The new year is continuing as 2018 left off. We've just heard that Tony, Lucy's partner's father, formerly a leading nuclear physicist now with Alzheimer's, has been admitted to hospital with what sounds like a septicaemia. He is having IV antibiotics, and sounds to be very weak. His son is distraught and spent the whole night with his mother at the hospital.
I often liken life to being put in a long line, walking slowly up towards the pit of extinction. We start off at the back of the queue, but by my age I am among the group at the very front, waiting to drop over. Occasionally, young people are rushed up to the front, and jump in front of us. It is hard, but there is no escape. I will continue with this blog of my journey, but regret I will be unable to send back messages. It must be like falling into a black hole; death is the horizon beyond which nothing ever returns. One regret is that I shall not be able to report back from that dark pit; but I shall continue with this blog for as long as I can, and relate as much as I may.
It is recommended that one should take up an intellectual hobby to slow deterioration of the brain. I continue to do a crossword each day (really half a crossword, as Ann usually gives me half the answers!), and I am learning a language. The language is VBA - a programming language for manipulating data in Excel. Probably not much use for the holiday in Portugal, but it keeps the brain ticking over.
Bible Ann suggested yesterday that I must have got job satisfaction as a doctor. 'Tis strange, but I used to think of my life as a GP as a job rather than a vocation. It was something one 'got on with'; a long waiting list 'to be got through'. But struggling to wee at 4 o'clock in the morning, I remembered my work on the genitourinary (GU) wards; the many men coming in with retention writhing in pain; and the blissful smile when I passed a catheter to relieve them. Of course, like all pleasures, it didn't last long: we generally then had to tell them they had an enlarged prostate, and were being fast- tracked for prostatectomy.
Edwin has just phoned us from Israel. He's had a brilliant time, and after witnessing a Bar' Mitzvah in Jerusalem today, he told us he wants one. He was put off though when Ann mentioned that he would have to be circumcised first.
Monday 7 January 2019
Sunday 6 January 2019
Bible Ann
Being a man does have its disadvantages. When I pee now, it dribbles out slowly, with an occasional tendency to squirt sideways onto my boot. I dare not go to a live theatre show, for I might not make the interval; and if I did, I would probably miss the second half, for there is no admittance to late comers.
I am definitely getting more absent minded too. Ann tells me so many things, but I'm blowed if I can remember half of them the next day. I have resurrected my old camera with the idea of taking it for some good shots of Clare when I walk the dogs, but I forgot to take it. Coming in from walking the dogs this morning, I took my old shoes off, but forgot what I was doing and put them on again.
Bible Ann and her husband Chris called this afternoon. She is called Bible Ann to distinguish her from all the other Anns we know, and because she always produces her bible to quote to us to promote her faith. She has severe Parkinsonism, so walks in bare feet to feel the ground. Today she was too ill even to carry her bible, and had to borrow one of ours to quote from, but she objected to it because it talks of God and the Lord, rather than Jehovah. I always try to be gentle with her, for she is old and frail, even by my standard, but I can never accept that there is only one way to know the world of the spirit. Each of us must come to it in our own way, and life's whole meaning can be seen as an exploratory expedition to find that way. But in no way is mine the 'right' or only way, anymore than is any other person's.
We can share our experiences, and the ways through which we have found a truth, but our inspirations are no more than the flashes of a glow-worm compared to the bright arc-light of uncomprehended reality. For I am certain that there exists a level of which we remain unaware, lying beyond consciousness just as consciousness itself lies beyond the cells of the brain, and they beyond the constituent atoms, and they too beyond the energy that chrystallised into their being. We get hints of this throughout our lives, too easily dismissed as 'coincidences' or chance, yet these flashes occur too often to be blindly dismissed. We should learn to recognise them, to accept them, to work with them, and thereby to grow as the spiritual beings we are.
I am definitely getting more absent minded too. Ann tells me so many things, but I'm blowed if I can remember half of them the next day. I have resurrected my old camera with the idea of taking it for some good shots of Clare when I walk the dogs, but I forgot to take it. Coming in from walking the dogs this morning, I took my old shoes off, but forgot what I was doing and put them on again.
Bible Ann and her husband Chris called this afternoon. She is called Bible Ann to distinguish her from all the other Anns we know, and because she always produces her bible to quote to us to promote her faith. She has severe Parkinsonism, so walks in bare feet to feel the ground. Today she was too ill even to carry her bible, and had to borrow one of ours to quote from, but she objected to it because it talks of God and the Lord, rather than Jehovah. I always try to be gentle with her, for she is old and frail, even by my standard, but I can never accept that there is only one way to know the world of the spirit. Each of us must come to it in our own way, and life's whole meaning can be seen as an exploratory expedition to find that way. But in no way is mine the 'right' or only way, anymore than is any other person's.
We can share our experiences, and the ways through which we have found a truth, but our inspirations are no more than the flashes of a glow-worm compared to the bright arc-light of uncomprehended reality. For I am certain that there exists a level of which we remain unaware, lying beyond consciousness just as consciousness itself lies beyond the cells of the brain, and they beyond the constituent atoms, and they too beyond the energy that chrystallised into their being. We get hints of this throughout our lives, too easily dismissed as 'coincidences' or chance, yet these flashes occur too often to be blindly dismissed. We should learn to recognise them, to accept them, to work with them, and thereby to grow as the spiritual beings we are.
| Feel free to add a comment if you would like to share a spiritual experience |
| Mail comments to: grandad.john@2from.com |
Saturday 5 January 2019
Post DXT
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| Diarrhoea bad |
Listening to another episode of Billy Connolly, I was moved in a different way when a reporter asked him, "What does it feel like to get a knighthood when you've come from nothing?"
Sir Billy bridled at this. "I did not come from nothing! I came from something - something special!" It set me thinking of my own roots, not a Glasgow tenement, but a tiny upstairs flat above a bakery in Leicester, during the bombing and the blackouts. Unlike Connolly, I have no affection for the city of Leicester, nor for Coventry. I could not wait to leave, and have no desire to go back to either place. But it did remind me that my parents too were not "nothing", but were equally special. Too easily have I thought of what they could have done or should not have done; but they gave me freedom to choose, and that is of huge value. I may have made some bad choices, but they were my choices: no one forced me down a road I did not want to travel. My lessons have been learnt the hard way, but they were my lessons, and forged the man I am become.
I do not know the cause of my bladder cancer; probably it will never be known. But I did know, as we all do deep down, that certain food stuffs, or excess alcohol cause harm. No one made me eat unhealthily, nor booze until the cells suffer. My life is my own.
Friday 4 January 2019
Radiotherapy
Two wonderful new poems by Ann, reflecting the emotional upheaval that hits us all when cancer strikes, and the support given by the few who count.
Like an exclusive club
they sit crutching one another,
wishing each other health
drinking water from plastic cups,
no Waterford crystal here,
just disposable kidney bowls
hairless heads
wrapped in flowered bandannas,
or home knitted bobble hats
wrought by loving fingers,
there is gentle charity
in each soft, weak smile
of camaraderie,
sympathy
and huge humanity.
They come and go
with fancy words
and Judas' kisses,
touching sorrow
digits never dirtied,
souls never bleeding,
but yet, they touch you
more than the love
or the constant ardency
of the faithful band
who always have your hand.
I considered the crudity of radiotherapy (DXT) in previous articles where I likened it to "burning the witch". In some ways, it is just as crude. Lines of people waiting treatment of all ages and backgrounds, rows of old men drinking to fill the bladder for their prostate therapy; women for breast or ovary cancer; younger people with brain cancers; or children with leukaemias. Many in caps to hide their chemotherapy-induced hair loss. All get the crude blasting of the rays. Somehow, it is reminiscent of bygone days of treatment with insulin, or cold douches, or ECT: violent, indiscriminate, yet it is all we have.
I have to strip to my underwear, and pull them down to expose the tattoo marks to line up the lasers. I never pull them enough, so the young girls (radiotherapists always seem to be young girls) end up pulling them down further, exposing yet more of me to their indifferent gaze. They then push their hands under my buttocks to pull me about and line me up accurately. It is fortunate I'm in no state for arousal, or I might get more burnt than the bladder. One day we will have potent treatments against cancer, perhaps a simple inoculation to stimulate the appropriate white cells to march against the invaders. Then shall we be unshackled form these mighty machines, and they will be no more than a curiosity in some documentary of the past.
Sir Billy Connolly sums it up in an article in The Mail today: "As bits slip off and leave me, talents leave and attributes leave. I don't have the balance I used to have, I don't have the energy I used to have. I can't hear the way I used to hear, I can't see as good as I used to. I can't remember the way I used to remember. And they all came one at a time and they just slipped away, thank you. It is like somebody is in charge of you and they are saying, 'Right, I added all these bits when you were a youth, now it is time to subtract'."
Radiotherapy
Like an exclusive club
they sit crutching one another,
wishing each other health
drinking water from plastic cups,
no Waterford crystal here,
just disposable kidney bowls
hairless heads
wrapped in flowered bandannas,
or home knitted bobble hats
wrought by loving fingers,
there is gentle charity
in each soft, weak smile
of camaraderie,
sympathy
and huge humanity.
Lip Service
They come and go
with fancy words
and Judas' kisses,
touching sorrow
digits never dirtied,
souls never bleeding,
but yet, they touch you
more than the love
or the constant ardency
of the faithful band
who always have your hand.
I considered the crudity of radiotherapy (DXT) in previous articles where I likened it to "burning the witch". In some ways, it is just as crude. Lines of people waiting treatment of all ages and backgrounds, rows of old men drinking to fill the bladder for their prostate therapy; women for breast or ovary cancer; younger people with brain cancers; or children with leukaemias. Many in caps to hide their chemotherapy-induced hair loss. All get the crude blasting of the rays. Somehow, it is reminiscent of bygone days of treatment with insulin, or cold douches, or ECT: violent, indiscriminate, yet it is all we have.
Sir Billy Connolly sums it up in an article in The Mail today: "As bits slip off and leave me, talents leave and attributes leave. I don't have the balance I used to have, I don't have the energy I used to have. I can't hear the way I used to hear, I can't see as good as I used to. I can't remember the way I used to remember. And they all came one at a time and they just slipped away, thank you. It is like somebody is in charge of you and they are saying, 'Right, I added all these bits when you were a youth, now it is time to subtract'."
Thursday 3 January 2019
The tormented life of Gingers
Further to Lucy's comment on discrimination against Gingers (see Bad-dreams-and-golden-hopes), new comment has come from Matthew:
It's fair to say that I also fall in to the ginger minority and can relate only too well with what Lucy has added. Secondary school for me was four long years of torment and hell as the only ginger lad in a year of 200 pupils! Verbal and physical abuse were an all too common occurrence and little was done by the school to do anything about it.
It wasn't until I grew a good six inches between Easter 1995 and the start of the last year of secondary school in the September that it largely stopped as I went from being one of the shortest in the year to one of the tallest! Poor mum, though, as I grew three shoe sizes in six months and it cost her a fortune!
Nowadays I don't get the abuse, people seem to have better things to do, but I have joined a new minority, that of the geeks! I love my sci-fi, fantasy and video games and I'm proud of it. Tall, ginger, big bushy beard and geeky as hell - be who you want to be and enjoy life :-)
It's fair to say that I also fall in to the ginger minority and can relate only too well with what Lucy has added. Secondary school for me was four long years of torment and hell as the only ginger lad in a year of 200 pupils! Verbal and physical abuse were an all too common occurrence and little was done by the school to do anything about it.
It wasn't until I grew a good six inches between Easter 1995 and the start of the last year of secondary school in the September that it largely stopped as I went from being one of the shortest in the year to one of the tallest! Poor mum, though, as I grew three shoe sizes in six months and it cost her a fortune!
Nowadays I don't get the abuse, people seem to have better things to do, but I have joined a new minority, that of the geeks! I love my sci-fi, fantasy and video games and I'm proud of it. Tall, ginger, big bushy beard and geeky as hell - be who you want to be and enjoy life :-)
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| New Year Spread |
Thank you Matthew. He and Rosie did so much to support us over the last month, coming over faithfully, helping to ferry me to hospital, and there for my birthday and New Year. They even did the full spread on New Year's Eve, and great it was, even though I could manage little of it. But today was my last treatment day. So many good people have rallied round to give lifts, or to help in other ways, one soon learns who one's true friends are. Matthew even went up to bring his mother, the Great X, down from Middlesbrough for my birthday, and she too showed kindness or consideration. Rosie is a professional chef, and even prepared a batch of soups for use over the days to come, even with her own mum ill in hospital.
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| Matthew, Ann, John, Anne and Rosie |
As for Ann, she has been a true saint, having to run the home virtually alone all month while running after me, ferrying me to hospital so many times and sitting among the many very ill patients with so much patience herself. She has suffered more than anyone, seeing me ill, yet having to nurse me and get on with life, and losing her 'holiday of a lifetime' to the Holy Land, a place she has always dreamed of visiting. If I get over all this, and can continue to work, I am determined that we shall visit, for she deserves no less.
Wednesday 2 January 2019
Bad dreams and golden hopes
JHM
Without you
there is no me
no New Year
no fresh poetry
just winter frost
cold winds' icy blast
for you are my all,
my present and my past.
A horrid dream last night was of a man crouching to wee, when a small terrier-type dog ran up and bit his exposed part, shaking and biting. I tried to get it off him, thinking I would have to kick the brute, then I woke, and realised the dreadful pain he was suffering was my own. I woke every couple of hours needing to go to the toilet, having to sit each time, and the pain is intense. Accompanied by nausea and pelvic pain, it is not my best week. Nineteen down and nearly done now.
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| Ann and John New Year's Eve 2018-9 |
In the treatment room today, there was an air of camaraderie, for many of us recognise each other, and there were New Year greetings, and general pleasantries. One of the regulars was talking to a new woman who had accompanied her partner for his treatment, and was giving her guidance about the best way to park, and how to obtain the reduced rate weekly parking ticket. This is such a helpful feature of Addenbrooke's where the whole set up seems designed to benefit the patients rather than the administrators.
Tom Utley's column in the Daily Mail reflects a view I've shared on several occasions (see Paulo's Abba Party). We older white folk are definitely an oppressed minority now. We are completely under-represented in film, television, and news broadcasts, except for the wrong reasons (usually as victims of youthful violence). I firmly believe we should see a TV series on 100 people who changed the world later in their lives, to complement those series of success because they were women or people of colour.
A comment from Lucy:
I am part of the ginger minority of the world! We are underrepresented in film and screen. It is no longer legally acceptable to verbally abuse people based on their gender, race, sexuality or age and rightly so. Yet ginger people receive hateful abuse every day, especially in schools, and nothing is done! I know so many kids who are tortured at school for having red hair. My friend’s son was kicked and hit at secondary school every day with little or no intervention from the teachers. He was called a ginger c#%! daily. Our hair and skin is so much a part of our identity. Imagine the outrage if this had been abuse targeted towards black skin or any other minority. So yes, I am part of the ginger minority and I am considering setting up a ginger manifesto to protect future school kids with red hair from receiving such horrific abuse that others are now protected from by society and law.
| Please add a comment if you feel part of a neglected community (regret Google can't seem to get their blog comments to work) |
| Mail comments to: grandad.john@2from.com |
Tuesday 1 January 2019
New Year's Day
It is the first day of the year. I sat wondering what to put into the blog, when a fantastic message arrived from my grandson, Luke. He is the first one to respond to me request for comments, and he has sent such a good message, I feel that my blog has been written for me.
I saw in your blog a request for special memories of 2018 in your blog the other day, and I've been pondering upon it for a few days.
If you were to look at the news across the year, 2018 has been a shockingly atrocious year. It will be remembered for the Brexit shambles going on, worries about the economy, murders and the Royal Family becoming more a media circus. However despite the wider country deciding that this year has been a shambles, there were some positives for me to take from this year. There was the amazing World Cup run England embarked on earlier in the year. I performed in my school talent show this year, which is a standout memory. I really enjoyed my visit to Lanzarote, visiting the volcano on the island and some of it's unique surroundings. And how could I possibly forget my birthday weekend! What a party!
The thing is that a lot of 2018 won't be remembered by large memories. When remembering the good memories of 2018, I'll probably be just having a conversation with someone and suddenly they'll pop up, or I'll just be lying in bed and suddenly a small smile will pop on my face and I'll think "I remember that". And that's the gist I've got from this year. It's been quite a tiring year, because it's been so repetitive. I can't speak for everyone else, these are just my general opinions on the previous 364 days, but for a while now I've just been getting the impression that next year is going to be a better year (not that 2018 has been bad to me), and I hope that I'm right. But can anyone see into the future? And would anyone really want to?
-Luke
Thank you Luke! We had son Matthew with his partner Rosie and her mum Anne staying to celebrate New Year's Eve, with Matthew first-footing, so we hope for greater things and better news than the past 12 months have brought us. But, Luke is so right. We cannot see into the future, and would we really want to? As always, we can only find strength to face whatever may be thrown at us.
I saw in your blog a request for special memories of 2018 in your blog the other day, and I've been pondering upon it for a few days.
If you were to look at the news across the year, 2018 has been a shockingly atrocious year. It will be remembered for the Brexit shambles going on, worries about the economy, murders and the Royal Family becoming more a media circus. However despite the wider country deciding that this year has been a shambles, there were some positives for me to take from this year. There was the amazing World Cup run England embarked on earlier in the year. I performed in my school talent show this year, which is a standout memory. I really enjoyed my visit to Lanzarote, visiting the volcano on the island and some of it's unique surroundings. And how could I possibly forget my birthday weekend! What a party!
The thing is that a lot of 2018 won't be remembered by large memories. When remembering the good memories of 2018, I'll probably be just having a conversation with someone and suddenly they'll pop up, or I'll just be lying in bed and suddenly a small smile will pop on my face and I'll think "I remember that". And that's the gist I've got from this year. It's been quite a tiring year, because it's been so repetitive. I can't speak for everyone else, these are just my general opinions on the previous 364 days, but for a while now I've just been getting the impression that next year is going to be a better year (not that 2018 has been bad to me), and I hope that I'm right. But can anyone see into the future? And would anyone really want to?
-Luke
Thank you Luke! We had son Matthew with his partner Rosie and her mum Anne staying to celebrate New Year's Eve, with Matthew first-footing, so we hope for greater things and better news than the past 12 months have brought us. But, Luke is so right. We cannot see into the future, and would we really want to? As always, we can only find strength to face whatever may be thrown at us.
Best wishes and a Joyful New Year to each and everyone of you!!
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