SOWING the SEEDS of HAPPINESS
To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow, it’s said. Meet three women who found their way to a happier, healthier future through the power and beauty of nature
I started to believe I’d live to see my BEAUTIFUL GARDEN come to FRUITION
‘With time and patience, everything can heal’ As she battled serious illness, seeing new life growing gave Anne Careless courage and hope
From the moment I saw the converted flats in the Jacobean manor house, I knew I had to live there. The only problem was the garden: it looked like acres of chaos. Huge conifers grew wild and out of control, interlaced with creeping weeds. It would take a lot of work to re-establish its former glory. But I saw the beauty beyond the brambles.
I’d barely done any gardening before. Standing among the trees, though, I felt calm. That garden offered the peace and privacy I needed; the perfect escape. I knew that, with the right care and attention, I could turn it into something beautiful.
I’d moved to Worcestershire after separating from my husband. My children were grown up and settled, and I wanted a fresh challenge. My new job involved pastoral care in the boarding house of a dance school, and my garden became a lovely way to unwind from work. I spent time researching plants, plotting out designs and taking on the major task of clearing the land for new growth. But, as time went on, I began to realise something wasn’t right with my health. When my symptoms persisted, I decided to get them checked and, in 2011, was diagnosed with uterine cancer.
I had a hysterectomy but, a few months later, a secondary tumour was discovered and I was put on an intensive course of chemotherapy. Through these dark, uncertain times, support from those around me was invaluable. My family and friends rallied round, and the hospital put me in touch with Macmillan, whose nurses provided a listening ear as well as practical advice and support.
While I was undergoing my chemo, the growth and development of my garden took on a new significance. Each time I sprayed the weeds and watched them shrivel and disappear, I was thinking about my illness, hoping the chemo was doing
[continued from previous page] the same to my cancer. Unfortunately, after four treatments, there was no sign of success. I had more surgery, followed by radiotherapy, but by December 2012 I was seriously ill. Nothing had worked. I was put on palliative care and doctors told me I was unlikely to live long enough to meet my baby grandson.
Then, two months later, while staying with my sister in London, I was rushed to hospital with a ruptured artery and taken straight to surgery. Such was the urgency, no one had looked at my notes or realised I was a palliative patient.
After a six-hour operation, the consultant came to see me. Through the haze of drugs and confusion, I remember him delivering words I could scarcely believe. He couldn’t find any evidence of cancer. It seemed nothing short of miraculous, and nobody has really been able to account for it. The most likely explanation is that my body was particularly sensitive to radiotherapy and radiation, and that had completely killed off the tumour. It took a long time for my new prognosis to sink in. I realised I’d resigned myself to dying.
Two months after the emergency surgery, I was allowed home. The future loomed, terrifying in its possibility… but my garden was waiting. That Summer, I spent my days gardening from a low-slung deck chair. I was weak and fragile, but the cool breeze and the sun on my face were the most effective remedies. Lost in what I was doing, I gradually built up strength. I’d lean a little lower, or stretch a little more to pull out a stubborn weed.
As time passed and the cancer seemed further away, I started to believe I’d live to see my beautiful garden come to fruition after all. Watching once-wilted plants burst back into life is such a powerful thing. ‘If they manage it,’ I told myself, ‘maybe I can, too.’ Given time and patience, everything can heal.
Three years on, I’m now working full time and the garden continues to be an important part of my life. If ever I feel anxious or worried, I make a conscious effort to spend time outside. That focus on a particular task calms my swirling mind, helps me to think clearly again and puts problems into perspective. Being in the garden has taught me to live in the moment. Every minute of every day, things can change, but there’s always a chance for new life.