Perhaps.. Perhaps.. Perhaps..

Do you believe in signs from above?

Religious people would call them signs from God, other people refer to them as signs from angels, friends/ relatives who have passed away, whereas other people may just call it coincidence.

In the past few months, I would like to think that if there is a higher power, then he has sent me a sign. Or if it is a relative who has passed away, then they have reached out to warn me about something. But then again, it could just be coincidence.

I had noticed a new mole type lesion appear on my jaw line, which was proving to be a real irritation. It would become swollen and itchy, and doubled in size quite quickly. This led me to seek out expert advice, so I visited The Mole Clinic, just off of London’s Oxford Street. 

http://www.themoleclinic.co.uk 

I had visited them years ago, when I was having a holiday at home (I was living in the Middle East at the time) and I was concerned that the increased sun exposure has caused me to gain many more moles. That on top of being a habitual tanning bed user from my late teens to mid-twenties, I knew deep down that I could be at risk of something nasty down the line.

Upon the investigation, I was informed that the mole on my Jaw line, was in fact nothing to worry about, and was in fact something named Seborrheic Keratoses. Completely harmless with no treatment required, unless you want to remove it for cosmetic reasons. The mole expert continued with the full body mole check, (it took a while, I must have easily over 250+ on my person), and two moles were flagged as needed further attention. One on my right leg, and one to the left hand side of my mid back. 

I always knew that this would be likely, as I have said, I am really ‘molely’. 

I was instructed to see a Dermatologist, and luckily, through being part of the Private Healthcare scheme with my employer, I was referred to a specialist at a private hospital quickly. By chance (or by divine intervention) I was actually referred to the same Dermatologist who I had seen when I was a depressed spotty teenager some 19 years earlier. I had always liked him as a kid. He saw my acne as a real problem, and not just something that all kids go through. He saw how it affected me, and made the right choices to get the correct solution. This pre-existing relationship certainly helped me feel that I was in safe hands. He quickly inspected the moles, and laid to rest any issue over my mole on the right leg that had raised concern. However the mole on back would need to be excised and sent for testing. 

He went on to explain that he although he cannot be 100% sure, he is confident that the mole may not prove to be anything suspect. But flagged that there were some definite anomalies in the mole, which will need to be examined. An appointment was made, and I was to return to have a minor operation, to remove the troublesome mole.

I left the appointment knowing the following: Best case scenario – this is a harmless mole, but just different from the others on my body. Worst case - it could be skin cancer. That is the fact of it.

I had the mole removed last Tuesday (23/2) under local anaesthetic, and had internal and external stitches to close the hole. It is sore  and I will have a scar a few inches long. But that is not a problem. The tough part has been waiting for the results. I was told it would be 10days. That should be this Friday if the lab work at the weekend, if not, the wait will go into next week. 

It is a weird emotion, the anxiety you feel waiting for a phone call that will tell you that you have or do not have cancer. It is hard to get your head around. You obviously have to go on as if nothing is wrong, go to work as usual, play with your son as usual, and reassure your Mrs that you are fine, that you are only thinking positively, and that everything will be ok. It’s hard to tell your parents that you are confident it will be fine, despite the fact that your Dad is sitting opposite you, at the early stages of a fight against cancer of his own. Its tough, with your Mum looking at you with concern in her eyes, no doubt reminding herself of all the times she told you – “Make sure you put your sun cream on”, and the times she told “I wished you didn’t use those tanning beds you don’t need a tan to look good”.

The funny thing about all of this shit news, is that the Seborrheic Keratoses that first made me go to the Mole Clinic, has completely disappeared. It is as if it was planted right on my face, so that I couldn’t miss it. That I had to go to get it checked out. And once I had done so, it disappeared as quickly as it formed. 

Perhaps it was God, as a way of telling me to keep going to church. I had only really started attending regularly since we decided to baptise my son, but I had felt myself really enjoying it. I felt that I was taking something from each Sunday’s mass, and I was trying to make myself a better human. Treating people better. Perhaps this was his way of rewarding my new found interest?

Then again, perhaps it was Uncle Charlie who I have mentioned in my first blog post Forever In Our Hearts. Perhaps this was his way of thanking me for naming my son after him, and to tell me I need to look after myself, and to see someone who could help me.

Or perhaps it was simply a Seborrheic Keratoses that formed which was always going to form and fall off with time. It was always going to grow on my jawline and disappear. Perhaps it was always going to do that. 

Regardless of what it was, it has lead me to where I am now. Anxious, concerned, nervous, but ultimately in a better position than if I had just left it. Upon immediate panic, i turned to Google and to Social media. Luckily I have found two great sources of information in the forms of  a blog http://www.melanomarollercoaster.co.uk/ and http://www.melanomauk.org.uk/

I will update when I get my call from the Dermatologist. If it is bad news, then this blog will take a different turn, and I will document the stages that I am going through, so that it can hopefully help someone else down. If it is good news, then it has been a real wake up call.

If you have any doubts about your own health, you need to do something about it. You simply cannot afford to leave it. If it is weighing on your mind, then it is enough of a concern that needs to be investigated. Only you can help yourself at the end of the day.

Unless you believe in signs from above that is! 

Random Acts of Kindness...

Today is #RandomActsOfKindness day. 

It shouldn’t be that hard to do. Being kind should be part of our genetic make up as a human being. As children we were taught to be thoughtful and kind, however as life rolls on and we grow up, it is easier to keep our heads down and focus on our own lives, than taking literally minutes out of our day to do something kind/thoughtful for someone else.

A few months back, when I was struggling with various personal demons, I had the day from hell. You know that type of day. The type of day that we have all had in our lives. The day where everything is just shit. From the time you wake up, and continuously throughout the day – where everything that could go wrong, does go wrong. The day where every ounce of effort to get things right, is redundant, as things were destined to go wrong from the start.

My day at work had been awful. This resulted in having to stay late, which meant I upset my partner as she couldn’t clock off of mummy duties, as I would miss my son’s bed time, which pissed me off as I look forward to that 20minutes more than any other minutes in my day, where we have baby and daddy time, as I give him his formula and he settles to sleep on my chest. 

The tube ride from the office was horrific. Packed on like sardines, with the typical disgust and loathing that us London commuters seem to have for one another. As I exited the station, it had started raining heavily. I didn’t have an umbrella. I had taken it out to fit my laptop into my bag, as I was going to have to log on again once I was home. I was literally so annoyed at the hand that I had been dealt that day.

As I walked the 100metres or so between Embankment tube station and Charing Cross over ground station, I saw a young guy, around my age, sitting on the ground, clearly homeless. It was in that split second, I realised how insignificant my problems really were. I did something that I would usually never do. There was this guy - on the cold pavement, in the rain. He didn’t have a penny to his name, no job, no home, no loved ones around him. He looked like he needed help. Instinct took over and I stopped next to him, and without realising I asked him if he had eaten today. He told me he hadn’t. I went straight over to the Tesco Express store, and spent just over a fiver on random bits. A Mars Bar, a can of Coke, a bottle of water, some crisps, a packet of tissues, a hot sausage roll and a hot steak bake.

When I approached the gentleman for the second time, with the bag of items that I had quickly picked up, the look on his face will stay with me forever. The gratitude that man gave me that instant, was one of the most moving experiences I have ever had. It was like I had given him the winning lotto numbers. I stopped to talk to him, he quickly introduced himself as Derek, he came from Northern Ireland, and had been homeless for only a few months. He told me that he would try to get into accommodation for the evening, but there would be no guarantee. He told me that he had sat in the same spot for a number of hours, and hadn’t spoken to single person all afternoon and evening. After some brief back and forth between us, I wished him well and told him I would look for him when I was next passing.

I left Derek with a completely different outlook on my achievements for the day from hell. I had done something kind for someone I hadn’t met before. It may sound silly, but it was the type of action that I knew immediately would be something that would make my mum proud. The inner child in me knew I had done a good deed. It is crazy that something can mean so much to someone. He was so thankful for my kindness, it inspired me to do more of it.

I found out that there is a whole global movement - https://www.randomactsofkindness.org/ - with the aim of spreading the message of getting people to do kind things for others. Paying it forward. People doing good for someone, and that person in turn doing a good deed for the next person.

Since then, I try to do something every week for someone I do not know. It doesn’t have to involve spending money. It can be anything. Most of mine tend be chivalrous acts, holding doors, offering help with luggage, letting people on transport first, offering help where it is needed etc. It helps. If you are feeling down or low, doing something nice for someone you do not know really seems to lift you up. There is something worthwhile in helping someone else. Try it in your own life. Do something for someone that you generally wouldnt usually do. There are lots of things online to help you find inspiration should you be struggling. It has certainly helped me.

This morning for example, at the tube station platform, I saw a lady who had clearly been taken ill and had vomited. People were walking around her, instead of offering her some help. I gave her the packet of tissues from my bag, and asked if she needed help to leave the station. I sat and spoke with her until she told me she was feeling a bit better. She informed me that she was concerned she was going to pass out before I spoke to her. I hope she felt better, but I felt better for trying to help.

Buzzfeed posted a great article for 101 easy ideas for Random Acts of Kindness.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicamisener/101-easy-ideas-for-random-acts-of-kindness#.rbpZD9NZ

Some of my favourites:

• Tweet or Facebook message a genuine compliment to three people right now.
• Smile at someone on the street, just because.
• Stop to talk to a homeless person.
• Remind yourself that everyone is fighting their own struggles.
• Help someone struggling with heavy bags.
• Call your mom.
• Join the organ donor register
• Give blood.

I remember years ago when I was at University, I saw a man pay for an elderly ladies shopping in the supermarket. I automatically thought he was a hero for doing that. It isn’t until now, that I realise there may have been something underlying his reason for doing it. Either way, it was a great gesture of kindness.

A friend of mine volunteers his Saturday morning’s, to sit with an elderly lady in a local nursing home, and write her letters to her friends and family across the world for her, as she can no longer do it. She dictates, recalling stories and memories. He listens, observes, writes her letters, and offers her something that other people take for granted. Kindness.

Give it a try, do something kind for someone you don’t know.

The Permanent Solution...

Any bereavement is hard to deal with. It rocks you in so many ways, and can do so continuously, striking like hammer blows over the years. In my case, my emotions regarding my Uncle’s death have re-emerged over the past few years, and I am feeling emotions that must have been locked up deep inside me.

I think that this is down to various factors.

Firstly, I was a child when he passed away. Time perception was different back then. A child year seems to be an adult month. Our sense of time changes as we grow older. The intervening years have been my developmental, grown up years. Lots of water has passed under the bridge since Charlie died. I have matured and had to deal with other bereavements, stresses, struggles and finding my own path in life. It is only now as I am rapidly approaching the age that he passed, that my feelings to his passing are re-emerging. As a child I was able to accept that grown-ups will die at some point. I was told that he had a heart attack, and that seemed logical to me at the time. It wasn’t til I approached adulthood, did I find out and was able to comprehend the darker truth.

“When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things”

Another factor has to be that in clearing out my Grandfather’s property after his death three years ago, I found my Uncle’s suicide letter. 

Having only ever heard my parent’s perspective on the reasons they believed led to his decision to end his life, it was a roller-coaster to quickly read his letter, all at the same time as being emotional towards the passing of my Grandfather.

My head was spinning, my heart was racing and it was hard to focus as I began to read the actual letter that was found alongside my Uncle all those years ago. Addressed to ‘Mum’ the words on the paper in my hands were the last thing to go through his mind. His despair and depression was clearly evident. He blamed himself for everything that had happened. The breakup of a relationship. The breakdown of a business. The financial ruin, and the disappointment he saw himself as. The letter apologised to his parents, and instructed my grandmother to pass on messages to his friends. But there was no mention of his brothers. No mentions of me, my sister or his other nephews and nieces. No mention of other family members. This hurt immensely when reading the letter. It made me think that on the night that he set about his task to end his life, the wider ramifications of his actions were not present in his thought process. In many ways, it made me see him as very selfish. It made me blame the bottle of alcohol that he was clearly consuming as he wrote the letter. It made me think that if he hadn’t have been drinking that night, he may be with us now.

But that was naive and of me. It took some time to reflect and study more about the subject of depression, and learn more about the man that in reality, I only knew as a playmate. Mental health issues are widely ignored even now, and back in 1993 when my uncle took his life, I can’t imagine opening up to peers, or seeking help was that common. Instead as typical south London male, he wanted to get himself out of the predicament he was in, and not unload his issues on other people. His decision to end his life was not a spur of the moment thing. He had planned his method. This was not going to be a cry for help. This was going to be a permanent solution to his pain.

Finally, the fact that I still hate the fact he chose that permanent solution, to what I now see 23 years later as an illness that can be helped. I hate the fact he didn’t reach out for help. I hate the fact that he didn’t think of his three brothers; about how this would send their world crashing down around them. I hate the fact that my Nan blamed herself fully for the loss of her son. I hate the fact that she never recovered from his passing. I hate the fact that my sister, my cousins and I missed out on getting to know him as a man. I’m gutted that we never shared a pint and laugh together. At family events, I often think that family members who have passed away are with us, watching us have fun and live life. I hope they are proud of us.

The Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM – www.thecalmzone.net) believe that there are social and cultural barriers which prevent men from speaking out. That state that men do not feel comfortable expressing feelings and emotions. That men think they are expected to be strong at all times. I certainly agree with this statement in regards to my uncle. 

I wish he could have opened up to someone. He would have been 65 just after Valentines day. I wish we could have shared a pint in celebration.

Forever In Our Hearts..

It was Thursday July 1^st 1993, my 10^th birthday, when the phone rang. It was Uncle Charlie, my dad’s slightly older brother and best man. 

After a few minutes on the phone with Dad, I was called to come to the phone as Charlie wanted to say ‘Hello’. Charlie wished me Happy Birthday, and asked me if I wanted to go to Chessington World of Adventures theme park at the weekend for my birthday present, like he did the summer before.

But this year I was busy on the Saturday, and my parents had arranged a football party for me and my friends on the Sunday. So I told Charlie that I had my party coming up, and that he could come to that instead. After a few more seconds of chat, I quickly was told “no worries, I have got to go now, see ya soon” and after saying good bye, I hung up the phone. I soon went back to my Sonic the Hedgehog, unknowing that this would be our final conversation.

Sunday afternoon finally arrived. July 4^th. Party day! I was sitting in my living room, in my new football kit. My socks were pulled up and I was ready for action. I was full of excitement and anticipation for my party that I knew we would be leaving for in twenty minutes time. My sister was upstairs, Mum was in the kitchen, and Dad was in their bedroom, directly above the living room. The phone rang.  Mum answered it from the kitchen and you could tell there was immediately something wrong. At that moment the house was silent. I can’t recall if the TV was on, but if it was, I couldn’t hear it. Mum rushed upstairs to the bedroom and said for my sister to go downstairs immediately. Mum closed her bedroom door shut behind her, something which never happened before or again after. The house had never been so quiet.

From the living room my sister and I could hear muffled talk from inside Mum and Dads room above us, and within a few seconds I could hear the moment my Dad broke down after being informed that his brother and best friend was no longer with us. 

I am not sure how much time passed, but Mum came down with tears in her eyes and rushed me and my sister to get to the car, ready to go to the party. I got my stuff ready and as I was leaving the living room, my dad appeared in the door way; “Have you heard?” he said to me, with tears in his eyes and cracks in his voice. The man who had been He-Man to me my whole life stood in front of me distraught. This was the first time I had seen him vulnerable. The first time I had seen negative emotion from him. I hadn’t heard the news that he had just been informed of, but I immediately started to cry, as I knew it was something life changing that had happened. I didn’t even know who that phone call had been about, and to this day I do not know who was on the other end of that phone.

But I knew life was about to change.

Mum took me and my sister to my party. I can’t remember the journey at all. I do remember that I played footy that day like a boy possessed, and have clear memories of the goals that I scored that day. Mum went ahead with the party, giving 14 rowdy ten years old's party food, party games and birthday cake after the match had ended. She made that day so special for me. Photos from that day show the fun that was had by us kids, but also show the pain and despair behind my mums eyes, as she tried to show a sense of normality for her son, all while trying to come to terms with the loss of her brother in law, and the fact that her husband and my Dad’s world was caving in as the truth was revealed to him, of how his brother had been found earlier that morning.

As a 10 year old boy, I grieved for my Uncle. As a 15year old young man, when my Grandmother passed away, we grieved again, and I was part of more adult conversations about what had happened to my Uncle. It was then that I was able to start to gain perspective on what had happened to Charlie. He had suffered from a run of serious bad luck, bad decisions, and heartbreak. This had led to the black dog of depression dragging him down. I often wonder if he had hoped to take me to Chessington as a way of cheering himself up. Only for me to have plans and for him to think that he couldn’t even do that right, adding to his list of things that had gone against him. 

In reality he was probably just trying to do his duties as a loving uncle. But what he failed to think of that night when no doubt he had a hundred thoughts racing through his head, where he couldn’t see a way out, is that we needed him and still do. It appears that drinking too much on the night that he ended things played a part too. I only wish someone could have been with him so that he wasn’t drinking alone, with a pen in his hand writing a goodbye letter, and idea in his head of ending his life. Only 8 years older than I am now.

There is a huge hole in our family, and younger relatives who do not share the same loving memories that my sister and I have, do not share the grief that we feel when we talk about him. He was the uncle who would play with us kids as if he was a kid himself, he would wrestle with us and always not really know his own strength. He would get us really worked up, and then leave our parents to calm us down. He was our friend and playmate as well as our uncle. He held a special place in my heart and I still think of him daily. 

I wasn’t informed what had actually happened to Charlie until my teenage years, when for some reason I questioned the original story of ‘illness’ which I had been told as an innocent ten year old. My mother wondered if I had been questioning it in the subsequent years. I hadn’t. I don’t even know where the question came from that day. Only now, in my early thirties, with a mortgage and family of my own, do I feel I can begin to understand what may have gone through his mind, and I think about it more and more. I too can wallow in self-doubt and anxiety, but I know I can share my issues with those around me. But if things got that bad, as bad as it got for him, would I still be able to reach out for help? Could I? Would I be judged? Will Charlie’s suicide have a knock on effect in my life?

I wish someone could have told my Uncle Charlie that he was not alone. I wish someone could have told him that were people who loved him eternally and would have always be there to help ease the burden, to ensure that he seeks support. My Dad wishes that Charlie would have decided to open up to him, to reach out to him and share his troubles. But that wasn’t Charlie. Apparently he decided that he didn’t want to ‘burden’ those around him. As far as we know he didn’t try to find help. I wonder if he was in my generation whether he would reach out to his friends and family. Times are changing, but not changing enough when you consider the alarming stat that CALM - the Campaign Against Living Miserably (http://www.thecalmzone.net) are trying to change, that suicide is the biggest killer of men my age.

I wish that the 10 year old me could have gone to Chessington on the Saturday, so that he had a great day, and the dark thoughts not appear that fateful Saturday night. I wish he had agreed to come to the party on the Sunday. But he didn’t. 

But life goes on, and I will teach my own son to open up and to express himself. To know that showing feelings and emotions does not make him weak. To know that should things go against him, should he encounter heartache, failure, and/or depression set in, there are people out there to help.

I saw a quote that said “suicide doesn’t just take away your own pain, it just gives it to someone else” – I totally agree with that..

Uncle Charlie– left us aged 41, – Forever in our hearts til we meet again.