Friday 28th February 2014 // Mental Illnesses Aren't 'Labels'

For those of you who aren't AS Psychology students, let me assure you that the Rosenhan "Being Sane in Insane Places" core study is every bit as controversial, but not nearly as philosophical or respectable, as the title sounds. That is, pretending to be mentally ill - Schizophrenic to be exact - in the hopes that you can research how easy it is to get into a psychiatric hospital, is just a tiny bit unethical. Nowadays I tend to write blog-posts on things that have caught my eye; good or bad. Today, I'm moaning... again. I might take it up professionally. Anyway, the two aims of the Rosenhan study are as follows: 

1. "Find out whether mental health professionals can truly tell the difference between the sane and the insane"

2. "Discover the consequences of being labelled as insane"

What really got to me was the use of the word "labelled". Labelling someone as mentally ill. You cannot label someone with a mental illness! They either have one or they don't - in the same way that a Diabetes sufferer has not been labelled, they have been diagnosed. All the way through the core study it's labelled, labelled, labelled, and I'll be honest, I got bloody sick of it. Labels are social tags. Emo is a label, slag is a label, goth could even be classed as a label - but not Schizophrenia. It's a serious mental illness and a medical term, yet even my Psychology tutor was surrendering to the core study, spouting the word "label" just as much as the paper in front of me.

In her defence, she must not know that I have a mother with Schizophrenia. I thought about sticking my hand up in the air and arguing, but what would be the point? I have no doubt that she'd defend herself with some intelligent but still wrong response; leaving me with no chance but to agree with her, but no way in Hell was that happening. I didn't want to look like an idiot, nor did I really want to be that girl, the one that has to point out her mother is mentally ill. I didn't really want everyone in the room looking at me every time Schizophrenia is mentioned.

What I'd suggest to all teachers is, if you're studying a sensitive topic like mental illness with a group of teenagers, please find out beforehand if there's anyone in the class it might strike a nerve with. And please make sure you don't offend them by reducing a mental illness to a "label".

Meaghan

Wednesday 12th February 2014 // Grandad Bill

Hi, guys.

I'll start this post by saying that my best friend, Jayson, left for Paris on Sunday morning and I was very uncertain about how I would feel about him going away. Those who know me will know that we dated for three years, and there wasn't a day that went by without us talking. Obviously, with him going abroad, I wasn't expecting a message. I thought I'd find it hard to cope, or miss him terribly - but as it turned out, there were more important things to think about. My Grandad was taken into hospital on Monday afternoon because he was struggling to breathe, so I started spending a lot of time in hospital with him. (Jayson texted me at least once every night, so that made life less stressful than it could have been.)

My Grandad had a condition called Angina, which was caused by passive smoking (whereby you don't actively smoke yourself but breathe in the harsh chemicals from the cigarettes other people are smoking. I like to call it "smoking by association"). We thought Angina was the reason he was struggling for his breath - and we were partly right - but none of us could have guessed the extent of the problem. A few weeks ago, he had been hospitalised in Nottingham, where he was treated for external Shingles. My family didn't find out until yesterday, but Shingles had activated another virus; one which covered the walls of his lungs and chest. Coupled with his Angina, and his age, he didn't stand much chance of fighting it off. Grandad died on Tuesday evening, aged 81, surrounded by his family. Me, my sister, my Dad, my Uncle, and my Uncle's wife, were all present. My cousin Kim and her husband, Michael, were just a few minutes too late. While Grandad was alive, I never said goodbye. I felt guilty about it for a few minutes until I realised that I was there at the end; I never left. No need to say goodbye, and no need to feel guilty.

He looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. My Dad is devastated. He's only 41 years old and has lost both his parents. If you read my blog often, you'll know that he was planning a trip up to Banff this year to commemorate 10 years since my Grandma's death. Instead of being a chance to remember my Grandma, it will now be a bittersweet trip - considering my Grandad wants us to throw his ashes up there. To be near my Grandma. Well, half of him. He wants the other half in Blackpool. As you can tell, he loved the seaside. He used to tell me and my sister than when he died he'd reincarnate into a seagull and he'd let us know it was him because he'd poo on us. You'll also know that I used to be scared of the big grey chimneys in Derby Hospital, next to the mortuary. Although I still find them eerie, they won't remind me of my childhood fears anymore, or my Mum's illness, they'll remind me of Grandad's life.

The things I want to remember about Grandad:

• How he slapped his leg and laughed when he found something really funny.
• Him calling everybody, everywhere, "duck," however inappropriate.
• How he treated everyone with the same courtesy and respect.
• His love of photography, family, animals, and the occasional fridge magnet.
• How he'd tap my arm when I hugged him.
• How he'd draw a picture of his budgie on every card he signed.
• How proud of me he was! When I used to run, and play football, he backed me all the way - running after me with a camera on sports day at primary school. He even used to keep the little poems I wrote for him. If it weren't for him I'd never have been published in any book.

Grandad was the kindest, sweetest, nicest, most generous man I have ever had the good fortune of knowing and I have absolutely no doubts about which direction he's gone. I know the saying is common, but Heaven definitely gained an angel. He's with Grandma, somewhere. I love you.

Tuesday 4th February 2014 // Dad's Tattoo (For Grandma Muriel)

While I waited anxiously at home for my doctor's appointment, my Dad went out to get his 20-somethingth tattoo. This one was inspired by Banksy's artwork of the little girl holding a balloon; although Dad asked the tattooist (who happens to be our cousin, Abby) to change the girl into a boy so it would represent himself. I should mention that the tattoo is dedicated to my Grandma Muriel, his mother, who passed away almost ten years ago. The anniversary's coming up soon... this May.

When Dad told me about the idea, I loved it. My Grandma died when I was seven years old and to this day I still feel like I lost a best friend. In the years after her death, I'd often write her name on a balloon and watch it fly into the sky (her real name was Alice, but she always asked to be called Muriel - her middle name). So not only is the tattoo symbolic of my Dad; it's also symbolic of me and my sister.

It's not the first memorial tattoo Dad's had for his mum - the first was a script which reads 'Rest In Peace' one way and 'Dear Mother' the other, depending on where you're viewing it from.

A couple of years ago my Dad and I, along with my siblings Arron and Tiegan and our Grandad Bill, went up to Banff in Scotland, where my Grandma was born, to walk down the streets that she once walked down. For the 10th anniversary of her death, we're hoping to go back up there and put some flowers on her parents' grave, where her ashes were thrown. I really love it there and I'm hoping my Dad does decide to go up - a lot. It's sad that Arron probably won't be joining us, or my Grandad Bill. I know my Grandma would have wanted that. She died at 69 years old of a "hole in the heart" or Septal Defect, while awaiting treatment for throat cancer.

Meaghan xx

John Green: "The Fault In Our Stars" // Review

"Despite the tumour-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel's story is about to be completely rewritten."

The Fault In Our Stars, probably one of the world's best-loved books, comes as the most compelling read I've had in a very long time. Since I've been seventeen, I've been more inclined to read more 'mature' books and move away (although not completely away) from books about supernatural or mythological goings-on like that of Meg Cabot's "Underworld" and others. If you're attempting to do the same, The Fault In Our Stars would be a wonderful place to start. Although fictitious, this book felt very real to me.

I've read John Green before, beginning with his book "Looking For Alaska". Although it was an okay read, it didn't hit me like The Fault In Our Stars; which had me constantly turning pages from 3pm to 11:45pm last night. When you can read a book in a day, you know you're in love with it. One thing I loved about it was that it is out of the ordinary. Hazel, the book's main character, is on a completely fictitious drug called Pholanxifor which makes her cancer manageable; at least for now. The fact that John Green made up Pholanxifor is astounding to me. It was a genius idea - it allows the reader some distance from the modern-day situation, where the sad reality is that drugs like Pholanxifor just don't exist. With this in mind, you can read the book like a fantasy or maybe even a watered-down sci-fi. However, I did not discover the drug wasn't in existence until the book's final pages - and so everything in the book was very real to me at the time of reading it.

Another thing I loved was the use of intertextuality (I'm going all 'English Literature student' on you here, but it's true); whereby The Fault In Our Stars has connections with a fictional book Green creates called "An Imperial Affliction". Green writes about this as Hazel's favourite book. I was under the impression that it really existed, although that doesn't, either! Anyway, AIA supposedly ends mid-sentence with the assumption that the main character died in the middle of writing; leaving Hazel with an unavoidable urge to find out how it ends before she herself dies. Throughout the book I was so scared that The Fault In Our Stars would end mid-sentence too - but (SPOILER) I'm so glad that it didn't. I'm so glad that we never have to hear about how Hazel dies.

I am also able to say that I actually learned something from this book. There are many quotable lines, which you'll undoubtedly come across if you log onto Tumblr, but there is one section of text which, more than any other, I found solace in. When thinking about her own death, Hazel says, "I kept thinking there were two kinds of adults... Neither of these futures struck me as particularly desirable. It seemed to me that I had already seen everything pure and good in the world, and I was beginning to suspect that even if death didn't get in the way, the kind of love that Augustus and I share could never last... Nothing gold can stay."
Although I do not imagine myself becoming terminally ill often, this book makes you question how you would handle such an event. This quote resonated with me - and if I was dying, I imagine words like this would comfort me. The way John Green has put himself into the mind of someone with cancer is incredible and although the book is not all doom and gloom, it has been written in such an exquisite way that you almost don't feel pity for cancer sufferers anymore - you respect them.

So, if you have a day to spare, pick this book up. I cannot stress that enough. Don't fear that it will make you depressed, because that's not the effect it had on me, although I did have doubts about that before I opened the book. There will be tears, I'm not going to lie, but they will be very, very worth it. God help me when the movie comes out.