The Choice

by Bernadette Bohan

  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 – 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. ‘What if you get sick?’ I asked Gerard once. ‘I’ll wait until I get ill,’ he retorted. ‘Until 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. ‘We’re young; we don’t care!’ was what they said. Of course – 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. ‘What’s that, Julie?’ they would say. ‘What’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 ‘treats’. I know the dangers that lurk in sugar, and I know the attraction it holds for children – 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, ‘You’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. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’ve a fine pair of legs on you – the walk will do you good.’

  ‘Oh, 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 ‘programme’, 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.

  As soon as I heard I had Hodgkin’s disease I was determined to research a more holistic way of living so I could make some positive health changes. I was looking for something to address my whole system, not just my lymphomas.

  I must tell you how touched I was that you immediately accommodated me on your current class, and gave me some very sound advice to be getting on with … I thoroughly enjoyed your talks and they served as a wonderful one-stop shop for information on nutritional therapy and other lifestyle changes that made perfect sense. Although I wasn’t new to the benefits of juicing and some of the other ideas, I was very enlightened by the ‘green’ healing juices and wheatgrass. I was consistently impressed by how well researched you were.

  I am very excited to have learned this stuff whilst my family is still young, so we can treat my illness as a great opportunity to address our food habits. Everybody now gets excited here when the juices appear and a dark green ‘kale’ moustache is a common sight in our house!

  Finally, I was really moved when you wouldn’t accept any money from me for the course. Thank you for your kindness. I met two other new friends there also, and they have continued to support me throughout my chemotherapy treatment. It has opened up a whole new world of knowledge and friendship.

  I will keep in touch with you. Many, many thanks again.

  Lena McMyler

  I decided to confine the classes I was giving to one day of the week: Mondays. In the mornings I would teach one group, and in the evenings another. The entire course would last four weeks, and each class was supposed to last one hour, but often ran over. Some of these people had travelled long distances to see me, and many of them had painful stories to share. We started with juicing, moved on to food, clean water, supplements and personal-care products. I took care not to make any of it daunting, just concentrating on the few simple things that people could do in their own homes. Many of them were overwhelmed with the amount of conflicting, confusing information out there. They didn’t want to be told that there were twenty-seven thousand different things they could do to improve their health; they wanted the four or five main ideas. I discovered that these few simple changes that were so alienating for my friends and family were a lifeline for those people who had, as I had done, looked into the abyss.

  And so it continued. I did try my best to fit my new activities around my family’s needs, and as more and more people came to me I found I needed to start planning, booking classes up to three months ahead. It had never been difficult for me to teach people in my kitchen, but the more practice I had at explaining things, the more I felt I was helping them. I tried to be light-hearted, to have a bit of craic and to be practical too. I knew these were frightened people who were being bombarded with too much information from all sides – from their doctors, from friends, from their own reading – and I knew from my own experience how hard it was to see a way through. I wanted to offer them hope; to show them that in the midst of their suffering and fear there could be a ray of light. And at the same time I was developing a new sense of purpose – ‘spreading the word’ was now my mission. I felt I had to reach more people.

  So when I was approached one day about speaking at a local school, I knew I ought to do it. Here was an opportunity to tell more people about what they could do to help themselves, whether they were sick or well. But my initial reaction was one of apprehension. I had never in my life stood up and spoken in front of an audience before. ‘How many people will be there?’ I asked the organizer, playing for time.

  ‘We don’t know yet, but there is room for around a hundred people in the hall. The other speakers include a dentist, a doctor and a pharmacist.’

  ‘But those are all professional people,’ I said, aware of a new worm of fear wriggling in my stomach. ‘I’m just an ordinary person. I don’t have any qualifications to speak.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Bohan, all I can say is I keep hearing your name. You have survived cancer, and you teach people about all kinds of health topics. It seems to me that you have something to say that people want to hear.’ So I agreed.

  I spent hours preparing my little talk, rehearsing in front of Gerard and the kids. I was nervous, but excited. Ger came with me to the talk, and as we entered the school hall I realized that in the audience were many of th
e people who sent their kids to school with mine. I was one of them, but here I was about to get up and tell them what to do! I sat in the front, listening to the other talks. The doctor dithered on about vaccinations, the dental nurse was quite interesting about children’s lunchboxes, and the pharmacist told people what to do about head lice – very helpful for that audience, I reflected. Then it was my turn. I stood up, my legs trembling with anxiety.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ I began. ‘Those of you here who know me will know that I am no doctor, scientist or health guru. I am a mother of three kids, and in the course of my life I have developed cancer twice. Sixteen years ago it was in my lymph system, and when I recovered I followed what I thought was a healthy-enough lifestyle: a bowl of muesli, two pieces of fruit and some steamed veggies. The second time was little more than eighteen months ago, and this time I decided to educate myself. I was astounded by what I discovered and I started to make a few simple changes to the way I lived my life. Everyone has their own way of dealing with something like cancer. I’m not saying mine is the only way, or that it is the best way, and I’m not promising that it will save lives, but it has worked for me. I feel and look better than I have done in years, my arthritis has disappeared and eyesight has improved, and my only regret is that I did not change over to a healthier lifestyle years ago. Tonight I am going to tell you about one element of your diet that is crucially important – whether you are sick or well. Essential fats.’ I had my sheaf of notes, but suddenly I realized I did not need them. As I warmed to my subject, I saw people leaning forward with interest, nodding, whispering to their neighbours, and making notes. Making notes! When I eventually finished, the applause went on for some time. The other speakers drifted off home, and an hour later I was still surrounded by eager people asking questions and begging for more information.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ said Ger as we climbed into bed that night. ‘You have a real gift for communication – and I never realized!’ I glowed with pleasure, still high from my success and so pleased that Gerard was acknowledging my efforts. ‘No, really,’ he went on, ‘you were calm and funny, and really held their attention. I could see them listening hard. And I have to say, you’re a great advert for this “system” of yours. You’ve never looked better.’ This was praise indeed, and I knew that Gerard was now back as my biggest supporter.

  I gave several more lectures in hotels, health centres and church halls, and each time I got a little better at delivering my talks, although I was always frightened beforehand. The audiences were fairly small, yet all the time I could feel that demand was escalating for whatever it was that I was offering, and there grew a germ of an idea in the back of my mind. At first I hardly dared admit the idea to myself, let alone discuss it with Gerard. The annual ‘Your Health’ show was coming up. It was held in Dublin’s RDS. They expected around six thousand visitors every day for three days, and anyone who was anyone in the increasingly large health field had a stand at the show, and – this was what was exercising my mind – there was a strong programme of lectures from authors, nutritionists and other health practitioners. It would be nearly three years since I had finished the chemo; I had amassed a huge amount of information, I had taught many people in my own home and given talks to hundreds more. What was more, I was living proof that what I was advocating had a hugely positive effect on my own health. Did I dare offer myself as a speaker?

  ‘What do you reckon, Ger?’ I asked him after dinner one evening, having outlined my plan.

  ‘Go for it, Bernie, I’m with you all the way.’

  ‘Do you think I can do it?’

  ‘I know you can do it.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I mean, I’m just an ordinary woman who’s survived cancer – for now.’

  ‘Come off it, you’re much more than that. Lots of people have cancer, and some people survive. But you’ve got something to tell people that you believe will really help them. You’re willing to stand up and be counted, and you’re helping others. How many people can say that about themselves?’

  I was still unsure, but a few days later I received a letter from someone who had been at one of my talks. It read: I was sitting at the back of your lecture last week. I never heard a word you said, but just to look at you and to know that you are still alive was enough. She had cancer, and I knew exactly how she felt: so many times I had been to lectures by scientists and nutritionists and wondered how they could possibly understand what they were talking about if they had never been in my position. It was that letter that clinched it for me. If I could help just one single person, it would be worth it. So I wrote to the organizers of ‘Your Health’, putting myself forward as a speaker.

  I heard back within a few weeks. To my astonishment I was offered three slots, one on each day of the show. I was to talk at 3pm, a good time, but I would be competing against some famous speakers and writers. I was full of excitement, but horrified at my recklessness. How on earth was I going to do this? Who did I think I was?

  But there was no going back now: this was the breakthrough I had waited for.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Spreading the Word

  As the day of the health show approached, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach got worse every time I thought about it. How time had dragged during my months of illness, and how quickly it seemed to be rushing by now! If only I had not put myself forward, I groaned to myself. And if only I hadn’t been accepted. How on earth could I have had the gall to imagine I could stand up as a speaker alongside those famous names? Who did I think I was to tell people how to change their lives? It was ridiculous; I would have to get out of it somehow. I racked my brains for excuses. Perhaps I could claim urgent family business? I was a rotten liar, I’d never sound convincing. Or could I just phone and say I had changed my mind? That would work, but it sounded cowardly. And as for writing the speech itself, I kept putting it off, hoping that the whole thing would go away.

  After twenty-odd years of marriage I find that Ger is pretty astute when it comes to picking up my moods. Although I hadn’t said anything to him, he knew exactly what was bothering me.

  ‘Need any help with your talk?’ he asked casually one evening after dinner. ‘It’s coming up pretty soon isn’t it?’ I guess that was the opening I had subconsciously been waiting for, because out tumbled all my fears and worries. The strange thing was that as I told him what had been on my mind it all sounded so silly. He put his arms around me and laughed.

  ‘Bernie, don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘I know you can do it, and you know you can do it. You’ve every bit as much right to stand up and talk to a room full of people as these so-called famous names. Look at you! You say you’re just an ordinary woman, but if I was going to one of these talks that is just the kind of person I’d want to hear speak. Someone who has been through something like cancer twice, and come through the other side. You have done your research – it’s not as if you’ve made this stuff up. And you don’t just spout theories, you really practise what you preach. In fact, you’ll be preaching what you’ve practised!’ And so he went on, knocking down every one of my objections until I was almost convinced I would be all right.

  ‘I promise you, you’ll go down a storm,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve heard you talk many times. You always come across well – you’re confident, warm, and you make difficult ideas easy to understand. Come on now, let’s start planning it.’

  That night I covered the kitchen table with the notes I had made for previous talks. They ranged across all sorts of subjects: juicing, sprouting, clean water, supplements, cancer-fighting foods. I wondered whether to expand on one particular area or cobble together a mish-mash of all of them.

  ‘What is it you want to tell people?’ asked Ger. ‘Put it in a nutshell for me.’ I thought for a moment.

  ‘I suppose it is my belief that you don’t have to change a lot of things about your lifestyle to make a huge difference to your own health and chances of fighting illness, and that t
hese few things are quite simple when you know how.’

  ‘So you are telling people that if they can just manage to change a little, it will help them a great deal.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Suddenly it clicked. ‘I’ve got it! Change a little – it helps a lot. What a great title!’ I sat down and immediately started drafting my talk. I would bring in something from all the lectures and classes I had given – this was my big opportunity to get my simple message across and I wasn’t going to mess it up.

  Ger has done a bit of public speaking in the course of his business life, and he helped me structure the speech. I practised in front of him and the children – they were so good really, listening to me when they wanted to be off doing other things – until I knew it off by heart. I then made brief notes on cards to spark my memory. Again I practised until I was word perfect. I was still nervous, but at least I knew now what I was going to say.

  The big day finally arrived, and I was shaking with nerves all the way to the RDS exhibition centre in Dublin, suffering from the nausea that comes from too much adrenalin. On a notice board outside the main hall I saw a poster listing that day’s talks: Patrick Holford was talking on Fatigue, Anxiety, Insomnia and Depression; Dr Gillian McKeith on Boosting Immunity. These two coincided directly with my talk, and sounded to me like they would draw big crowds. There were other talks that I thought I might try to go to later if I got the chance: one on Digestive Problems, another on Nutrition for the Menopause and one on Managing Arthritis. I counted around twenty speakers each day, split between five lecture rooms. This was a big deal, and I was terrified. Calm down, I told myself, attempting to do my relaxation exercise then and there.