Posted on by ijeomaopara

Like Sand Through the Hourglass And Other Amusing Realisations

Here we are, six months later…what has changed?  

Well… life has been a rollercoaster OF NOTE.  

The past six months have felt like three years almost, as I’ve been evolving rapidly without so much of a chance to recalibrate authentically. Academically, things have been progressing in an interesting way; I presented at two international conferences in June, and have had some of the most amazing networking opportunities within my field. The first conference I attended was the London School of Economics Media Futures Conference, where I presented parts of a working chapter. The second one was hosted by the Stellenbosch Business School on Gender, Work and Organisation, and I co-facilitated a workshop on feminist activism in the academy with my supervisor Professor Amanda Gouws. On paper, it feels like I’m doing the right things to make sure my academic career is on track, but I can’t help but feel like there is some level of stagnancy that’s preventing me from pushing myself like I normally do.  

My personal life has also been topsy-turvy, and I have been going through the motions of true grief for the first time in the 28 years of my life. The phrase ‘nothing lasts forever’ has taken on a completely different meaning, as losing people is something that is always hard to deal with. It’s also part of the reason why my vlog this month has taken on a somewhat abstract format, where I focused more on showing what the days in my life have looked like recently, as opposed to a linear, cookie-cutter ‘day in my life’.

For some reason, it felt disingenuous to set up my camera, press record and pretend to wake up and put together a routine that seemed void of flaws. My days really have felt like a case of jumping across different universes, almost like that movie Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022).To be completely honest, my ethics application has been a source of frustration since the beginning of the year, impacting my creative flow. While I understand the importance of due process and acknowledge the validity of concerns, it’s led me to question the worthiness of pursuing my research in the first place. Which really sucks.  

However, I’ve taken steps to address this. I’ve recently gained a mentor from the African Feminist Initiative at UPenn, Professor Tarez Graban. Our first session together was incredibly affirming, reigniting my belief in the value of my work. Naturally, I have the support of my supervisor and co-supervisor. Still, without a clear sense of direction in my work, it becomes difficult to communicate expectations if I am in a period of struggling with where to draw strength from. At the end of the day, this PhD will be completed. Every day that brings me closer to the finish line may not look the same, but it’s part of the bigger picture. And we’re never alone in this journey, always supported by those around us. 

Almost there.  

Posted on by jenfitchett

Facing the fallibility of the human body

Wednesday 8 September I had woken up reminding myself to chat to Anson for tips on having an MRI, as I was scheduled for one the next day. Anson was the ideal person to reach out to – not only had he experienced his fair share of MRIs over the past year following his diagnosis with head and neck cancer, but he is also a dear friend, colleague and mentor. Professor Anson Mackay was one of my three PhD supervisors, and based at UCL, he was my primary point of contact during the split site component of my PhD that I had spent at the Environmental Change Research Centre at UCL in their Geography department. Since completing my PhD, Anson has become my most valued mentor, an enthusiastic research collaborator, and really a very dear friend. 

As someone who is far more comfortable hiding away from fear than facing it, I managed to ‘forget’ to contact Anson throughout that day. The idea popped into my head every once in a while, only to be squashed by the next conference talk that I hopped onto Zoom for; I was in the middle of the SSAG/SAAG Conference that week, presenting two papers, and mentoring a large group of my postgraduate students who were presenting for the first time at an academic conference. I didn’t even think I had that much to fear – the MRI, MRA and Doppler were very much a precaution to rule out anything sinister. I have struggled with my thyroid this year. I have an autoimmune thyroid condition – Hashimotos thyroiditis, which is treated by replacing the thyroid hormones that are under-produced by your body. At the beginning of January, these thyroid levels were being quite dramatically over-replaced through over-medication and an acute thyroiditis, resulting in a range of unpleasant symptoms of hyperthyroidism. Following the subsequent reduction of my dose of thyroid replacement hormones when this was detected, it took about 3 months to reach normal range, and a further 3 months to start to feel myself again. The first three months coincided with the very stressful preparation and teaching of an all-online module to our first years, as the second wave of COVID-19 was in full force. There was no time for sick leave, and I just pushed through, one day at a time. Back to the present, at the 9-month mark I was still struggling with occasional dizziness, and hence it made sense to do an MRI (and MRA and doppler of the carotid artery) to check that there wasn’t anything more sinister behind it. I was largely convinced there was not. 

I saw Anson’s name pop up in my inbox that evening – and as I saw it, I remembered again to ask him for tips. His email, although partly discussing possible projects and PhD cosupervision, was also letting me know that the CT scan he’d recently had showed abnormalities. My heart sank. He was still optimistic in that email that it could be a red herring, and gave me some really excellent advice on how to stay calm in an MRI. 

I did manage to stay calm, and thank goodness the MRI, MRA and doppler came back clear. I did wonder briefly, while lying in the MRI, whether my productivity and success was perhaps just an Amelia Sheppard-type brain tumour (Grey’s Anatomy fans would understand). Fortunately not. Anson, however, was not as lucky. After fighting and overcoming neck cancer in 2020, and subsequently running multiple ultramarathons, he has just been diagnosed with a new primary cancer – this time of the lungs. I received a text from him to let me know last week, shortly before he started publishing on his cancer blog again. The news is devastating. To me personally, but also because I can only just begin to understand what this has felt like for him and his partner David. I am scared – one of the most important and influencial people in my life has cancer for a second time; this time far more difficult to treat, and so he’s looking at what life with cancer will look like, rather than the path to eradicate it. We have so many projects planned, projects that involve helicopter trips to South Africa’s highest peak, road trips through Lesotho to collect samples, and so much data to analyse. I have so much still to learn from Anson – about diatoms and isotopes, about academia, and about life. I need to keep reminding myself that I will still have time to learn from Anson, we just might need to both pace ourselves a bit better.

It also all feels so terribly unfair. Anson has run ultramarathons in the past 18 months! The feeling of illness being unfair is one I feel in relation to Anson’s diagnosis and my own health challenges – a year ago I was pushing myself too hard, working long hours, taking on too much, and struggling to effectively handle stress. All very standard in academia, and indeed often glamourised. I had been doing this my whole life. It is no surprise then that I would eventually have had to face the fallibility of my own health, and at the beginning of the year it was scary not understanding what was wrong and whether this was all just my thyroid. However, 9 months later I have taken a 5-month sabbatical (albeit still a busy one with many research deadlines, and commitments to various societies), gone on at least a 2km each day (most days 3.5km, some days 8km), developed a better sleep cycle, reduced my workload to something a little bit more manageable, started doing Yoga regularly, and eaten a more balanced diet. Yet I still struggle with my health fairly often; I still don’t quite feel myself as reliably as I used to, and can’t just push myself to handle the next thing that lands on my plate. It feels unfair – I am taking things slowly, I am paying attention to my health, and I still don’t feel quite right. I don’t know how to feel that way again, and while I do want to feel reliably healthy, perhaps I shouldn’t want or aspire to go back to doing every and anything. 

Life throws curveballs at us, and the lessons aren’t always clear. Sometimes bad news is just bad news, and if this year has taught me anything, it is to sit with the fear, the loss, the devastation and just feel it. As difficult as that is. And then learn – how to make work more sustainable, how to enjoy each day, and how to become the best parts of the people I most look up to.