A touch of optimism as I make progress

 Things are progressing with my recovery. Today I had the last of my anticoagulant injections; they came in a large box of ready-filled syringes and Ann has been giving them religiously each evening. Yesterday I attended the local Clare surgery to have the purse drawstring stitch removed. The surgery has become a surreal experience. We have to give our names at the door and no one is allowed in without an appointment. A large notice above reception proclaims: "Due to Covid, the receptionists cannot offer advice or take appointments directly. Patients can only communicate with them by phone, and then only after a long process of filling out online questionnaires. The surgery was deserted. There were only four seats spread in each corner of the old waiting room, but no one was waiting. No one came out from the nurse before me and no one was waiting when I left. Normally, there were two or even three doctors working and a nurse and health visitor and three or four receptionists. Now even the phone didn't ring during my brief time, and on the way out the two doctors' doors were open, the surgeries deserted. But for the solitary receptionist and nurse, I saw no one.

This week too, the melanoma nurse at Addenbrookes finally phoned. She told me the team had held a meeting to discuss my case. They have requested a repeat whole-body CAT scan to confirm there are no more obvious metastases, and the oncologist will arrange a meeting after that to discuss possible immunotherapy. As Ann says, this is very positive. I will finally be able to ask them about my prognosis, and find out what I face with further treatment. The scan and immunotherapy are both expensive procedures, and they would not offer them if they thought there would be no benefit, so this all suggests that hope lies ahead.

Today our friends Rae and Malcolm came round to take us out to lunch. While I am unable to drive (I'm half way through my ban - another two weeks to go before I can even try my new car), Ann is having to drive us everywhere so she is usually unable to drink when we go out, so this was a rare chance for her to share a bottle of wine with Rae. We went to The Plough where I enjoyed a delicious mushroom and stilton burger, followed by a crumble and custard. I'm definitely getting my appetite back, so that's another good sign. 

I almost fall into trouble

This morning, Ann drove us to the Sudbury Garden Centre for a coffee and cake. It was good to get out, but we couldn't take the dogs in Ann's car so I walked them a short way in the field opposite. I have mentioned before Byron's instinct for balls and his knack in finding them. Some time ago, he found a football which he enjoys running round the field with. I had kicked it into the hedge before I went into hospital, but he remembered exactly where it was so made a beeline for it. He goes for a long run with the thing hanging from mouth, then brings it up and rolls it with his nose towards me to kick. The ball does not go far with my kicks, but Byron cares not - he still catches it and runs half round the field before bringing it back for a repeat performance. So though I can't walk far or fast, he still is getting lots of excercise. When we finally leave the field, I kick it back down the hole in the hedge. I know he will remember and go straight to it tomorrow.

I regret I have developed a nervous disposition as I have aged, and always jump when the dogs bark. After a spell in the studio working on my new portrait, I made Ann and myself a hot drink and was carrying them in when the back doorbell rang. Byron barked loudly as he rushed past, and I jumped so violently I almost emptied both cups over the floor. Going to the door, a young girl was delivering a parcel. I always stack too many things in my car, and Ann had emptied it ready for selling on Monday, so boxes and bags littered the lobby. Being a clumsy guy who doesn't look where he's going, I tripped over one of the bags and shot forward through the door, almost falling on the girl with the parcel. Happily, disaster was averted as I grabbed the door frame, otherwise I might be writing this blog from the Haverhill police cell.

We head to Waitrose and buy a new car

Our new car

Today, we bought a car. We hadn't intended to. Indeed, we had set off  for Sudbury just to get some shopping from Waitrose and walk the dogs, but Ann had read that Suffolk Trade Centre had a VW Tiguan newly in, and wanted to see what it looked like. 

My own car had been damaged before I went into hospital. I have no recollection of scraping it, but it had a graze across the front wing so we took it to our local guru, Terry, for assessment of the repair. He came out laughing, "here again?" Yes, I have used his services several times, but this time I have no memory of damaging it. He agreed, someone else may have done it in the car park. Very common, he said. He assessed it as 3 days work, but said he'd better add a couple of days in case there was extra work by the time we brought it in. As we left, he said he ought to book a week aside every month to allow me to come in regularly. But he did offer a good price, probably discounted for repeat orders. 

We walked round  the Tiguan and it looked clean enough and of a right size, so we said we'd just get the keys and look at the inside. Nice leather seats, automatic and, though much smaller than the Jag, room enough for two dogs in the boot. Duncan, whom we've known for many years, came over and said, why didn't we take it for a spin? So we thought, why not? I am banned from driving for 4 weeks following my operation, so Ann drove. It is certainly smooth, and holds the road well. Importantly, it is much higher than the Jag, so much easier to get in or out of. These days, I sink down in the low Jag seat, and my weak legs struggle to get out again, but with the Tiguan I can just slide out. 

Being unable to drive for the four weeks, I had been intending to get the car tarted up by Terry and get a quote from We Buy Any Car to get the money quickly and give us time to look for a new car. But we thought, there's no harm in getting Duncan to give us a quote. So he did, and it matched the top end of what we thought we might get, and he said he'd take it as it was, scratches and dog hair included! Such is his despair to obtain new stock in this rare time of second-hand car famine, he even ignored the scuffed alloy wheel and the scratches over the boot back where the dogs scramble for purchase when they jump in. We shook hands on it, and we can pick it up on Monday. It was then too late for Waitrose, and Ann didn't want to drive it any further anyway in case it acquired a new scratch. So we simply went home having bought a new car.

I have started to prepare canvases for my new portraits. They are primed with gesso, ready to sketch the outlines. I used my new full-size easel. It is very thin and rickety, but it managed to support the large canvases enough to prepare them.

Today also, our friends Rae and Malcolm came for morning coffee and cake. Yesterday, Ann cooked the four Christmas cakes. She does four because it has become a tradition to do one for us and three for others such as Mary-Anne and the boys. Later, I will marzipan and ice them, but we let each recipient do their own final decorations. There was cake mixture left over, so Ann made a small loaf cake, and that is what we sampled. Her Christmas cake mix is one of the richest it is possible to bake; any more fruit and it would be a fruit pudding. Also, she soaks it in as much brandy as it will absorb, so the coffee and cake morning was a great delight.  

A walk in the sun

"Caffeine and Kindness" at Rodbridge

 Ann has always been generous to people who come to us. She always makes the window cleaner or gardener, or any workman we have to use to keep the house going, a cup of coffee and biscuits, yet no one ever invites Ann for a coffee. We have lived in Hundon for 20 years, and so often have neighbours promised, "you must come round for a coffee soon" that it becomes a mantra, yet not one neighbour has ever invited her round for a coffee. Ann now has to sit with me 24 hours a day, and the only break she has had was when Edwin took her to Bury while Andre stayed with me. 

Enjoying sun and cake

My surgery was sold as "keyhole" surgery. After a shower, Ann removed the dressing from my entry wound yesterday. The whole area is bruised and swollen. It feels as though they kicked my ribs in and then jumped on them. Ann says the wound scar is large, and she can't imagine the size of key that would be needed to fit that hole: it's big enough to get a fist in. However, we had a positive day yesterday with my first trip out and walk. Ann drove my car with the dogs aboard to Rodbridge Country Park in Long Melford, a lovely expanse of rolling grass, rabbit holes, mysterious hidden ponds and woods set out alongside the river Stour. After the walk, I sat quietly in the sun while Ann bought coffees and cakes from a mobile van, billing itself as "Kind Heart Coffee" promoting Coffee, Kindness and Community. It goes from place to place, bringing warmth and friendship to areas where people might be stressed or alone such as hospital carparks. I sat in the warm sun after the walk feeling much improved. I must say, that coffee van was warmer and more welcoming than the whole of Hundon.

Mysterious gifts arrive

On Monday we received a mysterious parcel. It contained two huge boxes of classy chocolates, biscuits and teas and other goodies, and some bottles of fine wine. No note was attached, and we spent some time speculating who might have sent such expensive and unusual items. Finally, Ann tracked down the doner: it was Mike. Thank you so much for such wonderful and thoughtful things. I wasted no time sampling the fine chocolate, and the other things will be tasted soon.

My new Foundation Buddy

Watching with my Foundation Buddy

Edwin and Andre came round last night. Ann made us all a first rate shepherd's pie with all the trimmings, and it was delicious. It is easy to eat for strength with such food. Edwin and Ann are less keen on sci-fi then Andre and I, so the two of us watched several episodes of the new Apple TV Foundation series while Ann and Edwin chatted in the library. 

It is a high standard production for visuals and acting with dialogue up to the original of Azimov, so it is a brilliant series all round. I had wanted to watch it for some time, so am very grateful to my new Foundation buddy for encouraging me to do so. A new episode is released each Friday, so we will probably watch it independently to cover the series, then watch new ones together. 

I must admit, recovery from the lung resection is not the simple procedure I had hoped it might be. Everyone told me it would be painful, and it is: but I'm taking the painkillers the hospital provided every 6 hours, and they do hold it at bay most of the time. Also, the cough is more worrying - deep and productive, with nasty strings of black stuff the result of the hacking, and the tiredness, all in all like I'd just worked a shift in a coal mine. Not pleasant at all, and weak and breathless when I do too much. I am resting, of course, but I can't do much else! Ann is having to do everything, even to walking the dogs and emptying the bins.

Going home, bruised but surviving

The cannulae are removed

 Yesterday Mr Peryt visited once more and said I looked well and could go home. The drains had been removed from my chest wall yesterday and today the last of the cannulae were taken out. Hurray. I contacted Ann immediately afterwards, and she came for me about 11am, to restore a little normality back into our lives. It is good to be home. I am tired, but taking regular pain medication which seems to control everything allowing me to do the deep breathing exercises and cough to get up the gunge off my lungs. 

I am banned from driving for 4 weeks, which pleases some people but not the dogs, as I always take them with us in the back of my car. Ann's is too small to take them, so they will have to stay home whenever we go out. Not that I've been out yet! I'm confined to relative rest at the moment, forbidden to do any lifting or anything strenuous for a while, least the chest wound gapes or leaks air into the pleural space. I also have to take an injection each day into my stomach to stop DVTs, so life is not all sweetness and light despite the rest. 

The wedge resection of my lung is completed

Grandad John after surgery

Yesterday was the day of surgery to remove the metastatic melanoma from my lung. I was nil by mouth from midnight, and due to go down at 1pm, being third on the list. The first case was a bronchoscopy, so they said it shouldn't be too long before they called me, but in the event the second case dragged on overtime, until finally they called for me at 3:30pm. They said the second case was still blocking the thoracic theatre, so they had to prepare the cardiac theatre for me. I greatly pity whoever was in the other theatre: they must have been there for over 5 hours when I went down. They prepped me, put a couple of cannulas in, gave me oxygen to breath then knocked me out, and I knew no more till 7:30pm when they returned me to the ward. I had booked supper before I went down, but that was gone so I had no more than a KitKat and water. They were still running a morphine drip into my arm, so I was fairly pain free, though I did vomit in the night. I could not move from the bed, and was glad to use the urine bottles they provided.  There is much talk at the moment about people opting to change sex. Women are welcome to dress in boys clothes and call themselves Bill or whatever, I have no problem with it. They can insist on being addressed as he, but they will never know the simple pleasure of making patterns in the snow, or the simplicity of using a urine bottle while lying flat in bed, knowing there will be no leakage, anymore than I will ever know the pain of menstruation, or the joy of having a child grow within me. 

Next day, Mr Peryt the surgeon came round at 8am to tell me how well the surgery went, and they had managed to remove all the lump with a single wedge resection, which sounded positive. They removed the oxygen tubes and stopped the drip, and a physiotherapist walked me round the corridor then checked I could do 13 steps up to manage the staircase when I went home. Finally, they pulled the drain out from my chest wall - a large double hosepipe of a thing, through which air and blood-stained fluid had been sucked to keep the lung expanded. A purse-string suture was put in place and drawn tight to close the hole and prevent air from re-entering.

Ann visits

Only one stated visitor is allowed, and they have to book a time slot and are limited to three visits per week.Finally, Ann was able to visit at 3pm, bringing clean pyjamas, treats from Edwin, cards, and a ray of sunshine in her face. Never was a visitor so welcome. I could see the boys waiting outside and waved to them as we talked on the phone. It was Edwin's birthday, but I had been so knocked out I had forgotten, but Ann reminded me so I could wish him well on the phone.

The boys wave hello