Belly Dancing and Beating the Odds: How one woman’s passion helped her overcome breast cancer
When 32-year-old Yvette Cowles contracted breast cancer she was determined it would not get in the way of her belly dancing dreams. Spirited and light-hearted, “Belly Dancing and Beating the Odds” is the true story of one woman’s quest to be the best breastless belly dancer in the business…Whilst most people see little to smile about when they hear the word “cancer”, for Yvette it was just another opportunity to find the silver lining. From realising the positives in a breast-free existence (think Audrey Hepburn physique and the uses of aero-dynamism when sales shopping), transforming her hospital cubicle into a sequinned boudoir and entertaining the nurses with her inflatable male companion, Yvette is determined not to let it get her down.Told with warmth and lively good humour, Yvette’s short story will move and inspire you – and might even persuade you to dig out your dancing shoes.www.harpertrue.co.uk
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HarperTrueLife
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First published by HarperTrueLife 2014
FIRST EDITION
Text © Yvette Cowles 2014
Cover photo © Shutterstock
Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Yvette Cowles asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
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Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007585649
Version: 2014-09-17
I would like to dedicate this book:
To anyone whose life has been touched by cancer;
To all my belly dancing buddies for their laughter, friendship and inspiration;
And, of course, to my mother, Mrs Doreen Cowles, âmy rockâ, without whom none of this would have been possible.
âWhen it rains it pours. Maybe the art of life is to convert tough times to great experiences; we can choose to hate the rain or dance in it.â
Joan Marques
Contents
Chapter 1: The Seeds of an Obsession
Chapter 2: Cancer â Round One!
Chapter 4: Cancer â Round Two!
Chapter 5: Cancer â Round Three!
Chapter 6: Sequins on My Balcony
Chapter 8: Ten Lessons Iâve Learned (The Hard Way!)
Chapter 1
Little did I know when I first discovered belly dance that it would turn into a life-long obsession, take me to far-flung places, provide me with the best friends I could ever wish for and keep me going through some of the darkest periods of my life. My first encounter with belly dance took place in the exotic surroundings of St Ãtienne, a town in eastern France best known for coal mining, bicycles and a moderately successful football team.
My love affair began while I was round at Samiraâs house, enjoying mint tea and cake with the girls. Samira had put on some Arabic music and Naget picked up a hip-scarf and started to dance to it. Her hips shimmied so vigorously that the coins rattled and the fringing flew. While she danced the rest of the girls clapped and ululated â a sound known as the zaghreet â enthusiastically. It was captivating.
So it was that I discovered my passion for Arabic music and dance. At that time I was 22 and teaching English as a language student in a multicultural secondary school in St Ãtienne. My colleagues were pleasant enough but quite reserved, and I was quite perturbed when one of them gave me a signed picture of Jean-Marie Le Pen, president of the Front National, as a welcome present. I was lonely and homesick, but Samira, Naget and the other North African girls in my class took me under their wing, invited me round to their houses for mint tea and welcomed me into their world.
When Naget finished dancing she handed me the scarf. I was petrified! My legs turned to jelly, I was rooted to the spot and my hips wouldnât budge. But, little by little, thanks to the warmth and encouragement of my new-found sisters, I learned to shed my inhibitions, let go and enjoy myself. My hips happily made the circles and âfigure eightsâ that the girls taught me, and my shoulders shimmied as enthusiastically as theirs. After years of stressing about my weight, and struggling with anorexia and bulimia, at last I had discovered a sensual and mesmerising dance form that celebrated the female form and could look beautiful whatever a womanâs age, size or shape. I was completely entranced.
Those afternoon dance sessions became a regular fixture. I loved those girls and their families; they made me feel that I belonged. And I saw belly dance as an expression of that sisterhood and sharing. For them it was just something that women did when they got together. But then they didnât know the white middle-class London suburbs where I was brought up! By the time I left France I was desperate to stay but the academic year was over, my contract was finished and I had to go back to Exeter to complete my degree. And there were no belly dancers there. So the sparkly scarf that the girls had given me as a leaving present was put in a drawer, where I almost forgot about it.
After leaving university I hadnât a clue what to do next so gave in to my motherâs persistent pestering to do a secretarial course. How I hated it! But thanks to my newly acquired secretarial skills â and the fact that my star sign was compatible with that of my new manager â I got my first job: Promotions Assistant with a well-known London publisher.
