Conflabs and Confidence

It's a lovely gift when someone you respect says something or does something that indicates they have a confidence in you. It can sometimes be the smallest of gestures and at times can mean you push yourself way out of your comfort zone to ensure you rise to the occasion so as not to let them down. Its clever and empowering and i believe is one aspect that sets the difference between a manager and a leader. I've generally had the good fortune of being managed by amazing people whom I have loved and respected enormously throughout my career. Knowing they have confidence in your capacity to deliver on a specific task, identifying your strengths and capitalising is in my mind, the role of those in leadership positions. And when they express that confidence to you, it can make you feel like you are on top of the world.

As I write this blog I am reflecting on my earliest memories of being given the gift of confidence. I'm sure my parents, who were nothing but incredibly supportive continually provided in that way. But I have a specific memory of my Grandfather Gimbert (Bill) showing he had confidence in me when I was just a very young girl visiting his house in Yamba. Grandma and Grandfather moved from Sydney to Yamba to retire well before I was born. If you've ever visited you will know it is a gorgeous seaside town on the Far North Coast of NSW but for my Grandfather I am sure that was a secondary consideration after the predominance of good fishing spots. He was an avid fisherman with more rods and reels and hooks and sinkers in the garage than you can poke a stick at. And I remember clearly him taking me, just me, out with him on his boat and going fishing together. On this specific trip he refused to bait the hook for me but gestured in what could be misconstrued as a grumpy old man kind of way, that I was capable of doing it myself. It was a confidence moment that sticks with me to this day. And as he inspected my job with an approved nod and a toss of his arm out to sea to indicate I could throw my line, I felt warm and fuzzy and like I was the best ever 5 year old fishergirl on the planet. I can't recall actually catching a thing that day but it didnt matter to me. Because someone I loved and respected showed a confidence in me. And yesterday, 2 weeks into my radiotherapy, my base coach endorsed my pace and technique with a gesture of confidence.... Cancer sure picked the wrong chick because I am stomping all over this thing!

If you are any good at maths (which I'm not! - its why calculators were invented right?), you will work out that I am one third of the way through my radiation and while each day hits me with an accumulated thud, I am actually feeling tip top with minimal skin damage and almost no fatigue. I'm making new friends with my daily waiting room get togethers and I now know almost every technician in the cancer care centre by name AND whether they have pets, kids, secret talents and what they have planned for the weekend. I also know when I lie naked from the waste up on that big machine that the first 'number' (the secret radio-code these people use to communicate with each other) is 19.8 and 8.5 to the left :)
New career possibility for me? Absolutely not but I do wish to pay tribute to the Radio-oncology unit staff's daily dedication to a room full of people like me dressed in green gowns and looking anxious or in many cases very ill and anxious. The staff all have smiley dispositions and take absolute care to ensure the accuracy of their work. Thank you.

So can you describe the process please Kymmy I hear you ask. You arrive at the cancer care centre which in Lismore is a relatively new building with a clinical feel. The first time I attended John came with me and we laughed when I cautioned he couldn't park in the allocated car parking spots as they were marked for 'patients only'. John had to point out that this was in fact a parking spot for me! Doh! I still sometimes forget that I am attached to the word cancer.

You then walk in through big sliding doors into a large waiting room dotted with blankets, brochures and beanies. It's taken me two weeks but I've only just realised that while the blankets are for borrowing while you wait, the beanies you can take and I suspect get used during your bald period with an expectation you return for a new friend to use. Fortunately for me I have an extensive hat collection ( some gratefully borrowed ) AND my hair is starting to poke through so I am more and more inclined to travel commando these days. The beanies can stay for someone else to use.

You then get 'checked off' by the lovely admin staff and take a plastic card that gives you access to the stage 2 waiting room. The room is surprisingly small with a row of chairs up against both hallway walls, a couple of change rooms and tea and coffee facilities. No TV but access to an array of ancient magazines and one space set aside for those who like to tackle a jigsaw puzzle. You quickly change into your own personal green hospital wrap around gown (I prefer the exotic term Kimono :)) and then you sit and stare at each other or the carpet until someone kicks off a conversation. My experience has been that if you are a new kid on the block, you sit and eavesdrop on the others as they have the established relationships from daily attendance at stage 2. But it doesn't take long before the crew get to know you, know what you are there for and how long you've got to endure this phase of the treatment. Today for example there were two of us being treated for breast cancer, 1 x bowel cancer and a handful of testicular cancer lads. I find the men the funniest as they tend to be good old blokes, the kind you'd normally find perched on a bar stool, and they love to tell a yarn or a REALLY bad joke. However they do occasionally make me sad when I hear them comment in their blokey way that they probably won't be around to see a grandchild graduate high school or that their 'missus' will be left to sort the house out once they've gone. Defeatist yes but not knowing their reality it makes it hard to jump in with a counter argument as to why they shouldn't be so negative. So instead you catch their eye and smile and a little piece of your heart sinks.

I made a promise to myself on the first day of this dash to third base that I would dress up everyday to attend my radiotherapy. I'm not talking gorilla suit or Elvis dress up (although its not out of the realm of possibility) but just nice business style attire with jewellery and high heeled shoes. I made this decision for a number of reasons.
1. It makes me feel good to dress well.
2. I don't look in the slightest bit sick regardless of my bald head which up until a few days ago I covered with matching hats to my suits.
3. I think it's respectful for the professional staff I am meeting with every day to look my best(and if you've ever read Almost French you will understand the logic).
4. It has been the source of lots of conversation in the waiting room re: comments on my shoes, hats, scarves, perfume and yesterday, my necklace. And that sure beats talking about cancer.
5. I reckon it's lifted the game ever so slightly with a couple of my waiting room colleagues moving up from tartan slippers to casual scuffs - hey, you celebrate every milestone.
6. When I am lying on that cold machine naked from the waist up and my legs covered by my hospital gown, sometimes the only bit of me I see that feels 'normal' are my feet in my fancy stiletto shoes or knee high boots and for the few minutes of blasting, I hold onto that.
7. I want my old life back which was filled with meetings and schedules and so dressing like I am attending a meeting rather than a medical appointment draws me that little bit closer to that life.

So, that's been my approach and I will continue to uphold the promise through to the end.

From Stage 2 waiting room you are called by a technician to come with them and you're led to another holding bay which is essentially two chairs (there are two radiotherapy rooms) again equipped with trash magazines from 2010. Not that anyone looks at them. Because at this stage you are moments off being sent into the room for a blast of the ray gun! I have to say that I think this point is probably the worst stage for me. Partly because I am mentally preparing myself for yet another topless exposure with poking and prodding and shifting and laser lineups etc. and every day adds to the external burn. But more so because as you wait outside the room, another colleague is being nuked and during this process there are signs on the wall flashing warnings of keeping clear and hazard area signs splattered all over the entrance to the room and there is a beeping warning alarm that is offensive to your soul.

And then it's your turn.

The technicians are lovely and for the most part I feel should be travelling on some rampaging Contiki tour dancing til 4am instead of lining me up for therapy. When did they get so young and fresh faced? Today I met Isaac as well who is on student placement from Newcastle Uni and I swear doesn't look old enough to be bagging groceries.....oh wait, they dont do that anymore do they? Lol.

Anyway, they get you to recite your details (every day) as you are removing your gown and between very quick small talk and a series of technical numbers they set you up on the machine. They ask you to not move an inch. And then they leave. And you spend the next few minutes holding tight to bars above your head while this massive and amazing machine whirls and squeals around you. I swear I dont move a muscle. I either close my eyes or as I said concentrate on my shoes, my breathing or a spot on the ceiling. I live in fear of the machine not being perfectly lined up to hit my breast and actually hitting my lung instead. It's an extremely minimal risk but it is a risk nonetheless that I signed as part if a waiver a few short weeks ago.

And then minutes later it's over and in comes the efficient technician to give me permission to get off the machine as they prepare for the next person. I have no idea how many people they see a day but I don't think there's much time for morning tea or a birthday cake. Go team. I love your work.

My skin looks fine with only a minimal tinge of redness. I am sure that will increase with time but I'm being obedient and religiously smearing fresh Aloe Vera from the garden along with an array of lotions and potions. It seems to be working well. The fatigue they advised me I would experience has not yet ramped up and I simply feel just as tired as I would any day after teaching gym classes and running around which is exactly how I am spending my days.

Yesterday I had a game plan huddle with my third base coach Michael. He asked if a student could attend our meeting which I gladly agreed to. I sat down and he asked specifically how I was travelling physically and emotionally and whether I was able to attend the gym at all at this stage of the treatment. I replied that I had taught 4 gym classes the day before, 1 class that morning already and had another to go that afternoon so I felt really pretty happy with my progress to date. He put his pen down, pointed to his door and said jokingly 'Get out! You are wasting our time!!' he then turned to the student and smiled and said he'd get someone in that actually had issues to talk about but that there was nothing more to say to me. It was a lovely exchange which I welcomed with open arms. And as I left my base coach there was a hop and a skip in my step because I sensed his confidence in me. And just like a 5 year old on her Grandfathers boat, I felt that same lift in myself simply because someone I respect indicated through the gesture of a lighthearted joke and a wink that he is not at all concerned about my capacity to deliver on this project. And deliver I will.

So I dedicate this blog to those in management positions that hold responsibility for supporting and nurturing others. More broadly i dedicate this blog to being a leader in life and that's for all of us. The small gestures and the opportunities we all have to lift the confidence of someone lucky enough to cross your path should be seized with both hands.

I realise I'm still running but third base just doesn't seem that far away anymore......

Much love Kym xxx