HOLY SMOKE

By Anne Johnstone
Contact the author via the editor by e-mail at christopher.johnstone@ntlworld.com

I had a dream. No ordinary dream. Its horror was etched on my mind all day. It was one of those dreams I occasionalIy have that I just know are different. I was in a surgery, holding up my left arm for inspection by a doctor who was shaking his head saying, “I’m afraid this is serious... that breast lump is malignant and you’ve only a short time to live”. In those moments I experienced what it must be like to receive such news. I screamed and screamed. My screaming woke my husband (the editor of this esteemed organ) to whom I hysterically related my nightmare, convinced it was a premonition.

That night I logged on to find a message from Ali Bodie attaching the draft of an article she was writing for hoolet. I’d never met or spoken to Ali and knew nothing about her until I read that e-mail. I felt like a cannon had fired me across the room.The first few paragraphs contained the essence of my dream, even down to the words “I just screamed and screamed like something out of a bad dream”.I was reeling.

In her warm, witty and wonderfully compelling style Ali shared the nightmare that was her reality- her battle with breast cancer and her truly awe- inspiring charity swim in October 2003 from the Holy Isle to Arran. She was determined to do the Lamlash Splash again and in September of this year she did. And I did it too. How could I possibly not volunteer when I’d encountered Ali in the way I had and been so inspired by her? She’s changed my life.

Ali is recovering from a recent car accident in which she and her mother were seriously injured whilst returning from having palliative radiotherapy for brain mets. Yep, the Cosmic Joker should be truly ashamed. Despite this and the devastating knowledge that she has a very short time to live, Ali B (as she is affectionately known around the globe by her many friends and fellow breast cancer survivors who know her through the BC support web site she ran) continues to laugh and inspire others. This is the girl who, despite being told just days before the swim she had brain mets and feeling ghastly and bloated by steroids, donned a tiara and jumped again into the icy waters off her beloved Arran to swim for her life; the girl who told the support boat to bugger off and who days later turned up for brain Radiotherapy wearing a storm troopers hat. This is the girl I met recently, feel I’ve known all my life and will miss dreadfully when she is no longer in it.

For me the swim was terrifying but not quite as traumatic as the few weeks leading up to it. Although a strong pool swimmer I almost expired when swimming for the first time in Scottish waters just two weeks before the big day. The cold was excruciating, I couldn’t breathe and the wet suit I’d borrowed was no better than a straight jacket. Terrified of the deep dark unknown I managed approximately two lengths before running up the beach howling that a walrus was after me -it was an inquisitive seal!

In desperation I bought a 1mm wetsuit from the States, immersed myself in cold baths and started swimming a hundred lengths at a time. Despite having a huge fan club(rubber fetishists and neoprenephiliacs thought the gym had started a new theme night) I couldn’t sleep, worrying about hypothermia, jellyfish and basking sharks, 29 of which had been spotted off Lamlash in mid- September. My children kept saying I could/should bow out but I’d been sponsored, Ali was doing it and she’s terminally ill. I had to do it.

The night before the swim the organiser made us do a mandatory test. A quick 20 minute dip he said. Surrounded by relaxed macho triathletes in a freezing sea of testosterone, I was a gibbering wreck. Forty minutes later, after almost a mile, all I could think was that I’d be knackered, if not dead, the following day. But despite hypothermia, abject terror and HUGE jellyfish, I passed the test. Some didn’t.

Back on dry land I couldn’t sleep a wink. Full of adrenalin and jellyfish venom, I was as high as a kite. At 7a.m. I gave up trying and I tanked myself up with Lucozade and bananas.

Disappointingly (?), stormy weather prevented us from swimming from the Holy Isle as planned, so we swam an equivalent distance round the coast. It was colder than the previous night and I was exhausted. I knew how hard I was finding it and I was worried Ali wouldn’t make it. Though exhausted, the only thing she complained about was that steroids made her look like Winnie the Pooh in a wet suit (there was almost real poo in mine) –but the girl’s a star. There wasn’t a dry eye on the pier as, clutching her tiara, she emerged from the icy depths, jubilant. It was a magical moment for Ali and everyone who witnessed her triumph.

I can’t explain the dream I had or why, but in the few months I’ve known Ali she’s had a huge impact on my life. I’ll never put another cigarette in my mouth. How dare I play Russian roulette with my health when a vibrant and wonderful woman my own age (who doesn’t smoke) is staring down the barrel of the gun.I’ve a far deeper appreciation of life and the courage and determination it takes to stare death in the face and accept it without self- pity but with grace, humour and dignity. I’m now aware of and have huge regard for the hundreds of vibrant and feisty women across the globe who support each other via the BC survivors web site. And astonishingly, I’m now an obsessive and passionate sea swimmer!

In September Ali swam for her life. In December she clings on to it. I would gladly swim across the Atlantic and back for her life……if only it were that easy.

hoolet is the magazine of RCGP Scotland. It is supported intellectually, financially and emotionally by RCGP Scotland.

This issue maintained by Robert Hallam.