Whisky, scans and phones

I may have mentioned once or twice before in these notes Scotland's great contribution to civilisation. I endeavour to uphold the tradition of a good toast to success, failure, hope, enjoyment, or melancholy - which pretty well covers most eventualities. There are thousands of permutations of these nectars distilled in heaven, and I have collected a fair few of these wonderful cure-alls. Most are well depleted, but I like to keep them in their boxes, which are part of the character of the drink and often give a potted history of the location and flavourings of the inner heart. I had lost track of the ones I have, and some of them had been hidden at the back of the shelf gathering dust, so yesterday Ann and I pulled them out to take a look. It is a good selection, gathered from visits, or gifted at Christmas's and birthdays by my thoughtful children. But most were selected by Ann herself, often as a momento of a visit to some hidden bar that served a different or unusual brew of barley. I am no connoissour, and would be hard pressed to identify a region let alone a label, but they all have distinct flavours and it is always a pleasure to find one I haven't touched for a while.

Today I had my brain scan. It was not traumatic in any way, although one patient came out and, seeing Ann, assumed she was waiting to go in so tried to reassure her by saying he hadn't slept all night worrying about it, but it was quite safe! I was already in by then and under the machine. They provide ear plugs and headphones with loud music, but even they could not mask the incredible noise the machine made - it was like standing next to a road drill interspersed with clicks and beeps. The table even throbbed and vibrated like being next to a road drill. The only painful thing was the cannula in the back of my hand, which stung and came up in a blue mound when the removed it. I think the worst thing will be waiting for the results to see if the cancer has spread, and if so how far. Another week of waiting and wondering.

The MRI Unit awaits us

Ann has bought a new phone. It isn't on contract, so we have also managed to reduce the rental charges. Edwin uploaded all her data and wiped her phone, then had a look at mine. It's as well he did: he noticed the screen was beginning to pop out of its case due to battery swelling, exactly as happened with my old Samsung. The trouble seems to lie with the way I leave the phones charging overnight, then forget to take them with me the next day. This means the batteries are constantly overcharged which leads to them weakening, leaking and swelling. It's as well Edwin spotted it, or it might have caught fire in my pocket. So now I have a new phone too - in the shape of Ann's old one, and my old one will be left switched off for safety.

Art, weeds and work

Mike. Oil on canvas.

 Mary-Anne came round last week to visit and chat. She had sprained her ankle and had been hobbling round using a mop for a crutch, so we made her rest with her foot elevated, strapped it up, and lent her a walking stick. She refused to allow an ice pack near it, though. 

The girls are doing well. Grace has left school, to her delight, and starts a health course in September, with ambitions to convert it to a full nursing degree in due course. She already knows much about medical matters and is very bright. The youngest girl doesn't like school, but seems to get through with ease and I'm sure she'll do well in whatever field she choses.

My art has slowed somewhat recently (I have been distracted by several "couldn't put it down" books). I have several pictures on the go simultaneously, but will make an effort to finish them. The first was of Mike. It is my largest canvas yet: it was going to be a full head-and shoulders view, or even a torso, but has ended up as a larger-than-life-size head. He hasn't seen it yet, but I'm pleased with it. He's a very tough man, and not many would dare take him on.

Common Mallow

A new plant has bloomed in our garden against the new fence, behind the zen garden. I hadn't a clue what it was and couldn't identify it from any online guides (there are a lot of purple flowered things), so posted in on our local Facebook page. Sure enough, someone posted back within five minutes identifying it a Common Mallow. Technically a week, but such pretty deep coloured flowers, and already attracting a number of bees and other insects, so we're leaving it to grow for a bit. Apparently, it is quite edible and was once a famine food. It contains many minerals and beneficial additives and has been used for centuries for its medicinal properties. We live and learn, but hopefully I  won't have to cook it anytime soon.

Workwise, without being able to share too much, we have met a hiccup in our development program and will have to go back to the drawing board. I'm not sure how it will resolve, but it keeps us on our toes. Healthwise, I have my brain scan tomorrow. I can still manage the crossword and beat the students on a few questions on University Challenge, so I guess there's still something there. It will be interesting to see what is found! 

One piece of bad news and lots of good news

Events are unfolding fast in our Hundon home. On Monday I attended West Suffolk Hospital to hear the judge ‒ in the guise of Dr Marquette, a young Maltese respiratory consultant ‒ pronounce sentence, and for the first time in well over a year, Ann was allowed to sit in with me. We knew it would be bad news by his over-solicitous greeting, and the presence of a Macmillan support nurse, and sure enough it was. The growth in the lung is a metastatic spread from my malignant melanoma. The primary was removed four years ago (see The black spot), when I hoped the sacrifice of an ear might appease the monster. But now it has reared its head once more, and the future looks bleak. Now we await the brain scan to see if there are other secondaries before the team decide my fate at a future meeting.

Happily, the bad-news day was followed by a very-good-news day. First, our grandson Luke texted to say the A-level results are out. He has two A's and a B, sufficient to take him to his first-choice university at Leeds. That is brilliant news!

Secondly, Andre has been driving for more than 10 years, but his Brazilian licence was only valid in UK for 6 months, so he has been unable to drive here for some time. Yesterday, after much coaching in driving on the left, managing roundabouts, and coping with a manual transmission, he finally took his test and passed. He now has a full British driving licence, and by way of celebration he bought Ann's car, and treated us all to lunch at Carluccio's in Bury. 

Thirdly, never one to hang around, carless Ann spent the afternoon visiting car show rooms. She quickly settled on a white, four-year old Golf TDI. It is in beautiful condition, at a competitive price, and her only hesitation was the dealer. He is a local, independent dealer trading from a showroom on an industrial estate. He has been there for twenty years, has a good online reputation, and sells top end cars with people coming from across the country to buy from him, but he does give a decent imitation of a wide boy, as though he's selling dodgy goods from the back of a barrow. However, he has offered to do a full service and provide a full year's MOT, and "guarantees" the car for twelve months. It drives smoothly and quietly and looks immaculate, and Ann needs a car quickly in case she has to start driving me to hospital for treatments, so she has taken the plunge and we pick it up next week. So, congratulations all round to Luke for getting into Leeds University, to Andre for passing his test and buying a car, and to Ann for choosing and buying a lovely car so quickly.

Borage in Hundon

On a totally different note, the fields round Hundon are filled with ripening crops of wheat and barley, and harvesting will soon be upon us. However, many fields are now filled with a beautiful blue flowering crop. This started a few years ago when many of the fields were bright yellow with rape seed, and just one local field turned blue. Now there seems to be no rape seed crop, but many of the fields have been turned over to borage. I stopped by one out of curiosity to pick a typical plant. It has five star petals of the deepest blue and gold colouring, though the stem is rough and prickly, and I looked up some details about this crop. The seeds are widely used for flavouring, but also they contain one of the richest sources of Gamma Linolenic Acid (GLA) so far discovered. GLA is a naturally occurring fatty acid, essential for human health.  Borage oil capsules are sold as dietary supplements and are also marketed under the name of Starflower capsules. It seems that the UK is the largest producer in the world for borage, hence the proliferation of blue fields round Hundon. Borage oil is used in the treatment of a wide range of conditions, such as helping multiple sclerosis (MS) sufferers. I shall have to visit our local health food shop and give them a try for my unrelenting pruritus.

The hospital sends two letters

 I have fitted a security camera overlooking the back gate of our home. It was working well, but needed a memory card to keep a record of visitors - wanted or otherwise. The card came this week, so today I climbed the ladder to place the tiny micro SD card. It didn't work at first, so I jiggled it about to make sure the connection was sound when suddenly it popped out propelled by the little spring that clips it in place. It flew high in the air, straight into my eye before dropping to the floor somewhere near the dustbin. 

Edwin testing the new security camera

Once my vision had returned and the pain subsided, I climbed down and with Ann's help found the card on the floor. Edwin and Andre were coming over anyway, so I waited for them to arrive and asked Andre to fix it for me - he's a computer guru, so it is always wise to use an expert when one is available. Needless to say, he fixed it up and Edwin went through the gate to test its recording ability. It worked remarkably well: we could all follow Edwin as he tried to sneak past on hands and knees, a towel over his head. We could hear the gate click as he fumbled the latch, and saw his back crawl through until, on the other side, he suddenly sprang up and pulled the towel from his head. The phone app bleeped and flashed up a warning: "human detected!". It is a great piece of kit.

Yesterday afternoon, two letters arrived from the hospital. The first told me to attend on Monday afternoon to see the respiratory medicine consultant to discuss the result of my needle biopsy. It's like being told on Friday to report to the headmaster's study on Monday - giving you the whole weekend to worry about what trouble you'll be in. The second letter was even more ominous. I've been booked for an MRI  brain scan on Friday. I can only assume this means they think I have a carcinoma of the lung and are looking for brain secondaries. Tomorrow I will find out one way or another what they want to do with me.

In King's Lynn with Arwen and family

Today we went to King's Lynn to visit Matthew and Rosie and baby Arwen, possibly for the last time as they hope to move back to Middlesbrough next month. Arwen is nearly a year old now, and has grown enormously from the tiny prem baby we had seen a few months back. She is standing well and seems ready to walk already, and is vocalising well. Wonderful to see her growing and developing so well.

A CT-guided needle biopsy at Papworth hospital

Stepping into the Royal Papworth Hospital is like entering a modern cathedral to science. It is a vast circular complex of five stories dedicated to cardiothoracic medicine and surgery, equipped with the latest technological advances in nuclear medicine and imaging, and was only opened two years ago by the queen when it was given its royal status. They start dealing with day cases every half hour starting at 07:00 and my appointment time with the high priestess of CT-guided needle biopsies was at 08:00, so I had to be on the ward early and starved, so Edwin called round at 06:15 to take me in.

Because of Covid (isn't everything now), there was a guard on the door admitting only patients with an appointment letter, so no visitors or family to accompany we who were assembling. The vast entrance hall and inquiry desk are covered by a glass dome with corridors angled off, but all strangely silent and deserted, as only a small trickle of patients drifting through. In the day unit I stripped quickly to don a backless hospital gown and the priestess came through to explain the ritual and what I might experience like some initiation ceremony, driven by pain to drive the demons out. I was first on the list, but could hear through the thin curtain screens what torments awaited the other supplicants for better health. One, a bronchoscopy, for possible lung cancer; another, a stent for blocked arteries; a third was due a lung transplant. Papworth serves the whole UK as a specialist hospital, and the transplant woman had been driven up from Luton by her mother, who was forced to wait in the carpark for news before she could go home.

The procedure itself was simple, from my viewpoint. I had to lie prone for nearly an hour, one hand above my head the other by my side to rotate my shoulders slightly and lift a rib clear for the passage of the needle. I then had to lie absolutely still as the long needle was inserted between the ribs to reach the lesion, somewhere deep within the lower lobe. They repeatedly drove the bed with me on it into the heart of the huge doughnut-shaped scanner, then pulled me back calling out mysterious numbers to move the needle about as they probed to find the centre of this unwanted addition to my body. Then a series of loud clicks as the needle closed in the cells. Finally it was over, the needle withdrawn, a large pad pressed and taped against the wound, and I was wheeled back to the ward to lie still for another hour recovering, before I was allowed to sit quietly in the chair. It was all relatively painless.

Later, I was given a sandwich and cup of welcome tea, before being taken for a check X-ray which showed a small pneumothorax, where air had leaked through the puncture wound in the lung and tracked up to sit as a bubble above the lung. A repeat X-ray an hour later showed this bubble had grown, so they wouldn't let me go early until a final X-ray late afternoon suggested it had stabilised, and Edwin could come and fetch me. The specialist said she had obtained good specimens, but the results from the micropathology would not be available until next week, when the team would discuss them and my management. I think I can feel the partially collapsed lung pulling in my chest, but perhaps knowing it is there fires the imagination. Now it is no more than uncomfortable, but I have been told to avoid violent coughing, strenuous exercise, sexual intercourse and lifting for a few days. At least part of that injunction is easy to do.

Luke comes to stay and visits Cambridge

Luke among the Banksys

Our Grandson, Luke, came to stay for a couple of days. He too has a dog, so is well used to canine ways and has known Bronte since a puppy on her early outings, so we enjoyed a good walk in the woods behind the Swan. Settling in the beer tent afterwards for a cooling drink and a bite to eat, the manager, Nick, informed us that the chef had walked out on Thursday so there was no menu. Nick said she had put on some kind of strop as an excuse, although Nick thought she had just been offered more money by a rival concern. Ann thinks it more likely that Nick upset her, but there appears to be a general shortage of skilled workers and poaching is rife.

On Monday, we went to Bury. Luke thought it was his first visit, but I remember he had seen it before - but only as a toddler when his mum and dad came to stay. We visited the Moments Exhibition in the museum, surprisingly poorly attended for such a great display of contemporary art with Banksy, Tracy Emin, Damien Hirst and others; then saw the old town and the Abbey before going on to Sudbury for a welcome meal at the old Mill Hotel. We dined outside, watching the cows come down to the river like a Constable painting. On Tuesday he drove to Cambridge, which he definitely had not visited, to stay with Edwin and Andre. They gave him a good time, including punting on the Cam and visiting the computer museum. Here, I dutifully went for my Covid test ready to go into Papworth Hospital tomorrow.

Cows in the River Stour

I walk the dogs each day and it has become a tradition for Byron to find a lost ball. The car is now filled with tennis balls he's discovered, but the last time I walked in the fields he found a football. Today he found another and loved running round in front of goal evading the backs (Bronte) as he weaved towards the goal mouth. 

Bronte and Byron play football

Bad news eased by a lovely evening

Cambridge urban fox

Friday was a difficult day. I had been sleeping badly for the last few nights, so lay down after lunch for a catch-up snooze. I had just reached that state of pre-sleep drowsiness when the phone rang and Ann came in, apologetic for waking me. It was the nursing team from Royal Papworth Hospital. The team had held a conference about my scan results and decided I would be best served with a biopsy to determine just what the shadow is. I have to go into Papworth early next Friday, having starved overnight, and to take an overnight bag in case I have to stay in. 

Because of Covid, I must go alone and be collected when I'm finished. Also because of Covid, I must have a full Covid test at West Suffolk Hospital on Tuesday, then go into isolation until the biopsy. Luke is coming to stay with us on Sunday, and we had planned to take him to Cambridge on Monday and to King's Lynn on Tuesday to see Matthew and Rosie. Matthew is working on Monday, so Edwin has kindly agreed to take Luke overnight and show him Cambridge on Wednesday. 

Ann and I were naturally upset by the news that I now need another biopsy, but Edwin came to our rescue. He was going out to dinner with Andre and two Brazilian friends, but invited us to join them. They had tickets for the theatre afterwards, but again Edwin phoned and bought to extra tickets so we could stay with them and take our minds off things. It was a brilliant play, "A splinter of ice", set in Kim Philby's Moscow  apartment in 1987 shortly before his death, when he was visited by Graham Greene, an old friend and fellow MI6 agent. The play cleverly brought in the history of the Cambridge five spy ring, and the motivation behind Philby's betrayal. 

Walking back to the car, we caught a pair of foxes walking fearlessly round the lawns outside the flats. They even came up to us hoping for food, so Ann was able to catch a good photo of them despite the darkness of the evening.