MONDAY 23rd Nov - The Last Time?
21st Nov 2007
Many of you have been there – Experienced the pain, the frustration.
You know the signs. Untidy bedrooms, staying out late at night, the rebellious attitude, challenging previously accepted ‘rules of the house’. That phase every parent has to contend with – ‘the teenage years.’
Our two have now fled the nest and have families of their own. I thought ‘teenage tantrums’ were therefore a thing of the past – the pain, a distant memory. But no. Horror of horrors. Wee Rab has become a teenager.
Consider the evidence ….
He has taken to ‘trashing his bedroom’, leaving toys and bedding strewn all over the floor . . .
And stopping out late – well past his bedtime.
Long after Mrs D has retired to bed and Ceilidh and Bonnie are tucked up in their baskets, Wee Rab is still out in the garden refusing to come in to the house
Repeated parental requests, commands to ‘get the f*ck in the house‘ are met with open defiance.
The battle for supremacy has commenced!
26th Oct 2007
Oh, we came to town to see
That old tattoed lady
She was a sight to see
Tattoed from head to knee
My uncle Ned was there
He came to gape and stare
“I’v never” he declaired “Seen such a freak so fair!;
And on her jaw was the Royal flying corp
And on her back was the Union Jack, now could you ask for more?
All up and down her spine, were strings and garden lines
And all around her hips sailed a fleet of battle ships
And over her left kidney was a birds-eye view of Sidney
But what we liked best was a pirate’s chest
And a little home in Waikiki
**********
A woman sporting a tattoo used to be a rarity. So much so, that those few who did could make a reasonable living exhibiting themselves with travelling fairs and sideshows. Nowadays, of course, tattoos have become ‘fashionable’ and many women now ‘wear’ one. The less adventurous (more sensible?) women opting for a temporary ‘transfer’ type tattoo which can be worn when out clubbing at the weekend but removed when returning to work on the Monday.
Mrs D has never felt tempted to become a painted lady. I did once ask her if she wanted a tattoo (a little rose or butterfly, perhaps) on some discreet part of her anatomy. I even offered to pay – I had run out of ideas for an Xmas present that year!
Her reply puzzled me –
‘No thanks. What possible pleasure do you think I would get from having my body pierced by a lot of little pricks. It’s bad enough I have to endure one!’
Well, things have changed. In preparation for her radiotherapy treatment, we went to the Hospital on Wednesday, where Mrs D was given a series of ‘Planning’ Cat Scans and had little permanent ‘freckle-sized’ black dots tattoed on her back, chest, and breasts as reference points to guide the radiotherapist when delivering her treatment.
Looking at her now, as she lies there asleep in our bed, I am resisting the temptation to draw lines between the dots to see what interesting shapes I can make!
23rd Oct 2007
I held a life in my hands the other day and watched helplessly as it ebbed away.
It was a good day to die. The sun was bright without giving out much heat, the early morning frost still liyng on the ground in patches – slow to give way to the weak rays of the sun.
There was a stillness in the air, too. Being a Sunday, there was no noise of distant traffic . The only noise to disturb the quiet was the sound of my voice, muttering soft words of comfort.
I watched the breathing become more and more shallow. There was an occasional rally, when the head would lift and turn in my direction and our eyes would lock.
I felt the tears welling up in my own as I saw the trusting look in those eyes. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do now to change the outcome. All I could hope for was to ease the pain of passing – to provide some warmth, some comfort, to banish fear.
10th Oct 2007
Meeting with Consultant on Monday to discuss results of latest CT Scans.
Bad news was that ‘growth’ in Mrs D’s right lung now measures 7.5 cm dia compared to 4.9 cm back in April. On face of it, therefore, chemotherapy has had little effect on reducing size of cancer, so decision was made to cancel last chemo session scheduled for tomorrow and move Mrs D on to radiotherapy.
The good news was that there was no sign that the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes, chest wall, or other parts of the body such as the liver.
Given that no CT Scan was performed just before Mrs D started her chemotherapy, it is difficult to draw any proper conclusion as to the effectiveness of the 3 chemo sessions she has had to date. Much, if not all, the increase in the size of the growth may have taken place in the 3 months following that 1st CT Scan before Mrs D started the chemo.
26th Sep 2007
On Thursday, last week, Mrs D had her 3rd session of chemo. She felt O.K. to go to work the following day, but by the evening she was feeling very tired and decided to have an early night. Much of the week-end was then spent in bed. Unlike the first two sessions of chemo, this latest session has really knocked her about a bit, although with each passing day, she is feeling a little bit better. Hopefully she’ll soon have recovered sufficiently to tackle the task I’ve set aside for her this coming weekend. While we were at the hospital on last Thursday, some B*astard trying to do a 3-point turn demolished 1/2 the wall fronting our drive ….
Repairing this wall should be well within Mrs D’s capabilities (no need to climb a ladder either).
I shall be on hand, of course, to offer sage advise and the occasional glass of Merlot!
20th Sep 2007
Mrs D spent most of last weekend perched atop a ladder painting the ceiling and walls of our hallway. The reason for this burst of activity? A letter from the DHSS on the Friday awarding her the high rate of Disability Living Allowance because …..’you are virtually unable to walk considering the distance, speed, manner and time you are able to walk without severe discomfort‘
This extra money was a welcome surprise and well help defray the additional costs incurred because of her condition (not least, hospital parking fees!). However, once we had finished planning how we could best use this extra income (beer, wine, balti, chinese?) a more disturbing thought intruded – It’s official. Even the Government now accepts Mrs D is f*cked !!!
‘B*stards‘, said Mrs D. ‘A’m no bluidy deid yet’!!!‘ (she’s picked up a bit of a scottish accent living with me)
The award was based on a letter submitted to the DHSS by the Oncologist at the hospital where she attends for her chemo. It was sobering to think that it is only a matter of time (how long or short?) before her health deteriorates to the point described in the letter. In the meantime, as if to prove the doctors and the Government a bit ‘premature’ in their assessment of her capabilities, Mrs D climbed that ladder!
5th Sep 2007
You put your left leg in
You put your left leg out
In, out, in, out …. (The Hokey-Cokey)
Felt a bit like that this week with Mrs D in and out of Hospital.
The ‘Fun’ started Monday lunchtime when she started coughing up copious amounts of blood. When the blood started coming down her nose as well and she was struggling to breathe I called the Emergency services. A paramedic, and an ambulance arrived within minutes and she was whisked off to Hospital.
Shortly before midnight, her situation brought under control, Mrs D was discharged (Doctors wanted her to stay overnight for ‘observation’, but Mrs D wanted to go home)
9th Aug 2007
The Scout Movement celebrated their centenary this year with a Giant Jamboree (just finished) in the South of England. Speaking as an ex-member of the rival ‘Boys Brigade’ organization (left under a cloud following an incident involving two Irish lassies, a bottle of whiskey, a clearing in the woods – during a summer camp in Bangor, N.Ireland in the mid-60’s), the idea of teenage lads and grown men wearing short trousers, going off ‘camping’ together to play with their wiggles (or was it woggles?) always seemed just a teeny wee bit ’suspicious’!
The Scouts and the Boys Brigade are both excellent organizations which have benefited millions of children and young people around the world and the leadership of both organizations contains many dedicated men and woman who gift their time to enrich the lives of children. In the 1950/60’s, however, the leadership was primarily male. From the Boy Scout and Boys Brigade leaders I encountered then, a large percentage seemed to be single men in their 40’s, living alone with their mothers, with no social life, who did not seem able to form adult relations, but were comfortable and took pleasure in the company of children. Signs that in a less naive age, such as today, would quite rightly raise some eyebrows (?)
What’s that? You want to know more about the two girls in the woods and the bottle of whiskey ?
8th Aug 2007
Mrs D has a couple of very good friends who emigrated to Australia several years ago to join their son and grandchildren who had moved there from the U.K. Their granddaughter later returned to the U.K. – met a young man, fell in love and married him on Saturday. Mrs D and I were invited to attend the ceremony and the reception afterwards. There were a few ‘hiccups’ leading up to the ‘big day’ but a local radio station responded to a plea for help (finding a photographer after original cancelled at last minute and alternative honeymoon accommodation when original venue came under several feet of water as a result of the recent floods to hit Britain following days of torrential rain).
The weather was kind on the day and the bride looked radiant.
The following day was the Birmingham Carnival when our local park is transformed for the day with funfair, large stages for live music performances, and lots of stalls.
4th Aug 2007
There’s a school of thought that says knowing Mrs D’s time is limited allows us to make the most of what time we do have left together. There’s some truth in this. I have never been particularly demonstrative in my affection for Mrs D. I am not overtly romantic. In all the years we have been together, for instance, I have never bought her flowers – not even for her birthday, or Valentine’s Day, and any hapless bugger that dares interrupt my meal in a restaurant to ask if I want to buy a single rose for the lady is told in no uncertain terms to ‘f*ck off’. Whether its part of my Scottish upbringing, I don’t know, but I have seldom spoken openly of my feelings for her. I am not comfortable talking about such things. These past weeks, however, have allowed me to tell Mrs D how much I love her.
The downside to our situation is that the pain of bereavement, rather than being experienced as a ‘one-off event’ so to speak,, is something I experience every day at the thought of losing Mrs D. It catches me in an unguarded moment – often triggered by a song on the radio. One song in particular – Ronan Keating, ‘If Tomorrow Never Comes’ – reduces me to tears every time our local station plays it. When we got in the car to drive home after being told of Mrs D’s cancer this song came on the car radio. I’d heard it before of course but had never paid close attention to the words. I did so then as we sat in silence for a moment or two, each lost in our own thoughts.
Sometimes late at night
I lie awake and watch her sleeping
She’s lost in peaceful dreams
So I turn out the lights and lay there in the dark
And the thought crosses my mind
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel
About her in my heart
If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she’s my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face the world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes
‘Cause I’ve lost loved ones in my life
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
So I made a promise to myself
To say each day how much she means to me
And avoid that circumstance
Where there’s no second chance to tell her how I feel
