A 19th Century Mastectomy

Posted on May 19, 2013 by Anne Rouen

Angelina Jolie’s recent brave decision to go ahead with a pre-emptive double mastectomy and her frank publication, calls to mind another brave decision made more than two hundred years ago.

Having to make life-changing decisions while you’re reeling from shock at a diagnosis is incredibly difficult. The physician sets before you the type and degree of aggression of your cancer, a five year percentage survival rate for each of the possible treatments and says, “You choose.”

It is not always as stark as that, but it can be. Ultimately, you have to make very difficult decisions. No-one can say, “This is the way. If you follow it, you will get well.”

This is one reason to be thankful for the support of other breast cancer survivors and groups like the Breast Cancer Network and the Cancer Council. They’ve been there. They know what you’re going through. They can help you fight your way through the fog.

If you already have warning of a time bomb ticking away in the form of a breast cancer gene, maybe before it happens is a better time to make a decision.

One thing is certain: the decision must be made by you. Gather all the information; add up the odds; make the decision. If you can afford it!

Medical Insurance regards pre-emptive breast surgery and reconstruction as cosmetic. Yes, girls, a double mastectomy is cosmetic! Where are these people coming from? Even in the 1920s they didn’t take fashion that far!

While researching capitalisation in letters and diaries, I came across a letter from the 18^th and 19^th century novelist and diarist, Frances Burney (Madame D’Arblay) to her sister. In it she describes her 1811 mastectomy conducted without anaesthetic in France by seven surgeons (one to perform the surgery, the other six to hold her down. Although she says she refused to be held).

She describes the procedure, her reactions and her agony in graphic detail. And, yes, she used capitals (Though not as many as she might!), ruining my theory that only nouns were capitalised. She used the adjective ‘Bright’.

Her experience traumatised her so much that she could not bring herself to write about it for nine months. If you have not already seen it, her unabridged letter can be found here.

Some people speculate that Fanny’s breast lump could not have been cancer, but I like to think that she was rewarded for her courage and fortitude because she lived another 29 years to the grand old age of 87. She published her most famous novel Evelina when she was 26, married at 41, had one son, and lived a full life after the shocking trauma of her surgery, her journal letters giving us great social insight into her life and times.

In our time, however hard our journey, at least, we can be thankful that we do not have to endure surgery without anaesthetic.

Bravo, Madame D’Arblay! We can all learn Something from your Courage.

Good Enough to Hang?

Posted on May 12, 2013 by Anne Rouen

My radio is a constant source of inspiration to me. But I did a double-take when I heard these words expressed by one of our Local Treasures: “I like a good hanging,” she said, with a happy lilt in her voice. “I love it when they’re good enough to hang.”

A public hanging sounds fairly historical. Ghoulish stories abound of villagers and townspeople turning out for such a spectacle. Although in those times, surely the debate would have been whether the person in question was ‘bad enough to hang’?

The general run of people are not quite so blood-thirsty these days, certainly not our Treasures. So, lifting my head from a text on the behaviour of the crowd in history, I was momentarily non-plussed.

Of course, as those with more artistry in their soul than I would already know, the lady, an artist and long time volunteer at the gallery, was referring to the inclusion of paintings for an upcoming exhibition.

Immediately, I began to think of a favourite print, a 1925 painting of a Paris street by Maurice Utrillo. Perfect in perspective, the street goes on and on, far into the distance towards a church or cathedral in the background.

In the foreground, shaded by trees, people stroll. A building proclaims its business in large, uneven lettering: vacheresse, cammionage, gravier, voitures à volonté (cars with steering wheels). This last fires my imagination. Suddenly, I am on the street in my straight, modern flapper dress, the breeze ruffling my new, shingled hairstyle, an assortment of long beads and chains clinking against my flattened bosom. A door opens in the building and I follow a handsome man inside. While he effortlessly cranks the elegant Bugatti, I shrug on a driving coat, wind a long, silk scarf around my head. The ends will stream out behind me like a gonfalon, inspiring envy in the breasts of all who watch me drive by.

The car trembles, sputters into life. My hero opens the door for me and I step in, settling myself in luxurious leather seats with ebony buttons. Light shimmers gently off the rosewood dashboard as I reach for my goggles. The engine purrs and the driver expertly manoeuvres the vehicle into the open. The cool air fans my glowing cheeks.

“Ready?” asks my escort, an irresistible gleam in his eye.

Before I can answer, an alarm discords, breaking up the lovely picture. I fall out of the car, out of my dream, out of the painting. Cursing the phone, I pick myself up from my lounge room floor, obedient, as ever, to its shrill demand.

Now, I will never know what it was like to go driving with that gorgeous Frenchman along a tree-lined street in Paris in 1925.

Isn’t it scandalous the way we let everyday matters interfere with our lives?

But, yes, I couldn’t agree more. A painting like that is certainly good enough to hang.

Oh, and by the way, I did learn something from the text about crimes of the ‘bad enough to hang’ variety. Historically, whenever crowds rebel, most of the deaths are caused by the authorities cracking down on them and not by the citizens themselves. Surprised?

Has anything changed?

Yes, Pat, It’s Possible

Posted on May 5, 2013 by Anne Rouen

I love my life on the land and my animals, but the price I have to pay to maintain this lifestyle and my herd of lovely cows is to sell their progeny. This, of course, is the business of farming. But I console myself that I do my utmost to give my animals the happiest life I can while I have them; and ensure humane treatment thereafter.

The other day, I was speaking to a man who loves his horses, dogs and chooks; an honest, hardworking man. He was looking puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said, referring to a recent ad against intensive farming on our TVs. “Those chickens looked OK to me. Their combs are red, their eyes are bright. They’re just moulting, that’s all.”

I had to agree. I felt the same way about the pigs. They were in good condition, bright-eyed, took a healthy interest in the cameras; showed no fear; and their skins looked pink and unblemished. We weren’t shown their housing, so I don’t know how much room they had.

It is easy to believe what we are told, especially when accompanied by images that tug at the emotions. But what if we are shown only one side of the story?

As a researcher of history, I have become accustomed to looking at the big picture. So before we demonise the farmers, let us take a look at the other side.

We are fond of romanticising nature – freedom, fresh air and sunshine: bliss! But take a closer look. Nature is not pretty: It is the survival of the fittest – a harsh concept. It’s the heartbreak of a tiny wren almost dying in the effort of raising the chick of a much larger cuckoo that has smashed its eggs. It’s struggling for sustenance in a bad season. It’s living every second in fear of predators. It may look beautiful to us, but it’s something else for the creatures trying to survive in it.

Susceptible farm animals must be protected from the vagaries of nature.

Chickens, for example, cannot survive in nature: There are no feral chickens. They are at the mercy of predators such as foxes, dogs, feral cats, hawks, eagles, snakes and goannas; and subject to diseases carried by birds, rats and mice.

Pigs need shelter, climate control; they must be kept warm in winter, cool in summer. Sudden changes in temperature make them susceptible to pneumonia and other respiratory diseases. There are deadly pathogens out there for pigs. To protect them, they must be housed in a biologically secure environment, with enormous costs. Unauthorised visitors to these places can bring untold suffering to the very animals they wish to help.

So, how have we come so far from protection to what is often seen as little more than a production line?

Back in the middle of last century, in the fifties, sixties and seventies, farmers actually made money. Everyone was into production lines, town and country. Farmers were anxious to have the latest in housing for their animals; to be seen as stream-lined and efficient; hospital clean and hygienic in their husbandry. Doing the best that they could for their animals.

Workers on production lines, realising how soul-destroying it was, soon objected; and were replaced by robots. It wasn’t that easy for the farmers. (And I am not saying it was easy for the workers!)

Farmers wishing to upgrade their housing are faced with a harsh reality. Changing infrastructure involves 5-6 figure sums. Whenever prices approach a level to allow it, cheap imports flood the market, forcing down farm gate prices. (Does anyone ask how these animals have been treated?) With escalating costs and returns of 10-20years ago, farmers can do no more than hang in there. (If they are lucky!) They cannot afford to upgrade.

So, how can farmers make these changes that they themselves would wish for? It sounds impossible, doesn’t it?

The people with movable hen-houses allowing their chooks to scratch daily on fresh ground have all my admiration, but their infrastructure and time investment is huge.

Some friends of mine, passionate animal lovers, toured the world to find the ideal environment for their chickens, finally settling on a concept from Israel. Their investment is also massive.

Do we, as consumers, reward these caring souls for their time and dedication? Or do we buy the cheapest supermarket specials, thus forcing them out of business?

We consumers do have the power to change the lives of our animals: not by spending money on emotional ads that promote negative feelings (despite being presented by kind and well-meaning celebrities like Pat Rafter); but by doing something positive; something we can all do.

Negatives divide, destroy, achieve nothing; only adding tension to an already impossible situation.

Positives unite, simplify, show us the way. Positives make the difficult easy; the impossible, possible.

And now we see: how simple is the answer!

Here is a positive that I guarantee will work: Ignore the cheap supermarket specials and pay a premium for food produced from livestock raised in a proven animal-friendly environment.

The farmers will be only too happy and relieved to have the funds to comply.

Before Anzac Day

Posted on April 28, 2013 by Anne Rouen

It sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it, to have a title like this? Since Anzac Day 2013 is after the fact – by several days. But I was suddenly taken back to a time when the world was comparatively innocent; before events made Anzac Day a tragic icon. And all because a newsreader mentioned sabre-rattling in relation to a modern-day emperor!

One hundred years ago, it was one year and a few months away from a war that was so terrible and soul-destroying that we still look back through history in wonder and despair at the dreadful carnage and cruelty, overshadowed by courage and sacrifice that takes the breath away.

Weather conditions, combined with new and diabolical methods of warfare, against old-fashioned defences, all conspired to make the trenches of the Western Front a nightmare to transcend all.

As a child, I was aware of an indescribable feeling compounded of grief, horror and hopeless dread whenever someone mentioned WWI. There were still many people alive who’d gone through it and though they never said anything I picked up this vibe. It was so bad that I couldn’t bear to go there and so never studied it. I cannot, to this day, watch war movies.

When I grew older, I asked the question: “What caused WWI?” No-one could tell me. “It’s complicated,” they said. “There was no one cause.” Still, I couldn’t bear to study it.

Finally, when I got to Book III of the Master of Illusion series (Yes, it’s written.), I knew I would have to face my childhood dread and research the Great War as its backdrop. And guess what? Nothing had changed. That feeling of overwhelming grief and horror that haunted me all my life was exactly what I felt after my actual research. The dreadful loss of life. The terrible damage to those left alive. The futility of it all. The awe-inspiring courage and sacrifice of the young men who went into battle knowing they would die.

Would we line up like that knowing what they knew?

But back to 1913. Life went on as usual in the last year of the Belle Époque: fashions, hedonism; empire building; the usual protests, including women’s suffrage; small wars here and there, nothing serious; a general feeling of progress and well-being.

Yet discerning men were aware that Europe was fraught with tension: a sense that the fire was laid, tinder dry, waiting for a spark to set it off. (The murder on June 28 1914 of the Archduke and Duchess of Austria-Hungary provided it.) Small Emperors posturing, sabre-rattling (those words again); certain countries in terrible poverty, others comparatively rich; powers forming strategic alliances …

If any of this rings uncomfortable bells, it is because history is prone to repeat.

A small fry in the train of a major architect and prosecutor of WWI was an Austrian corporal. As a front runner from HQ he had been wounded, gassed and decorated for bravery. (You know who!)

If he had read his history he would not have attacked Russia and WWII might have had a different outcome. I guess we can be thankful that he didn’t read about Napoleon I. But, despite his experiences, he didn’t learn any lessons from WWI either. Had he done so, he could have saved us the years of misery, loss and destruction of WWII.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple: the seeds were already planted in 1919. A number of factors, including the unfair demands of the Treaty of Versailles, the misery of the people and Hitler’s mental condition led to WWII. (I don’t pretend to have my head around it all.)

It is a good thing to study history to avoid the mistakes of the past. I hope our present leaders have all done so. But just in case they haven’t, I think it would be good for all of us who believe in the power of prayer to pray with diligence for peace and understanding between nations.

I make this plea to our world leaders: Please don’t make us revisit this theatre of horror. Leave war where it belongs – in the pages of history.

Punishment or Privilege?

Posted on April 21, 2013 by Anne Rouen

While researching the period around the French Revolution, I came upon a reference to the guillotine which gave an unusual insight into the thought processes of the historical figures I delve into. I did find it quite a novel point of view and one that had never crossed my mind.

To me, the French Revolution, more particularly the time known as la Terreur, has always epitomised bloodshed and barbarism on a scale only equalled by the Roman gladiatorial contests in the coliseum. Shuddering through the blood-spattered pages of A Tale of Two Cities, I would hardly have thought it a privilege to mount the gory steps of Madame la Guillotine, attended by such notorious tricoteuses as Madame Defarge and a cheering pack of rabid and bloodthirsty sightseers in the Place de la Revolution, previously known as the Place Louis XV( now the Place de la Concorde).

Although similar devices had been used in Scotland and other European countries, its invention has been attributed to Antoine Louis. First called Louisette or Louison, it was later named after the gentleman instrumental in passing a law requiring its use in France for capital punishment. It was experimentally tried out on cadavers but the first living person to be guillotined was a highwayman, on April 25, 1792 in the Place de Grève.

But listen to this reason given by French physician Joseph-Ignace Guillotin, a member of the National Assembly at the time, for the introduction of the guillotine into France in 1792:

He said that all death sentences should be carried out by ‘means of a machine’ so that ‘the privilege of execution by decapitation’ would be available to all; and that the process of execution would be as painless as possible.

It would seem that decapitation as a form of punishment was reserved for the nobility; while common people were hung with grisly alternatives depending on the severity of the crime. Thus, decapitation appears to have been regarded as one of the many privileges enjoyed by the aristocracy. Certainly, it was one which a great number experienced during la Terreur. And while I can think of several terms to describe the process of the guillotine, privilege is not one that springs readily to my pen.

Painless? Perhaps. No-one has been able to come back to tell us. But privilege? I would hardly have thought so. And neither, I suspect, would the unfortunate souls deemed enemies of the Republic and brought in tumbrils through jeering crowds to end their lives in humiliation and despair. Although it surely has it over being hung, drawn and quartered (what kind of evil mind could dream up that one?), another gruesome alternative for the non-aristocracy, along with being burnt at the stake and broken on the wheel(thankfully banned by Louis XV).

The French Revolution may not have totally succeeded in its ideals for equality in life — and most definitely not for women. But I have to hand it to the Revolutionists: Madame la Guillotine certainly ensured equality in death.

Prayers For Boston

Posted on April 16, 2013 by Anne Rouen

Today’s terrible news of the bomb attack on the Boston Marathon has left many of us grieving: for our friends, our fellow human beings, the city of Boston and our world.

My heart goes out to all caught up in this horror:

To the parents and families of the little 8 yr old boy and the two other people whose lives were stolen from them.

To the injured who face a nightmare journey of pain and rehabilitation.

To the athletes who dedicate so much of their lives to their pursuit; whose families came to watch them run the most famous modern marathon in the world.

To all the spectators and fun-lovers who had their day – and their lives – shattered.

To a beautiful, iconic city whose carefree innocence and happy village atmosphere will be forever changed.

To all those who now walk in fear and uncertainty – victims of terrorism.

Perhaps we can appreciate the circumstances that sow the seeds of discontent, but none of us understands the evil that visits destruction and untold suffering on the innocent.

About 400 years ago, John Donne wrote immortal words, quoted many times (a truth but never a cliché) and more than ever applicable today:

‘No man is an island’.

From all of us who wish for a good and fair world, to everyone who has been touched by this senseless, shocking tragedy:

We send you our love, our thoughts and our prayers.