The Incredible Journey

Almost 7 years ago to the day, I wrote my first blog about a journey I was attempting to undertake. It was an imaginary journey, played out on my PC, which involved a real-time flight around the world. During that journey I wrote about sights, scenes and incidents which occurred as I flew from country to country, all from the safety of my comfy desk chair (executive-style, of course). At times, it felt real as I painted the pictures in words; so much so, that a few readers remarked that they were unsure if it was based on a real-life trip. But no, it was all in my mind and it still remains unfinished as, from memory, the last leg I completed was in the Middle East before carrying on to Asia.

Last week, I found myself at the start of another journey and one which will inevitably finish either sooner or later. This one is very real and one which I can’t save and restart or switch off and leave.

Usually, when I write, I have no idea what reaches the paper until I actually read it. My mind goes into “dump” mode and all the thoughts come out, whether angry, humorous, insular or whatever. Writing was never an effort and I guess it satisfied the small creative gene inside me until photography kind of took over and writing was not so fluid but hey, I was creating, so no problem. This is hard to write. Not because of the subject, I think, but because I just don’t know how to start or, indeed, where to start. How about if I do it like in Alcoholics Anonymous? Ready …………… ?

*stands up* My name is Graham and I appear to have prostate cancer.

Note that I am Graham as, for once, Bertie can’t take my place. Normally, he is always so useful to hide behind as he protects the real me but this time I have to be that real, insecure, shy and, frankly, pretty cowardly product of Ma and Pa Huntley. That’s why this series of blogs will be more than a little interesting for me to write. I’m quite sure it’ll try and be humorous as that’s the entertainer in me but it might also be a while until some of it is seen depending on what happens and how I write it.

I’d been having a little trouble peeing for several months and figured it was my prostate. I wasn’t overly worried as I’d reached that certain age where gentlemen occasionally have problems and a slight “blocked hose” feeling was hardly a big deal, given the thyroid problems I’d had and this overwhelming sense of tiredness continually with me. Anyway, I was at the doctor for a routine thing a couple of weeks ago and mentioned this to him. He examined me (I won’t explain how – Google it!!!)  and his first words were “Graham, you never do things by half, do you”. Rather hoping he was referring to the pertness of my bottom but fearing he wasn’t, I looked puzzled and he explained that my prostate was very large. We spoke about reasons and he suggested that a blood test be undertaken which checks the PSA (prostate-specific antigen) level in my blood. I left feeling a little worried but soon forgot it in the excitement of a week in Devon which commenced the following day.

He did say he was going to phone me with the results but didn’t so I spent the week thinking about it and reassuring myself that no news was good news. That lasted until 8am the Monday after we returned home when his colleague called me and told me the PSA level was far higher than it should be and they were making an immediate hospital appointment. This somewhat screwed up my Monday!

I was told to attend hospital the following day, 3^rd November, and this time had the privilege of an eminent consultant poking around inside my nether regions. He told me there was a lot of lumpiness on one side of my prostate and, when I asked if this technical term meant something sinister, his actual words were (imagine serious expression) ‘It looks very suspicious’. The rest of the conversation was a bit of a giveaway as he was talking about the disease in the present tense rather than hypothetically and I was even introduced to one of the specialist nurses they have there.

I was told they were scheduling a biopsy, an MRI scan, a bone scan and something called a flow test as these were to determine various factors like had it spread to the lymph glands or my bones? Can you see why I was starting to feel sick at this point? The biopsy sounds fairly uncomfortable and I enquired as to whether this was done under general anaesthetic? The consultant confirmed it was normally local but could do general if I preferred and then the nurse popped up with the reassuring fact that it’s not too bad as they only take 12 pieces of my prostate! It was at that point that I realised that I wasn’t too keen on her!

I left in a bit of a daze and have been ever since, I guess. Telling my family and a few close friends was hard but it is what it is. I have these tests scheduled for Saturday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday so it’s going to be a busy week next week. I’m dreading the biopsy, to be honest, but then at least we’ll know what the situation is. This waiting and, by definition, fear of the unknown, is horrendous.

                        

It's me again!

Not one of my better days. Hoping I'd get clearance from a health problem that's cropped up but I've got to go back again for another test which is a real pain. Well, not literally because it's just a scan but it's all the not knowing. I seem to have had a time of it recently what with kidney problem,  liver problem, overactive thyroid back again and now this one. 

Anyway, a slight (but inexcusable) feeling of self-pity gave me a chance to revisit some of my old private writings when I was suffering badly after  I was told I was basically burned-out. Scary stuff indeed but incredibly powerful to re-read once more and undoubtedly the best work I've ever done. I've previously documented that period in my life but, traumatic as it was, I felt so alive. All my senses were heightened and it was as if this dam had burst and a million thoughts, buried for so long, came spewing out of my head. It's hard to write now. Perhaps my photography has fulfilled that side of me or perhaps, once more, I need to experience some cataclysmic emotional episode to break through the repressions and barriers I build in my head? I guess the fact I am actually writing once more - something which once was a daily part of my life - is indicative of some upheaval or confusion but hopefully this will be a peaceful manifestation and not a precursor to my own version of Vesuvius.

I have changed since those days some 12 years ago. It's been a hard journey but I now accept my own worth and my own ability although hearing praise from others is still a very uncomfortable feeling at times. I have also accepted that there is life still out there for the taking and that I am answerable to nobody but myself. If someone or something upsets me, displeases me, bores me or has a negative impact on my life then I can walk away and that's an immensely liberating feeling. I am beholden to nobody apart from a very few friends and family. My old self was bound by duty and putting everybody else first - either because of the way I was brought up or because I just wanted to be liked. Actually, that's not quite true. Far more important than being liked was not being disliked! Hmmm, interesting point.

Oh dear, is this introspection a good thing? Cathartic? Catastrophic? Only time will tell. Will I regret publishing it? Nah, nobody made you read it but something made me write it so it's as simple as that.

I'll leave you with something I wrote back in those days.  Although published before, I still like to read it now and again. It's called "Untitled":

We come from nothing, through love or lust.
A brief respite here, then on to dust.
That moment in time when we’re given life
To use, or to lose on the point of a knife.
We’re nurtured from birth, ideas formed, thoughts created.
Allowed to mature, learning passion and hatred.
The Rights of Man, the freedom of choice
Mountains to climb, opinions to voice.
But how does it feel when you know it’s a lie?
From that battle of birth you’ve started to die?
The meaning is empty and nothing is sure
Your constant companion’s to feel insecure.
You scream out for comfort, for someone to hold,
But know in your heart (which ever grows cold)
That love will not find you,

All you do is grow old.

The Ring of Confidence

Confidence is a strange companion. With it, we can conquer the world yet, without it, the world conquers us. Take a tennis player for example: 2 sets up and cruising and then a silly mistake or a great shot from your opponent causes that little confidence worm to start burrowing into your skull and the thoughts change from I can't possible lose this to What if ......? Next thing you know, you're no longer fighting your opponent but battling with your own mind.

People often laugh when I admit to an excruciating lack of confidence in my own abilities. Good old Graham, always playing the fool and putting on this bumbling idiot act ....... erm, no, that is me.Yes, I'm extremely good at hiding it sometimes (which is a problem in itself) but I confess, confidence and myself are strange bedfellows who will sometimes engage in a joyous coupling but predominantly sleep back to back. I've really got no reason to be like it apart from Nature and nurture (mostly nurture!) and am fortunate to have had more than my fair share of success in my lifetime but it's not something I've ever accepted or been happy with and I've always needed to drive myself further. The irony of continuously striving for better is that I know I can never reach a point where I am happy with what I have achieved and therefore this undermines the confidence which has started to be built by those successes.

The reason I started thinking about all this was my photography. For a long time, I found it very hard to accept the plaudits of my friends and photographic peers but then one day, for reasons unknown, I experienced a true Road to Damascus moment. I was thinking about my Camera Club and the things I wanted to achieve there and realised that I had basically done them all in the 3 years I've been going i.e. move from Beginners to Advanced league, win an individual competition and receive a wider recognition of my skills. It was at that point that I suddenly knew that none of this really mattered. What DID matter was an acceptance in oneself of being where one wanted to be. I didn't care that I would never be the best, judgement by others meant nothing. All I knew that, possibly for the first time in my life, I was actually content with what I was doing and the standard I was at. It was an incredibly liberating feeling. I was doing something my way and I no longer had to judge myself nor worry about being judged.

It lasted about 3 weeks.

Confidence is about self-fulfilling prophecy and that can go two ways. For me, I've been looking at some beautiful photos taken by fellow photographers here in Eastbourne as well as photographer friends around the world and, like dirty bath water, that contentment I had slowly drained away. This was the tennis player's game-changing moment as I looked at my photos and irrevocably saw them turning from satisfying extensions of me and my way of interpreting Life to very ordinary snaps, devoid of feeling and clarity.

Oh, I know that this is a passing phase and to a degree, part of my own condition but, just for a short period of time, I felt contentment. I only hope that somehow I can recover it. There's a Chinese saying that goes something like It is better not to eat of the greatest dish at all than to eat it once and never again. To know the reality of contentment for a while and have it snatched away rather than merely dream of what it may be like is not something I relish.

Finally, why am I writing this and laying myself open?

“To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” - Criss Jami

Alternatively, of course, I might just be being self-indulgent .......... or self-pitying ............ or just plain weird.

A Message at Christmas

I spend a lot of my time sorting my life into boxes. Fears, doubts, desires, memories, triumphs, hopes and aspirations all get tucked away in my head so I don't have to face them. It makes for an insular life in many ways but it also means I cope.

Emotions are something I long for and fear in equal proportions. The freedom to let go is something I cannot do - I dare not do - and Christmas is a time when I find it hard to subdue emotion. I guess I'm old-fashioned enough to still love the traditional Christmas of my childhood with carols and the story of the Nativity guaranteed to bring those dreaded emotions to the surface. Silent Night will invariably reduce me to tears and, along with the emotion caused by such memories, is a sense of something lost. Not lost as in no longer here but lost as in missing from my life. It's not a new feeling and has been there for many years but Christmas brings it to the fore, once more.

Maybe Christmas encourages a sense of belonging and that's something from which I shy away? Belonging means being accepted and being accepted means  belonging - something of which I don't feel worthy. That's not something which needs sympathy or reassurance so please don't offer it - it's part of me, for better or for worse and I absorb it and adapt accordingly. It'll never beat me either because there will always be that spark which says "never give up".

This Christmas is tinged with an awful sadness which must remain  private but makes it that little bit harder to keep the boxes locked. Equally, this year I have found even more people for whom I care and who care for me. To them, and all of you who have supported me in my photography and in my life, may I wish you a most wonderful Christmas and a year ahead full of peace and love, where your dreams become realities and your fears become the dust of history.

Water Drop Photography

A few weeks back I was out photographing one evening when, for no apparent reason. I fell over. It wasn't a faint, I just seemed to lose my balance and over I went. I was a bit shocked but otherwise unhurt and got up and carried on photographing. Well, it happened again a couple of times more during the next fortnight and so I toddled off to the doctor. I'm not impressed with my GP surgery at the best of times, I have to say, and unfortunately the locum I saw did nothing to enhance their reputation. I'm not sure if he had just read The Dummies Guide to Strokes but he seemed fixated on the idea of mini-strokes or TIAs and refused to be put off the theory irrespective of whatever I said. I was accordingly sent to the local hospital about a week later for tests. During this time, I wasn't allowed to drive so I paid vast fortunes to a licensed bandit in a cab and duly arrived for my appointment.

Arriving some 25 minutes early, I was seen immediately which is unheard of in the National Health Service. I surmised that this was a test and, if you didn't have a heart attack at such an event, then you were OK. As it happened, the consultant I saw was of foreign extraction and, whilst I have no problem whatsoever with this, it was quite apparent that English was not his first language. I went through what had happened (several times) and he eventually pronounced that there was no way that these could be mini-strokes. I had tried to explain that I had a lot of hearing problems lately and wondered whether there was something that might be affecting my balance but he either misheard or chose to ignore this. Anyway, next week I have to have 24 hour heart monitoring, followed by an echocardiogram and then 24 hour BP monitoring. I've only had a couple more episodes but spend quite a lot of my time feeling even more unbalanced than people already assume.

The reason I tell you all this is purely as a background. You see, I don't really go out much at the moment as     a) I am a tad concerned that falling onto hard pavement might damage either me or, more importantly, my cameras,  b) walking isn't overly pleasant currently and,  c) Spring has decided to pass us by in favour of another ice age.

One day, shortly after all of the above happened, I was browsing through Flickr (online photo site) when I saw a photograph of a water droplet and was entranced. I had a beautiful new Canon 100mm L IS USM macro lens and tried a little experiment of putting a piece of wood over the kitchen sink and, on this, setting a roasting tray full of water. I set the tap to a very slow drip , focused the lens on the surface of the water and tried a few shots.

This was one of the very first efforts that day; crude but sufficiently intriguing to make me delve further. The blue is merely a folder, leaned against the tiles behind the sink with a flash directed onto it which then reflects the colour back into the water.

That evening I spent a long time researching the different ways and means of taking shots as well being blown away by some amazing images. The undoubted guru of water drop photography is a lady called Corrie White who has spent several years honing her craft and who now produces images such as these:

Truly beautiful and  something to which I could hopefully aspire. In fact, there are many exponents of water drop photography out there and all have my admiration. After that first session, I just knew that this was for me and suddenly, my enforced incarceration didn't seem quite so bad.

The science of water drops is quite complicated in some ways. If you have ever seen a drop fall into liquid then you'll know that there is an opposite reaction insofar as the drop will effectively rebound up above the surface.To get an effect like the last of Corrie's 3 examples, you need to drop a second drop so that it collides with the first as it climbs up once more and it's this collision that can cause such amazing effects and is perhaps the starting point of many great shots.

OK, so there was my starting point. How did I cobble together a system which had the capacity to drop liquid at specific, regular intervals because, until I could sort that, I was leaving way too much to luck? Some people start with manual means such as an eye dropper but I wasn't sufficiently confident or steady-handed to go down that path. The obvious apparatus seemed to be an IV drip as that has the capacity to deliver regular drops and these could be made faster or slower in order to try and get the collisions to which I referred earlier. Oh, for the days when I knew lots of nurses socially as opposed to the professional contact I now seem to have; I'm sure an IV kit could have been liberated without much trouble at all. As it was, I found a supplier on the net and within a couple of days, I was the proud possessor of a couple of these babies:

It was a simple matter to drill a hole in the bottom of a squash bottle, superglue the pointy bit into it and Bingo! one adjustable drip set. Now, I had no stand on which to place this over the sink so a bit more improvisation took place and it ended up sort of jammed into a cupboard handle

Clumsy and crude, but it worked and my efforts started to look a bit better. I had realised that 2 flashes were ideal as a minimum and so I purchased a cheap wireless flash (YongNuo YN-560) to work with my Canon Speedlight and these were set, pointing at the background. Hopefully, my drawing skills give a rough idea of what I mean.

(and yes, to the geeks, I know it's a 60D and not a 7D like mine!!)

With this set-up, I was starting to get pictures like these:

OK, we were off and running. Next time, I'll talk about the next steps, building my own rig and the wonders of viscosity. If this inspires just one person to have a go, than I'll be happy. If you want to see more of my efforts then visit my Flickr site.

Thanks for reading and I'm happy to try and answer any questions :)