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Bpositive illustration | Even the darkest night will end...

1/29/2014

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Bpositive illustration | A bird sat on a tree...

1/29/2014

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The long way round to providing hope...

1/26/2014

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"If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know". 
Sound familiar? This is the question or statement usually offered to someone by a friend who is at a complete loss when a friend or family member is going through a difficult time. The truth is there's often very little that one can do  and none more so than when that person has just been told they had cancer. 

After being told I had leukaemia only days before, I was almost instantly placed on a course of drugs to kick start my treatment in order to help me in my fight to combat the disease. Steroids were one of the first tablets I remember being administered - and one of the side affects that I first encountered (aside from constantly feeling ravenous) was a complete lack of attention span and a lack of sustained interest in absolutely everything - with the exception of the current status of my  white blood cell count. Having being dealt the worst news that I felt was possible only days before, I'm sure I could be forgiven for having other things on my mind, and indeed I did. In those first few days after diagnosis barely a moment would pass without me bursting into tears about the prospect of what I was facing and what lied ahead.  However, I remember vividly the first moment where something else grabbed my attention and indeed provided me with some exterior focus away from my illness and in turn provided me with hope for my battle.

A close friend of mine called Andrew (Woody) had visited me in the late morning in mid December. He had naturally bunked off from his lectures at University, jumped on the train and came to see me at Worcester Royal hospital armed with a carrier bag full of DVDs (and a Sponge Bob Square Pants balloon, no less). Later that evening I was once again feeling restless from the steroids and found myself diving into the carrier bag I'd been given earlier that day. After giving one or two films a try I naturally lost all concentration with them almost instantly. Then I picked up a disc that read "Long way down - Ewan McGregor Part1". There was seven of these discs. I didn't recognise the title of the "film" so I decided to give it a try. After the opening two minutes I was hooked. This wasn't a film at all. It was instead a documentary following actors Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman on their journey around the world  on a Motorcycle in a quest to reach New York. I instantly took to it. The concept, the belief, the story and the challenge. I had finally found something that not only held my concentration span for more than four minutes but something far more significant. I found a sign of hope and a form of escapism through following their journey across the world as they travelled from London to New York via Europe, Asia and Alaska. Each episode was roughly an hour long and I went through the whole lot back to back - feeling like I was with them every step of the way, or every mile more appropriately. They too had their own challenges throughout their journey, both physically and mentally. Through the unbelievably difficult conditions and the extremely tough terrain their routes were often incredibly difficult to negotiate not to mention the very lengthy border crossings and dealings with somewhat begrudging borer patrol guards. The difficulties encountered throughout their challenge also put a strain on their friendship at times as living in such close proximity each day along with being away from loved ones would only add to the battle and grind of their journey.

I finally felt like I had a purpose for my days spent in my isolation room. I waltzed through all seven of the episodes one after the other and felt emotionally attached to their journey. I too was on a journey, albeit of a very different sort, one which I was aware was nether for the purpose of  a television show nor could be halted if the journey proceeded to be too challenging. However, I tried not to spend too long thinking about such pessimism and negativity as I was too engrossed in following Ewan and Charlie in their pursuit of their quest. There is one point in the series where Ewan visits a hospital in Chernobyl where he meets children who are subsequently living with and battling leukaemia  and other forms of blood cancers as a result of the 1986 disaster. This, I felt, was extremely tough to watch as it brought it all back home to me just what situation I was in. For a few moments throughout those scenes my focus on their journey switched to my own and I was left absorbed with self pity. It wasn't unusual for me to become emotional throughout my illness and seeing or hearing any leukaemia references really hit me hard. 


PictureLong Way Round
Long Way Round
I finally felt like I had a purpose for my days spent in my isolation room.
It wasn't purely the challenge that Ewan and Charlie were undertaking that inspired me. The cinematography throughout the documentary was at times breathtaking.  I was encapsulated by not only the beauty of some of the destinations they passed, but also the warm hearted nature of the local villagers for example. People who had nothing but kindness to offer these two strangers as they passed through their towns. Again, I was deeply touched by this. To this day I am constantly amazed at the kindness that can come from a stranger in moments of difficulty. 

Ewan and Charlie eventually made it to their destination and as I watched with tears running down my cheeks I couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness. A sense of sorrow that they had reached their goal and their journey was compete when I was merely at the start of mine. However, I tried to retain the feeling of inspiration that had kept me glued to the television throughout the seven DVDs; the challenges they faced along with their attitude in overcoming a mass of obstacles that tried their best to get in their way, to the tender moments of seeing how much their presence meant to people much less fortunate than most. I was simply touched and inspired by 'Long way down' and upon completing the series felt an empty void that needed filling to help me get through the long days and nights spent in my isolation room. 

We all need moments of help, inspiration and belief when faced with dark days ahead. Not to mention some moments of escapism. This documentary series provided all that for me and gave be something to hold onto, and to use as fuel for inspiration to help me through my own journey.  

JR



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How the truth can ultimately hurt a patient and their family

1/14/2014

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PictureAnna-Marie with her brother Jonjo
I’ve just finished reading the heart-breaking story of 24 year old Vickie Harvey who sadly lost her battle with Acute myeloid Leukaemia before Christmas 2013. Her family have lodged a formal complaint about the consultant haematologist at Worcester Royal Hospital, Dr Fiona Clark, and how she dealt with Miss Harvey’s and her family’s requests during and at the end of her illness I felt compelled to write my own experience down. 

My brother, Jonjo, was a similar age to Vickie when he was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia in December 2006, he was 23. He was also treated at Worcester Royal Hospital where Vickie was and was also under the care of Dr. Clark. On first being diagnosed I remember feeling quite angry and emotional when we were told that Jonjo would have to hear news of his illness and treatment without us in the room with him. I begged the consultant to allow my Dad or brother or even my over-reactive, wailing banshee (at the time) self-go in with him! I can remember it being explained that Jonjo was an adult and had the right to the privacy of being able to ask any questions he may have, alone. Reluctantly, I gave in. I know now it was the emotion of the time that caused my hysteria but do understand, and did almost straight after, that they were right. My brother watched through the crack in the blinds to gauge Jonjo’s reaction to what he was being told. There were lots of nods between Jonjo and the doctor and lip reading of the word “okay” which was reassuring to us, his family. We were never kept in the dark about anything and we were able, at any time, to ask whatever we wanted to and I always felt that time was given to us to do this, despite the severity of the situation and the need to move quickly. I can also vividly remember feeling that the doctors were very cold and almost, dare I say it, unfeeling. 

My Dad commented to me about the apparent lack of bedside manner of a couple of doctors. I have had time to reflect since then and take back my comment in light of the fact that these doctors and consultants are employed as the best in their field, as specialists in the world of haematology and blood disorders, including the awful disease that is Leukaemia. They are giving the facts of treatment on a daily basis and have to deliver the worst possible news to families and patients at times. For this to even be possible the facts are all that are required. We, as a family of a leukaemia sufferer were shocked to be told how poorly our loved one was and can empathise with the family of Vickie Harvey but it seems that they are looking for an outlet for their grief in partitioning blame to someone whose job is to give the facts, however hard they may be to take. Mr and Mrs Harvey called Dr Clark “heartless” and her manner “bulling and overbearing” which we never found her to be. The saddest, hardest to bear part of this story; the real tragedy is that this poor girl with a whole life in front of her ended up with this terrible illness in the first place and the fact that it claimed her life. This disease that discriminates against no one, young and old, rich and poor, with no possible way of preventing it is the real villain. 

My heart goes out to the family of Vickie Harvey and I sincerely hope they find comfort in the beautiful memories they have of their daughter. 

AMR

If you or someone you know would like to write for Bpositive blogs then get in touch with us here

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Simple illustration that shows the process of blood and platelet donation.

1/14/2014

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A New Year's Revolution | Minding the gap...(and making the District line worthwhile)

1/8/2014

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Anyone who lives in London and has to suffer the tubes in a morning will tell you that aside from reading the free Metro or Evening Standard newspaper and picking up the complimentary Sport or TimeOut supplements, their commute is perhaps not the most enjoyable experience. 

In a bid to avoid moaning or encourage people to smile through their journey to work, (as I know that my own mind, body and soul doesn't start functioning until I've had my morning coffee with two sugars from the guys at my local Cafe Nero), I do, however, think there's an opportunity to be had in maximising the time spent underground. My commute is typically an one hour door-to-door journey, slowly trudging along the district line as the (what can only be described as) wagon I'm sat on attempts to get me from West To East London. 

Those 40mins spent sat down are usually consumed with my head being buried within the aforementioned supplements, flicking my way through the same articles day after day. That's why I have decided to make a New Year's' revolution to myself; that I will be more productive with my commute as often as possible. This may be through dedicating more time to writing, thinking and acting positively towards all things Bpositive. Creating content for blogs (as I am just now), making photo edits, jotting down notes, things to do, lists, scribbling down ideas, songs of the week suggestions, thoughts and plans etc - whatever it is just do it and be more productive - that's my goal.

There's certainly a window of opportunity with my combined 80 minute daily commute to be of more use to myself and more effective to the things around me - and one I aim to try and fulfil throughout the year. So watch this space, get on board and mind the gaps in these forthcoming ramblings from the district line. 

Chances are I'm being held at a red signal at Earl's Court.

JR
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A window of opportunity from the District Line
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How to talk to someone who has cancer

1/6/2014

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I decided to browse the wonderful world, wide, web in the hope of finding some inspiring stories or artwork to kick off my first blog of 2014. I stumbled across this fantastic illustration which cleverly depicts the often awkwardness experienced from talking to people who are battling cancer. The piece was put together by Jo Hilder - a cancer survivor who, since overcoming her illness (Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma) in 2004, has become part of the Cancer Council NSW organisation in Australia. 

The illustration, in my opinion, really helps covey how a patient diagnosed with cancer can experience such a dichotomy of other people's thoughts, feelings and questions. It begs the question; What do you say to someone who has cancer? That is a question that possibly cannot be defined with a single answer. It must depend on the individuals involved - some may find humour a release, some may not wish to acknowledge the disease itself, some may pour their heart out and be a complete open book about things. The latter was my chosen method, for what it's worth. People often want to help - but do not realise just how -and this is perfectly normal. The experience of cancer to a friend, loved one or relative can be extremely difficult to comprehend and often people are afraid of discussing the very reason they are visiting their friend, the elephant in the room, the cancer.

The illustration cleverly annotates the questions and thoughts laid down, in red - and almost acts as the 'voice of reason' if you will, like an omnipotent presence that can see the situation for what it is and subsequently narrate the audience throughout this 'journey'.

I think this artwork is an excellent depiction of the journey of a patient told through the things people say. Whilst the annotations make it seem almost light-hearted in tone, there is perhaps an underlying true sentiment to the overall cluster of comments, confusion and the mixture of not knowing what to say. Words such as 'That's terrible and 'I'm sorry'  along with the small gestures such as 'hugs and other stuff', 'transport' and 'home help' all covey the confusion, sentiments thoughts which conjure up a blueprint of how to talk to someone who has cancer. 

Chances are if you haven't experienced cancer yourself then you may well know someone who has - and i'm sure there's something for everyone to take heed of in this fantastic illustration.

JR

Find out more about Jo Hilder here 
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Bpositive 'Happy New Year' card

1/1/2014

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