A community of women

As I have been going through my cancer operation, treatment and now recovery I am forever amazed by the support of people around me. Primarily women.

They comment on my status updates on facebook, they read my blog, they send emails, they send book vouchers, they send sms's, they offer words of strength and encouragement, they bring soup, they pick up my daughter from school, they take me out to lunch.

The odd guy is part of that community, but they are few and far between. Mainly it's a community of women. But they don't only support me. Should any woman in that community post a slightly distressing status (on facebook, it's the communication of choice), all the women rally around her with, at the very least, warm words of support.

And to all those women I am eternally grateful. For they have shared the journey with me.

Mrs 70%

So it's been ages since the last chemo and I am still feeling ... well ... I'm not one to easily use poor language ... but ... I'm feeling crap.

I went to the naturopath and whinged, and told her all my woes. She looked at me sternly, then proceeded to line up a little bottle, followed by a bigger bottle, followed by an even bigger stapler.

"If you use up 100% of your energy every day", she said, "then you will have the energy of the little bottle. When you go to bed at night, your body will be really busy recuperating, but because it's starting at zero (because you've used up everything), it will only be able to recuperate and become the little bottle again. So the next day, you will feel like the little bottle."

"Aha", I commented vaguely.

"But", naturopath continued with stern gaze, "if you only use 70% of your energy, then when you go to bed your body will be starting at 30%. So it can recuperate to become the bigger bottle the next day."

"Oooh!", I exclaimed. This was sounding good. I really want to become the bigger bottle.

"And if you consistently keep using just 70% of your energy, every single day", she went on, "then one day you can become the stapler. I want you to become the stapler."

"A-ha" moment. If I had been working at 100%, I guess things wouldn't be so bad. But the truth is, that I commit at least 110% to pretty much everything I do. And I am a performance fanatic. Which means that I can manage to pack a huge number of things into my day, with one task separated from another task by mere nanoseconds. Each task being done to about 110%. Hello? Who are we kidding here? Let's stop beating around the bush ... it's mad!

So, I now have to go from being ultra performance machine working at 110%, to just being Mrs 70%. It's hard. Really hard. I mean, when I'm folding the washing, and I've got through 70% of it, I just have to stop and say to myself "oh, I'm too tired to do the rest". Feels very foreign to me.

Shouldering the blame

Over the past 10 years I've had a problem with my shoulder. The muscles in my right shoulder get really tight, and the result is pins and needles in my the fingers of my right hand. At it's extreme, I also get excruciating pain in my shoulder, my fingers and anywhere in between.

I've always thought that this problem belonged in the physiotherapy domain, and would have never thought of mentioning it to my GP. Over the years I have managed the problem with various stretches, chiropractic care and physiotherapy massages.

As I subjected myself to the care of Dr Gruba, it dawned upon me that my shoulder problem is the result of what I have and have not eaten. Furthermore, despite the chemotherapy, the problem started to actually go away. Until today. But allow me to explain.

Yesterday, my horsey friend and I went to our favourite pub to have a drink for Gally. Well, one glass of chardy for Gally. One glass of chardy for Bandit - Bandit was a wonderful horse we were lucky enough to own. Well, Chris owned him, but we're really good at sharing. I realise that over time that list (of horses) will just get longer. Anyway, back to the shoulder.

After those two drinks I was exhausted, my whole body felt like bits of lead, and I spent the rest of the day drinking water and resting. Even dinner was an easy affair as I just reheated something. I did absolutely nothing.

Well, this morning the shoulder was all stiff and my pins and needles were back with a vengence. I had trouble typing this morning! I put the entire blame on those two glasses of wine. I don't regret them, don't get me wrong. But now I've got my culprit. My years of drinking like a sailor are well and truly over. I think I'll be thinning my champagne with mineral water in future.

Vale Gally

Before we bought Gally, my husband, my coach and I discussed what we wanted from my next horse. Gally fitted the bill perfectly. And so I bought Gally - a present to myself for my birthday. I was in heaven.

As Gally settled in at the farm we discovered that he was playful, cheeky and very very bossy. Very soon he became the boss of the paddock and left marks on backsides of anyone who didn't tow the line. (Mine included - although the mark is now gone.)

Life with Gally wasn't all chocolates and roses, but if I was willing to listen, he was willing to share some deep horsey secrets with me. Initially, I wasn't listening. I had no idea that a horse could teach you things. That mistake had me on the ground five times. Then I started listening, and this is what I learnt:

• Respect your horse. 
• Scratch your horse - the more he complains, the harder you should scratch - until he stops complaining. Find all the spots where he enjoys a scratch. You may be very surprised in what you find.
• Make sure your horse respects you - your space, and your requests.
• Be firm.
• Never, ever, get angry.
• Ride in the sweet spot.
• Keep your legs still, unless you're using them to ask for something.
• Keep your hands still, unless you're asking for something.
• Ride with the horse (don't get behind or in front of the action).
• Balance.
• Seperate "play time" from "work time".
• Use "approach and retreat" when dealing with scary things.
• Enjoy your horse. If you are doing something that is too hard, or not enjoyable, then simplify it. Go back a step or two. Enjoy.
• Relax is the reward. Relax. Reward.
• Reward frequently.
• Ask for the best. Ask.
• Follow your intuition.

Most scary moment with Gally - We were warming up for cross country at Wandin, and Gally was spooking at everything - especially other horses. I had already fallen off in the warm up for dressage, and now I was just shaking in my boots.
 
Most bossy moment - Gally - I was standing in the paddock with Gally and Sabina, looking far too goofy. It was winter and I had a hood and beanie on. Gally grabbed at my hood, ripped it off, and sent it flying across the paddock. Sabina started shouting at him that he is naughty and can't do that.
 
Most bossy moment - me - I was lungeing Gally and he stopped and refused to keep going. I cracked the whip, and he faced it, defiant. I came a step closer and I cracked it again, and again, and again. Finally he trotted off in the required direction.

Funniest moment - There were three buckets lying in the paddock. Gally picked up each bucket in turn to show me that they were empty. Gally loved his food.

Best ride - The last ride, when we went into the state forest and I was all relaxed, and we used approach and retreat to ride past the dam.

Other moments of note - Letting my friend Chris ride Gally into the state forest.

There are many other memories that will always bring a smile to my face. In some ways Gally and I were like peas in a pod. I thank him for all the things he taught me, and all the fun we've had together. I hope that his spirit will gallop, play and graze with his herd forever.

Gally - you will always be in my heart.

The tragedy

Last night we had the most terrible storm. It took us twice as long to drive up to the farm, which included driving through floodwaters. (Big "no no", I know). We got to the farm very late, the eves were leaking in a couple of spots, our gumboots were full of water, and our back patio was a swimming pool. I heard a neigh, but since Dingo had been neighing out a lot recently, I chose to ignore it.

This morning, with rain primarily continuing, I ventured outside. I checked on the ponies in the power pole paddock, and saw a lonely figure lying down behind the fence line. My heart sank. The horse turned his head to look at me. Gally. A flame of hope still burnt in me that it wasn't too bad. Cautiously I approached the fence line - on the one hand not wanting to scare the horse, on the other hand trying to delay the inevitable.

I peered across the fence - it was worse than I had expected. It was worse than I had ever seen in my life. The back leg was broken. Half way between the hock and the fetlock. The bottom part of the leg was merely attached by skin and a piece of muscle. My brain fought hard at finding some way to fix things. I felt totally helpless.

I ran across the farm, screaming for my husband. The place felt totally deserted. I felt like grabbing a horse and just riding out, riding far, not returning for hours. Except that the horse I really wanted to ride way lying in the paddock. I wanted to scream, but was too scared in case Sabina would run out in a panic. I wanted to cry, but couldn't.

Finally I found my husband, and while he made a certain phone call, I chopped up carrots. I made up a tasty feed and took it out to Gally. He ate it gladly - he always loved his food. Then I covered him up with a blanket to keep him warm. I sat with him for a while, stroking his neck and singing him lullabyes.

After lunch I was milling aimlessly in the house. My husband called "Do you have any horses in that paddock where Gally is?", he asked. "No". "Well in that case, Gally is standing up." I threw my soaking coat back on and ran outside. Gally was standing up, head held proudly, ears pricked forward, a curious spark in his eye.

And I stood there in awe, etching this beautiful horse in my mind forever. His strenght, and his belief in me and that I could help him. Thoughts of calling the vet and having a prosthesis attached to replace the broken leg, rushed madly through my mind. In vain. I said my last goodbyes to Gally.