Authors: Bernadette Bohan
The Choice (15 page)
And still I forced myself to go out to lectures and talks, although sometimes Gerard would try to make me stay at home and rest. âThese people know what I need to know,' I would insist. âI must go.' It was on the days that I was confined to bed, however, that I really learnt the most, as I could do nothing else. I must admit that I was confused by some of what I was reading. In one place I would read of certain vitamins that were essential; then one speaker would say that the therapeutic amounts of vitamins recommended by some people were toxic. I was unsure about cooking vegetables too: steaming had been my preferred way of cooking, believing that it preserved the goodness; then I read that key nutrients were destroyed by cooking at a temperature greater than 45 degrees. Then at one lecture I heard about sprouting â a way of growing vegetable seeds into sprouts that contain fifty to a hundred times more nutrients than the grown vegetable. This was worth getting out of bed for! It didn't involve the confusing field of vitamins, and they could be eaten raw. I was determined to find out more, and start as soon as possible. What was more, during the course of my six months of chemotherapy, and beyond, I met some of the best-known names in the health field and pumped them for information.
It was almost Christmas, and I was due to go in for my penultimate chemotherapy session just before the day itself. I couldn't bear to think that Julie's Christmas would be ruined by my being sick, and I asked the oncologist if there was any way he could delay it.
âSure we can, a week won't make any difference at this stage. There are always several operatives off that week anyway.' I was so pleased, and so grateful â having four weeks rather than only three in between bouts was heaven, and we had a lovely family Christmas. Gerard was in high spirits throughout the holiday, and said to me on several occasions, âIsn't it great â only two more to go!' That was not how I felt at all. I knew I would dread it right to the end â like climbing a mountain, to others it looks as if you are nearly there; for me the final peak was the worst, and seemed almost insurmountable. My immune system was at its lowest point, and despite all my efforts to keep myself as healthy as I could, I knew I was almost at breaking point. I couldn't wait for the year 2000 to be behind me.
When it was eventually all over, the oncologist said to me gently, âThose last two sessions were very tough on you, weren't they?' I nodded, and lay still as he examined me. What was supposed to happen now, I wondered? Was I free to go home and get on with my life? I think he read my expression.
âWell now, the chemo and radiotherapy should have removed all cancerous cells. Your immune system will hopefully repair itself. Don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on you. I got you out of it the first time, and I've got you out of it a second time! Come back every three months for a check-up.'
As I left the hospital I noticed the first few snowdrops of spring pushing their way through the hard earth. I was bowed, but not broken. The tumour was gone, and I had only lost half a stone in weight. My hair was starting to thicken, and â astonishingly â my arthritis in my right hand and shoulder seemed to have disappeared. I also found I no longer needed my reading glasses. I thought about the few simple changes I had made to my lifestyle, and realized there was no turning back now.
âSo, are you going to give up this health kick now you're through the treatment?' said Ger a few days after the final session of chemo.
âYou must be joking,' I laughed. âThere's no way I am ever going to revisit that hell again â not if I have anything to do with it.'
And I did have something to do with it. Now, more than ever, I understood that my future was in my own hands.
It was almost Christmas, and I was due to go in for my penultimate chemotherapy session just before the day itself. I couldn't bear to think that Julie's Christmas would be ruined by my being sick, and I asked the oncologist if there was any way he could delay it.
âSure we can, a week won't make any difference at this stage. There are always several operatives off that week anyway.' I was so pleased, and so grateful â having four weeks rather than only three in between bouts was heaven, and we had a lovely family Christmas. Gerard was in high spirits throughout the holiday, and said to me on several occasions, âIsn't it great â only two more to go!' That was not how I felt at all. I knew I would dread it right to the end â like climbing a mountain, to others it looks as if you are nearly there; for me the final peak was the worst, and seemed almost insurmountable. My immune system was at its lowest point, and despite all my efforts to keep myself as healthy as I could, I knew I was almost at breaking point. I couldn't wait for the year 2000 to be behind me.
When it was eventually all over, the oncologist said to me gently, âThose last two sessions were very tough on you, weren't they?' I nodded, and lay still as he examined me. What was supposed to happen now, I wondered? Was I free to go home and get on with my life? I think he read my expression.
âWell now, the chemo and radiotherapy should have removed all cancerous cells. Your immune system will hopefully repair itself. Don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on you. I got you out of it the first time, and I've got you out of it a second time! Come back every three months for a check-up.'
As I left the hospital I noticed the first few snowdrops of spring pushing their way through the hard earth. I was bowed, but not broken. The tumour was gone, and I had only lost half a stone in weight. My hair was starting to thicken, and â astonishingly â my arthritis in my right hand and shoulder seemed to have disappeared. I also found I no longer needed my reading glasses. I thought about the few simple changes I had made to my lifestyle, and realized there was no turning back now.
âSo, are you going to give up this health kick now you're through the treatment?' said Ger a few days after the final session of chemo.
âYou must be joking,' I laughed. âThere's no way I am ever going to revisit that hell again â not if I have anything to do with it.'
And I did have something to do with it. Now, more than ever, I understood that my future was in my own hands.
Chapter Seventeen
Â
Breaking Through
J
ust as stress sets off a kind of vicious circle in which your anxieties and fears stop you from looking after yourself properly, which in turn leads to illness and disease within the body, so I found that once I turned the corner into a healthy way of life, I started to feel the benefits. I had more energy than I had had for years, which in turn motivated me to look after my body much more effectively. Naturally, it helped enormously that the treatment was over, but I knew that I would not be regarded as totally âcured' for many years yet. The simple but dramatic changes I had made to my way of life â which had started as a stark choice between eating and drinking as I used to, or filling my shopping trolley with different items â were now no longer a choice. It was simply the way I was going to keep myself well.
Malahide is a small town, and at that time we had lived there for sixteen years, so we knew a fair few people â having three children at two different schools widens your circle of acquaintances like nothing else! During my illness, though, the number of people I saw regularly had contracted to some close girlfriends, a few local neighbours and my family. It wasn't until the spring of 2001 that life returned to normal and my health and spirits began to improve, and I was able to get out a bit more often.
âBernadette Bohan?' came a cry from behind me as I window-shopped along the local high street one crisp March morning. âIs that really you?' I turned to see a woman with whom I'd made some costumes for a school play some years earlier.
âHello,' I said warmly, trying to remember her name. âHow are you doing?'
âOh, I'm fine, back at work now that Sean is in full-time school. How are your three kids?' I told her what they were all doing, and took a few steps along the pavement as if to carry on with my shopping, but she carried on talking as if there was something she had to say.
âYou look well, though, Bernadette. I, er, I hope you don't mind me asking, but, um, I heard you have been very ill.'
âThat's right. Breast cancer.'
âDidn't you have cancer that other time?' I nodded. âYou've had it twice?'
âYeah, that's right,' I smiled.
âHow come you are looking so good?' There. She'd said it. I guessed from her face that when she'd heard that I had had cancer a second time she'd assumed that I had either already died or must be on my way out. A fair assumption, I reasoned.
âI started finding out about ways to beat cancer through eating more healthily. I've discovered some amazing things. Now I drink massive quantities of organic vegetable juice, I drink lots of clean water, I grow my own sprouts, I take digestive enzymes and probiotics and â'
âBrussels sprouts?' she interrupted.
âNo, I have little jars in my kitchen where I grow all kinds of seeds â alfalfa, fenugreek, broccoli â and when they have sprouted a few shoots I eat them with salads or in a sandwich. They're powerhouses of nutrients â you wouldn't believe what they contain.'
We carried on chatting while we walked back up the street, and she eventually told me that her husband had prostate cancer. Ah, I thought, that explained her fierce interest in my recovery. Then I suddenly realized we were near my house. âCome in, why don't you? I'll show you my juicer and how I do the sprouting.'
She spent two hours with me that day, and returned a few days later to find out more. That time she brought a friend with her whose daughter had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. A week later the daughter herself came: a pretty, dark girl in her twenties. I could see she was frightened, and desperate for help. She had that same hunger for information and knowledge that I had felt myself not so very long ago. âI want to get on your programme,' she said. âTell me exactly what to do.' That shocked me. I had not thought of what I had been doing as a plan, or a programme, it was just a few things I did, based on what I thought was some very compelling evidence.
âMy goodness!' I exclaimed, a little embarrassed. âI'm not suggesting this is a programme you can follow, but I can show you a few simple things that will have a huge impact on your health.'
âI'd really appreciate that, if it's not too much trouble.' Too much trouble? This was my special subject, and I loved nothing more than climbing up on my soapbox.
âOK. The first thing you need to understand is that cancer is caused by deficiency and toxicity. Your job is to maintain a powerful immune system to help you fight the disease. You can do this by removing some known carcinogens from your environment, and by adding certain things to your diet â delicious things, I might add â which will give your body massive doses of the anti-oxidant vitamins and certain minerals and enzymes that it needs for recovery.'
âWhat about chemotherapy, and radiotherapy, and should I have a mastectomy, and what about manual lymph drainage?' the questions tumbled forth.
âI cannot advise you on any of that; I'm not a medical person, although I can tell you about my own experience. You must make your own decisions, but educate yourself so that you can make an informed decision. What I can show you are the extra things you can do to enhance your chances of survival.' And so I would go on, and the hours would pass. This would happen several times a week, and my first few âstudents' would leave, gratefully clutching handfuls of scribbled notes.
I'm a sociable, chatty person, and everywhere I went I would talk to people, and I would tell them what I was doing. My new diet seemed to be so effective, and I was so excited to be feeling well and to feel I actually had a future ahead of me, that I became something of an evangelist. The more I talked about it, the more people would contact me to ask if I could explain what to do about cleaning up their water, and which toiletries didn't have damaging chemicals in them, or where to find the best organic products. I was receiving two or three phone calls per day from people suffering not just from cancer, but from arthritis, eczema, ME, irritable bowel syndrome, and many other ailments. And what was even more interesting, perhaps, was that most people who contacted me were fit and well â and wanted to stay that way.
âHow long is this going to go on for?' asked Gerard grumpily one evening, as our dinner was interrupted by yet another telephone call.
âSorry, won't be long,' I said breezily as I rushed off to take the call.
âI meant how long are you going to be acting as unofficial health adviser to the entire population of Dublin?' he said when I returned.
âYeah,' chimed in the others. âIt's getting a bit much. The house isn't our own any more.'
It was true. It wasn't just phone calls: most days I was in the kitchen with two or more people, usually strangers, trying out juicing combinations, showing them which supplements were worth buying, giving them information about the dangers of fluoride ⦠sometimes I did not have much time to prepare the family's evening meal, and quiet evenings with Gerard were often derailed by the telephone. And, if I admitted it, I was tired out as well.
âI'm sorry, I realize it's hard on all of you. Perhaps I ought to group people into proper classes and hold them at regular times, and only speak to people on the phone at certain times.'
âOr perhaps you could stop altogether?' they said.
âI can't, this is too important. I have information that could help these people. I can't not tell them what I know.'
âI think it was your determination and drive to live that saved you. You were completely focussed on finding ways to help yourself, and it was that which pulled you through. Not this faddy diet thing.' My heart sank. This was Gerard, my Mr Wonderful. If he didn't believe in my diet, who would?
âYou would think like me if you had read all the evidence,' I insisted. âAnd look at me â surely you are pleased I have helped myself become well again? Don't forget how I used to moan about my arthritis. And only last week my dentist said he couldn't believe the improvement in my gums and teeth!'
âOf course I am pleased, but evidence?' he snorted. âAre you telling me that there is a cure for cancer out there and your oncologist isn't telling you about it? Don't be daft.'
âYou know what doctors are like â they want to have everything proven and tested and re-tested in double-blind trials like drugs are. Who's going to invest millions of pounds in doing those kinds of trials on this stuff? I think it's just common sense.'
âWell, all I know is, you can't continue with it for ever.'
âWhy not?'
âWell, surely it's hard cooking separate meals for the rest of us. All that shopping for organic fruit, and those supplements you're taking. And as for not drinking milk â where do you think you're going to get your calcium from? Thin air? You're cured, aren't you? Can't you just accept that, and move on?' Then he let slip the real reason for his hostility. âAnd it's so difficult for everyone else. You make us feel as if we're being really unhealthy.'
I had had a similar reaction from my sisters and friends, who assumed that now the cancer had apparently gone I would give up what they saw as a flaky, alternative lifestyle. People who were incredibly supportive while I had cancer and was going through the treatment suddenly developed a distinctly frosty approach, or merely dismissed what I was saying. They wanted the old me back, and I understood. It was threatening to them that I was choosing a new path: deep down they probably suspected that I was on to something, but they were simply not ready to do it themselves. I felt as if I was living a double life â admired by some, opposed by others. I had gone from being the object of everyone's sympathy to someone who was being praised and sought out by sick people; but criticized, almost shunned, by those I loved best. It felt oddly schizophrenic. My own family was still the worst. I had another shot at getting them onto a more healthy diet, but failed miserably. They loved some of the juices, but they wouldn't give up their pizzas, steaks and biscuits. âWhat if you get sick?' I asked Gerard once. âI'll wait until I get ill,' he retorted. âUntil then, I'll take my chances.'
Even Richard thought I was turning into a hippie, by which he meant that I was frequenting organic markets and health-food stores rather too much. He and Sarah refused to give up the foods I told them were harming them, or follow much of my new diet although I tried so hard to explain the benefits. âWe're young; we don't care!' was what they said. Of course â they felt immortal. I remembered that feeling. It was different with Julie: she was young enough to accept changes to her diet without complaining, and hardly noticed the switch from cow's milk to soya. The only problems I had with her were when the bigger ones tried to undermine what I was doing. âWhat's that, Julie?' they would say. âWhat's she giving you now?' and the little thing would be torn between wanting to do as I asked her and wanting to please her big brother and sister. Gerard, too, didn't want her to be different from other kids and miss out on ice creams and other âtreats'. I know the dangers that lurk in sugar, and I know the attraction it holds for children â as the baby of the family I was always first in line for any treats, and would be given a spoon of sugar if there was nothing else. It is still a struggle to keep Julie on the straight and narrow, but I comfort myself with the thought that if I have done nothing else, at least my family has clean water and they drink more freshly juiced fruit and vegetables than most people. There is an old Irish saying:
you can pull with a string but you can't push with it
. I often used to say to them in frustration, âYou're old enough to make your own choices. At least I know I have done my duty and told you the facts.' As for old sweet-tooth Gerard, I know he'd be as fat as a fool by now if I hadn't had some impact on his diet.
One afternoon Sarah asked me for a lift into the village, a five minutes' walk away. I was busy juicing. âNo,' I said. âYou've a fine pair of legs on you â the walk will do you good.'
âOh, for God's sake! All you think about these days is yourself,' she huffed. That wasn't quite true, but I had to acknowledge that I was determined to stay focussed on my new âprogramme', and I had moved on from the days when my main motivation was to keep myself alive for my children. Now I was more mature, and I wanted to live for myself as well. And I was getting a real buzz out of helping other people.
Then one day I received a letter (in fact, the first of hundreds) which made it all worth it, and made me realize I had no option but to continue, whatever the cost. I include some of it here:
Dear Bernadette
What a fortuitous day 8 April was, the day I met my new friend Vera who gave me your name and number. I didn't know it then, but it was the day the sun shone on my future.
Â
Breaking Through
Just as stress sets off a kind of vicious circle in which your anxieties and fears stop you from looking after yourself properly, which in turn leads to illness and disease within the body, so I found that once I turned the corner into a healthy way of life, I started to feel the benefits. I had more energy than I had had for years, which in turn motivated me to look after my body much more effectively. Naturally, it helped enormously that the treatment was over, but I knew that I would not be regarded as totally âcured' for many years yet. The simple but dramatic changes I had made to my way of life â which had started as a stark choice between eating and drinking as I used to, or filling my shopping trolley with different items â were now no longer a choice. It was simply the way I was going to keep myself well.
Malahide is a small town, and at that time we had lived there for sixteen years, so we knew a fair few people â having three children at two different schools widens your circle of acquaintances like nothing else! During my illness, though, the number of people I saw regularly had contracted to some close girlfriends, a few local neighbours and my family. It wasn't until the spring of 2001 that life returned to normal and my health and spirits began to improve, and I was able to get out a bit more often.
âBernadette Bohan?' came a cry from behind me as I window-shopped along the local high street one crisp March morning. âIs that really you?' I turned to see a woman with whom I'd made some costumes for a school play some years earlier.
âHello,' I said warmly, trying to remember her name. âHow are you doing?'
âOh, I'm fine, back at work now that Sean is in full-time school. How are your three kids?' I told her what they were all doing, and took a few steps along the pavement as if to carry on with my shopping, but she carried on talking as if there was something she had to say.
âYou look well, though, Bernadette. I, er, I hope you don't mind me asking, but, um, I heard you have been very ill.'
âThat's right. Breast cancer.'
âDidn't you have cancer that other time?' I nodded. âYou've had it twice?'
âYeah, that's right,' I smiled.
âHow come you are looking so good?' There. She'd said it. I guessed from her face that when she'd heard that I had had cancer a second time she'd assumed that I had either already died or must be on my way out. A fair assumption, I reasoned.
âI started finding out about ways to beat cancer through eating more healthily. I've discovered some amazing things. Now I drink massive quantities of organic vegetable juice, I drink lots of clean water, I grow my own sprouts, I take digestive enzymes and probiotics and â'
âBrussels sprouts?' she interrupted.
âNo, I have little jars in my kitchen where I grow all kinds of seeds â alfalfa, fenugreek, broccoli â and when they have sprouted a few shoots I eat them with salads or in a sandwich. They're powerhouses of nutrients â you wouldn't believe what they contain.'
We carried on chatting while we walked back up the street, and she eventually told me that her husband had prostate cancer. Ah, I thought, that explained her fierce interest in my recovery. Then I suddenly realized we were near my house. âCome in, why don't you? I'll show you my juicer and how I do the sprouting.'
She spent two hours with me that day, and returned a few days later to find out more. That time she brought a friend with her whose daughter had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. A week later the daughter herself came: a pretty, dark girl in her twenties. I could see she was frightened, and desperate for help. She had that same hunger for information and knowledge that I had felt myself not so very long ago. âI want to get on your programme,' she said. âTell me exactly what to do.' That shocked me. I had not thought of what I had been doing as a plan, or a programme, it was just a few things I did, based on what I thought was some very compelling evidence.
âMy goodness!' I exclaimed, a little embarrassed. âI'm not suggesting this is a programme you can follow, but I can show you a few simple things that will have a huge impact on your health.'
âI'd really appreciate that, if it's not too much trouble.' Too much trouble? This was my special subject, and I loved nothing more than climbing up on my soapbox.
âOK. The first thing you need to understand is that cancer is caused by deficiency and toxicity. Your job is to maintain a powerful immune system to help you fight the disease. You can do this by removing some known carcinogens from your environment, and by adding certain things to your diet â delicious things, I might add â which will give your body massive doses of the anti-oxidant vitamins and certain minerals and enzymes that it needs for recovery.'
âWhat about chemotherapy, and radiotherapy, and should I have a mastectomy, and what about manual lymph drainage?' the questions tumbled forth.
âI cannot advise you on any of that; I'm not a medical person, although I can tell you about my own experience. You must make your own decisions, but educate yourself so that you can make an informed decision. What I can show you are the extra things you can do to enhance your chances of survival.' And so I would go on, and the hours would pass. This would happen several times a week, and my first few âstudents' would leave, gratefully clutching handfuls of scribbled notes.
I'm a sociable, chatty person, and everywhere I went I would talk to people, and I would tell them what I was doing. My new diet seemed to be so effective, and I was so excited to be feeling well and to feel I actually had a future ahead of me, that I became something of an evangelist. The more I talked about it, the more people would contact me to ask if I could explain what to do about cleaning up their water, and which toiletries didn't have damaging chemicals in them, or where to find the best organic products. I was receiving two or three phone calls per day from people suffering not just from cancer, but from arthritis, eczema, ME, irritable bowel syndrome, and many other ailments. And what was even more interesting, perhaps, was that most people who contacted me were fit and well â and wanted to stay that way.
âHow long is this going to go on for?' asked Gerard grumpily one evening, as our dinner was interrupted by yet another telephone call.
âSorry, won't be long,' I said breezily as I rushed off to take the call.
âI meant how long are you going to be acting as unofficial health adviser to the entire population of Dublin?' he said when I returned.
âYeah,' chimed in the others. âIt's getting a bit much. The house isn't our own any more.'
It was true. It wasn't just phone calls: most days I was in the kitchen with two or more people, usually strangers, trying out juicing combinations, showing them which supplements were worth buying, giving them information about the dangers of fluoride ⦠sometimes I did not have much time to prepare the family's evening meal, and quiet evenings with Gerard were often derailed by the telephone. And, if I admitted it, I was tired out as well.
âI'm sorry, I realize it's hard on all of you. Perhaps I ought to group people into proper classes and hold them at regular times, and only speak to people on the phone at certain times.'
âOr perhaps you could stop altogether?' they said.
âI can't, this is too important. I have information that could help these people. I can't not tell them what I know.'
âI think it was your determination and drive to live that saved you. You were completely focussed on finding ways to help yourself, and it was that which pulled you through. Not this faddy diet thing.' My heart sank. This was Gerard, my Mr Wonderful. If he didn't believe in my diet, who would?
âYou would think like me if you had read all the evidence,' I insisted. âAnd look at me â surely you are pleased I have helped myself become well again? Don't forget how I used to moan about my arthritis. And only last week my dentist said he couldn't believe the improvement in my gums and teeth!'
âOf course I am pleased, but evidence?' he snorted. âAre you telling me that there is a cure for cancer out there and your oncologist isn't telling you about it? Don't be daft.'
âYou know what doctors are like â they want to have everything proven and tested and re-tested in double-blind trials like drugs are. Who's going to invest millions of pounds in doing those kinds of trials on this stuff? I think it's just common sense.'
âWell, all I know is, you can't continue with it for ever.'
âWhy not?'
âWell, surely it's hard cooking separate meals for the rest of us. All that shopping for organic fruit, and those supplements you're taking. And as for not drinking milk â where do you think you're going to get your calcium from? Thin air? You're cured, aren't you? Can't you just accept that, and move on?' Then he let slip the real reason for his hostility. âAnd it's so difficult for everyone else. You make us feel as if we're being really unhealthy.'
I had had a similar reaction from my sisters and friends, who assumed that now the cancer had apparently gone I would give up what they saw as a flaky, alternative lifestyle. People who were incredibly supportive while I had cancer and was going through the treatment suddenly developed a distinctly frosty approach, or merely dismissed what I was saying. They wanted the old me back, and I understood. It was threatening to them that I was choosing a new path: deep down they probably suspected that I was on to something, but they were simply not ready to do it themselves. I felt as if I was living a double life â admired by some, opposed by others. I had gone from being the object of everyone's sympathy to someone who was being praised and sought out by sick people; but criticized, almost shunned, by those I loved best. It felt oddly schizophrenic. My own family was still the worst. I had another shot at getting them onto a more healthy diet, but failed miserably. They loved some of the juices, but they wouldn't give up their pizzas, steaks and biscuits. âWhat if you get sick?' I asked Gerard once. âI'll wait until I get ill,' he retorted. âUntil then, I'll take my chances.'
Even Richard thought I was turning into a hippie, by which he meant that I was frequenting organic markets and health-food stores rather too much. He and Sarah refused to give up the foods I told them were harming them, or follow much of my new diet although I tried so hard to explain the benefits. âWe're young; we don't care!' was what they said. Of course â they felt immortal. I remembered that feeling. It was different with Julie: she was young enough to accept changes to her diet without complaining, and hardly noticed the switch from cow's milk to soya. The only problems I had with her were when the bigger ones tried to undermine what I was doing. âWhat's that, Julie?' they would say. âWhat's she giving you now?' and the little thing would be torn between wanting to do as I asked her and wanting to please her big brother and sister. Gerard, too, didn't want her to be different from other kids and miss out on ice creams and other âtreats'. I know the dangers that lurk in sugar, and I know the attraction it holds for children â as the baby of the family I was always first in line for any treats, and would be given a spoon of sugar if there was nothing else. It is still a struggle to keep Julie on the straight and narrow, but I comfort myself with the thought that if I have done nothing else, at least my family has clean water and they drink more freshly juiced fruit and vegetables than most people. There is an old Irish saying:
you can pull with a string but you can't push with it
. I often used to say to them in frustration, âYou're old enough to make your own choices. At least I know I have done my duty and told you the facts.' As for old sweet-tooth Gerard, I know he'd be as fat as a fool by now if I hadn't had some impact on his diet.
One afternoon Sarah asked me for a lift into the village, a five minutes' walk away. I was busy juicing. âNo,' I said. âYou've a fine pair of legs on you â the walk will do you good.'
âOh, for God's sake! All you think about these days is yourself,' she huffed. That wasn't quite true, but I had to acknowledge that I was determined to stay focussed on my new âprogramme', and I had moved on from the days when my main motivation was to keep myself alive for my children. Now I was more mature, and I wanted to live for myself as well. And I was getting a real buzz out of helping other people.
Then one day I received a letter (in fact, the first of hundreds) which made it all worth it, and made me realize I had no option but to continue, whatever the cost. I include some of it here:
Dear Bernadette
What a fortuitous day 8 April was, the day I met my new friend Vera who gave me your name and number. I didn't know it then, but it was the day the sun shone on my future.
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