A celebratory cream tea

 

Celebration Tea from Matthew and Rosie

Finally, the huge run of daily visits to Addenbrooke's is over. I was told to have someone accompany me in case of nausea or feeling faint, and a tremendous team of four helpers stepped in to share the load, all willing to sacrifice their own time to drive me in and wait with me in a dreary, windowless room bursting with too many people for the seating. Each one has, or is related to, someone with some form of cancer, so an atmosphere of gloom and introspective hangs in the air as each in their own way ponders their future.  

Matthew and Rosie sent Annie a splendid cream tea, partly for mothers' day and partly to celebrate getting through the radiotherapy. She laid it out formally to have on the dining table in the sun. Delicious!

Now the sun is moving into its summer sky, I can sit in its warmth in my favourite armchair. I'm reading The People on Platform 5, a Christmas gift from Annie. It's a light and upbeat book, and a good counterpart to the mayhem on the news, and the stream of murder mysteries we watch to idle an evening hour.  

We hear a lot about 'influencers', and how they have thousands of followers, each presumably willing to buy some product the influencer is pushing that day. I wondered about becoming an influencer myself; would the handful of people who read this blog rush to buy whatever clothes I chose to wore? No, they would not. But perhaps I can be a de-influencer. Annie buys me lovely clothing, but as soon as I don it, it seems to change in subtle ways until I always seem to be dressed in shoddy, stained, left-me-overs. I think companies should pay me not to wear their clothing or use their products, and add a bonus if I wear some rival's garb. If only I could build up a large readership for my posts, I could make a fortune as companies vie for me not to be seen in their clothing.

Radiothrapy updates

 Another week of radiotherapy is over. The days have been so similar and monotonous, varying only in the time of appointment or who ferries me in, that I haven't felt any urge to update this blog. The new procedure involves bombarding the area of skin with high-energy electrons from a small linear accelerator onto the scar on my back, where they removed the cancer from the muscles. The area is looking quite red now, like bad sunburn, so Annie is putting cream on as per recommendation. Now only three more sessions to endure.

The recommendation from Addenbrooke's is that I should be brought in by a driver, in case I feel sick or dizzy after the treatments. When it was Annie's turn to take me in, she went on to the Park 'n Ride to wait for me. Going there, a motorist followed, flashing lights and drawing up alongside her to shout through the window: "you've got a completely flat tyre!" Annie limped to the car park, but couldn't get Edwin, so phoned Andre who left work and was with her within ten minutes. He jacked up the car and removed the wheel nuts, but was unable to budge the wheel, so called to a burly Irish workman in the carpark for help. Even the two of them together couldn't shift the wheel, and they were afraid to rock or pull too violently in case the car fell off the jack. Luckily the Irish guy had a spray-type emergency inflator that blew it up sufficiently to get them to a Tyrecar in Cambridge. Edwin now arrived to pick me up, so the four of us were watching as the professionals tried to remove the wheel, but they too couldn't shift it. Finally, they took a heavy mallet and kept hammering the wheel till it finally fell with a satisfying rubber thud. We all let out a great cheer and applauded their efforts. The guy later said that VW wheels were notorious for corroding to the drum and were the worst vehicles for this.

Today was Andre's turn to take me in; an early start, leaving just after 7a.m. for 8a.m., but the poor radiotherapists start at 7a.m. so had already seen a string of patients. The NHS is clearly putting in the hours to get through their lists. Afterwards, Andre took me to ARM where he works, to show me round. It's a massive, complex campus, with multiple new buildings all belonging to ARM, and another under construction; clearly a very ambitious company that is doing well. They have several large dining areas that were deserted this early, but he generously bought me a wonderful full-English vegetarian breakfast, all freshly made and served, which made the early start well worthwhile.

Three of our close relatives are widows now: Ann's sister, Jane, my sister-in-law, Chris, and my ex-wife Nicola, whose second husband died some years after their marriage. All of them are going through a desolate time, emphasising how deep is the loss of a close partner. We know this treatment is no cure for rapidly spreading cancers like melanoma, but just hope several weeks of total disruption to our lives works sufficiently to damp it down and ultimately give us a little more time to enjoy life together.