Dancing through cancer: how a new project is helping women with cancer

In a special guest post Emily Jenkins, founder of Move Dance Feel, introduces her project and writes about the work she does to support women living with cancer.


I love to dance. Be it in my kitchen, on the train platform, or (more appropriately) at a festival, I like to move. Why? Because it brings release, it’s revitalising, and it eases tensions in my mind and body. Dancing helps me to breathe better, sleep better, and feel more alive.

750_4029-LOWRES

Emily Jenkins

We are all capable of dancing, despite the self-conscious mind telling us otherwise. Far too often people concern themselves with the aesthetics of dance: how it looks, rather than how it feels.

I work with different  groups in community and arts contexts, and in recent years have specialised in an area known as Dance and Health. Using dance in health contexts is not a new phenomenon, though due to greater recognition of its benefits and connection to wellbeing it is rapidly growing in popularity.

My job is to break down preconceived ideas of what dance is, and inspire people to move in a way that feels good for them. I use creative techniques that encourage a greater understanding of and appreciation for the body, focusing on self-expression. Through shared, positive experiences, dance can promote social cohesion and help to build meaningful relationships based on trust and understanding.

Dance is a multifaceted art form which very much accommodates the multidimensional needs of people. In contrast to Western medicine, which often compartmentalises illness, dancing addresses the whole body, which in turn acknowledges the whole being – physically, mentally, and emotionally. This can have transformative effects on participants, as they get to know a part of themselves perhaps previously overlooked.

In 2016 I launched a project in East London, Move Dance Feel, providing free weekly dance and movement sessions for women affected by cancer. I established the project to explore what dance could offer in the context of cancer recovery, and to address a recognised need for post-treatment support.

My first personal encounter with cancer was in my teens, as I witnessed my grandfather wrestle with the devastating effects of melanoma. I recall visiting him shortly before he died and being very affected by how much the disease had taken him over. The image of his emaciated frame had a profound impact on me. Over time, as I supported friends living with cancer, I particularly noticed the overwhelming effects on the body, and also the mind.

MoveDanceFeel_3600-LOWRES

Move Dance Feel session

A motivation for setting up Move Dance Feel was learning that 70% of people affected by cancer report negative physical, emotional, and mental side effects between 1 and 10 years after treatment – a statistic that I found very hard to digest. At the same time, I read that physical activity proved effective in reducing the negative side effects of cancer treatment, as well as reducing the risk of reoccurrence, so I was puzzled as to why dance wasn’t being offered.

Originating at a community centre in Bromley-By-Bow with a Macmillan Social Prescribing Service, Move Dance Feel is now running in three cancer support organisations across London, providing sessions at Maggie’s Barts and Paul’s Cancer Support Centre as well. The project is for adult women (18+) with any type of cancer, including those who are supporting someone with cancer. We welcome people at different stages in their journey (pre, during and post treatment) and no prior dance experience is necessary. Participants are also welcome to bring along a female friend.

At the heart of Move Dance Feel is artistic practice, where women come together to dance instead of talk about their cancer. They meet each week to be active, creative and, most importantly, to laugh and have fun.

My favourite aspect of the project is meeting other women. As a communicative art form, dance provides insight into people’s characters and enables intimate moments of exchange. More often than not, these moments are energised and playful, but they can also be nurturing and grounding in times of instability. The nature of this exchange helps to experience a sense of belonging and can lead to feelings of self-discovery, learning from others how to help ourselves.

MoveDanceFeel_1143-LOWRES

Dancing at Move Dance Feel

My aim is to integrate dance as a permanent offer within cancer care programmes, and further evidence of its need within the public health sector. I am also in the process of setting up a performance element of Move Dance Feel to bring a sense of visibility to women who are living well during and after cancer – in the hope of inspiring others to dance (even if it’s alone in your kitchen!).


Emily will be running a taster session at our Shine Connect 2019 conference (11th May 2019). To register your interest in the conference and be notified when registration opens, click here!

If you’d like to know more about Move Dance Feel, or let others know it’s available for them, please follow Emily on Facebook or Twitter.

You can also find Emily at www.emily-jenkins.com.

Photos taken by Camilla Greenwell, www.camillagreenwellphotography.com. 

Living with incurable cancer: Talking about the future when I won’t be here for it

In this post, Shine community member Christine reflects on discussing future plans while living with incurable bowel cancer.


I have incurable cancer. It seems to create a lot of awkwardness.

IMG_0322

Christine with her parents

 

But, life goes on. I know that when I die the world will go on without me. That’s the same for each of us, though hopefully for most people that time is a long way off.

In the grand scheme of things we are all just tiny specks who exist for such a tiny length of time. Most of us will have only a very limited impact on the wider world. If we are lucky we will have some small influence on our little circles. But really, for the vast majority, the future will be no different without me in it.

I have accepted my fate, as best I can. What I find difficult is that other people make all sorts of assumptions about how I might feel, and it ends up limiting conversation.

Sometimes when a group discussion naturally gets on to future plans, people start to look at me uncomfortably. They might even try to change the subject. It is really not necessary. I don’t mind at all.

a06397d4-04b0-47af-b2f3-acf61e4e2bab

A photo from Christine’s recent holiday

I am not worrying about pensions, or mortgages, or planning a wedding. It doesn’t mean I don’t understand the importance of those things to other people, and I don’t mind discussing them, though obviously I might not have much to contribute. (Except on weddings – I have a lot of strong opinions there!)

Of course I am sad that I won’t have the future I thought I might. And I am sad for all the things I will miss. But that sadness is far outweighed by the joy of knowing that those things will happen. My loved ones will carry on living without me. They will be happy again. I am not suggesting it will be easy – far from it.

I don’t believe in a heaven, or that I will be watching over them. When I am gone, that’s it. Whatever made me me will cease to exist, and my body will return to the earth. I will live on in the memories of those who knew me, and I hope that they will continue to feel my love even when I am no longer here. Somehow I will always be a part of their lives.

Sometimes I forget that my days are numbered, and I have little daydreams about my future, the same as anyone else. To be honest even without the whole incurable cancer thing I doubt many of them would come to fruition. Few of us live the life we planned, which is often no bad thing.

I don’t mind talking about the future, either generally or people’s individual hopes and dreams. I don’t begrudge anyone their good health or their future. I don’t wish that everyone else was dying too, just to keep me company. So please don’t leave me out of your conversations or feel that you can’t tell me things.

I still want to be a part of your life while I can. And if that means planning for your future then I am more than happy to join in.

Anyone who knows me well will know that I am quite organised. I like my lists and plans. I’ve had to let go of a lot of that because cancer is so unpredictable. But now I have a whole new set of plans to make – for my funeral, my end of life care, my will. It could be a bit depressing, but actually I get quite a lot of comfort from it.

What I am trying to let go of is my desire to continue to control the future when I am no longer here. I worry about how my family will cope. At first I came up with all sorts of ideas of how I could guide them through. But the reality is that I just can’t. I have to accept that once I am gone, they will need to learn to live in their own way. I don’t get to be involved in that. If they decide to abandon the monthly smoke alarm tests and the house subsequently burns down then it will not be my responsibility.

I thought about leaving cards for all the milestones I will miss. But I don’t even know what those milestones will be. And when would I stop? It seems a bit selfish, to inflict myself on them even when I am dead. I don’t want to gatecrash, or to make them sad on what should be happy occasions. And really it’s only to satisfy my own ego. I am dispensable. Everyone will be just fine without me.

Life isn’t just about the big milestones anyway. It’s in the boring minutiae of the everyday. When I imagine the future I would have liked, it’s those little moments that I will miss. Not when we are all dressed up to go somewhere fancy or putting on our biggest smiles for a photo, but laughing because otherwise you’d cry, or finding something to smile about when you’ve had a really hard day. And actually I think, much as I’d love to be there to celebrate all the wonderful things that are to come, it’s the hard times that I am sadder about. It pains me to imagine my loved ones struggling and not being there to help them.

Of course, there’s not really anything I can do about it. I try to give everyone as much love as I can right now while I am still here, and that will have to be enough.

If you’d like to connect with other young adults living with cancer, please request to join our private Facebook group or follow us on Twitter (@shinecancersupp) or Instagram (@shinecancersupport). 

Ten years after testicular cancer

In this post, Tom Richens writes about his diagnosis and treatment for testicular cancer, and how he’s chosen to celebrate long-term remission.


The 8th of August 2008 is an easy date to remember due to its symmetry. It is also a date that I will never forget: the date that I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. I was 29 years old. Deep down I knew that something had been wrong for a long time, but I kept convincing myself that everything was OK. I had felt a persistent dull ache in my right testicle, but there were other symptoms too. I experienced acute back and abdominal pain, then fatigue. Eventually, my right testicle was excruciatingly painful and about twice the size of my left one. I went to see my GP. He immediately sent me to hospital to undergo an ultrasound, and by the end of that day I had my diagnosis confirmed: a malignant teratoma of my right testicle. The testicle had been taken over completely by the tumour.

SocialMediaReady-1

Tom, ten years on

My right testicle was removed via an orchidectomy. I was offered a prosthesis but I declined due to the increased risk of infection. As it was, I got an infection anyway. The orchidectomy was a success and the tumour markers looked clear, which was a good sign that the tumour hadn’t spread. I had been incredibly lucky.

I was referred to a clinical oncologist, who set out my options for further treatment. If I had chemotherapy there would be about 2% chance of the cancer coming back, and I would need regular check-ups for five years. If I didn’t have chemo there would be about 40% chance of the cancer returning, and I would need to have tests every two weeks for five years. There really was not a choice to be had, so I agreed to have chemotherapy.

I was put on the BEP chemotherapy regime. My treatment started on the 14th of October 2008, my wife’s birthday. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to show her a good time! Initially I experienced very few side effects, but within a short space of time I began to lose my hair and the treatment became quite debilitating. I had no energy at all and would generally alternate between sleeping and being sick. . I craved burnt and bland food – very strange for someone who has always been a great food lover.

I was relieved when I finished my treatment. However, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have other, less positive emotions. Anxiety that the cancer would come back was there all the time. What if that meant losing my other testicle? Deep down, I also felt a sense of insecurity as a result of the treatment. I didn’t find this easy to acknowledge at the time. Eventually I went to see a counsellor, and this proved to be really helpful.  I could open up about what having cancer had really meant to me. I would say to anyone: it is no shame to feel insecure, anxious, or even angry. Talking about it is not a sign of weakness, but actually a sign of great strength. I know that as blokes, we don’t like doing that!

I had regular check-up appointments for five years: first at three-monthly intervals and then less frequently, until I was seen on a yearly basis. There were always nerves before my appointments, but I knew that the medical staff would pick up anything sinister.  After a few minor bumps in the road, after five years I was officially discharged. It was a fantastic feeling, and time for the celebrations to start!

I always felt that it was really important to mark key milestones in my remission. My wife, my step-children and I enjoyed a fabulous holiday to Egypt in 2009 to mark one year of being ‘all-clear’. We probably wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for what had happened the previous year, and we had a terrific time. They deserved it more than I did really, as their love and support throughout my treatment was amazing. When I was discharged after five years, we had a great night celebrating, and then my wife and I took a spa break at a beautiful hotel in the Cotswolds. Finally, as this year marks ten years since my cancer diagnosis, I have decided to embark on a photo shoot. I have never been a particularly self-confident guy, but the photoshoot really represented how far I had come and I got progressively braver as the shoot went on! I could never have imagined that I would have been brave enough to do something like this, so it really was a final piece of closure.

SocialMediaReady-2

Ten-year anniversary photo shoot…

I often get asked if having cancer changed me. Overall, I would say I am the same person as I was ten years ago, but there are certainly some subtle changes and lessons I have taken on board. I still worry about work at times, but I always make far more of an effort to ensure family and friends come first. Having cancer gave me the impetus to do things that I would never have considered previously. I organised a charity cricket match in 2010 that raised approximately £5000 for Cancer Research UK. It took eight months of hard planning but when it all came together it was a fabulous day. I also ran the London Marathon in 2016 to raise money for the same charity. It was damn hard work, but the most wonderful and rewarding experience. I would never have considered it had I not had such a burning desire to give something back after my own cancer experience.

As a cancer survivor you will never forget your diagnosis or treatment. However, I think that it is important to look forward in life. For me, the raw emotion of having cancer has subsided over time. I would never say that I was lucky because getting cancer isn’t lucky but today, life as a survivor is pretty damn good. Value every day and enjoy life.

 

The photos of Tom Richens were taken by Khandie Photography, and are reproduced here with permission from the photographer.

Website – www.KhandiePhotography.com

Facebook – www.facebook.com/KhandiePhotography

Shine takes cancer support to Yorkshire!

Linz was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer and the BRCA1 gene just after turning 38, and she’s passionate about bringing people together to help deal with cancer. In this post, she writes about her first Shine event: a weekend away with Shine North East in the Yorkshire Dales.


The weekend was full of promise: I was coming to this event as a newbie, all the way from Edinburgh to gate-crash a weekend of ‘folk like me’. The setting was a lovely holiday home called Springwood Cottage near Huddersfield, and the background music was the soundtrack from ‘The Greatest Showman’. The idea was simply for a group of young adults with cancer to share a cottage for the weekend: no plans, no itinerary, no rules, and no barriers.  All just pitch up, pitch in, and enjoy ourselves.

I had come across Shine Cancer Support only a few months previously, just by doing a search on Facebook.  I am a member of various cancer support groups on Facebook and Twitter, but aside from a lovely lunch ‘tweet up’ in Manchester a few months back, I had not actually engaged much with other people going through cancer treatment. There certainly isn’t much for us ‘in-betweeners’ aged 20-50. Talking to people online is great but meeting up in person is so much better! In total there were going to be 17 of us on this weekend – all walks of life, all different types of cancer and associated treatments.  All in all, a lovely bunch of people who are much more than the ‘cancer tag’!

After getting there, two of us went for coffee and cake as we waited to pick up some of the group from the train station five minutes away.  Finding the train station was easy but finding my way back to the cottage each time meant a little detour… oops!

Friday evening was a relaxed affair, introducing ourselves and getting ourselves set up in the rooms.  The location itself was amazing as we had our own hot tub, as well as a rooftop patio!  For some, the thought of sharing rooms with strangers was possibly a little odd at first, but actually it all turned out grand. Dinner was spectacular, and after a few drinks of own choosing we all attempted the icebreaker of making ourselves a cardboard crown with various craft materials.  Some people are exceptionally talented in this area. I am clearly not!

It was really interesting to talk to people about what cancer they have/had, and the treatment plans and side effects/consequences of treatment they experienced.  It was also good to hear about their personal lives, both pre- and post-diagnosis.  To be quite frank, I am at that stage where I question everything about my life, who I am, and what I want to do now. For a little while I had become quite insular and cancer was all I could focus on.  But even more important for me over this weekend was actually to see and hear how other people live their lives post-diagnosis and treatment, in terms of families, holidays, adventures, and work.  dsc_0584.jpg

Given that this was very much a weekend where everyone pitched in and helped, it was almost like an episode of ‘Big Brother’ without the cameras…! In a non-threatening, non-competitive way, of course!

Saturday was relaxing, too. First off, two of the women produced a spectacular cooked breakfast. I honestly don’t think I have eaten so well anywhere!

Afterwards, a beauty therapist visited to offer sessions ranging from facials and massages, through to reflexology, for those who were interested.  Some of us decided to take a few cars over to the nearby town of Holmfirth, West Yorkshire, which is where ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ was filmed.  There was actually a folk festival on that day, and it was great to soak up the atmosphere and find a wee secluded beer garden, then search for ice cream. Other people in the group opted to walk around and soak up the wonderful weather that we had that weekend too.

Later that night, after another amazing dinner, most of us sat down to watch Eurovision and play some games.  Many of us also took the opportunity to jump into the hot tub and let any lingering strains and tensions melt away…

Sunday morning saw another spectacular cooked breakfast before some of us took a gentle meandering walk up the road.  A Sunday roast completed the weekend for me, before I headed home into the sunset…

Overall, it was a great weekend, and I feel that I have made some new friends that actually get everything I have experienced and inspire me to get through the post-treatment slump. It was also not all about the cancer! We laughed and joked, and I even managed to use some of my professional skills to help others, too.

If you’re ever thinking about coming to an event like this one, then I would definitely recommend it!

I’d like to say a HUGE thank you to Shine North East network leader Rachel, who organised the whole weekend.  She’s a special and wonderful person who is spectacular and lovely and kind. Thank you for letting me come!  I know how much effort it takes to organise an event like this, and that makes both Rachel and Shine very special indeed.

Melanoma: more than ‘just skin cancer’

In this blog post, we’re bringing you a cancer experience story written by Caroline, a member of our community who was diagnosed with a rare form of melanoma at the age of 29. She’s keen to raise awareness of skin cancer and share the impact that it has had on her life. As always, please share this blog post and let us know what you think!


I’ve been worried about developing skin cancer since I was 14 years old. I had been stocking up on my favourite fruit-scented toiletries from a certain well-known beauty retailer, and the shop assistant had slipped a leaflet on sun protection into my bag. I’m pale, red-haired, and freckled – and since reading that leaflet, my delicate skin has barely seen the sun. I cover my shoulders in summer, wear sunscreen in winter, and pride myself on staying as white as possible. So how did I get skin cancer?

Mucosal Melanoma

I was diagnosed with mucosal melanoma, a rare form of skin cancer, in May 2017. I was 29 years old. Mucosal melanoma develops on mucosal tissue such as that in the nose, mouth, and sinuses, or in the gastrointestinal tract. In women, it can develop in the vagina, and on the vulva. In men, it may be found in the penis. I’m not going to tell you where my small tumour appeared – but suffice to say, you’re unlikely to see any of my surgical scars!

I spotted a suspicious growth in December 2016, but it took several months – and several

IMG_20170603_132007375

Guest blogger, Caroline

doctor’s visits – before I had a biopsy. It’s hard not to feel angry about weeks of missed diagnoses, but my disease is so rare that I can’t blame the doctors who dismissed my symptoms. However, I knew that something was wrong, and I’m glad I persevered with return visits until I finally had a diagnosis. I learned early on in my cancer journey that there is nothing more important than being your own advocate. Melanoma can spread quickly, and more than one medical professional has told me that if I had not kept returning to clinics, I might not be here now. It’s a sobering thought.

Initially, my treatment plan was the same as the treatment plan for cutaneous melanoma (the one with the moles): I had a surgical biopsy to determine the diagnosis, and then went back into surgery a few weeks later for a wide local excision and a sentinel node biopsy. The wide local excision involved taking a larger section of tissue from the area around the tumour to make sure that there were no more cancerous cells. For the sentinel node biopsy, two lymph nodes in my groin were removed and tested for melanoma cells. Thankfully, there was no melanoma in my lymph nodes – but if there had been, my diagnosis would have been changed from Stage II mucosal melanoma to Stage III, and I would have had advanced cancer.

Unfortunately, my wide local excision found some more melanoma cells in-situ (pre-cancerous cells, which have the potential to develop into cancer) – so a few weeks later, once I’d healed, I was wheeled back into surgery for a third operation. Then, once I’d healed from my third operation, I had a fourth. And then a fifth. Each surgery delivered the same result: a small area of amelanotic melanoma in-situ. ‘Amelanotic’ means that the melanoma isn’t pigmented. In fact, it’s invisible! In the space of eight months, I went from a healthy, active, young woman who had never even set foot in a hospital, to a cancer patient who had been through five surgeries in attempts to rid her body of a now-invisible aggressive cancer. I can scarcely believe it.

Wow, you look so well!

One of the most difficult aspects of my diagnosis has been looking well. Melanoma doesn’t respond well to chemotherapy, and it is not an option for me. When I first ‘came out’ about my cancer, I was asked a lot of questions about chemotherapy. When would I have it? When would I lose my hair? How could I have a serious illness, but look so healthy? And (the worst): did I actually have a serious illness? Despite all my rounds of surgery, and the trauma that comes with any cancer diagnosis, I began to feel as if my specific ‘flavour’ of cancer was being downplayed. If I mentioned melanoma, I felt as if I had to explain that I had always looked after my skin, and actually my diagnosis was not down to any irresponsible behaviour. As an aside: just wear your sunscreen! And no, I have no idea if that mole on your arm is dodgy…

Cancer messes with your head

Although I know deep down that my diagnosis is serious, it took me a long time to stop feeling like a cancer fraud. Not only do I look healthier than ‘the average cancer patient’ (fun fact: there’s no such thing!), but I can’t relate to many support group discussions about chemotherapy and radiotherapy side effects as I had never had that experience. Even if my cancer progresses, chemotherapy will be a last resort.

Through Shine, I’ve been able to meet others who have ‘just had surgery’ and can relate to some of the feelings I’ve described. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever meet someone who has the same diagnosis as me (if you have mucosal melanoma, please make yourself known!), but it is wonderful to be part of a community that acknowledges all the effects that a cancer diagnosis can have. I don’t have to explain or justify myself anymore!

I’ve only lived with cancer for a few months, yet the experience has already taught me a lot about myself. It matters less and less what other people think or believe about my illness. Instead, I focus on how I feel, and my own perceptions of my strengths and limitations. I’m finally giving myself the space to listen to my own needs – and that could be anything from needing to burn off some energy at the gym, to requiring a lazy day of nothing on the sofa.

It is so important to listen to yourself.

Great Escape: reunited!

2018 Escapee Caroline shares her experience of our Great Escape Reunion, a one-off event celebrating five years of weekend retreats for young people with cancer.


I was lucky enough to be able to attend the 2018 Shine Great Escape (read my fellow Escapee Rosie’s blog about it here), and I was invited to the Great Escape Reunion almost as soon as I had accepted my place on the Escape itself!

It turns out that 2018 was a year worthy of celebration: the Great Escape that I attended was the fifth weekend away for young adults with cancer that Ceinwen Giles and Emma Willis had organised since Shine began. In March, Shine organised a reunion event in London, inviting all of those who had attended a Great Escape to come along and celebrate the anniversary with them.

IMG-20180317-WA0009

Some of the 2018 Great Escape attendees reunited!

The afternoon began with tea, cake, and conversation, which gave us time to chat with our fellow Escapees and meet those who had attended in previous years. While it was a great opportunity for many to catch up, for the 2018 attendees it was also a chance to get to know each other better. Although we all feel a strong bond with our ‘tribe’ as a result of the Escape, there are still so many things that we want to learn!

Once we’d warmed up and helped ourselves to a piece of flapjack or four, the Reunion continued in true Escape style – with Sharpies, crafts, and collages. Although some Escapees remain defiantly unartistic, everyone took part in creating collages to show how the experience had affected their lives. It was amazing to see how much one weekend away could change our perceptions about cancer and our attitudes towards living with the disease.

After the activities came a potted history of the Shine and the Escape from Ceinwen and Emma, including stories about how they’d manage to convince friends and friends of friends to sign up to voluntarily spend a weekend at a hotel in Bournemouth with a group of young people with cancer – hardly the most glamorous of mini-break ideas! We are all overwhelming grateful that they pulled it off, as the next portion of the afternoon showed. Representatives from each Great Escape gave short presentations about their experiences and gave us an insight into what everyone had been doing since their Escape. This part of the afternoon was emotional for many reasons. It was fantastic to see photos of weddings, exciting trips abroad, and new babies, which gave us optimism for our futures beyond cancer. However, the moving tributes to those who have sadly passed away since attending their Escape reminded us all about what it is that brings us together. After the presentations, we raised a glass not only to Ceinwen, Emma, and the volunteers, but also to the wonderful Escapees who are no longer with us.

And as for the 2018 Escapees? Although we weren’t convinced that we would have much to report after only a few weeks apart, we had managed to achieve a surprising amount: a few new jobs, several dates, a couple of people returning to work, and some meet-ups already in the calendar for later in the year. And then, of course, the few thousand (!) WhatsApp messages we had exchanged with each other since leaving Bournemouth. It seems that a Shine Great Escape isn’t a Shine Great Escape without a very active WhatsApp or Facebook group!

Blog 4

Fond memories of the Escape…

The reunion came to a close with a group discussion about the future of Shine, and how we could ensure that more young people are able to benefit from everything the charity has to offer, then a delicious buffet.

 

I’ll leave you with a few comments about the day from my fellow 2018 Escapees. Thank you again for everything Shine, and all the volunteers who have contributed to the Great Escape!

‘It was great to chat to previous attendees and see that they are still benefiting from the Escape and have gone on to make good progress. Also, it was nice to see that they are still good friends with each other years later. The Escape has a long-lasting impact and doesn’t just fizzle out after leaving the bubble of The Grove.’

‘I get really tearful thinking about our Escape and the Reunion. I feel like I belong with you guys, where I don’t belong anywhere else.’

‘[Our group photo from the Reunion is] my work screensaver!! I look really happy, which makes me smile, and when I have a tough day it reminds me that we’re in this together.’

What is a ‘Great Escape’? To learn more about the Shine Great Escape and how you could apply to take part, check out our website here

Introducing Kate!

Five years ago, Shine didn’t have any staff. In fact, we were really just getting the ball rolling on this young adult cancer charity whole thing. Looking back at where we started makes it even more exciting that we’ve just welcomed our FOURTH employee!

Read below to find out more about Kate – she’ll be supporting our 14 Shine Networks across the country. We’re still a tiny charity (with big ambitions) but we’ve grown a lot in the last few years and we couldn’t be happier to have someone new on our team!


Hello, I’m Kate!

Trying to put almost 40 years of life into a few hundred words isn’t easy AND I am not one for talking about myself, but I wanted to introduce myself and give you a bit of insight into why I do what I do.

Born in Northumberland (very proud of this!), we moved south to Bedfordshire when I was nine so my accent didn’t have a chance! Aged ten, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes which had a huge impact on my education as I missed so much school. There was an underlying cause of the diabetes which wasn’t discovered until I was 16, so it was IMPOSSIBLE to manage!KJ PP

As a young teen, I wanted to go into medicine, but all the health stuff got in the way and I wasn’t able to finish my A-levels or go to university. Then, when I lost most of my sight in my early 20s because of diabetes, I really felt that the odds were stacked against me. Fortunately, with little sight I was still able to do some studying with the Open University, which was brilliant. After hundreds of bouts of laser treatment and a month in Addenbrooke’s Hospital, Cambridge, I thankfully regained a lot of my vision and this remains fairly stable to-date.

Handling all this stuff at such a young age had a massive impact on my mental health and I really struggled with anxiety and depression, but it made me particularly interested in the impact that physical health challenges can have on our mental health. As I found it difficult to get into work, I started volunteering for a tiny mental health charity based in Luton, and before I knew it I was working with them full-time and loving it. I worked with people who had various mental health challenges, helping them to write and perform small drama pieces for health care professionals and the public to help them understand what life is like with a mental health condition. Although I was most definitely not into the drama side of things, I found it incredibly rewarding to be able to bring both sides of the coin together and to challenge perceptions, leading to changes in clinical practice. Nowadays, this would be called something fancy like ‘co-production’ – but nearly 20 years ago I don’t think that term existed!

KJ Beach 1Fast forward to today, and I have had the privilege of working for several charities including Mind, Crohn’s and Colitis UK, and most recently Cancer Research UK. My focus was volunteer management until 2015, when I took on a patient engagement role which brought patients and clinicians together at local and national levels to improve services. Over the past few months, as well as working in patient engagement, I have started to talk about my own experiences as a patient. This has been so rewarding. I have been able to get involved in an NHS Improvement initiative for patient leaders and I have also done some work with finance and insurance company American International Group (AIG), helping their managers to become more inclusive.

I am so happy to be part of Shine Cancer Support, and I feel that all the professional and personal experience that I have had fits perfectly with the role of supporting and developing Shine’s local networks. What excites me the most is working with all of you to help Shine grow and reach more people while keeping true to the Shiny vibe! What you say, what you need, and how you feel about things really matter, and together we are such a force for good. I am really looking forward to getting to know all of the network leaders, and understanding how we can work better together across Shine’s community. Without all of the amazing network leaders, Shine would simply be four people desperate to make a difference to the lives of young adults who have had a cancer diagnosis.

I get what it is like to be ill when you are just getting to grips with yourself and life: to have that rug pulled out from under you, and to have so many hopes and dreams shattered. That said, I wouldn’t change my past as it has brought me here. 2018 is a big year for me as I turn 40 in November and I am already planning the celebrations! I never expected to reach my fortieth birthday, so it really will be a big party (parties…?) and I will be more than happy to accept cake when I am out and about.

See you soon!