Check Up

In his excellent book ‘Anti Cancer, a New Way of Life’, Dr David Servan-Schreiber writes about changes that we can all make in our daily lives that will improve our odds of surviving cancer or, better still, not getting it in the first place.

In clear language Dr David explains why he believes these simple lifestyle changes are important. I won’t go into all his research and reasons why. I mean that’s what the book is all about. I thoroughly recommend it to everyone. But, in a nutshell, here is what Dr David recommends we all try to do:

1. Reduce exposure to carcinogenic and endocrine disrupting chemicals as much as possible.

2. Adopt a diet rich in plants and whole grains. Eat grass-fed, organic animal products and filter tap water.

3. Exercise and get out in the sunshine.

4. Release feelings of powerlessness by working on past traumas and repressed emotions.

5. Practise meditation.

So, how am I doing?

1. Exposure.

Gold stars:

* I’m most of the way through Lily’s Product Replacement Programme (henceforth to be known as ‘LPRP’). This involves replacing all my beauty and hygiene products with un-toxic alternatives.

* I’ve chucked out most of the plastic and Teflon stuff in my kitchen and replaced it with glass, stainless steel and bamboo.

* I keep my flat ventilated by opening the windows and doors.

* I’ve stopped eating tinned food, microwave dinners and anything else likely to be contaminated with BPA.

* I’ve reduced dry-cleaning to the absolute minimum required. When I do dry clean the odd sparkly gown I take off the plastic wrapper and air it out on the balcony before putting it away in the cupboard.

* I’ve started using Ecover cleaning products.

* I don’t use any pesticides or insect killers in my flat or on my plants.

Room for improvement:

* I’m still smoking

* I spend half my life on the mobile phone and computer.

2. Diet.

Gold stars:

* My cupboards are overflowing with packets of organic brown rice, lentils, beans and seeds.

* I’ve given up dairy products apart from organic butter, which I have maybe once a month.

* I eat organic meat, eggs and vegetables

* I eat heaps of vegetables and fruit.

* I don’t eat sweets, apart from organic dark chocolate.

* I use a charcoal water filter.

Room for improvement:

* I still drink too much tea and coffee. I’d like to up the green tea and reduce my caffeine intake.

* I probably could cut down on meat.

* I can’t resist the odd fry-up.

3. Activity.

Gold stars:

* I take a morning walk.

* I’ve started going to yoga once a week.

* I wear leg weights around the house.

Room for improvement:

* I really miss swimming but it’s just too damned cold.

* I suppose I could join the g-y-m.

4. Emotional freedom.

Gold stars:

* I practise Lily’s Stress Reduction Programme (‘LSRP’).

* I see a psychotherapist once a week.

* I go to a twelve-step group and talk about my life.

* I keep in close contact with my friends and family.

* I sing and jump around my living room.

Room for improvement:

* I sometimes feel overwhelmed by fear of the cancer returning.

* After my devastating experience with Nick I’m very distrustful of any possible romantic relationships.

* I am overly insecure about money, or rather the lack of it.

5. Meditation.

Gold stars:

* Ummmmmm.

Room for improvement:

* Plenty.

I seem to have some sort of mental block about meditation. I will start off with the best intentions, go through the resistance barrier, get into the flow for a week or three days, feel great – and then stop doing it. Why?

This scattergun pattern is very common. I carried out a Random Lily Poll (RLP) of would-be meditators. Here are some of the things they said: “I don’t have enough discipline;” “I’m too lazy;” “I can’t find the time;” “I’m not spiritual enough,” or “I really should force myself to do it”. Are these self-punishing attitudes helpful or even accurate?

Let’s examine them. I don’t know about you but I’m not a lazy or ill-disciplined person – I work, I do the shopping, cook, get to my medical appointments on time and so on. Meditation only takes ten minutes – I spend more time than that gawping at facebook. Everyone is spiritual, just as we are all physical, intellectual and emotional. And how is forcing myself going to help me to be free?

So what’s really holding me back? The same thing that holds everyone back from all kinds of victories. Fear: fear of pain – I’m alive, therefore I have painful emotions tucked away; fear of the unknown – and the inside of my head is the great unknown; fear that I’m not doing it right or that I will fail. 

Funeral for a Friend

This sunny London morning, in a narrow Soho street, two magnificent dusky horses with black ostrich plumes on their heads stand harnessed to a glass carriage. The horses snort softly and occasionally toss their flowing manes. A quiet crowd is gathered here, mostly dressed in black with the occasional flash of scarlet or hot pink. We chat in subdued tones. Inside the carriage my friend lies in his coffin. The coffin is made of cardboard, covered with red sparkly paper, decorated with ruby crystals and paper flowers. An outlandishly huge, black top hat wobbles on the roof of the carriage.

The funeral cortège sets off and the crowd fall in behind. Following the carriage, we process slowly around the streets of Soho for about an hour in our high heels until our feet nearly drop off. Eventually we arrive at St James’s church, Piccadilly. The church is already packed to the rafters. After everyone has squeezed onto a pew the coffin is carried in. The service is moving, joyful and elegant. Everything about the funeral is perfect: the glass carriage; the sunflowers; the readings and tributes; the press photographers; the eye-catching outfits; the circus atmosphere. Of course the one person who would have enjoyed it the most is not here to share the experience. At the end my friend’s coffin is carried out to the music of his beloved Marc Bolan singing 20^th Century Boy.

It is unutterably sad to see a coffin carried away for the last time and to know that a kind, infuriating, contrary, funny, morose, witty, messed-up, sweet human lies inside it, his body about to be burned to ashes.

The mourners regroup in the churchyard for drinks. Later the wake moves to a club in Soho where there is more chatting and the showing of a funny and touching film.

At five p.m. the wake is still going strong but I have to leave. I have an appointment with my therapist.

I sit on the therapist’s couch and cry for an hour. My friend wasn’t my lover, or my brother. He was not the most important person in my life, nor I in his. But he was my friend, for better or worse. His death is yet another loss.

My friend didn’t please everybody in this world. He didn’t try to. What I can say for certain is this: for all his foibles, he was loved.