Friday, 23 December 2011

CHRISTMAS EVE 2011 - CAROL OF THE BELLS



“I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men!” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The year has just hurtled past and here we are greeting yet another Christmas Eve. The year has been a difficult one and one that will certainly be memorable to me personally as a very significant, red letter one… Still, I am forever optimistic, looking forward to the New Year, which will hopefully be a better one.

For Song Saturday today, a Christmas carol, the ever-popular “Carol of the Bells”. It was composed by the Ukrainian composer Mykola Leontovych with an English text created later by American composer Peter J. Wilhousky, who wrote lyrics entirely unrelated to the original ones. The carol is based on a folk chant known in Ukrainian as “Shchedryk”, which Leontovych has used as the basis of the carol. It is a haunting four note ostinato motif within the range of a minor third, which is thought to be of prehistoric origins.

Although the first version of the composition was composed in 1904, it first premiered in December 1916 performed by a student choral group at Kiev University. It was introduced to Western audiences by the Ukrainian National Chorus during its concert tour of Europe and the Americas, where it premiered in the United States on October 5, 1921 at Carnegie Hall. A copyrighted English text was created by Peter Wilhousky in the 1930s, and since then it has been performed and sung worldwide during the Christmas season.


*Merry Christmas to all readers of my blog,
may you have a happy, peaceful and restful day tomorrow,
close to those near and dear to you!*

Thursday, 22 December 2011

AUSTRALIAN CHRISTMAS FARE


Christmas in England: “For many of the islanders, this anniversary is memorable (apart from all religious significance) because it evokes a great slaughter of turkeys, geese and all kinds of game, a wholesale massacre of fat oxen, pigs and sheep; they envisage garlands of black puddings, sausages and saveloys... mountains of plum-puddings and oven-fulls of mince-pies...  On that day no one in England may go hungry... This is a family gathering, and on every table the same menu is prepared. A joint of beef, a turkey or goose, which is usually the pièce de résistance, accompanied by a ham, sausages and game; then follow the inevitable plum-pudding and the famous mince pies.” - Alfred Suzanne

Christmas in Australia is a Summer Christmas, with temperatures often up in the mid- to high-30˚C mark. This seems to preclude traditional Christmas fare on the Christmas lunch/dinner menu (although there are a few die-hard traditionalists that do the full roast stuffed turkey, roast pork, ham, Christmas cake and hot steamed pudding bit with flaming brandy sauce). Christmas fare has adapted to the climate and season and there many options for cool summery salads, cuts of cold meats, cheeses, assorted seafood, barbeques, ice cream cakes, pavlovas and cool fruit salads.

Here are a few Australian Christmas menus to give you an idea of our Christmas fare:

MENU 1
Appetisers
Watermelon ice with malibu & coconut milk
Barbecued prawns with papaya & chilli relish
Mains
Fennel & coriander fish cutlets
Asian greens & tofu salad
Pink grapefruit & endive salad
Grilled vegetables with almond & wasabi dressing
Dessert
Mango & coconut slice with palm sugar cream

MENU 2
Appetisers
Oysters with ponzu, mignonette sauce and gazpacho salsa
Balmain bug and prawn salad with saffron vinaigrette
Mains
Barbecued whole salmon with cracked wheat stuffing and coriander cream
Barbecued fontina and herb polenta fingers
Green leaf salad with lime and macadamia dressing
Dessert
Soft pavlova roll with liqueur mascarpone and berry compote

MENU 3
Buffet
Barbecued lime & mint chicken skewers
Oysters with chilli and bacon
Prawns with caper tartare
Barbecued stuffed pork loin
Lemon & oregano lamb racks
Barbecued corn with chilli-herb butter
Prosciutto, green bean & pumpkin salad
Roasted capsicum salad
Cranberry & champagne granita with berries

As you can see, the accent is on informality, with the food to be prepared quickly and to be preferably consumed outdoors: At the beach, in a park, in the backyard, or in a garden. All suited to the glorious summer weather and the heat! Here is the recipe for a Christmas Cake Ice Cream:

Christmas Cake Ice Cream
Ingredients
2 L vanilla ice cream
200 g sultanas
125 g pitted prunes
125 g glace cherries
60 g mixed peel
125 mL rum
160 g toasted almonds
100 g block of dark chocolate, broken up into small pieces
300 mL cream

Method
1. Leave the ice cream out on the bench to get really soft while you prepare the other ingredients.
2. Chop up the chocolate, nuts and fruit into small pieces of roughly the same size, keeping the fruit to one side.
3. Place all of the fruit into a saucepan on medium heat and add the rum.
4. Heat gently for a few minutes so that the fruit begins to soak up the alcohol, then set aside to cool down.
5. Stir the cream into the ice cream, mixing well.
6. Add in everything else and place into a bombe container to freeze overnight.
7. Unmould to serve and decorate with some molten chocolate if desired.

Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

ST ANASTASIA'S DAY



“Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted in spite of your changing moods” - C.S. Lewis

Today the Orthodox Church celebrates the Feast Day of the Great Martyr Anastasia, the “Deliverer from Potions”, also Anastasia the Healer or Anastasia of Sirmium. She was martyred in Sirmium (Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia), and is known by the Greek term Φαρμακολύτρια (Pharmakolytria = deliverer from potions), since she has long been venerated by the church as a healer and exorcist. The name Anastasia is from Ανάστασις (Anástasis = Resurrection).

Anastasia was from Rome, daughter of a pagan father, Praepextatus and a Christian mother, Fausta and flourished around 280 AD. She was beautiful, virtuous and her family very wealthy. Her mother instructed her in the faith of Christ. After her mother’s death, her father gave her in marriage to a pagan named Publius Patricius. He subjected his wife to beatings and would keep her as a slave in the house. She only endured these torments for a short time as Publius drowned early in their marriage.

As a young widow, she never remarried and secretly dedicated her time to the poor, the sick and those in prisons by serving their needs daily. She would wash their wounds and especially console them during their anguish. Through her intercessions and prayers, she healed many from the effects of potions, poisons, spells and other harmful substances. This is how she received the honorific appellation “Deliverer from Potions”.

Words of her deeds and miracles spread throughout the area and her fame brought about her arrest under Diocletian’s persecutions. She was tortured and endured many torments and was eventually put to death by fire in the year 290. In the fifth century the relics of the saint were transferred to Constantinople, where a church was built and dedicated to her. This was the church where St. Andrew the Fool-for-Christ was brought to be cured from his foolishness. St. Anastasia appeared to him in a dream and encouraged him to continue his ascetic life. Later the saints’ head and one of her hands were transferred to the Monastery of St. Anastasia the Pharmokolytria, in Chalkidiki, Greece.

Anastasia is a well-beloved saint in the Orthodox calendar and many women are named in this saint’s honour.

SO CIVILISATION CRUMBLES



“The goal of every culture is to decay through over-civilization; the factors of decadence, -- luxury, skepticism, weariness and superstition, -- are constant. The civilization of one epoch becomes the manure of the next.” - Cyril Connolly

We live in a decadent era, poised ill-balanced on the cusp of dramatic changes that will alter forever the world as we know it. We are careening towards the end of days as they were for a very long time and the huge change that will result in a relatively short time will leave many behind in disbelief as they attempt to hang onto shreds of lives familiar and comfortable old ways. This is not to be. We must move with the times and adapt to the changing environment or else be forced into extinction like some-ill-adapted organism that cannot cope in the new environment.

What is causing this? Well, a multitude of factors: The global financial crisis; the huge economies of the world finally imploding under the stress of unsustainable business practices based on greed and inequity; globalisation as a forced single solution to all the problems that it has created of itself; political systems that have become irrelevant as people move on and their lives change; people moving away from centuries-old traditions; relationships that were held dear suddenly vanishing into obscurity; loss of restraint; lack of understanding and erosion of the core elements of such concepts as honour, shame, friendship, charity, altruism, faith, community, conscience, humanity…

Money rules supreme and consumerism drives all to make more money at whatever cost. All for sale, all having a price. To have lots of money excuses a multitude of sins that is almost inevitably associated with gaining it. Fame, fortune, world recognition of people whose only claim to fame is that they are recognisable as celebrities. Parasites of society that contribute nothing to it, yet reap the benefits conferred by a population that adulates them and raises them to their positions of prominence.

The latest depravity that made headlines around the world was an affront to humanity and a complete shamelessness to assure the perpetrators fame and fortune was the gross “reality TV” spectacle from Holland. Two television presenters that consumed each other’s flesh in a effort to shock and titillate a jaded public that is forever searching for mindless cheap thrills. This was a pointless and ignoble attempt to boost the revenue of the TV channel they worked for and of course line their own pockets with the filthy lucre. That surgeons took part in this stunt, removing the flesh of the presenters under anaesthesia is all the more abhorrent and shakes our belief in the medical profession as “saviours of humanity”.

World-wide notoriety was assured as people watched on vicariously and yet another taboo was broken down. We seem to be running out of taboos, what shall we do when we have completely reduced ourselves to the level of beastliness? What new perversions must we think of in order to keep the public ever tuned in? What new sordid acts will be shown, what obscenities must we suffer in order to elevate the next performer their five minutes of fame and fortune?

Can such a civilisation survive? How can we expect to advance as a species if we assent to such acts of barbarity and condones behaviours that demolish the morals of centuries? What will be the result? The law of the jungle, complete anarchy, a world in which arbitrary strength of the moment rules: I have a gun and I make the rules. I can kill you and therefore I am above law, above society, above everything that can restrain my behaviour as a sentient human being.

Millions of small acts of dissolution, millions of little acts of decadence, millions of trifling acts of intemperance that all together add up to massive losses of our essential civilised humanity. We are regressing and we are degenerating. We shall fall and then hopefully we can rise up again. Ah, we do live in interesting times…

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

THE FRENCH HAT



“Humor is just another defense against the universe.” - Mel Brooks

It’s been a little sad for me lately given all that has happened with my friend being diagnosed with cancer and the visits to the hospital and so on. I’ve also had a look at my recent Magpies and they have been rather melancholy and glum! I looked at the image and felt something heavy and lugubrious welling up from the cellars of inspiration. However, you’ll be relieved to know I’ve locked the cellar door and went up to the attic instead, where all the happy hoppers reside and came up with something humorous that matched the slightly altered image, with apologies to Mr Friedlander…

Here is my contribution for this week’s Magpie Tales:

The French Hat

“Imogen, dear, that hat you wear will never do
We’re going to the cinema you know!”
“Oh, yes, of course it will and don't you stew,
It’s French, so elegant, so ‘comme-il-faut’…”

“Imogen, those behind us shall grumble and complain,
We’ll never hear the end of it, I feel…”
“Oh, shush! A chic and wee chapeau, makes me feel urbane,
Besides, it’s such a delicate shade of teal!”

“Imogen, dear, I am sure you know what is best,
But I fret that we shall spoil our outing…”
“Tut-tut, Henry you are such a bore, desist and rest;
All’s well there will be no loutish shouting!”

So off they went, he short and fat, she lean and tall,
The hat balanced precariously on coiffed beehive.
They sat right up the front and in the centre of the hall,
She high, while Henry shrank and hoped all to survive.

“Down with your blasted hat, up front I cannot see!
Take off the darned contraption and let us enjoy the flick!”
“Oh, Henry an appalling place! Oh, goodness, me!
I feel as though I could get up and give that man a kick…”

“Oh Imogen, dearest love I knew it all along, that hat
Will cause much trouble, strife and discontent!”
“Henry get up and be a man! Don’t let fools treat you like a mat!
Use violence if you must, that lout’s no gent!”

“Down, down! Off with that tatty blue thing up front!”
“Henry, stop hiding, up you get we shall leave!
This is no place for people of quality; Oh, such affront!”
“Imogen, dear, indeed! The ones who go won't grieve!”

So off they went, he glum and fat, she proud and tall,
The hat still held precariously on coiffed beehive.
She killed with dagger eyes the youth, whose catcall
Forced their exit; but hat was held high, joyously alive.

Sunday, 18 December 2011

MOVIE MONDAY - THE DOCTOR



“I did not know how to reach him, how to catch up with him... The land of tears is so mysterious.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

At the weekend we watched a film we had seen several years ago, as I wanted to see it again, being quite topical in terms of my friend who was diagnosed with cancer, about whom I blogged some days ago. It was the 1991 Randa Haines drama “The Doctor”, starring William Hurt, Christine Lahti and Elizabeth Perkins. The screenplay by Robert Caswell is based on the book “A Taste of My Own Medicine” by Ed Rosenbaum, which I recommended to all of my medical students to read when I was teaching.

William Hurt plays Dr Jack McKee who is an arrogant, rich, self-satisfied surgeon on top of the world. He and his colleagues, Dr Eli Blumfield (Adam Arkin) and Dr Kaplan (Mandy Patimkin) are all successful surgeons who hold lucrative posts and perform miracles with their scalpels every day in the operating theatres of a large teaching hospital. Dr Jack’s motto is: “Get in, fix it, and get out”. He completely lacks human warmth and his empathy for the patients he treats is close to zero. He and his colleagues are hardly likeable characters even though we know their job is to save lives of patients with life-threatening disease.

When Dr Jack develops a cancer in his throat, he changes from his position of power as doctor to the very vulnerable position of patient. He all of the sudden has to face the same impersonal treatment from his colleagues that he too shortly before doled out to his own patients. An early scene in the film involves Dr Abbot (Wendy Crewson) the ENT/throat surgeon who diagnoses his cancer, and she is cold, distant and clinical, making Dr Jack angry. He tells her she is not treating her patients with any compassion or empathy. She responds by telling him her patients are basically an assembly line. Hurt is humbled as he realises that his treatment of his own patients was identical to Dr. Abbot’s, as we have seen in an opening scene where he makes a cutting remark to a breast cancer patient.

With his cancer diagnosed, Dr Jack realises that his career has alienated him from his family and he is virtually a stranger to his wife (Christine Lahti) and child. Dr Jack’s awakening as human being and the relationship he builds with another cancer patient evinces from his wife changing feelings: Sympathy vs anger, jealousy vs feeling excluded, love vs hate, and a subplot is the marital discord that further troubles Dr Jack’s conscience, as he knows he is the one responsible for it. His support in the face of fellow cancer sufferer June Ellis (Elizabeth Perkins) is a saving grace, but at the same time another challenge he has to deal with as she highlights for him the abject dependency a patient has on their treating doctor. It is often said that doctors are the worst patients, and this comes out of the fact that they can experience the ultimate fear of their disease and its consequences, considering that they have the medical knowledge and experience of it.

The film is directed faultlessly by Randa Haines, who gives the film a sense of poignancy and sensitivity where in other hands it could have easily turned into mawkish sentimentality. Haines is not afraid to deal with the emotional awkwardness faced by Dr Jack and his clique and she knows exactly where she steers this movie emotionally. She concludes it strongly and movingly.

All actors play extremely well – Hurt in the leading role especially, showing a transformation that is believable and genuine. Elizabeth Perkins is superficially fragile but one can detect within her the tower of strength that Dr Jack can depend on in order to handle his own crisis. Christine Lahti manages to carry off with aplomb a difficult role that is emotionally flighty and changeable and the film could have become even more powerful if the “marital discord” scenes had been given a little bit more depth.

Overall, this film is a powerful, accessible, realistic and believable fable that criticises not the one man – Dr Jack – but rather the whole medical fraternity who while showing professionalism, emotional restraint and self-protective behaviours when dealing with patients, also have to be human and empathetic and see sickness through the perspective of the very vulnerable, confused, frightened, alienated and despondent person that every patient becomes when facing disease and the concept of their own mortality.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

ART SUNDAY - VAN GOGH AT ARLES HOSPITAL


“In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing” - Vincent van Gogh

Vincent Van Gogh (1853 - 1890) is one of my favourite painters. He was born in Groot-Zundert, Holland on March 30, 1853. He was the son of a pastor and although he was brought up in a religious and cultured atmosphere, Vincent was highly emotional and lacked self-confidence. Between 1860 and 1880, when he finally decided to become an artist, van Gogh had had two unsuitable and unhappy liaisons and had worked unsuccessfully as a clerk in a bookstore, an art salesman, and a preacher in the Borinage (a dreary mining district in Belgium), where he was dismissed for overzealousness.

He remained in Belgium to study art, determined to give happiness by creating beauty. The works of his early Dutch period are sombre-toned, sharply lit, genre paintings of which the most famous is “The Potato Eaters” (1885). In that year van Gogh went to Antwerp where he discovered the works of Rubens and purchased many Japanese prints. In 1886 he went to Paris to join his brother Théo, the manager of Goupil's gallery. In Paris, van Gogh studied with Cormon, met Pissarro, Monet, and Gauguin, and began to lighten his very dark palette and to paint in the short brushstrokes of the Impressionists.

His nervous temperament made him a difficult companion and night-long discussions combined with painting all day undermined his health. He decided to go south to Arles where he hoped his friends would join him and help found a school of art. Gauguin did join him but with disastrous results. Near the end of 1888, an incident led Gauguin to ultimately leave Arles. Van Gogh pursued him with an open cut-throat razor, was stopped by Gauguin, but ended up cutting a portion of his own ear lobe off. This led to Vincent’ hospitalisation in Arles.

Van Gogh then began to alternate between fits of madness and lucidity and was sent to the asylum in Saint-Remy for treatment. In May of 1890, he seemed much better and went to live in Auvers-sur-Oise under the watchful eye of Dr. Gachet. Two months later he was dead, having shot himself “for the good of all”. During his brief artistic career he had sold only one painting. Van Gogh’s finest works were produced in less than three years in a technique that grew more and more impassioned in brushstroke, in symbolic and intense colour, in surface tension, and in the movement and vibration of form and line. Van Gogh’s inimitable fusion of form and content is powerful, dramatic, lyrically rhythmic, imaginative, and emotional, for the artist was completely absorbed in the effort to explain either his struggle against madness or his comprehension of the spiritual essence of man and nature.

In this painting, "Courtyard of Hospital in Arles", completed in 1889, Vincent depicts the courtyard of the Arles hospital in which he was confined after mutilating his ear. The artist made a drawing of the courtyard of the hospital in June 1889. The vantage point for the painting was his room within the hospital. Van Gogh’s description and his painting of the garden allow for identification of its flowers, such as: Blue bearded irises, forget-me-nots, oleander, pansies, primroses, and poppies. The original design of the courtyard as described by Van Gogh has been preserved. Radiating segments are surrounded by a “plante bande” now filled with irises. A difference between Van Gogh’s painting and the garden is that Van Gogh increased the size of the central fish pond for better compositional results. Adept at using colour to convey mood, the shades of blue and gold in the painting seem to suggest melancholy. The yellow, orange, red and green in the painting are not vivid shades seen in other work from Arles, such as “Bedroom in Arles”.

This is a painting by a man meditating on death and his colourful brushtrokes and vital composition is a last ditch attempt at clutching at life and using the beauty of the world around him to haul himself out of the black hole into which his mental state had made him descend into.

Please join me here on the Art Sunday meme if you have a post on Art in your blog.




Friday, 16 December 2011

MONDNACHT


“May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night and a smooth road all the way to your door.” - Irish Blessing

For Song Saturday today, a beautiful song by Robert Schumann (1810-1856). It is his “Mondnacht”, written in 1840 and sung here by Barbara Bonney, accompanied by Vladimir Ashkenazy on the piano. The lied is from the collection “Liederkreis”, opus 39 and the lyrics are by Joseph von Eichendorff.


In case your German is a little rusty, here is a translation of the text:

Moonlit Night

It was as if the heavens
Had silently kissed the earth,
So that the earth had only to dream of it
In shiny blooms.

The air caressed the fields
With the ears of corn swaying slightly;
A rustle whispering in the woods,
The night as clear as stars.

And my soul expanded,
Spread its wings,
Over the quiet lands,
As if it were flying home.

Thursday, 15 December 2011

HOSPITAL FOOD


“If beef is your idea of ‘real food for real people’ you'd better live real close to a real good hospital.” - Neal Barnard, M.D.

At the pain of being considered one-tracked today, I am continuing on the health/sickness theme I initiated a couple of days ago with my friend’s diagnosis of cancer. I will consider hospital food for Food Friday, something that will make some people cringe, I am sure. Hospitals do not have a good culinary reputation, the idea being that sick people should have wholesome, plain, healthful food that should help them on the road to recovery. Most patients’ experience of hospital food is of rows of bowls of dun-coloured tasteless fluids that pass off as soup, greyish glop sitting on plates with some wilted vegetables for main course and unidentifiable bright neon-coloured glutinous sticky messes that masquerade as “dessert”.

Gourmet cooking is not for the hospital menu, I agree. The place is not a resort and God forbid that anyone should enjoy their stay there. However, the “wholesome, plain, healthful” descriptor has been much used in the past to hide a multitude of culinary sins. Bread that tastes like mushy cardboard and vegetables that have lost colour, texture and taste do not pass muster. Meat and fish that have been cooked to death until they are the consistency of vulcanised rubber or chopped bits of rope (depends on the recipe!) do not tempt the epicurean palate by any stretch of the imagination.

Visiting the hospital (admittedly a private one) nowadays, however, left me somewhat surprised. Hospital food has come a long way since my memories of it the last time I had to sample it (and that was decades ago). First, there is a menu. Not an à la carte one, but at least a menu where there are several options, allowing for a difference in people’s tastes and preferences. It was surprising to read descriptions that vied with those of restaurant menus, such as: “Succulent, pan-seared fillet steak cooked to perfection with your choice of crisp salad or steamed garden vegetables served with jus and béarnaise sauce on the side”. The remainder of the menu was in the same tenor and I was visualising gastronomic delights served in an elegant manner, with perhaps even a single rose in a vase and a candle in a silver candelabrum.

In addition, it was heartening to see that many meals had several symbols following the description of the dish, indicating “heart-friendly”, “vegetarian-compliant”, “kosher and halal-approved”, “diabetic-recommended” and various other indicators of the foods’ qualities. This was certainly an advance on “hospital glop” and I was once again impressed.

Call me naïve… When I saw the meal arrive, my jaw dropped. Firstly the china was not china but horrible plastic that immediately put one off the food – add to that plastic glasses, that I personally detest drinking out of. The meal looked worse than I imagined, certainly no restaurant would serve that sort of meal and hope to remain open for a week afterwards. It was, however, better than the traditional glop one associates with hospitals. The vegetables were actually recognisable and the meat was edible, or so my friend said. The soup was very nice and the dessert was actually delicious (never mind the plastic bowl it was served in).

Logistically, it must hell on earth trying to cater for hospital meals. There are many factors to consider, the most obvious being the multitude of dietary restrictions that are of necessity forced upon the patients by their impending procedure or existing disease. Numerous food allergies to be noted and catered for. A variety of religious and dietary preferences that must be accommodated. Add to that the sheer numbers of meals that must be prepared, delivered and served within a short period of time, as well as factors that relate to budgeting and availability of foods at the time of preparation.

Nutritionally, hospital meals do provide the basics and the hospital is equipped of course with staff dieticians. How far they do indeed contribute to the planning of hospital meals and to what extent do they quality control the finished meals is debatable. The only consolation perhaps is that for the majority of patients, hospital stays are relatively short and the diet of hospital food is an attendant misfortune of the disease one suffers from. Maybe it is just as well. For many people gastronomic indiscretion may have contributed to or directly caused their disease. It is only fair that they should be chastened by plentiful servings of “glop”.

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

ALL ABOUT CANCER


“He who conceals his disease cannot expect to be cured” - Ethiopian Proverb

Billions of cells in our body, growing, dividing, carrying out their manifold functions, growing, dividing, degenerating, dying. These are the microscopic workhorses of the body, the ordinary foot soldiers that carry on and win the endless battles that assure survival of the organism as a whole. Like soldiers they receive commands – through hormones and other chemical messengers, through contact with their neighbours or nervous system signals – and these commands they obey. There are rules, instructions, hierarchy, routine. And all is well, and all functions as it should.

Until a single cell rebels. The soldier who would be general suddenly stops being controlled and assumes command, becoming an autonomous renegade. It is wildly different from its neighbouring cells and begins to divide more rapidly than them, making copies of itself at a prodigious rate. The mass of rapidly growing cells in this clone expand and impinge upon the normal cells adjacent to them. The normal cells shrivel up and die. All the while, the mass of renegade cells keeps on growing larger. They obey no more signals, they are not under the body’s control any more.

And as time passes, things may get worse. The rapidly growing cells infiltrate the space between the normal cells and grow between them. They invade the surrounding normal tissues and mingle imperceptibly with them. All the worse is that they still masquerade as our own cells, our body still sees them as belonging to it, misled by their lineage. Usually by the time the body recognises that they are renegades and mounts a defence against them it is too late. The tumour is too large and unable to be controlled.

These cancerous cells will rarely cause pain or other early warning symptoms. As they grow further they may invade body vessels and being more likely than normal cells to become detached from their neighbours, they will break off in small clumps and move through the body vessels to distant parts of the body. Once there, each of these groups of cells will grow and become a new colony, each colony destroying more normal tissue, undermining more and more of the body’s vital functions. If there is no intervention, malignant renegade cells like these will kill the very body that hosts. A Pyrrhic victory for a renegade soldier turned to mad general…

Such is the life and death natural history of a cancer. We know a lot about what makes a cell cancerous. Ultimately every cancer is due to a mutation. A mutation is a change in the genetic material of a cell – the DNA – that can be inherited by daughter cells as the mutant cell divides. Mutations in the DNA can be harmless, causing little or no change in function, to fatal mutations that kill the cell. Somewhere in between these two extremes is the disrupted function that we know as cancer. Uncontrolled, autonomous, excessive growth that continues and allows the abnormal cell to make more and more of itself, the cancerous mass serving no useful purpose in the body.

As to what causes the mutation in the DNA, in some cases we know for sure. For example, radiation such as ultraviolet light, X-rays and gamma rays can directly damage DNA and cause mutations. That is why we should use sunscreen when we are out in the sun: To protect our skin cells from the mutating effects of sunlight’s ultraviolet radiation. A small number of viruses under special circumstances can cause cancers by mutating the cells they infect. For example, the genital warts virus in women causes cancer of the cervix – hence the vaccine that is now being used to prevent it. Our diet can cause mutations in the cells lining the gut. We know that certain foods that we eat habitually will over a long time cause cancers of the gut. For example, pickled, smoked and other preserved foods are associated with cancers of the stomach. A diet high in red meat and saturated fats while low in fibre, fresh fruits and vegetables will cause cancer of the large bowel.

We know of a huge number of chemicals that cause cancers. Perhaps the best documented example is that cocktail of about 200 chemicals that smokers inhale with each puff of smoke from a cigarette. These chemicals are irritants that cause damage and inflammation, they are carcinogens that directly damage the DNA of cells and many of them are promoter chemicals that help cancer cells grow faster once they have formed. Smoking is the foremost cause of lung cancer. Before smoking became widespread in the early 20th century, this cancer was a rarity. Most cases of lung cancer that we see occur in heavy smokers.

Hormones and other internal factors can be traced to cancer causation in genetically predisposed people. The prime example is breast cancer, which is influenced by secretion of female hormones, whether or not a woman has had a child (and at what age – the younger a woman becomes a mother the more protected she is from developing this cancer) and whether there is breast cancer history in the woman’s sister, mother or grandmother.

However, despite the examples of known cancer causes given above and quite a few more that we are aware of, there are many cancers that seemingly arise out of the blue with no known predisposing factors that we can demonstrate. Some of these occur in genetically predisposed people. Some families are more prone to develop cancers as they carry assortments of faulty genes that can spontaneously mutate, or be more likely to mutate in circumstances that genes in normal people will not. It is indisputable that cancer development is linked to genetic factors some of which we understand, some of which we still are researching. Some cancers arise out of the blue spontaneously in people who logically should not get them (remember my friend from yesterday’s post?). These random, sporadic cancers are the most difficult to understand, but fortunately they are rare.

Many cancers can be cured effectively nowadays. Cutting the tumour out is the most obvious treatment and surgery remains the cornerstone of cancer treatment for the majority of cancers. Drugs can be used to selectively kill the cancer cells and this is the principle of chemotherapy. This is the only option with some widespread cancers like leukaemia. Yet another treatment is radiotherapy where high energy radiation is used to kill the cancer cells, which are more susceptible to damage than normal cells are. Many brain cancers are often treated in this way, given their vital position and high risk of damage to normal tissue through surgery. New treatments for cancer include combinations of the above, but also there are newly developed treatments with immune system modulators and monoclonal antibodies against cancer cells.

Prevention is still the best option for reducing our risk of dying of cancer. We know that preventing our exposure to many of the substances that are known to cause cancer will reduce our risk of developing the disease. Taking care of our diet, exercising and keeping fit, limiting our exposure to ultraviolet light, protecting ourselves against viral infections that are associated with cancer through vaccination (in particular Hepatitis B and Genital Warts), having appropriate tests to catch cancer early and have it cured, all can all help us live a cancer-free life.

cancer |ˈkansər| noun
The disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body: He's got cancer | Smoking is the major cause of lung cancer.
• A malignant growth or tumour resulting from such a division of cells: Most skin cancers are curable by surgery.
• A practice or phenomenon perceived to be evil or destructive and hard to contain or eradicate: Racism is a cancer sweeping across Europe.
DERIVATIVES
cancerous |ˈkansərəs|adjective
ORIGIN Old English, from Latin, ‘crab or creeping ulcer,’ translating Greek karkinos, said to have been applied to such tumors because the swollen veins around them resembled the limbs of a crab. Canker was the usual form until the 17th century.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

ON OUR MORTALITY


“No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.” – Euripides

A friend has been diagnosed with cancer. He was one of the most unlikely people to have got this disease as he is otherwise very healthy, he doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke has a healthy diet, is relatively fit and has no family history of the disease. The only thing the doctor could say about it was that he must have been one of those unlucky “random” cases where the tumour just turned up out of the blue. This is precious little consolation for him. However, the good news is that the cancer was diagnosed in its early stages so fortunately, treatment is likely to be effective, with everyone hoping for a complete and utter cure.

We take our health for granted and it is commonly enough said in this context that we don’t appreciate something until we lose it. So it was with my friend. One moment life was good, with his routine of work, family, recreational activities, planning for the coming holidays, Christmas, and the next moment a barrage of tests, admission into hospital and surgery. The whole world seemed to turn upside down in an instant. Add to that the dreaded word “cancer” that most people still view as a death sentence, and the sum of this is a shock to the system, a major upset in the equilibrium of a balanced life.

Such cases that challenge our worldview and overturn our place within the orderly pattern of our existence, can prove to be catalytic for a major reassessment of our priorities, our values, our plans and our objectives. Confronted with a very real and immediate image of our mortality we are obliged to think deep and hard about what is important and what is unimportant. We divest ourselves of illusions and we look at life as a precious, finite commodity, which suddenly seems to be running out, fast. Our possessions, the money in the bank, the plans for next year, for our retirement, for tomorrow even, are all suddenly jettisoned while we try and keep the little boat of our life afloat just for a little bit longer amidst the stormy seas of our failing health.

The people we love assume an overwhelming importance at times like these. The support and affection that we usually may take for granted become abruptly a vital caring force. The comfort and sustenance these loved ones provide become an essential part of our ability to cope with the challenges that we need to deal with. Our family and friends become our prop that underpin our efforts, they are the buttresses that provide the strength for us to overcome our trials.

It is difficult for someone healthy and happy to imagine the predicament that my friend has found himself in. It is hard to think that such a terrible turn of events should happen to us. Whenever we think of ourselves, we think we are invincible, immortal, all-powerful, somehow immune from all the horrible things that always happen to others. It is a humbling and chastening experience when it does indeed happen to us. No amount of preparation or forethought can make us adequately ready for the reality of the actual experience. It is a perspective that is observed only from the one, unique position. That of the actual person who is experiencing the situation first-hand. It is a condition where the observed becomes the observer and vice-versa.

We all know that death is an inescapable certainty that all of us will experience sooner or later. We live our life for the most part ignoring this inevitable ending, or some of us may shun all thoughts of it because we fear it. Acceptance of this unavoidable eventuality can allow us to live life more fully and more productively. Entertaining the idea that our own death could occur tomorrow, next week, next month can help us put our life in perspective and help us give due importance to those who really matter most in our life.

I am sure that readers of this will join me in wishing my friend all the best, with a speedy and complete recovery.

THE NEVER-JOURNEYED


“The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do just as one pleases” - William Hazlitt

We all wish to go on a journey that we have long dreamed about, to some exotic destination, some distant shore… How many hours got towards planning this trip, how many happy thoughts, how many dreams! For some such a journey must remain a dream.
Magpie Tales has shared this week an image by Mostafa Habibi that prompted me to contribute this poem.

The Never-Journeyed

“My life’s trapped me”, he said,
And looked forlornly at the sea.
“I wish it were otherwise,
But I’m a prisoner, a slave
To my everyday routine…”

The sea sounds speak softly to his soul,
Each susurration a sibilant invitation,
A bewitching beckon that traps his gaze,
And evinces salty reflections in his eyes,
Leaving wet trails on his wrinkled cheeks.

“Circumstances conspired against me”, he said,
And bowed his head, embarrassed,
“Family first, brothers and sisters;
Then a wife and children.
Responsibility, duty, obligation…”

The wind caresses his brow and tussles his hair,
It blows in a seashell and, magnified, the sea
That lurks there is revivified and he hearkens;
Each beat of his heart quicker, stronger now
As he looks longingly at the horizon.

“Jamaica, Zanzibar, Bali, Japan!”, he said,
And pointed far away to the distance.
“How I wish I could have sailed away
And seen them with my own eyes!
The spice islands, Andaman, Java, Ceylon…”

The boat taunts him and with the sea conspires
To rub salt into his wounds, and to laugh at his inaction –
Motionless there, as though he were rooted to the ground.
“Some are born sailors,” he said, “Some are landlubbers.
Some grab life in a fist of iron and shape it as they will –
Some life grabs and mangles into lifeless puppets.”
He looks afar and sighs and after while turns away.
“Keep for yourself your boat,” he said,
“For me six feet of sea-sodden strand will have to do…”