About me

I have been writing poetry and stories since I was a child, and a love of reading was instilled in me from an early age. I am passionate about writing, and hope you enjoy the books I have written. Whilst most of you sleep soundly in your beds, like many Parkinson’s patients, insomnia dictates, so during those hours that sleep eludes me, the house is tranquil and quiet, an atmosphere perfect to immerse myself in writing. My life has been a series of strange events, which have without doubt contributed to my creativity. To publish anything is to bear one’s soul to the world. It is to stand naked and let everyone see who you really are. I have poured my heart and soul out on paper and I hope to share this journey, immersing you in a story, capturing your attention and firing the imagination. Through my writing and public speaking I hope to bring greater awareness to the general public about living with chronic disease.

Friday, October 4, 2013


Having reached the grand age of 50, it is standard procedure for my health fund to send women for a mammogram if they have not had one before. Fortunately we don't have any cases of breast cancer in our family (we've enough of everything else thank you very much!) so the other day was my first experience, at what many women have told me is a horrendous barbaric test. After hearing some ghastly stories I warily entered the Mammography department and waited for my name to be called. It's amazing what one's imagination can conjure up with a little imagery from some well meaning ladies, and I began to wonder who had invented this torturous contraption that sounded like it should belong in the "Chamber of Horrors" at Madame Tussauds in London.
The technician opened the door and called my name, I hesitantly stood acknowledging her but was quickly swept away from my husbands safe arms into the imaging room. I was asking myself, what went through someone's mind to invent this piece of brutal equipment, compressing one's breasts in-between two plates? The technician gently helped me undress, and positioned me, telling me "this may hurt a little". I stood there, my flesh helplessly trapped in the machine. I was waiting for the excruciating pain everyone had told me about, but it didn't happen. The technician took four pictures changing my position for each one, and then told me the mammogram was over. Where was the pain I had been told about? I was expecting something terrible, but it wasn't so bad and quite tolerable.
Did I happen to have a particularly good technician? Was it a new type of mammogram machine? Is my pain threshold so high that this test registered low on my senses? I don't know the answer, but was very glad it was not the terrible ordeal I had expected, and hopefully the results will come back clear.

As October is "Gaucher Awareness Month", I have written about the novel campaign of green shoe laces to bring greater awareness of this rare disease in The Huffington Post. Please show your support by taking a moment to read my article.

1 comment:

  1. I was pleased to read that you had a good experience with your mammogram, Elaine.
    Yes, I do believe that the technique of the technician (and her experience?) Plays a big role in how we experience the test. It may even reflect on the results. I have been getting mammograms for almost 25 years and I can still remember my first time with it. The technician pulled my breast so hard from so many directions that for days afterward I had pain in my neck! It has never been that way since, but the length of time the sharp breast pain lasts does depend on her efficiency and experience. It makes me wonder if it also influences the reading of the report.