The ending of a bad year.

The year looks like ending as it's been all through. The company I work for is transferring my project for development in Japan, so I may be redundant before the year's end. And now the main sewerage drain is blocked with a tail back of filthy sludge, so we'll have to call the drain men out.

On only the third day of my radiotherapy treatment, scheduled for 6:30 last night, I was already dreading taking the huge doses of Vitamin B3. Edwin took me to Addenbrooke's, but I was right about the tablets, He had to stop on the way home to let me out, when I was repeatedly sick, and I have spent most of today in bed or shivering in a blanket.

One bright spot was a letter from my grandson, Luke. It is two full pages of beautifully written and interesting items, spelling out his hopes for A-levels and university, and quite unlike what one reads about messaging by today's youth, with their texted emphasis on Emojis and weird abbreviations. The art of letter writing is clearly not dead, and I was hugely moved to get the letter. Now I shall lie back and have another sleep, to gather strength of my next treatment on Monday. Only 17 more to go.

An Unexpected Treat

Edwin called Ann and me into the sitting room this morning, told us to sit down, and presented us with an envelope. It was a plane ticket to Brussels, with a five-star hotel, for a long weekend at the end of January once my treatments are over. After we had lost our special holiday to the Holy Land at New Year, he has treated us to this trip off his own initiative to make up for it, and give us something to look forward to. We are both touched by such a kind and thoughtful thing,

Last night I phoned an old friend in Luxemburg whom I was at college with. Colin has developed Alzheimer's and now has just been released from hospital with Parkinson's. His wife, another Ann, was showing him round the house, trying to revive a memory of the rooms he has lived in for 40 years. He barely remembered me, so although I had been hoping to visit him, I think it would have been more for me than him. 

Day 2 of the radiotherapy. The Vitamen B3 tablets are having a strange effect, with a sensation of facial tightness like draw strings being pulled about me. But compared to Colin, I think all this must be minimal. He was aware of losing his mind several years ago while still teaching, and realised he could no longer remember his students' names - something he had always prided himself on, and something that caused him to retire early. Perhaps I will be able to see him again next spring.

Burn the Witch!

Lining up the lasers

The day began cold, with heavy cloud leaving the sky still dark at 8 o'clock and wet with clinging drizzle. Cancer is like a wicked witch working evil within. And like witches of old, the evil must be burnt out. Let the fire begin!

The first ritual burning began at Addenbrooke's Hospital this morning. I stopped in a lay-by en route, to take the ten vitamin B3 tablets I am instructed to take one hour before the appointed time. Then I am stripped to my underpants to expose my tattoo spots, and laid on a cold steel slab. The oxygen mask is fitted across my face, and the laser guide beams turned on. I am moved and poked to manoeuvre me into position, then everyone leaves and a siren sounds to warn of radiation danger. The machine thuds to life, and cold air from the cooling fans adds to the discomfort. To the sound of loud bleeps, the whole thing begins to turn round me, blasting the bladder from different angles. Opening my eyes is highly disorientating; the optical illusion is so strong that it seems to be me that is rotating, rather than the machine, making me dizzy, certain that the table itself is tilting and will tip me off. So I keep my eyes closed, or stare through the gaps to the ceiling of the room rather than at the machine. Then there is silence, and a voice says "that's all done," and they release me from the straps and let me down.

Many people waiting for this treatment seemed to be alone; it was strange to think we all have cancer in common. But I was so glad that Ann and Edwin had come with me. They steadied me as I left, and gave comfort that I was not alone, and we would get through this together.

Perfect Dawn

Too early yet for vapour trails, the sky glows a pure blue robe, soft and dark light until it touches the sharp edge of the waiting day. Venus swings bright, high in the horns of the crescent moon. There is no cloud. A sharp frost, the first of winter, whitens the roofs, covers the earth and crunches underfoot. The trees stand bare against their horizon of flaming red, too early yet for the hiding sun to show. Not a breath of wind shall stir a leaf to fall. It is a perfect dawn.

Bitter Fruit

Before I knew you
I was like a bitter fruit,
old Miss Haversham
biting into lives
I was jealous of,
envied, filled with spite,
felt they did not have the right,
to contentment, companionship
when my cobwebbed room
saw no light, was ever night,
even the mouldy fruit cake
knew the warmth of mice.
But you brought embers,
glowing logs of hope,
made the willow an oak
and the toad beautiful.

Annie Elliott

The day continued well. We had a great walk with the dogs in Haverhill, which has a glorious park. In the deep shadows, the heavy frost still lay even at midday.  I have completed my tax returns and got them into the accountants  in good time this year, without facing a late fine, and even better the money is ready to pay the demand. Coming out, I met Linda outside her antique shop in Clare, whom we first met when we ran our own unit in the antique warehouse. and Ann's ear rings were ready to collect from the jewellers, repaired after the pin had worn through.

Ann went for lunch and shopping with Mary-Anne, and Edwin went into his University for an assessment  which he proudly told us he had passed with ease and he was now a full PhD student.  so I had a quiet afternoon alone working. Work is still coming in, and I am still able to complete it, so that's good too. Even the Great X sent a text wishing me well for tomorrow. Ah yes - tomorrow I start my bladder burn. But today has been a good day.

Endings

All Shall End A glass that cannot be drunk from,  jagged on its rim to rip a mouth. Wine spilt upon the table. The pen that will not write. The boat smashed upon a shore. The car a wreck to nowhere. Blood drips on the porch from a top room  till the stain spreads. All shall end. JHM Dec 2018

The people of my dreams are the people of my youth. Hope is gone and there is no future. I march towards death bravely. But the route is set for me. There are no turnings, no detours I can take. It is a road set without choice or possibilities.

Awake I get on with my life and all is normal with no conscious concern. I laugh, I work, I chatter and I write. But the dreams seem to tell it all, and I write a poem of nightmare dreams. Each Christmas, each New Year, is counted on an abacus whose beads rattle away the years. My deeper mind teems with a storm that will not abate and of which, awake, I am unaware.

Watching Middlesbrough

I have finally succumbed. Villa and Boro are two of the oldest clubs in the league, but unlike Villa, Boro have never won a major tournament. Middlesbrough is one of those places that never quite seems to succeed. It is often drawn as the epitome of the North: poor, drug-ridden, with high unemployment, and teenage pregnancies. Having lived there, I know a better side to the town, and from loyalty to my Middlesbrough children, I still support the Boro, if only from a distance. So Middlesbrough gets my cheer when they do well.

Boro vs. Villa

Ann in Aston Villa goal

In contrast, Ann grew up in Birmingham. She supported Villa, went to many of their matches, and actually played for Aston Villa ladies' team. When Tommy Docherty, "The Doc", told her she could play for his team anytime she liked, it was still a complement rather than a feminist insult.

Last night, Villa were playing Boro, and the match was being screened by Sky Sport, so I have finally succumbed. To the prompting of my son, Ben, I paid £8 for a day's pass to Sky Sports channels to watch this match with Ann. I anticipated each of us cheering like mad, to support our opposite numbers. Unfortunately, there was not much to watch - certainly not much to cheer about, not if you are a Boro fan. Villa completely outclassed and outplayed them, winning by an easy 3-0. I sat in glum silence as the goals piled up, but Ann is a good sport and didn't openly gloat, although I could see in her eye she was well pleased. Poor old Boro! Perhaps next time...

Meeting Sylvia

Two days ago, I had a meeting at the Holborn office of the company I work for, staying at a hotel in Stratford.  Ann came with me, to meet up with a friend she has not seen for some time. Sylvia is tiny, but a wonderful, vivacious lady who came into our lives when she was tutoring Edwin for his A-levels. She habitually dresses in black, and is even more intolerant of gluten than Ann. Food allergies are serious, and she is wise to take them seriously for there have been several incidents recently of people dying from incorrect labeling. We met for lunch in Jamie's, where she quizzed the waiter at length to make sure the pasta really was as gluten free as it boasted on the menu.

Ann and Sylvia meet in Jamie's, Stratford

Her son-in-law has cancer of the face, discovered by chance by the dentist who noticed a small ulcer. He had to have the side of his face, one eye, and some of his jaw excised. He is now having radiotherapy to the area, and will have to go into hospital to be tube fed during the last treatments, as he will be unable to swallow. Sylvia is struggling to support her daughter and grandson through it all. It rather puts my radiotherapy into perspective; the worst I anticipate having is being unable to wee.

Going home, there had been an accident on the M11 which was closed below Stansted. The information suggested it wouldn't be cleared for two hours, and the queues were unbelievable as everyone tried to divert off at the M25. We attempted an alternative route, but it took over four hours for a journey of normally one hour. I especially feel sorry for those trying to catch a flight out of Stansted, or a train from London. How can one person's thoughtless stupidity cause so much havoc to so many tens of thousands of people?  One blessing of autonomous cars should be a freedom from this type of accident. I do not even know if the driver lived, but when they do, those drivers who cause major delays through their selfishness should be automatically imprisoned.

I am listening to Schubert's string quartet No. 14 as I write this, the Andante con moto section of "Death and the Maiden". The tonal changes are breathtakingly moving, and lift one to another dimension. How can one person bring such wonder into the world? This too seems to put our problems into perspective.

Most of us achieve so little with the lives we have, whereas one person can change the lives of thousands, for ill or good. For most of us, the changes we make in the world are tiny, but whether we strive to bring poison or platter to the world is a choice we must all make.