“I would not have got a diagnosis without my parents to fight for me, when I couldn’t fight for myself,” she says. “My condition resembled demonic possession.”
On the right treatment, her condition, slowly, improved. But she was unrecognisable. When her brother saw her for the first time, he described her as ‘a grotesque hybrid of an elderly woman without her cane and a toddler learning to walk.’
Susannah returned to work at the New York Post seven months after her initial seizure. The staff, good to her, broke her in slowly.
“They were wonderful to me,” she says. “I’d always been like the little sister. They saw me grow up. I worked there from when I was 17, and working in my summer, and Christmas breaks from College.”
She was still far from well. But less than a month after she’d returned to work, an editor asked her to write a first person article describing her experience. She contacted various doctors, including one Dr Bailey; a top neurologist who’d seen her near the start of her illness.
“He’d said my condition was due to too much alcohol,” says Susannah. “He told the doctors in NYU that I drank two bottles of wine a day. Yet I’d told him I drank two glasses. When I called him he said he didn’t have time to speak to me He was very dismissive. I remember hearing the dial tone when he’d hung up and feeling shocked by the way I’d been treated.
“Later, I met a girl with the same condition as me. Her parents said, ‘Thank goodness for Dr Bailey. He’d said to them, ‘you should check out this anti auto immune encephalitis. He said he’d read about it in a medical journal; not that he’d misdiagnosed a patient who had it.”
She’s never heard from him again. Yet she changed his name in the book to protect his identity.
“I’m not out for revenge. He’s considered one of the best neurologists in the country. He’s probably saved thousands of lives. I don’t want to ruin his reputation on one case. He’s old. He’s arrogant, and doesn’t have curiosity anymore. He saw my job profession, and in his mind, journalism meant booze.”
The article caused a sensation. Susannah won awards; Dr Najjar’s reputation was enhanced, and, from the ensuing media frenzy, a huge number of people managed to get a diagnosis; some from shoving Susannah’s article in front of their doctor’s noses.
“That feels so good,” she says.
It helped her on a personal level, too.
“People at work were confused as to what had happened. I’d gained 40 lb with the steroids. I had this big moon face. I was very slow. My speech was slow. I was aware that I was boring. People had thought, ‘did she have a breakdown?’ Now it was clear to them.”
After the success of the article, Susannah decided to write a book. She studied immunology textbooks, and neurological journals; she watched seminars, and conducted interviews with doctors; with nurses involved in her case; with friends who’s stuck by her; and with her family; trying to piece together all the time that she’d lost. Then she sold the proposal.
“That weekend, I thought I was finally ‘back.’ I went to my cousin’s wedding in New Mexico, and I was able to make small talk and not be nervous about it. I now realise I’m a terrible judge of my condition. I wasn’t completely well, back then. I was still recovering all the time I wrote the book. A scout, who saw my proposal, said my writing, in the book, was so much better than in the proposal. I’m pretty sure I’m back, now!”
There have been thousands of people diagnosed with Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis since Susannah’s diagnosis – and research has uncovered other, similar conditions.
“Everywhere I go, there seems to be another person who knows another person with it. I’ve been contacted by several people in Ireland. I’ve had this situation, so often, where someone connected to someone I meet, like a radio producer, has it. It can’t be that rare, it’s just undiagnosed.
“Yet you feel so alone. And you feel ashamed. I did a launch of my book in London with the Encephalitis Society. One man in the audience, diagnosed in 2011, said he felt desperate, not knowing what it was. He said, ‘I googled it and your picture came up. And there was this girl with red lipstick.’ He said, ‘I’m going to be fine.’ It was so amazing to hear that.”
Many people with her condition, don’t get their full function back. And there is a small rate of reoccurrence.
“I live with that fear,” says Susannah. “It doesn’t make me change the way I live. It doesn’t make me want to travel less, or do less. But a couple of months ago I had pins and needles in my hands. I immediately called Dr Najjar, and I had 6,000 dollars worth of crazy tests, and it ended up being from too much typing.
“When you’ve had a situation where you doubt your sanity, and are insane, it keeps you open to doubting your sanity. That’s a very uncomfortable thing.”
If she had a magic wand, would she turn back the clock and magic the experience away?
“I’ve thought about that, and no I wouldn’t. I’ve been able to help people, and it has changed me. I have a calling, and I didn’t before.
“You go into journalism for a variety of reasons, and one of them is because you want to help people. As a tabloid journalist, I typically don’t; you can end up hurting people. This is such an amazing affirmation. I have discovered what it means to do positive things with my work. Now, when I talk to people who have been through a trauma, I can really relate.
“When you think about it, I was only the 217th person to be diagnosed with Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis; how incredible that I was a journalist, and was able to tell my story. All that crazy training, seeing people who don’t want to talk to you, prepared me so well. I could not have written the book otherwise. It’s as if it was meant.”
Buy the Book now:
© Sue Leonard. 2013
Interviewed by Sue Leonard.
Published in The Irish Independent Colour Magazine on 23rd March, 2013
At 28, Susannah Cahalan is one of life’s golden girls. Gorgeous looking, she has an enviable job on the New York Post, and comes from a privileged background. She’s great company too; and clearly talented. Yet just three and a half years ago, Susannah lost her sanity, and almost lost her life.
It was 2009 when Susannah displayed signs of bipolar disorder. Finding work increasingly difficult, she suffered severe mood swings, and then, a terrifying seizure landed her in hospital.
“That early stage was really scary, because I still had my faculties,” says Susannah on a visit to Dublin. “I could think, ‘this is not me.’ I had no control over my emotions, and I would see myself doing things that were outside my normal behaviour.”
One night, staying at her father’s house, she became convinced that her father was trying to kill her stepmother.
“I could ‘hear’ him beating her up. I was convinced that he had murdered her. I remember feeling, I have to get out of here. I wanted to jump out of the window. I remember all those hallucinations. Those were hard.”
She was, eventually, admitted to the NYU Hospital’s epilepsy ward. Her condition deteriorated into psychosis and then catatonia. She ‘lost’ a month. Susannah was seeing the best doctors money could buy. She had numerous tests, all of which came back negative. And nobody could come up with a definitive diagnosis.
There were constant threats that she should be transferred to a psychiatric ward. One psychiatrist diagnosed Schizoaffective Disorder. And meanwhile, Susannah, making constant attempts to escape, was convinced that everyone on the ward, and on TV, was talking about her.
Then, deteriorating further, her speech slurred, and she became almost like an animal, drooling, and letting her tongue hang out of the side of her mouth. Her short term memory was obliterated.
“I watched the same film over and over, thinking it was for the first time. I repeated questions, time and again. That was so annoying for my boyfriend, Stephen,” says Susannah. “But he never doubted me. He could see that I was ‘in there’ somewhere. We’re still together. He’s with me, here in Dublin.”
Her fortunes changed when a certain Dr Najjar was brought in on her case. He asked her to draw a clock, a standard neurological test, and she wrote all the numbers on the same side. That proved that one side of her brain was ‘on fire.’ After performing a brain biopsy, he was able to give a diagnosis. Susannah had Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis; a condition only discovered in 2007.
“I was only the 217th person to have been diagnosed with it,” says Susannah. “And if it took so long for one of the best hospitals in the world to diagnose me, how many people were going undiagnosed, and condemned to life on a psychiatric ward or nursing home?
“I would not have got a diagnosis without my parents to fight for me, when I couldn’t fight for myself,” she says. “My condition resembled demonic possession.”
On the right treatment, her condition, slowly, improved. But she was unrecognisable. When her brother saw her for the first time, he described her as ‘a grotesque hybrid of an elderly woman without her cane and a toddler learning to walk.’
Susannah returned to work at the New York Post seven months after her initial seizure. The staff, good to her, broke her in slowly.
“They were wonderful to me,” she says. “I’d always been like the little sister. They saw me grow up. I worked there from when I was 17, and working in my summer, and Christmas breaks from College.”
She was still far from well. But less than a month after she’d returned to work, an editor asked her to write a first person article describing her experience. She contacted various doctors, including one Dr Bailey; a top neurologist who’d seen her near the start of her illness.
“He’d said my condition was due to too much alcohol,” says Susannah. “He told the doctors in NYU that I drank two bottles of wine a day. Yet I’d told him I drank two glasses. When I called him he said he didn’t have time to speak to me He was very dismissive. I remember hearing the dial tone when he’d hung up and feeling shocked by the way I’d been treated.
“Later, I met a girl with the same condition as me. Her parents said, ‘Thank goodness for Dr Bailey. He’d said to them, ‘you should check out this anti auto immune encephalitis. He said he’d read about it in a medical journal; not that he’d misdiagnosed a patient who had it.”
She’s never heard from him again. Yet she changed his name in the book to protect his identity.
“I’m not out for revenge. He’s considered one of the best neurologists in the country. He’s probably saved thousands of lives. I don’t want to ruin his reputation on one case. He’s old. He’s arrogant, and doesn’t have curiosity anymore. He saw my job profession, and in his mind, journalism meant booze.”
The article caused a sensation. Susannah won awards; Dr Najjar’s reputation was enhanced, and, from the ensuing media frenzy, a huge number of people managed to get a diagnosis; some from shoving Susannah’s article in front of their doctor’s noses.
“That feels so good,” she says.
It helped her on a personal level, too.
“People at work were confused as to what had happened. I’d gained 40 lb with the steroids. I had this big moon face. I was very slow. My speech was slow. I was aware that I was boring. People had thought, ‘did she have a breakdown?’ Now it was clear to them.”
After the success of the article, Susannah decided to write a book. She studied immunology textbooks, and neurological journals; she watched seminars, and conducted interviews with doctors; with nurses involved in her case; with friends who’s stuck by her; and with her family; trying to piece together all the time that she’d lost. Then she sold the proposal.
“That weekend, I thought I was finally ‘back.’ I went to my cousin’s wedding in New Mexico, and I was able to make small talk and not be nervous about it. I now realise I’m a terrible judge of my condition. I wasn’t completely well, back then. I was still recovering all the time I wrote the book. A scout, who saw my proposal, said my writing, in the book, was so much better than in the proposal. I’m pretty sure I’m back, now!”
There have been thousands of people diagnosed with Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis since Susannah’s diagnosis – and research has uncovered other, similar conditions.
“Everywhere I go, there seems to be another person who knows another person with it. I’ve been contacted by several people in Ireland. I’ve had this situation, so often, where someone connected to someone I meet, like a radio producer, has it. It can’t be that rare, it’s just undiagnosed.
“Yet you feel so alone. And you feel ashamed. I did a launch of my book in London with the Encephalitis Society. One man in the audience, diagnosed in 2011, said he felt desperate, not knowing what it was. He said, ‘I googled it and your picture came up. And there was this girl with red lipstick.’ He said, ‘I’m going to be fine.’ It was so amazing to hear that.”
Many people with her condition, don’t get their full function back. And there is a small rate of reoccurrence.
“I live with that fear,” says Susannah. “It doesn’t make me change the way I live. It doesn’t make me want to travel less, or do less. But a couple of months ago I had pins and needles in my hands. I immediately called Dr Najjar, and I had 6,000 dollars worth of crazy tests, and it ended up being from too much typing.
“When you’ve had a situation where you doubt your sanity, and are insane, it keeps you open to doubting your sanity. That’s a very uncomfortable thing.”
If she had a magic wand, would she turn back the clock and magic the experience away?
“I’ve thought about that, and no I wouldn’t. I’ve been able to help people, and it has changed me. I have a calling, and I didn’t before.
“You go into journalism for a variety of reasons, and one of them is because you want to help people. As a tabloid journalist, I typically don’t; you can end up hurting people. This is such an amazing affirmation. I have discovered what it means to do positive things with my work. Now, when I talk to people who have been through a trauma, I can really relate.
“When you think about it, I was only the 217th person to be diagnosed with Anti-NMDA receptor autoimmune encephalitis; how incredible that I was a journalist, and was able to tell my story. All that crazy training, seeing people who don’t want to talk to you, prepared me so well. I could not have written the book otherwise. It’s as if it was meant.”
Buy the Book now:
© Sue Leonard. 2013
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Love Lasts for a Lifetime. Grieving Doesn't.
Bébhinn Ramsay’s Charity in Brazil
By Sue Leonard.
Published in Reality Magazine, July, 2012
In 2007, Alastair and Bébhinn Ramsay were on holiday in America with their two young sons. Life was good for the couple. Then Alastair got a fever, his symptoms worsened, and within days he died, aged 39.
Bébhinn felt she’s lost everything. Struggling to find meaning in life, she fretted that Alastair was unsettled. He’d been a devoted husband and father, and his worst fear had been not being there for his children. As for Bébhinn, at 31, she felt sure life could never be happy again.
Desperate to find a way through her grief, Bébhinn took the boys on Pilgrimage to the Camino de Santiago; but that only highlighted her isolation.
“I’d walked it before, alone. Pushing the boys in a double buggy was exhausting. It made me realise I was no longer independent, or part of a family unit. I needed help”
She tried a Buddhist Retreat, but found it unbearable being alone with her thoughts. She started a PhD in Child Poverty at Oxford University; something she’d planned before Alastair died. But she felt unable to concentrate. And then, after six months, her grief shifted.
“I woke one day, feeling calm. I felt, ‘all is well.’ It was as if Alastair was now settled, and was happy somewhere. I could now mourn him properly.”
A partner in McKinsey and Company, Alastair had been passionate about contributing to society. A leader in pro-bono work, he’d worked with several children’s charities, and was involved with a medical support charity in Peru.
Bébhinn shared this passion.
“From the age of eight, I’ve wanted to work with the poor,” she says. “I’m one of eight, and our parents handed down strong values. My mother would say, ‘if you are given talents, you use them. It’s your duty.’ I really took that to heart.
“I’d always had a fascination with Peru; perhaps because my uncle was a priest there, and, after studying at UCD, I worked there in an orthopaedic clinic.”
After a short stint as a supply teacher, Bébhinn joined McKinsey, as a Management Consultant.
“I saw that as a step to working in a non-profit organisation,” she says. And it was there she met Alastair. “I was 24, and he 32.”
They married, and moved to Rio, where Bébhinn worked with an NGO. By the time Alastair died, the couple lived in London, but had planned the move to Oxford.
In his will, Alastair allocated some money to be spent on a charity, and Bébhinn decided to set up a charity in his name. Gathering family and friends to help her, she set up The Alastair Ramsay Charitable Trust –ARCH - based on the NGO Alastair had worked with in Peru. And she now lives in Brazil, on the Island of Florianopolis.
“ARCH fitted perfectly. My Masters was in Child Poverty, and Alastair had always wanted to set up a charity. Child poverty was the one thing I still felt passionate about, so I could do what I loved, and honour Alastair.”
ARCH tries to meet the dual challenge of poverty combined with a child’s illness. Families are referred by a hospital, and ARCH develops a two year plan helping the families in all areas of their lives.
“The children might have cancer; they might have HIV or Heart problems. We make a plan with the families, seeing what needs to be done, and how we can lend them a hand.
“We’ve turned around a lot of lives. One women, who graduated last year, was referred because her second child had HIV, and the authorities were thinking of taking the child into care. The mother was illiterate. She wasn’t able to administer the medication. But the social worker felt with help, she would manage. And she did have the support of her husband.
“At the start she was scared of public transport. Her husband had to bring her the one and a half hours. Later, we’d collect her from the bus station, and then she gained total independence. She learned to read and write, and could administer the medication.
“We give group therapy, and for a year, that woman didn’t speak. And she wasn’t keen to join in the arts and crafts. The second year she opened up and she changed dramatically.”
The charity provided money for a bathroom for the family too. The husband did the work on it. Then he died of AIDS, leaving his wife with the two small boys.
“She was distraught, but she was managing. She’d started applying to get her pension; she could never have done that before. Her relationship with her children had really improved too. The child with developmental delays was now walking and talking. It was incredible to have had a hand in the transformation.”
Three years on, Bébhinn feels she is healed. She has a boyfriend in Brazil, and a third son. She’s happy in herself. The charity, she feels, enabled her to put her grief to bed. And the book she has written about her journey through grief, feels like the end of a chapter.
“When I move from an overwhelming sense that death is bad, for Alastair, for me, and for the boys, to the possibility that death is also good, I experience a great sense of peace and liberation for Alastair and me, and a surge of joy and hope for the future.
“Love lasts a lifetime, but mourning doesn’t,” she says. “The future is exciting. I have three gorgeous boys, a lovely family and great friends. I must now makes decisions based on what’s best for my family. I still want to help with poverty, but I can now do so with joy; not because I’m a widow.”
Response to her memoir of hope, courage and eternal love, has been amazing.
“I’ve had some wonderful messages. One was from a woman who lost her husband three and a half months ago, and had two small girls. She said the book had given her such comfort. She no longer felt alone. And that message alone made the writing of the book worthwhile.”
Love’s Last Gift by Bébhinn Ramsay is published by Hachette Books Ireland. All royalties will go to ARCH.
©Sue Leonard 2012
By Sue Leonard.
Published in Reality Magazine, July, 2012
In 2007, Alastair and Bébhinn Ramsay were on holiday in America with their two young sons. Life was good for the couple. Then Alastair got a fever, his symptoms worsened, and within days he died, aged 39.
Bébhinn felt she’s lost everything. Struggling to find meaning in life, she fretted that Alastair was unsettled. He’d been a devoted husband and father, and his worst fear had been not being there for his children. As for Bébhinn, at 31, she felt sure life could never be happy again.
Desperate to find a way through her grief, Bébhinn took the boys on Pilgrimage to the Camino de Santiago; but that only highlighted her isolation.
“I’d walked it before, alone. Pushing the boys in a double buggy was exhausting. It made me realise I was no longer independent, or part of a family unit. I needed help”
She tried a Buddhist Retreat, but found it unbearable being alone with her thoughts. She started a PhD in Child Poverty at Oxford University; something she’d planned before Alastair died. But she felt unable to concentrate. And then, after six months, her grief shifted.
“I woke one day, feeling calm. I felt, ‘all is well.’ It was as if Alastair was now settled, and was happy somewhere. I could now mourn him properly.”
A partner in McKinsey and Company, Alastair had been passionate about contributing to society. A leader in pro-bono work, he’d worked with several children’s charities, and was involved with a medical support charity in Peru.
Bébhinn shared this passion.
“From the age of eight, I’ve wanted to work with the poor,” she says. “I’m one of eight, and our parents handed down strong values. My mother would say, ‘if you are given talents, you use them. It’s your duty.’ I really took that to heart.
“I’d always had a fascination with Peru; perhaps because my uncle was a priest there, and, after studying at UCD, I worked there in an orthopaedic clinic.”
After a short stint as a supply teacher, Bébhinn joined McKinsey, as a Management Consultant.
“I saw that as a step to working in a non-profit organisation,” she says. And it was there she met Alastair. “I was 24, and he 32.”
They married, and moved to Rio, where Bébhinn worked with an NGO. By the time Alastair died, the couple lived in London, but had planned the move to Oxford.
In his will, Alastair allocated some money to be spent on a charity, and Bébhinn decided to set up a charity in his name. Gathering family and friends to help her, she set up The Alastair Ramsay Charitable Trust –ARCH - based on the NGO Alastair had worked with in Peru. And she now lives in Brazil, on the Island of Florianopolis.
“ARCH fitted perfectly. My Masters was in Child Poverty, and Alastair had always wanted to set up a charity. Child poverty was the one thing I still felt passionate about, so I could do what I loved, and honour Alastair.”
ARCH tries to meet the dual challenge of poverty combined with a child’s illness. Families are referred by a hospital, and ARCH develops a two year plan helping the families in all areas of their lives.
“The children might have cancer; they might have HIV or Heart problems. We make a plan with the families, seeing what needs to be done, and how we can lend them a hand.
“We’ve turned around a lot of lives. One women, who graduated last year, was referred because her second child had HIV, and the authorities were thinking of taking the child into care. The mother was illiterate. She wasn’t able to administer the medication. But the social worker felt with help, she would manage. And she did have the support of her husband.
“At the start she was scared of public transport. Her husband had to bring her the one and a half hours. Later, we’d collect her from the bus station, and then she gained total independence. She learned to read and write, and could administer the medication.
“We give group therapy, and for a year, that woman didn’t speak. And she wasn’t keen to join in the arts and crafts. The second year she opened up and she changed dramatically.”
The charity provided money for a bathroom for the family too. The husband did the work on it. Then he died of AIDS, leaving his wife with the two small boys.
“She was distraught, but she was managing. She’d started applying to get her pension; she could never have done that before. Her relationship with her children had really improved too. The child with developmental delays was now walking and talking. It was incredible to have had a hand in the transformation.”
Three years on, Bébhinn feels she is healed. She has a boyfriend in Brazil, and a third son. She’s happy in herself. The charity, she feels, enabled her to put her grief to bed. And the book she has written about her journey through grief, feels like the end of a chapter.
“When I move from an overwhelming sense that death is bad, for Alastair, for me, and for the boys, to the possibility that death is also good, I experience a great sense of peace and liberation for Alastair and me, and a surge of joy and hope for the future.
“Love lasts a lifetime, but mourning doesn’t,” she says. “The future is exciting. I have three gorgeous boys, a lovely family and great friends. I must now makes decisions based on what’s best for my family. I still want to help with poverty, but I can now do so with joy; not because I’m a widow.”
Response to her memoir of hope, courage and eternal love, has been amazing.
“I’ve had some wonderful messages. One was from a woman who lost her husband three and a half months ago, and had two small girls. She said the book had given her such comfort. She no longer felt alone. And that message alone made the writing of the book worthwhile.”
Love’s Last Gift by Bébhinn Ramsay is published by Hachette Books Ireland. All royalties will go to ARCH.
©Sue Leonard 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Living with OCD.
Living with OCD
By Sue Leonard
Published in Feelgood, The Irish Examiner.
3rd June 2011
Julia Hennessy radiates confidence. In her fifties, the mum of three daughters from Bray looks the picture of health. Yet she is coping with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a condition that, twenty years ago, took over her life.
“I would dread going into the shower, because it would be a ritual,” says Julia. “Washing would take me a long, long time. I couldn’t plan activities, or make appointments. I had to have everything clean and orderly.”
There are different types of OCD, but for Julia, it was a fear of germs.
“I’d have to Hoover the house over and over again. It took me four hours. I could change my baby’s nappy, but then I’d wonder, did I contaminate the couch, or the fireplace? I’d clean it, then clean it again.
“I was terrified of sitting on the DART. I’d go home and change all my clothes. I’d have to clean the wheels of the buggy. And every time I went to the hairdresser, she’d do a lovely job, but I’d go home and wash my hair. I didn’t trust the brushes.”
For Julia, OCD crept up gradually.
“When I was 12 an uncle I really admired committed suicide. After his death I started doing everything twice. I’d go up one step, go down and go up again. I’d walk a line in the street, go back, and walk it again. Mum took me to a psychologist, and within a month I was cured.”
After school, Julia lacked confidence. Failing to become an art teacher, she ended up working in an office.
“I didn’t enjoy it. I managed a shop as well. But I was made redundant three times. It knocked my confidence.”
In the early seventies, Julia’s father contracted Parkinson’s disease.
“I got married, then my father died. Then my mother got cancer and she died. All that happened within the first eighteen months of my marriage.
“I’d go down to help mum dress or feed my father. And one morning she rang and said, ‘can you come, your father has fallen.’ I was making a batch of Apple Tarts – I was trying to prove I was a good wife – and I’m ashamed to say I cleaned up all the flour before I went down. The impulse to clean was overwhelming.”
After her mother’s death, Julia admitted she had a problem. Her GP sent her to a psychiatrist who prescribed antidepressants.
“They took the edge off the problem. I saw a psychologist too. He convinced me I’d be ok to have children.”
Julia had her first two daughters, but her symptoms got worse. She saw a private psychiatrist and joined a therapy group, but she wasn’t coping.
“I felt desperate. And I went to see the local parish priest. I told him about the rituals. He was wonderful. He said, ‘there’s a local group called Recovery. Give them a try.’”
Based on the teachings of the late Abraham Lowe, Recovery tackles symptoms of mental illness, giving people tools to deal with life. Based on cognitive behavioural therapy, Recovery is respected by many doctors.
Professor Patricia Casey has referred numerous patients.
“It’s excellent for patients with bipolar disorder and anxiety, as well as for OCD,” she says. “The members are very supportive, and it helps people deal with their day to day problems.”
Julia says Recovery saved her.
“From the first meeting I felt cared for,” she says. “June and Anne, in particular were such a support. People give examples of how Recovery helped them with various situations, and the members then comment. I was amazed at the things people suffered from, and by the answers that were given. I came away thinking, ‘is it that easy?’
It took time for Julia to learn the system, but twenty-one years on, she’s taken various postgraduate courses; she takes marriage preparation classes for ACCORD, and is assistant leader of the Bray group of Recovery. All thing she could never have contemplated.
“I still have OCD,” she says. “If I’m out, I won’t use a toilet. I still obsess about crumbs in the kitchen, but now I cope with it. I can shake hands with someone who has used a tissue and not rush to wash my hands.”
Dr Michael McDonagh, consultant psychiatrist at St Patrick’s Hospital, Dublin, says that Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is his preferred treatment.
“It achieves the best long term results,” he says. “Someone with OCD on serotonin based antidepressants, has a 90pc rate of relapse if they come off them. CBT is effective by itself, or given with serotonin.
“2 to 4 pc of the population have OCD,” he says. “That number isn’t increasing, but more sufferers are now seeking treatment.”
SYMPTOMS OF OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER
• Compulsions include counting, repeating words of actions, like checking locks or hand washing.
• Arranging things according to rigid rules.
• These behaviours are done to prevent or decrease anxiety.
• When severe, symptoms significantly interfere with a sufferer’s daily life.
• If you suffer symptoms, see your doctor.
FOR MORE INFORMATION.
Recovery International – www.recovery-inc-ireland.ie 01 626 0775.
OCD Ireland – www.ocdireland.org.
OCD support Group. (St Patrick’s Hospital.) 01 249 3333.
Sue Leonard is the author of Keys to the Cage. How People Cope With Depression. New Island 2010. (Includes a chapter on the Recovery method of mind training.)
Copyright. Sue Leonard. 2011.
By Sue Leonard
Published in Feelgood, The Irish Examiner.
3rd June 2011
Julia Hennessy radiates confidence. In her fifties, the mum of three daughters from Bray looks the picture of health. Yet she is coping with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a condition that, twenty years ago, took over her life.
“I would dread going into the shower, because it would be a ritual,” says Julia. “Washing would take me a long, long time. I couldn’t plan activities, or make appointments. I had to have everything clean and orderly.”
There are different types of OCD, but for Julia, it was a fear of germs.
“I’d have to Hoover the house over and over again. It took me four hours. I could change my baby’s nappy, but then I’d wonder, did I contaminate the couch, or the fireplace? I’d clean it, then clean it again.
“I was terrified of sitting on the DART. I’d go home and change all my clothes. I’d have to clean the wheels of the buggy. And every time I went to the hairdresser, she’d do a lovely job, but I’d go home and wash my hair. I didn’t trust the brushes.”
For Julia, OCD crept up gradually.
“When I was 12 an uncle I really admired committed suicide. After his death I started doing everything twice. I’d go up one step, go down and go up again. I’d walk a line in the street, go back, and walk it again. Mum took me to a psychologist, and within a month I was cured.”
After school, Julia lacked confidence. Failing to become an art teacher, she ended up working in an office.
“I didn’t enjoy it. I managed a shop as well. But I was made redundant three times. It knocked my confidence.”
In the early seventies, Julia’s father contracted Parkinson’s disease.
“I got married, then my father died. Then my mother got cancer and she died. All that happened within the first eighteen months of my marriage.
“I’d go down to help mum dress or feed my father. And one morning she rang and said, ‘can you come, your father has fallen.’ I was making a batch of Apple Tarts – I was trying to prove I was a good wife – and I’m ashamed to say I cleaned up all the flour before I went down. The impulse to clean was overwhelming.”
After her mother’s death, Julia admitted she had a problem. Her GP sent her to a psychiatrist who prescribed antidepressants.
“They took the edge off the problem. I saw a psychologist too. He convinced me I’d be ok to have children.”
Julia had her first two daughters, but her symptoms got worse. She saw a private psychiatrist and joined a therapy group, but she wasn’t coping.
“I felt desperate. And I went to see the local parish priest. I told him about the rituals. He was wonderful. He said, ‘there’s a local group called Recovery. Give them a try.’”
Based on the teachings of the late Abraham Lowe, Recovery tackles symptoms of mental illness, giving people tools to deal with life. Based on cognitive behavioural therapy, Recovery is respected by many doctors.
Professor Patricia Casey has referred numerous patients.
“It’s excellent for patients with bipolar disorder and anxiety, as well as for OCD,” she says. “The members are very supportive, and it helps people deal with their day to day problems.”
Julia says Recovery saved her.
“From the first meeting I felt cared for,” she says. “June and Anne, in particular were such a support. People give examples of how Recovery helped them with various situations, and the members then comment. I was amazed at the things people suffered from, and by the answers that were given. I came away thinking, ‘is it that easy?’
It took time for Julia to learn the system, but twenty-one years on, she’s taken various postgraduate courses; she takes marriage preparation classes for ACCORD, and is assistant leader of the Bray group of Recovery. All thing she could never have contemplated.
“I still have OCD,” she says. “If I’m out, I won’t use a toilet. I still obsess about crumbs in the kitchen, but now I cope with it. I can shake hands with someone who has used a tissue and not rush to wash my hands.”
Dr Michael McDonagh, consultant psychiatrist at St Patrick’s Hospital, Dublin, says that Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is his preferred treatment.
“It achieves the best long term results,” he says. “Someone with OCD on serotonin based antidepressants, has a 90pc rate of relapse if they come off them. CBT is effective by itself, or given with serotonin.
“2 to 4 pc of the population have OCD,” he says. “That number isn’t increasing, but more sufferers are now seeking treatment.”
SYMPTOMS OF OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER
• Compulsions include counting, repeating words of actions, like checking locks or hand washing.
• Arranging things according to rigid rules.
• These behaviours are done to prevent or decrease anxiety.
• When severe, symptoms significantly interfere with a sufferer’s daily life.
• If you suffer symptoms, see your doctor.
FOR MORE INFORMATION.
Recovery International – www.recovery-inc-ireland.ie 01 626 0775.
OCD Ireland – www.ocdireland.org.
OCD support Group. (St Patrick’s Hospital.) 01 249 3333.
Sue Leonard is the author of Keys to the Cage. How People Cope With Depression. New Island 2010. (Includes a chapter on the Recovery method of mind training.)
Copyright. Sue Leonard. 2011.
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Danger of Diet Pills
Saturday May 15 2010 Irish Independent Weekend magazine.
With the sun coming out and holidays on the horizon, women will be sizing up their winter flab and wanting to lose excess pounds right now. Drastic weight-loss measures are called for, but you've tried all the diets and ultimately failed. You need help. And help can be pill-shaped.
Diet pills are so popular in Ireland, so widely used, that even as Reductil, the controversial appetite suppressant, was being withdrawn from the market in January, there were discussions from eager young mums who extolled the drug on the internet.
And no, they weren't scared by the ban. They were just anxious to know where they could procure a similar pill.
Gerry Ryan often spoke about diet pills. They worked for him, but made him anxious. On his death, some commentators wondered if their use might have sparked a heart attack. It certainly occurred to Suzanne Horgan. As director and founder of the Eating Disorder Resource Centre of Ireland (www.eatingdisorders.ie) she is well aware of the dangers of diet pills.
"Reductil was taken off the market because of its links with heart attacks and strokes," she says. "Back in the 1980s and 1990s drugs like Adifax were withdrawn because of bowel problems. All diet pills have huge side-effects; the effects can be worse than the weight problem."
Many women who attend weight watchers have previously tried diet pills. "They try everything," says Margaret Burke, PRO with WeightWatchers Ireland. "Diet pills can work. But when people stop the diet pills, the weight usually returns and sometimes they put on even more. Pills don't help you to make good lifestyle choices."
Margaret Fahy took her first diet pills at 34. She'd married, had her first baby, moved from London to remotest Mayo and her weight had ballooned to 14 stone.
"I'd had hormonal problems, and used fertility treatment," she says. "We wanted another child, and the first thing I had to do was lose weight. My GP put me on Xenical (orlistat) which works by decreasing the absorption of dietary fat.
"It didn't suit me. I felt sick when I ate anything and I had the most severe stomach cramps. I felt lethargic. I had no energy and I had the most terrible diarrhoea. I'd be in the middle of Penneys and would suddenly have to go to the toilet. Often I wouldn't make it.
"I found myself gorging on any food that did not give me cramps; that could be carrots or digestive biscuits. I took the pills for three months, but they weren't working for me. I lost about five pounds."
Margaret then tried exercise. She toned up and dropped two dress sizes, but she didn't lose weight. So her GP tried her on Reductil. This was 2004, when it was perceived as a new wonder drug.
"My GP did say, 'Don't, whatever you do fall pregnant'," says Margaret. "He said it could have adverse effects on the foetus. With Reductil I did cut down my portion sizes. I didn't eat as much, but I suffered from panic attacks. I had severe headaches and had terrible mood swings. I had post-natal depression and the pills made that worse. I'm surprised my marriage lasted -- those first years were horrendous!"
Margaret came off the pills after two months. She then became pregnant, had her second son, Owen, and six months after his birth became pregnant with her third. After Rory's birth in 2006, Margaret, now 14-and-a-half stone, returned to her doctor in despair.
"He said 'Give Reductil another go'. But it was back to mood swings and panic attacks. I'd have palpitations at the dinner table. My face would go on fire. I'd have them in the shower, too. It was unnerving.
"It was like being on speed. My mind was racing. I couldn't sleep. I'd go to bed by 10.30pm and be still awake at 2am. I'd be wide awake, and tossing. I'd get up, worried about disturbing Martin. Then at 8am I'd be exhausted, yet have to drop the boys at crèche before work."
Margaret came off the pills when her eldest son, Luke, was diagnosed with diabetes at six. She changed the family's diet; Martin lost two stone, but Margaret's weight stayed static.
"So it was back to the orlistat. Back to the migraine and diarrhoea. In three months I lost just four pounds."
Then Margaret discovered LighterLife (www.lighterlife.com). Using the meal replacements, and attending the LighterLife counsellor, Margaret lost three stone -- and she's kept the weight off.
"The support was unbelievable," she says. "I'm now the LighterLife counsellor for Co Mayo. And GPs are referring clients to me."
Teen dieter
Mary O'Donoghue was 17 when she first discovered diet pills. She was on a bus, discussing her Debs, when one of her friends mentioned them. "I thought, 'Whoopee! A quick fix'," says Mary.
Mary was 13 stone at the time. A chunky child, she'd piled on the weight in her teens. "I had bad food habits," she says. "I worked in a newsagents at 14. That didn't help -- I ate the profits!"
It was a miserable life. Mary bought her clothes in Boyers -- more suitable for a woman of 70 than sixteen.
"I went to the doctor; he prescribed Adifax. He told me to go back every two weeks. I didn't tell my mum." The pills worked wonders.
"I lost weight quickly. I was giddy. Life had sped up and I was delighted. I felt great because I wasn't eating. I was full of energy and needed very little sleep. I'd be up, cleaning my room at 4am. I lost about three stone. I went shopping with my friends for my Debs dress. I looked like everyone else. That was brilliant."
The effects, though, didn't last. Mary piled the weight back on, and over the next 13 years her weight yo-yoed. She tried every diet going; every product advertised. And she went back on the diet pills.
"I'd go to the doctor, get a prescription and lose seven pounds. They gave me Ponderax -- I think Adifax was off the market by then. I'd run around, giddy and hyper, but I never told anyone. And when I stopped the weight went on. I crept up to 15 stone.
"Then, one day, I went to the chemist near work where they didn't know me. The pharmacist was reluctant to give me the pills; she wanted to ring my doctor. I was mortified. I got the pills but alarm bells rang. I realised they might be dangerous. And Ponderax is now off the market."
At 30, Mary saw sense. She joined Weight Watchers, and when she lost weight two weeks in a row she realised this was a system that could work for her.
"WeightWatchers is a lifestyle change," she says. "I took off five stone, and 11 years on the weight is still off. I'm a leader, and I'm healthier and happier than I've ever been. And WeightWatchers is legitimate. You can tell people you are on it. My mother still doesn't know about the diet pills."
- Sue Leonard
Irish Independent
With the sun coming out and holidays on the horizon, women will be sizing up their winter flab and wanting to lose excess pounds right now. Drastic weight-loss measures are called for, but you've tried all the diets and ultimately failed. You need help. And help can be pill-shaped.
Diet pills are so popular in Ireland, so widely used, that even as Reductil, the controversial appetite suppressant, was being withdrawn from the market in January, there were discussions from eager young mums who extolled the drug on the internet.
And no, they weren't scared by the ban. They were just anxious to know where they could procure a similar pill.
Gerry Ryan often spoke about diet pills. They worked for him, but made him anxious. On his death, some commentators wondered if their use might have sparked a heart attack. It certainly occurred to Suzanne Horgan. As director and founder of the Eating Disorder Resource Centre of Ireland (www.eatingdisorders.ie) she is well aware of the dangers of diet pills.
"Reductil was taken off the market because of its links with heart attacks and strokes," she says. "Back in the 1980s and 1990s drugs like Adifax were withdrawn because of bowel problems. All diet pills have huge side-effects; the effects can be worse than the weight problem."
Many women who attend weight watchers have previously tried diet pills. "They try everything," says Margaret Burke, PRO with WeightWatchers Ireland. "Diet pills can work. But when people stop the diet pills, the weight usually returns and sometimes they put on even more. Pills don't help you to make good lifestyle choices."
Margaret Fahy took her first diet pills at 34. She'd married, had her first baby, moved from London to remotest Mayo and her weight had ballooned to 14 stone.
"I'd had hormonal problems, and used fertility treatment," she says. "We wanted another child, and the first thing I had to do was lose weight. My GP put me on Xenical (orlistat) which works by decreasing the absorption of dietary fat.
"It didn't suit me. I felt sick when I ate anything and I had the most severe stomach cramps. I felt lethargic. I had no energy and I had the most terrible diarrhoea. I'd be in the middle of Penneys and would suddenly have to go to the toilet. Often I wouldn't make it.
"I found myself gorging on any food that did not give me cramps; that could be carrots or digestive biscuits. I took the pills for three months, but they weren't working for me. I lost about five pounds."
Margaret then tried exercise. She toned up and dropped two dress sizes, but she didn't lose weight. So her GP tried her on Reductil. This was 2004, when it was perceived as a new wonder drug.
"My GP did say, 'Don't, whatever you do fall pregnant'," says Margaret. "He said it could have adverse effects on the foetus. With Reductil I did cut down my portion sizes. I didn't eat as much, but I suffered from panic attacks. I had severe headaches and had terrible mood swings. I had post-natal depression and the pills made that worse. I'm surprised my marriage lasted -- those first years were horrendous!"
Margaret came off the pills after two months. She then became pregnant, had her second son, Owen, and six months after his birth became pregnant with her third. After Rory's birth in 2006, Margaret, now 14-and-a-half stone, returned to her doctor in despair.
"He said 'Give Reductil another go'. But it was back to mood swings and panic attacks. I'd have palpitations at the dinner table. My face would go on fire. I'd have them in the shower, too. It was unnerving.
"It was like being on speed. My mind was racing. I couldn't sleep. I'd go to bed by 10.30pm and be still awake at 2am. I'd be wide awake, and tossing. I'd get up, worried about disturbing Martin. Then at 8am I'd be exhausted, yet have to drop the boys at crèche before work."
Margaret came off the pills when her eldest son, Luke, was diagnosed with diabetes at six. She changed the family's diet; Martin lost two stone, but Margaret's weight stayed static.
"So it was back to the orlistat. Back to the migraine and diarrhoea. In three months I lost just four pounds."
Then Margaret discovered LighterLife (www.lighterlife.com). Using the meal replacements, and attending the LighterLife counsellor, Margaret lost three stone -- and she's kept the weight off.
"The support was unbelievable," she says. "I'm now the LighterLife counsellor for Co Mayo. And GPs are referring clients to me."
Teen dieter
Mary O'Donoghue was 17 when she first discovered diet pills. She was on a bus, discussing her Debs, when one of her friends mentioned them. "I thought, 'Whoopee! A quick fix'," says Mary.
Mary was 13 stone at the time. A chunky child, she'd piled on the weight in her teens. "I had bad food habits," she says. "I worked in a newsagents at 14. That didn't help -- I ate the profits!"
It was a miserable life. Mary bought her clothes in Boyers -- more suitable for a woman of 70 than sixteen.
"I went to the doctor; he prescribed Adifax. He told me to go back every two weeks. I didn't tell my mum." The pills worked wonders.
"I lost weight quickly. I was giddy. Life had sped up and I was delighted. I felt great because I wasn't eating. I was full of energy and needed very little sleep. I'd be up, cleaning my room at 4am. I lost about three stone. I went shopping with my friends for my Debs dress. I looked like everyone else. That was brilliant."
The effects, though, didn't last. Mary piled the weight back on, and over the next 13 years her weight yo-yoed. She tried every diet going; every product advertised. And she went back on the diet pills.
"I'd go to the doctor, get a prescription and lose seven pounds. They gave me Ponderax -- I think Adifax was off the market by then. I'd run around, giddy and hyper, but I never told anyone. And when I stopped the weight went on. I crept up to 15 stone.
"Then, one day, I went to the chemist near work where they didn't know me. The pharmacist was reluctant to give me the pills; she wanted to ring my doctor. I was mortified. I got the pills but alarm bells rang. I realised they might be dangerous. And Ponderax is now off the market."
At 30, Mary saw sense. She joined Weight Watchers, and when she lost weight two weeks in a row she realised this was a system that could work for her.
"WeightWatchers is a lifestyle change," she says. "I took off five stone, and 11 years on the weight is still off. I'm a leader, and I'm healthier and happier than I've ever been. And WeightWatchers is legitimate. You can tell people you are on it. My mother still doesn't know about the diet pills."
- Sue Leonard
Irish Independent
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sally Bee's Heart Attacks
I survived three heart attacks in one week -- but now life is better than ever
TV's Sally Bee tells Sue Leonard about living with a rare disorder
Tuesday March 02 2010
Sally Bee positively glows with health. At 42, the TV presenter and mum of three looks years younger. She doesn't smoke and is a walking advertisement for her new book of healthy recipes. It's impossible to believe that, just five years ago, Sally suffered a series of such severe heart attacks that her doctors left her to die.
It started at a friend's birthday party in her home town Stratford-on-Avon.
"I was holding Lela, my then nine-month-old baby, when I felt this sense of impending doom. I just knew something was terribly wrong. Twenty seconds later, the pain hit. Then I was on the floor having a heart attack."
The doctor in the A&E, though, couldn't believe it.
"There were 'changes' in my ECG, but he didn't think, 'heart attack.' They think there has to be a reason; that you have to be overweight or a smoker, or have a history of heart disease in the family. They said I had reflux, and sent me home with medicine for indigestion."
Three days later, the pain hit again. Given morphine, she was left alone and unable to breathe. Then a nurse, reading the heart monitor, shouted for the doctors.
'I had three cardiologists standing around saying, 'this is telling us that you are having a heart attack, but we still don't believe it'.
"The next day they performed an angiogram, and they saw the main artery that feeds my heart literally fall apart. They'd never seen that before, and they didn't expect me to live. They left the room, and told my husband to go in. They thought I would die there and then."
Sally, it turned out, was born with SCAD -- Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection -- that could have killed her at any time.
To the doctors' amazement, Sally survived. She stayed in hospital for two weeks, then was sent home on 'critical recovery'. And, as the mum of three under-fives, unable to do anything, that was tough.
"We had to get a nanny, and my husband took a year off work. I couldn't be on my own with the children for one second, because if one of them fell, I couldn't get up to help.
"I worried all the time. I'd think each breath was my last. A few times I thought I had died, and was a ghost.
"But, gradually, I began to get better. I started walking a little every day, but I was always scared.
"After a year, I'd got used to the idea of living. I had my year anniversary and was on a high. Then the cardiologist said, 'I think you have a problem'. He thought I had an aneurysm in my aorta. He said we need to scan this, and if I had, there were two options. He could operate -- there was a 40pc chance of survival -- or leave it, meaning it could blow and I could die any time.
"I knew if they found an aneurysm they'd operate at once, and I could die. So I prepared for the date. I had wardrobes built; I got the decorators in; I bought the children's clothes for a year, and I put all my girlfriends on standby. I cried every day.
"Then the night before, I thought, if I'm going to die let it happen. I thought, I can't live like this anymore. I can't live with the fear of dying.
"I'll never forget the MRI scan. They told me it would take 40 minutes, and I knew it had taken an hour and 20 minutes. I was getting fired up, sure I had an aneurysm. I was thinking, if you doctors do your bit, I'll do mine. I will really fight.
"This Chinese doctor said there was no aneurysm. I kissed him, and decided that I wouldn't live with fear anymore.
"That was my tipping point. I remember saying to my kids, 'right, on your bikes. We're going round the block'. I began to push forward, and I've not stopped since."
From the start, Sally had watched her diet with care. Her body taught her how.
"If I had a cheese sandwich for lunch, I'd sleep for 14 hours. If I ate fish and fruit I'd have a bit of energy. After six months I had an Indian takeaway. The monosodium glutamate sent my heart into abnormal rhythm and I was back in hospital."
Sally experimented with healthy heart recipes. And at the same time she was counselling heart patients sourced by her own heart nurses. She helped them with their diet too, and she decided to write a recipe book, The Secret Ingredient.
With a TV programme planned for the autumn, Sally is flying high. She's not cured, and never will be. But she's not worrying about dying.
"I've got a voice. People need to be educated after a heart attack, and I can help them with my recipes.
"I'm having an adventure and I'm loving it. Life isn't worse than before. In many ways it's better."
The Secret Ingredient by Sally Bee is published by Harper Collins. For more information; www.sally-bee.com
- Sue Leonard
Irish Independent
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Research on Suicide
Real Life: New research on the causes of suicide and the effects on those left behind
New research, due to be published next year, hopes to finally shed light on the causes of suicide and the effects on those left behind
Positive: Nuala Whelan, whose husband killed himself 10 years ago, has come to terms with what happened and says 'life is to be enjoyed, not endured.'
By Sue Leonard
Monday September 07 2009
This Thursday, September 10, is World Suicide Prevention Day. With 460 people dying by suicide in Ireland in 2007, and our youth suicide rate the fifth highest in Europe, it's a date we should all take note of.
Until now there has been little research to find out just why so many young people kill themselves, and that worried Professor Kevin Malone of UCD and St Vincent's University Hospital. So thanks to funding from, amongst others, 3Ts and the Padraig Harrington Foundation, he decided to talk to the families and the friends of suicide victims.
"We examined 400 suicide cases: 400 young people who had attempted suicide, and another 400 who were depressed, but who had not made a suicide attempt," says Professor Malone. "Over 80pc of those who had committed suicide had told someone of their intention up to two weeks before," he says.
"That is so sad, and is a reflection on our society. It's difficult, too, for the friends who are burdened with that news. They may feel, in the aftermath, that they were enabling the suicide, by standing by their friend and not telling."
Life, too, is difficult for those who made a suicide attempt, and survived.
"They get a second chance at life, but society is angry at them," says Malone. "Yet they had reached a point where they were overwhelmed by a feeling of low self-worth, where the world would be better off without them.
"In the aftermath, they have to deal with anger, and the realisation that they are considered selfish in a society that doesn't care. They have no idea what the aftermath of a successful suicide is like for their family. If they knew they would probably think about the act, but they are in a bubble of despair and they don't see any way out."
Ten suicide clusters were identified in the research, accounting for 40 additional deaths. And this, Malone suggests, is a complex issue.
Loss
"It is clear that the grief of suicide death and suicide loss is profound in a young person's society," he says. "They feel alone, afraid, and they identify with suicide as a solution. Young people often tell their parents that suicide is a dreadful thing, and they would never do it, but two weeks later they are dead themselves."
Mental health support for the young is woefully inadequate. There are no public beds for adolescents with mental health problems in Professor Malone's catchment area.
"Not one," he says. "We can 'buy' expensive beds from St John of God's Hospital, but that is not the solution. There are three suicides on our database directly associated with adolescent kids being put in an adult unit. They felt completely out of it."
Anthony knows that feeling well. At 19, he was a patient in St Columba's Psychiatric Hospital in Sligo. It was his third visit and he had been having suicidal thoughts for some time. Whilst there, he went to a nearby derelict building and jumped from a second-floor window.
"I wanted to end the pain," he says. "Killing yourself is not a selfish thing to do; you don't want to hurt your family. It's not brave either. It is neither of those things. My thinking just wasn't right."
Anthony smashed a knee and the bones in his heel. He couldn't walk for five weeks. But when he woke, he was glad that he was alive.
"That was my turning point," he says. "I have been through a lot since then, but I have never once been suicidal. People took me seriously after that. Nobody did before; not even the doctors. I don't think my doctor believed in my story. He didn't believe what I was going through."
It was a long road to recovery. But at 30, Anthony's life has improved beyond recognition. "I still get low days, but I can cope with them now," he says. That is due to counselling and to the support of the organisation Grow, a kind of AA for sufferers of depression.
"I go to Grow every week now," he says. "It gave me the confidence to talk about my illness. I went to Grow to get help for myself, but you help other people as well. You open up about things."
The artist Bernadette Walsh has lost not one but two of her three sons to suicide. Her youngest, Owen, was 33 when he died.
"His breakdown was related to work," says Bernadette. "There'd been trouble, and Owen stood up for his colleagues. He felt, after that, that he was isolated."
He left that job, and started working as a carpenter but he was severely depressed.
"He felt his capacity as a man was diminishing," says Bernadette. "He didn't think he could support his wife, Marie. He was ashamed and we couldn't reason with him."
The family tried to get Owen help. They talked to doctors, and Owen had told his GP that he wanted to kill himself.
"There should have been intervention," says Bernadette. "He should have been admitted to hospital." But he wasn't and on December 6, 1999, Owen was found dead.
Bernadette is convinced that Owen's death contributed to the death of his elder brother, Stephen, years later. Stephen had been a volunteer for four years in Moldova where he'd done sterling work. He'd worked in Ireland as a plumber, and had then volunteered to dig for pumps and to build wells in Sri Lanka. It was soon after he had arrived in Sri Lanka, on December 26, 2006, that he drowned.
"No one wants to believe that her son took his own life, but I know that he did. Stephen couldn't swim. He hadn't been sleeping and he had said goodbye to friends he hadn't seen for years. Work was tough. He was worried about his daughter. Stephanie was pregnant. The baby was born two days after he died."
How has Bernadette coped with this double loss? "I've been helped by the support group Console," she says. "They have been so good to me. I write poems and I paint and paint until I am exhausted. That is how I keep going.
"It is like a glass shattering when you lose someone. Families can split up over the pain. My son David is a hero because he has survived and is a good father. All my sons are heroes. Someone said to me, 'how come you didn't die afterwards?' I said, 'I live for me. Hope is all we have.'"
Depressed
When Nuala Whelan's husband John killed himself 10 years ago, she had absolutely no idea that he was depressed.
"Everything was in his favour. He was 41. He'd worked as a postman for 22 years and worked up the grades. He'd changed jobs just before he died, and he seemed happy. We didn't have debts and we had eight children aged between 18 and six.
"It was like being hit in the face with a shovel. My first thought, though, was for the kids. They were looking at me to get them through this, so I had to get myself to a place where I could cope. I handed the funeral over to the kids. I felt they needed control over their grief."
It wasn't until Nuala's father died, a few years later, that she realised how difficult John's death had been.
"That's when it hit me. My dad died with his family around. It was a release. John's death was so lonely and cold. It was so hard to visualise his pain.
"I had a dark three years. I've never understood why John died. No matter what I do I will never find the answer. So I might as well live my life since he chose not to live his."
Ten years on, life is rosy. All the children are well and happy. One is married and pregnant, one is a barrister, one a banker with a first-class degree, one is an architect, one a business manager, and another an intensive care nurse. One is studying interior design and the youngest is soon to start college. Nuala has returned to college too.
"Life is to be enjoyed, not endured," says Nuala. "Even after the funeral I said: 'I want a bucket of laughter for every tear you have shed.' You have to find the good in the bad and get on with it."
For help and support
- GROW - www.grow.ie
- CONSOLE - www.console.ie, Helpline 1800 201 8910
Copyright - Sue Leonard 2009
The Children’s Miracle Network.
Niamh and Mairead Condon
Interviewed by Sue Leonard.
Published in The Irish Independent 9th march 2009.
Every Tuesday, Niamh Condon has to miss a day of school. The 14 year old from Knocklong in County Limerick, has a rare condition called Hurler Scheie Syndrome, and she has to spend her day in Limerick District Hospital, where she receives an enzyme by a drip.
“I will be there for four or five hours,” says Niamh. “It’s very boring. I tend to do my homework there, and I read. I have nearly all the books in the library read.” she says.
The worst thing, Niamh tells me, is missing class.
“Especially now that I’m in secondary school; the John the Baptist Community School. I have more to catch up on with all the different subjects and teachers.
“A couple of my friends take down all the notes and stuff, but on Wednesday night, when I have my normal homework, I have to copy down all the notes they did for me on Tuesday as well. There is an awful lot to do.”
Niamh is extremely diligent. She insists on going into school on Tuesdays, to attend two classes before she goes to the hospital.
“She’d love to stay longer if she could,” says her mum, Mairead. “Niamh loves her schoolwork. She wants to do well in life.
“It is not a joke going into hospital every week. She has to wait to be set up on the drip; that can take two hours, or longer if there is someone in the day unit who is sicker than her. The enzyme takes four hours to administer, and she has to see a doctor after that.”
When Niamh was a baby she seemed perfectly well.
“We hadn’t a clue there was anything wrong with her,” says Mairead. “Then we noticed that she couldn’t hold her hands out straight. There was some stiffness there. They did every test in Limerick, but they couldn’t find out what was wrong.
“So they referred us to Our Lady’s Hospital for Sick Children in Crumlin. And Dr Riordan, the Geneticist there, sent a urine sample to Great Ormond Street Hospital. He diagnosed Niamh with Hurler Scheie Syndrome when she was six years old.”
This is a rare biochemical abnormality, that affects just one in a million children. Niamh is missing the enzyme Alduranzyme, hence the need for her infusion. There are 30 families in Ireland whose children suffer from one of the mucopolysaccharidosis conditions; known as MPS. They meet regularly thanks for a support group run by volunteers.
It took a while, after diagnosis, to get set up with funding to enable Niamh to receive her enzyme infusion.
“At that stage they were testing the procedure with selected children in England,” says Mairead. “After the funding was set up, it took another two or three years for the enzyme to become available. Niamh was the first child in the South of Ireland to receive it. And meanwhile, she was often sick. She kept getting chest infections.”
At ten, Niamh was frightened of needles. So a small device was fitted under her skin to allow the doctors to administer the enzyme. After nine months, this became infected, and caused a serious infection of Niamh’s heart valves, called endocarditis.
“Niamh already had a bad heart as part of her condition,” explains Mairead. “But that infection has made it much worse. Niamh was extremely sick. She was in Crumlin for almost six months, on a very strong course of antibiotics. She was on four or five different ones, and it has left her with a lot of damage. She now has serious backflow in the aorta and mitral valves.
“Today, at five foot, Niamh weighs 7 stone. When she was in hospital she went down to just under three stone. It happened in the space of a few months. It was very serious. Niamh had to be tube fed. It was a big ordeal.
“Niamh’s activity is now curtailed. She can’t take exercise, and misses out on all the sport at school. She can manage everyday life, but can’t walk far without becoming breathless. Her back hurts too, and she can’t write a lot; for essays she uses a laptop. Not that she ever complains.
“Niamh has never known anything else,” says Mairead. “”She gets on with life and accepts it, in spite of all the knocks. Life hasn’t been a bed of roses, but she is always positive. She’s a treasure.”
With her constant smile, it is no surprise to learn that Niamh has made lots of friends in hospital. All the nurses and doctors appreciate her positive outlook. She was in Crumlin over Christmas four years ago, when she had the heart infection. And during the traditional Christmas ‘ward walk,’ Niamh met celebrities including Brian McFadden.
“That was a huge thrill for her,” says Mairead. “Niamh is a big Westlife fan.”
She also met Suzanne Downey, who’s in charge of publicity there.
“They became friendly, and we try and meet up with her when Niamh attends for her checkups,” explains Mairead.
“Suzanne rang us before Christmas last year, to say she would like to put Niamh’s name forward, along with other children, to go to Florida with the charity Children’s Miracle Network. We said, ‘of course,’ and a week later we were told that Niamh had been chosen to go to represent Crumlin.”
The whole family are setting out tomorrow, (Tuesday 10th March.) And they’re all hugely excited.
“I’ve never been to America,” says Niamh. “I can’t wait to see Disneyland; and I’m looking forwards to the shopping as well. I think I’ll buy jeans with labels and T-shirts.”
Niamh’s younger brothers, Conor 13, and Thomas, 10, are looking forwards to the trip too.
“It’s tough for them,” says Mairead. “Both boys are big into the GAA, but when Niamh is sick, they have to go to matches with friends or neighbours. Their lives have to revolve around her.”
Niamh future is uncertain; she will, at some stage need heart surgery. But she’s totally upbeat.
“I want to just get on with life,” she says. “Even though I miss one day a week in school, I am determined to do my best there. Eventually I’d like to work with computers. I’m very interested in them.”
Niamh’s dad Francis, hopes that one day she will achieve a degree of independence; and go to college and work afterwards; and maybe, drive a car. As for Mairead, she is just happy when Niamh is at home, and is well.
“That, for me, is a huge thing,” she says.
The priority right now, though, is for home infusion.
“That would make life so much easier,” says Mairead. “The hospital manager is working on raising funds for her. That would be like winning the lottery.”
The Children’s Miracle Network, was started up by the famous Osmond family, to help children with hearing impairments.
“Two of their sons had hearing problems,” explains Conor Byrne, Director of Development with the network. “They started with a telethon; then they decided to do more for children’s hospitals in general. They have expanded and now have corporate partnerships and media partners. The network is worth over 2 billion dollars in America alone.”
The Children’s Miracle Network first appeared in Ireland in 2007, with a radiothon in conjunction with Dublin’s 98FM. And since then there have been further radiothons in Dublin and in Cork.
The network raises money for those extras that make a child’s life more normal in hospital; things such as toys, and murals on walls.
“Some of the money goes on research and occasionally on machines,” explains Conor, who was once in charge of fundraising at Tallaght hospital. “It’s up to the hospitals how they spend their money, but in general it does not replace the funding the government is supposed to be doing. It adds to it.”
Every year the network meets at the headquarters in Florida, with all the corporate and media partners who have helped.
“It’s a way to celebrate,” explains Conor. “And as part of that, a child from every area is selected to represent the children who have been helped. They are the ‘champion children.’
“They are ambassadors for the charity. They get to meet children from all over the world who have been in similar circumstances to themselves. There is a big medal celebration. Each child gets up on the stage individually.
“We have a celebration breakfast, where they are photographed with Disney characters, and they meet with the sponsors. But the children are the stars. There will be one or two events every day, where they are the focus.
“This is the second year children from Ireland have attended. It’s wonderful to see these kids who have been through so much. They have so much energy; so much life.”
It is important for all the families too.
They may not, normally, have been able to have holiday; one of the families who went last year had never been out of Ireland before. It was such a huge event for them.
“It gives families a chance to be together. And that is especially important for the siblings, who may have had a very rough ride. The children’s Miracle Network is about treating the whole family; and not just the child.”
For More information; www.childrensmiraclenetwork.ie
© Sue Leonard 2009.
Changes in Chemo
The Changes in Chemotherapy.
By Sue Leonard.
Published in The Irish Independent, 16th march 2009.
The word ‘cancer’ spells terror. We know that the Big C is no longer, automatically, a killer. We know that many people now survive, but we fear the treatment too. We’ve heard the horror stories. We think of the vomiting; the constant illness, and wonder how we would ever find the strength to cope.
Cancer is still a serious illness. People still, do, die, but the treatment, in the past twenty years, has improved beyond recognition. The treatment, of course varies hugely for every type of cancer; and indeed, for each individual.
Take breast cancer. There are many different types of breast cancer, and different treatments, but the news, in general, is good.
“The treatment for breast cancer is dramatically better,” says Dr John Kennedy, Consultant Medical Oncologist at St James’s Hospital.
“Back in the eighties there were, maybe, two or three drugs available to treat breast cancer. The drugs had just a modest impact on the risk of reoccurrence in early stage cancer, and just a modest benefit for those with advanced disease. There have been huge advances in both those areas.”
We now have well organised expert centres, so it’s easier to treat patients. Chemotherapy can be prescribed specifically for each patient.
“The chemo drugs are better, and medications to prevent sickness and reduce the risk of infections have improved too,” says Dr Kennedy.
There are better hormonal therapies; and better ways of managing patients who have more advanced breast cancer.
“We now use bisphosphomates; drugs that are also used for osteoporosis to help when breast cancer has reached the bone. These substantially reduce pain, and the risk of fracture.”
Patients don’t feel as bad as they once did, either.
“These days vomiting is unusual; most patient’s don’t ever vomit. 20 years ago, they all would. This is because there’s now a range of effective drugs to treat it.
“The newer chemotherapy therapies tend not to cause low blood counts or sickness, but they can cause tiredness.
“The majority of patients say that the chemotherapy treatment was not as bad as they thought it would be,” says Dr Kennedy. “They say it was over quicker than they expected it to be. For most people it takes six months of therapy; and getting back on their feet takes a year.
“It is routine for me to see patients in my clinic who were diagnosed seven or eight years ago with a very high risk breast cancer, who are now well. I am convinced that 20 years ago, those women would not be around.”
Naomi Fitzgibbon, breast cancer information nurse with the Irish Cancer Society, says that patients are generally terrified before they attend treatment.
“They have to go through this whole learning curve, with all these technical new words. They have heard all these stories, and have no idea what the first treatment will be like.
“It can be disconcerting, too, that the lady beside her, who also has breast cancer, might be on a completely different set of drugs. They may have their treatments in a different order. Some women have chemotherapy after surgery, and some before. It depends on the type of cancer that they have, and on the stage it is at.
“It’s not ‘one size fits all.’ The treatment is now very much tailored to suit the woman. And, now that we know how the drugs work we cab pre-empt the side effects before they happen.
“But the really good thing, is that we now have such good communication,” she says. “Nurses work closely with the women, so they can describe how they are feeling, and get interventions when they need them; maybe a dermatologist, dietician or psychologist. Women can get all the support that they need.”
When Geraldine Jennings was diagnosed with a rare, and acute form of breast cancer, she was devastated.
“I had inflammatory breast cancer; there was pain, and a lot of swelling,” she says. “It was a terrible shock. I cried; then got drunk, then cried again.”
When she’d got over the shock, though, Geraldine became more positive.
“I thought, ‘at least it’s me, and not my children,’ she says. “The consultant at Beaumont said I had a large fibrous tumour. He said I’d need chemotherapy, surgery and radiotherapy. But he said, ‘you will live through this.’
“He said I’d have the chemotherapy first, and it would be a strong dose. But I knew it was going to save my life. I said ‘throw everything at me.’ I wanted to get on with it.”
Geraldine was diagnosed at the end of April 2007, and she started her chemotherapy on 4th May.
“I remember walking in that first day,” she says. “I didn’t know what to expect, and there all these people sitting around. The room felt welcoming. It was as if I was the new girl in school. They knew how I felt. They had been there. There was nothing intimidating about it at all.”
Geraldine was prescribed FEC Chemotherapy- and it was given four times, three weeks apart.
“It was injected over an hour and a half, and the effects are immediate. But I felt ok afterwards. I went out to Chapter One restaurant, and on to the gate Theatre as planned.
“Those first weeks I continued to work,” she says. “I’m a business consultant, and I was working with a client. But I was gradually slowing down, and closing off accounts.”
After the second dose, Geraldine’s hair began to fall out.
“I’ve always been identified by my hair. It was long and luxurious. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about losing it. My children, who were then 22 and 21, came up for a hair cutting day. I didn’t want to find wads of hair in my bed. We opened some champagne, and they shaved it off. I was surprised. Being bald didn’t look too bad.
“My eyebrows and eyelashes thinned, but I never lost them completely. I tried to keep feminine, and I always wore make up. There was a ‘beauty day’ at Beaumont. They gave us makeup, and showed us how to pencil in our eyebrows and use blusher. That was fun, and very helpful.”
Although she sometimes felt nauseous, Geraldine never vomited. But she did feel unwell, and extremely tired.
“I was surprised by that. I am an active, positive woman, but I was floored. I kept hearing of people who worked right through chemotherapy. I had to remind myself that this was not a competition; and that everyone has a ‘different’ breast cancer, and different treatment.
“At the start I kept wondering why someone like Linda McCartney died. Why would she, as the richest, healthiest person die, if I was not going to? But I realised I knew nothing about her cancer, or what stage she’d been at. I only knew about me.
“I did a lot of reading, and the stats for my cancer weren’t too good. My breast care nurse told me that the drugs that were keeping me alive were not available five years ago.”
Geraldine didn’t lose her appetite; she didn’t get mouth ulcers either, but she did lose a certain amount of taste. And, at around fifty, she went into the menopause too; there’d been no sign of it before. For all this, she found the support of the team in Beaumont second to none.
“The nurses became my new best friends. I could ring them anytime. They told me that if I felt unwell I should always tell them. Because I shouldn’t. And If I did, they could modify the drugs.
“I was living alone for most of the time. My daughter had moved out, and my son was in college. I had to learn to ask for help. A couple of times I rang a friend and said, ‘I’m too tired to cook, and I’m just snacking all the time. Would you cook me dinner?’ And she did. People were so kind.
“The tiredness is accumulative. When it was bad, I’d set targets for myself. I had bad reflux, and needed to get to the chemist for an over the counter treatment. I knew I could ask a friend, but I thought, ‘I will just get out of bed. I will ring then if I need to.’ I got dressed, and finally did make it to the shops.”
The holistic care at Beaumont was second to none. Geraldine had psychological support, and says that that, too, helped to get her through. And she attended the Gary Kelly Cancer Support Centre.
“It was wonderful to meet all the women who had been through treatment and were going through it. They were all such strong amazing women. If someone was having a bad day they’d get a hug.
“We’d discuss things like ‘chemo brain.’ I once asked for a yoghurt maker in a computer store; another woman put her mobile into the fridge and put a pound of butter in her bag.”
After the chemo, Geraldine had a total left lateral mastectomy.
“They took a lot of lymph nodes as well,” she says. “It wasn’t pretty, but there are worse things. I may go for reconstruction eventually.”
Next was a course of radiotherapy; and after that, Geraldine had a second course of chemotherapy.
“I thought, ‘here we go again,’ but it wasn’t such a strong dose,” she says. “I didn’t feel as sick. I drove myself there and back, but it affected me in different ways. I had pins and needles, but it didn’t worry me. I was still able to sew and do embroidery; something I found essential for all the hours of waiting around.”
A year and a quarter on, it’s all become a memory.
“You do forget,” she says. “It’s like childbirth.” Work, in the recession, is difficult. But Geraldine keeps herself busy running a theatre group, and painting. “I’ve got hens now, and also two dogs. They keep me occupied,” she says.
“There are positive things about cancer. I never knew what love was. It’s being able to ring the niece and say, ‘bring over dinner.’ It’s the little things.”
Has she advice for anyone who is now going through chemotherapy?
“Ask questions. Get to know as much as you want to. Believe your doctors. And don’t compare yourself to anyone else.
“Once you are diagnosed you are in the safest hands. You are with a team and the support is wonderful. They know, exactly what you are going through. They understand you.”
FACT FILE.
- Breast cancer accounts for 28pc of all cancers in women in Ireland. 1726 women are diagnosed each year.
- The death rate is improving by 2pc each year. This is due to better treatment.
FOR MORE INFORMATION.
1800 30 90 40.
1800 200 700.
© Sue leonard. 2009.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)