Love Actually at Addenbrooke's

Yet another hospital visit yesterday, to discuss the proposed management of my spreading cancer. At Christmas, it is traditional to watch the popular film Love Actually, with its classic scene of myriads of people meeting joyfully at the airport. The oncology waiting area was equally crowded, but without the luggage and romantic hugs of greetings. But Annie insightfully pointed out that the bonds between people as they patiently awaited their call to see the specialists was of a deeper love and carried more meaning than any fleeting reunion before a return to normal life. It was the love carried between marriage partners or lovers, a parent for a child, or a young man or woman for an ill parent through their stress of potentially terminal illness. One thing alone bound this group as we waited for another course of treatment or to discuss our progress: one person in each pair had cancer. Some were marked with surgical excisions, some with scarves covering their hair loss, or by sunken cheeks betraying a deeper cancer within their bones or blood. It made me appreciate how very blessed I am to have Annie, as she touched my hand through her suffering to give me strength and comfort.

At times like this Addenbrooke's shows its worth as a great hospital; they have had repeated multidisciplinary meetings about me before deciding to perform surgery to the more superficial mass then proceed to radiotherapy for the greater lung mass. As they explained with great emphasis, this is not curative but may improve quality of life and potential pain, at least in the short term. The lung mass lies wedged in the basement of the lung with the spleen on one side and the heart on the other, so the registrar warned me of various complications before he told me he considered their likelihood to be much less than certain, and persuaded me to sign the consent form.

Our dog Byron is lapping water in the kitchen. Oddly, each time I hear him, it sounds just like the clop-clop of horses that used to walk by the house from the paddock at the end of our road. I used to see the horses from my study, shading themselves under their tree in summer, or moving in circles on a training lead as they were broken in for riding. It was very rural and relaxing. Now the fields stand empty, for the trainer has taken a job in Newmarket, and the fields' owner has not leased them out. I used to take riding lessons when I worked in France, doing basic handling in a large barn in the evening, and then a good cross-country hack every Sunday morning which were wonderful. All my horsey terms were in French and really, I know little of horses, but a lot of country people keep horses or ponies so I thought these empty fields must be wasteful, as he could be collecting rent. However, based purely on the internet, it seems the rent from even quite large paddocks is ludicrously low, so it's probably not worth the effort of collecting it just to see it disappear again in tax. I know horse lovers must include insurance and vet bills and the cost of tack and food, but based on the cost of good grass pasture, the actual day to day running cost may be much less than a car, and miniscule compared to the costs of running a boat (this I do know from experience!).