All through this special anniversary year in honour of Shakespeare, I have wanted to express my thoughts about his writings.
It is not, of course, because I am an expert on the subject; far from it. My knowledge, such as it is, comes from my school curriculum, which had us, from the age of 11 to 16, studying one of his plays each year, to my sixth form 'English for the science students' lessons, from radio, television and film, and, like most people who go to local theatres reasonably regularly, from seeing some of them performed live.
I have also read some of his sonnets from the 'Complete works of Shakespeare' given to me, many years ago, by son, R.
At school, we read The Merchant of Venice, Twelfth Night and Julius Caesar. (We did Twelfth Night for O-level so I had to put up with it for 2 more years.) In the sixth form, we read King Lear, The Tempest and one of the 'King' plays, the one that has the 'sceptred isle' speech.
I saw Macbeth at our local and excellent theatre-in-the-round (I thought it would never end, it seemed so long!), Julius Caesar at Stratford many years ago (John Nettles ('Inspector Barnaby') was the star) and Much ado about Nothing (I couldn't understand the story at all) fairly recently. I know a little something of other plays and find Polonius' speech to his son, from Hamlet, to be totally brilliant.
"Beware of entrance to a quarrel........
And this above all, to thine own self be true....."
Marvellous!!
These then are my thoughts. Much as I can see the unbelievable genius of his language, I do not feel emotionally engaged with the work at all. I enjoyed Julius Caesar because it was so clever and just like the machinations of life today and King Lear, because of its similarity to a fairy story I've written about before and because of its truthfulness.
The comedies always seemed totally silly, despite the amazing language. The power of the tragedies is there but I could never warm to any of them or care about the characters.
The very best version of Romeo and Juliet is, to my mind, 'West Side Story' which, from my perspective, has a more powerful and positive ending. I was always so annoyed that everyone seemed to end up dead because of the stupid misunderstandings. The ballet, to the music of Prokofiev, is by far the greatest way to see that play, as far as I'm concerned.
When best friend S and I saw the Royal Northern Ballet production at Manchester, some years ago now, after my amazement that no-one was speaking passed (yes, I know that's silly but you forget it in 5 minutes!), I rushed into school the next day, full of questions for my English teaching colleagues, such as "Did Juliet's mother have a thing for her nephew(?) because she seemed more upset by his death than at the (apparent) death of her own daughter! I even had to try and find out by looking at the text!!
Only in the sonnets, did I personally find any resonance with the feelings there.
The language is very deep and you often have to work hard to interpret it but I love especially,
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love,
Which alters when it alteration finds.
(I still haven't figured out the meaning of the next line.)
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark........"
I love that and quite a lot more but have not had enough time or the will to read them as much as I could to find even more in them.
If I want to find real emotion, I turn again to my beloved 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen. Now there's a love story. I can read it over and over again; understated, but real. Thank goodness.
Sunday 27 November 2016
Story no.2
Five years ago, on Friday the 11th of November, 2011, after waiting and waiting for the results of the test I'd had in early September, the surgeon's secretary read me the letter she was to post that day, which told me that the microsurgery procedure I'd had in July had been successful and that I had no trace of cancer.
This was the end of a strange year. The back story is this.
At the beginning of the year we were already concerned, confused and worried about son-at-home's problems. On New Year's day, I had a recurrence of symptoms which told me that I might have a return bout of a long-standing health issue with ulcerative colitis.
After visits to the doctors, hospital and various tests which went on for a few months, I was told that I had a stage one rectal tumour. My background of colitis meant that the only option the surgeon would consider was an ileostomy.
This shocked me to the core, not because I was afraid of the operation. I would have absolutely hated it but would have gone through with it had I believed that it was the only option but I couldn't do that.
There were two main reasons for my reaction. Firstly, I had many responsibilities, family and otherwise, and many activities that required me to be in top health.
Secondly, and probably more importantly, I had spent years and years learning how to take maximum care of myself, through healthy eating and as much walking as I could find time for and I couldn't accept that that would count for nothing.
The first surgeon was extremely rude and more or less washed his hands of me. He did however refer me to another surgeon who understood my family situation and needs and said she would do what she could for me.
After further tests she came to the same conclusion but said she had a colleague at Good Hope hospital in Sutton Coldfield who might be able to help me. My close friend P came with me on the train. After a very uncomfortable examination, the surgeon said it was something of a long shot but that he would perform micro-surgery to remove the tumour.
When I told him that Placido Domingo was coming to sing to me at the O2 Arena on my birthday, he fully understood the importance of that and gave me a date in mid-July to give me a couple of weeks to be ready for Placido.
I was on a total high after the procedure but when he visited me the next morning, he said it had not gone too well due to a high level of inflammation so he couldn't be too sure that it had been successful.
I had a few long dark nights of the soul when I realised that the stats indicated that there was a possibility that there might be serious consequences.
Two people influenced me in the making of the choice to wait and see. The first was my doctor. On a follow-up appointment, we went through the points for and against. As I stood up to leave he said these crucial words. " If you follow the advice to to have the operation, it could be wrong and you may not have needed it. If you follow your own choice, you could be wrong in which case you should have had it. Which of those results could you live with best".
I knew immediately that I would rather live with my own choice and be wrong than live with the bitterness of knowing that I'd had life-changing surgery unnecessarily. Talking it through with husband in the middle of the night, he said that he would go along with whatever I chose. "After all," he said, "we've lived this long and had a good life so why not".
That was it. We decided to wait and see. In Sept I had a final colonoscopy.
And so I came to make that phone call when I could wait no longer to hear the results. Although it exonerated my decision and said that there was no trace of cancer to be seen, I do not feel in the least bit exultant because I know the advice given to me was medically and statistically correct.
I feel grateful that I was given the chance by life, by the skill and care of surgeons, nurses, anaesthetists and others to have the busy healthy life I have now. I also do everything I can to stay healthy, by eating well and even joining the gym, where I do a minimal but regular routine ( 20 mins, 4 days a week and 15 mins 2 days a week and Sundays off of course!).
I have now had over 5 years of healthy and hectic life. In that first year alone, when two of us had cancer, with all that entailed, we also had three grandchildren arrive on the scene, son, S's wedding, a significant surprise birthday party for husband, at least 4 theatre dates, arranged before we knew what was about to ensue, and two holidays abroad (one postponed from the year before because Athens was in uproar!!).
Do I remember to be grateful every day of my life; no, I'm afraid I don't but am I afraid of dying any more; no, amazingly, that has gone. For that and all that life has given me I should be on my knees forever.
This was the end of a strange year. The back story is this.
At the beginning of the year we were already concerned, confused and worried about son-at-home's problems. On New Year's day, I had a recurrence of symptoms which told me that I might have a return bout of a long-standing health issue with ulcerative colitis.
After visits to the doctors, hospital and various tests which went on for a few months, I was told that I had a stage one rectal tumour. My background of colitis meant that the only option the surgeon would consider was an ileostomy.
This shocked me to the core, not because I was afraid of the operation. I would have absolutely hated it but would have gone through with it had I believed that it was the only option but I couldn't do that.
There were two main reasons for my reaction. Firstly, I had many responsibilities, family and otherwise, and many activities that required me to be in top health.
Secondly, and probably more importantly, I had spent years and years learning how to take maximum care of myself, through healthy eating and as much walking as I could find time for and I couldn't accept that that would count for nothing.
The first surgeon was extremely rude and more or less washed his hands of me. He did however refer me to another surgeon who understood my family situation and needs and said she would do what she could for me.
After further tests she came to the same conclusion but said she had a colleague at Good Hope hospital in Sutton Coldfield who might be able to help me. My close friend P came with me on the train. After a very uncomfortable examination, the surgeon said it was something of a long shot but that he would perform micro-surgery to remove the tumour.
When I told him that Placido Domingo was coming to sing to me at the O2 Arena on my birthday, he fully understood the importance of that and gave me a date in mid-July to give me a couple of weeks to be ready for Placido.
I was on a total high after the procedure but when he visited me the next morning, he said it had not gone too well due to a high level of inflammation so he couldn't be too sure that it had been successful.
I had a few long dark nights of the soul when I realised that the stats indicated that there was a possibility that there might be serious consequences.
Two people influenced me in the making of the choice to wait and see. The first was my doctor. On a follow-up appointment, we went through the points for and against. As I stood up to leave he said these crucial words. " If you follow the advice to to have the operation, it could be wrong and you may not have needed it. If you follow your own choice, you could be wrong in which case you should have had it. Which of those results could you live with best".
I knew immediately that I would rather live with my own choice and be wrong than live with the bitterness of knowing that I'd had life-changing surgery unnecessarily. Talking it through with husband in the middle of the night, he said that he would go along with whatever I chose. "After all," he said, "we've lived this long and had a good life so why not".
That was it. We decided to wait and see. In Sept I had a final colonoscopy.
And so I came to make that phone call when I could wait no longer to hear the results. Although it exonerated my decision and said that there was no trace of cancer to be seen, I do not feel in the least bit exultant because I know the advice given to me was medically and statistically correct.
I feel grateful that I was given the chance by life, by the skill and care of surgeons, nurses, anaesthetists and others to have the busy healthy life I have now. I also do everything I can to stay healthy, by eating well and even joining the gym, where I do a minimal but regular routine ( 20 mins, 4 days a week and 15 mins 2 days a week and Sundays off of course!).
I have now had over 5 years of healthy and hectic life. In that first year alone, when two of us had cancer, with all that entailed, we also had three grandchildren arrive on the scene, son, S's wedding, a significant surprise birthday party for husband, at least 4 theatre dates, arranged before we knew what was about to ensue, and two holidays abroad (one postponed from the year before because Athens was in uproar!!).
Do I remember to be grateful every day of my life; no, I'm afraid I don't but am I afraid of dying any more; no, amazingly, that has gone. For that and all that life has given me I should be on my knees forever.
Tuesday 22 November 2016
On our brushes with cancer - story no.1
Five years ago, in 2011, son-at-home, who was 41 at the time, and I both had brushes with cancer. His story is as follows.
He had begun to be unwell at the beginning of the previous October, with what we thought at first was a digestive problem. He began not to be able to eat certain foods; he couldn't swallow them properly. He started to go to the toilet in the night, something which had never happened before. He also started to lose quite a lot of weight in a fairly short time.
Not for one moment though, did I think it was cancer. I even said so to the doctor, to show that I was open enough to say the word out loud.
After various scans, he was found to have two large tumours in his abdomen which could have been lymphoma. This would have been extremely bad news but he was in fact finally diagnosed with testicular cancer, producing the comment, "When is testicular cancer good news; answer, When it's not anything much worse!"
It was a stage 2 cancer but we were given a very hopeful prognosis from the team at Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham (QEHB). This proved to be accurate in his case because he has been amazingly well since the ending of his 4 sessions of chemotherapy in that first year and we had the final all-clear this June; joyous and grateful times.
When we first attended the outpatients department, it was strange to see all the other patients and think,"They must have cancer", but by the end of our 5 year visiting stint, it had all become quite matter-of-fact.
Our son, who has a mild learning disability, did extremely well, as the marvellous consultant told us he would, not coming to it with the usual preconceptions and fears that most of us have to deal with. He learned to cope with his 4 day sessions of chemotherapy, involving trailing his treatment stand around with him and weeing in a container which he had to leave in the toilet.
The other men in his wards soon picked up on his special needs and were really good with him. We were able to stay in accommodation in the hospital each time and our family were brilliant in conveying us to and fro. Family and friends came to visit him. We were old hands by June when his 4th and final session ended.
Funnily enough, in fact, we felt that he gained confidence from the experience because, although we were nearby the whole time, we could only visit at the usual times, so he had to deal with life in the ward on his own. It's an ill-wind etc.
This summer, as we left the QEHB for the last time, with tears of gratitude in our eyes, he almost danced along the path to University railway station, because he had become so familiar and confident with the routines. We can never thank the staff enough or feel more grateful for the care, support and treatment we all received.
Are we as scared now as we may have been then at the thought of a diagnosis of cancer? No, honestly, I don't think we are, which is why I wanted to write about it.
He had begun to be unwell at the beginning of the previous October, with what we thought at first was a digestive problem. He began not to be able to eat certain foods; he couldn't swallow them properly. He started to go to the toilet in the night, something which had never happened before. He also started to lose quite a lot of weight in a fairly short time.
Not for one moment though, did I think it was cancer. I even said so to the doctor, to show that I was open enough to say the word out loud.
After various scans, he was found to have two large tumours in his abdomen which could have been lymphoma. This would have been extremely bad news but he was in fact finally diagnosed with testicular cancer, producing the comment, "When is testicular cancer good news; answer, When it's not anything much worse!"
It was a stage 2 cancer but we were given a very hopeful prognosis from the team at Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham (QEHB). This proved to be accurate in his case because he has been amazingly well since the ending of his 4 sessions of chemotherapy in that first year and we had the final all-clear this June; joyous and grateful times.
When we first attended the outpatients department, it was strange to see all the other patients and think,"They must have cancer", but by the end of our 5 year visiting stint, it had all become quite matter-of-fact.
Our son, who has a mild learning disability, did extremely well, as the marvellous consultant told us he would, not coming to it with the usual preconceptions and fears that most of us have to deal with. He learned to cope with his 4 day sessions of chemotherapy, involving trailing his treatment stand around with him and weeing in a container which he had to leave in the toilet.
The other men in his wards soon picked up on his special needs and were really good with him. We were able to stay in accommodation in the hospital each time and our family were brilliant in conveying us to and fro. Family and friends came to visit him. We were old hands by June when his 4th and final session ended.
Funnily enough, in fact, we felt that he gained confidence from the experience because, although we were nearby the whole time, we could only visit at the usual times, so he had to deal with life in the ward on his own. It's an ill-wind etc.
This summer, as we left the QEHB for the last time, with tears of gratitude in our eyes, he almost danced along the path to University railway station, because he had become so familiar and confident with the routines. We can never thank the staff enough or feel more grateful for the care, support and treatment we all received.
Are we as scared now as we may have been then at the thought of a diagnosis of cancer? No, honestly, I don't think we are, which is why I wanted to write about it.
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