The return of the wanderers

The new Turkish restaurant in Haverhill

 Edwin and Andre have finally returned to the fold after their US trip. They should have been out of quarantine at the weekend, but because of delays in testing, it was not till Tuesday morning that they were given the all-clear. This meant Edwin missed his regular trip to UEA in Norwich, but at least he could run his sessions from home. They came round on Tuesday evening, the first time in over two weeks since we have seen them, and shared a first rate meal at the new Turkish restaurant on Haverhill High Street (highly recommended).

Bronte dog is getting old, and like her owner she is stiff getting up, and sometimes walks with a limp. She can no longer jump in the car, and even with the aid of a step to get in, I fear she will damage her hip or legs jumping out again, so I took Byron alone when I had to go to one of my hospital checkups. He had become more reluctant to get in the car recently, probably because he's squashed in next to Bronte who makes her dislike of him too obvious. But this time, alone, he couldn't wait to get in and was so happy there. After my hospital visit (alone because of Covid restrictions), we had a great walk on Hardwick Heath, just behind the hospital.

The consultant, a dermatologist who is nominally responsible for monitoring my melanoma, usually keeps trying different creams or tablets to ease the bad pruritus, and this time was no different. I think he is working his way through the ABC of dermatology, and gave me yet another diagnosis for it with a new cream to try. I have added it to the cabinet pharmacopeia of creams and lotions I have amassed. Even Edwin and Andre managed to smuggle through security a veritable caseload of tablets and lotions for me to try, each unique to America, and I must admit that between them they have given some ease.

Ann and I have been invited to take wine with the people who live down the road in Hundon at the Old Chapel, former home of the United Reformed Church which is its turn was once the Congregational Chapel. It was still in use when we came to Hundon, but its poor congregation led to its closure and conversion to a house. It is still surrounded by old gravestones and reputed to be haunted. Yesterday our friends Rae and Malcolm came for afternoon coffee. At least that was the intention, but we all went straight to the wine. They know Jim and Sue at the Chapel well from when the U3A was running (University of the Third Age); they used to do art together before Covid closures drew a line under everything. I hoped they would come too, but they will be seeing their grandson's play tonight, so Ann and I will go alone.

Christmas cake day

A frosty Hundon sunrise

To avoid waking Ann, I usually take my clothes into my office to dress. This morning I carried them in as usual, and brought in my dirty laundry from the day before, which I threw down the stairs ready to carry to the washing machine. I started to dress, then realised I'd thrown the clean clothes downstairs. But to compensate, I woke to a brilliant frosty morning to drink my morning tea as I prepared to go online for my first calls.

Our 'new' neighbours have been there for five years, and yesterday we finally had our long-promised coffee morning with them. The last proposed visit had been cancelled because their dog had to go to the vet; this morning, it still had a bare patch on its tail. It looks as though it has been attacked by a fox, or a very fierce cat. Their house is the old vicarage, and the last time I saw it was when I had to break in through the front door with the police because the vicar had had a stroke and lay collapsed on the floor. 

Edwin and Andre should have visited yesterday evening to tell us their tales of America, but unfortunately they had still not got their PCR test results back, and were confined in quarantine, now five days after they landed at Heathrow. They finally got the all-clear this morning, so may be coming this evening. 

Ann has baked all the Christmas cakes, and it is my job to marzipan and ice them. Her cakes are very popular, filled as they are with sweet, dried fruits and warming brandy, and so rich they easily last all year. She used to bake six, but the numbers have gradually reduced so I had only four to cover this year. Now they have their ribbons round and are ready to be decorated and handed out. It is Sam's birthday today, so we can give MA theirs when they come round and Edwin his tonight. We only do a small one for ourselves, but it still takes the full year to get through it.

Family visits and good cheer

Arwen and Matthew visit Hundon

It has been a busy time for visitors. On Thursday/Friday Matthew, Rosie and Arwen came down. We are reluctant to let the dogs loose with a baby or small child in the house, so we have to keep them locked away. This is hard on the dogs, but easier on the child who otherwise might get knocked over or worse - the dogs have a very loud bark and can be frightening. But we can't lock the dogs away for 48 hours, so Matthew and crew stayed at a hotel in Saffron Waldon. 

It was a bright, sunny though wintery day. with a penetrating, cold north wind. They had left Middlesbrough in a snowstorm, though we had no more than flurries. But with double jerseys, scarf and gloves I managed a walk with them all. Ann, meanwhile, had a long-standing luncheon engagement with Mary-Anne, who took her to Bury, so she was out all afternoon. In the evening, we went to the Swan in Clare for their Christmas dinner, and a high standard it was, Matthew and Rosie enjoying the full turkey treatment while Ann and I sampled the less meat-inspired dishes.

Then on Saturday/Sunday, Ben and Kaz came down from Telford. Edwin and Andre are back from New York, and going through their hopefully brief quarantine before they come over on Monday to regale us with their merry tales, and Mike and Ryan have requested to come down before Christmas, so with Lucy's visit last month we will have seen all our children/step-children bar Dan, who has exiled himself to the middle of the Yorkshire Moors. In his acting days, Ann and I tried to visit every play he appeared in, sometimes in the most remote corners of London. His Sweeny Todd was superb. I even remember seeing him in the brilliant London Road at its London performance in a major theatre, which resonated because of its local Suffolk connection. Going to the Levington marina in the days when we had a boat, we used to drive past the memorial sites to the poor Ipswich girls who had been murdered and buried in the ditches there. It must be ten years since Dan walked out of our lives, but he has never talked of what went wrong or given an explanation to any of us. As my old gran used to say, "There's nowt so queer as folk!"

Ben and Kaz have been amazing. We had a meal out last night at another Swan Inn, this time in Long Melford, then retired into our library for brandies and other drinks, for an evening of jokes, funny stories and great humour. Even after everyone went to bed, Ann and I were laughing together till well gone 1:00a.m. we were in such good spirits, releasing some of the tensions we have been through over the past weeks. Then this morning, the two took the ladders and various cutting and chopping implements out in the cold wind and drizzle to lop branches off the great maple tree where they overhung the car port, and birds used to take good aim at the cars decorating them with Damien Hirst-like artwork. Now, not content to rest and warm up, they have taken the dogs out for a good walk. They are doing so much for us in such a short time, it is hard to extol them enough. I hope they know how grateful Ann and I are.

 

Intimations of mortality

Finality

We will not speak of parting,
for I will be where you are
as you will ever be with me,
I will carry every day
with the haunting memory
of every thing you said and did
every dream we ever held
and every moment lived.

by Annie Elliott

Last night I awoke from a dream of death. I have not dreamt of death before. Even in my worst dreams, though shaken I survived. I suppose it is knowing the cancer has been growing in my lung for two years, peppering its malicious seeds to every part of my body where they may take root and grow. I dreamt I was in a busy building of many rooms, perhaps like a university, with dormitories and a refectory, filled with bustling young people. I tried to move with them, but sluggish and tired I lay down. Some stranger noticed me, and came across kindly to rest her hand on mine. It was warm and soft and comforting, but her words were, "you are not well, are you?" and I felt the life begin to leave me in the presence of that angel of death. 

I knew my age - it was the same age my grandfather had reached - and I thought it unfair. I hadn't even made four score years, and there were so many things I wanted still to do, and affairs to put in order. I awoke abruptly, thankful that I had not slipped away in the night, determined to fight to the end - not to avoid the inevitable outcome, but to continue my painting and writing and living as long as I can, for my life is good, I have Ann by my side, and I yet enjoy living.

My grandfather's grave in Burnley

If death should be the end

If death is the end, it is better to die
in the cradle without pain or strife;
yet on we live.
Through thought and writing,
by poetry and art,
in children and friends
we live on.
All we are and all we have been
is poured out through them.

When friends die and children die,
do we then die with them?
It is said that when someone dies,
whole worlds die with them.
We each contain a world of thoughts,
of habits learnt and feelings won,
of loves known and memories earned,
worlds awaiting death.

How little passes on;
some trick of speech,
some memory of a distant day's event,
some happy moment.
How little is the recollection now
of once dear grandparents;
yet all that exists of them may be
that tiny and fragmented memory.
Somehow you try to ingrain it
in children of your own.
But you forget, and they forget,
and though their insidious influence
creeps through your every act,
everything that was and made
that individual fades gradually away
into insignificance,
as surely as their name fades
on an old tomb stone until
one can barely read the scratched out lines.

John Herbert Marr

The oncologist speaks

Yesterday, we celebrated the end of the month sharing a fine, leisurely lunch with four friends. Today, in contrast, we were at Addenbrookes Hospital oncology clinic, where a pleasant young man explained the consequences of immunotherapy in great depth before getting me to sign on the dotted line. The specialist explained that the tumour they removed was about 1.5cm diameter, and had been there slowly growing for about two years, so it will almost certainly have seeded to other regions of my body. However, the recent scan was clear so there are no gross masses, and they will give a drug to stimulate my T-cells to fight any cancer cells they find. I am to be treated with a drug called Nivolumab, (trade name Opdivo). I thought the drug sounded familiar - when we looked it up, it is made by Ono Pharma, the very company I have been working with for three years. Nivolumab was called ONO-4538 during its development stage, and I am in the process of developing a modified drug called ONO-4685. So not only is Ono Pharma providing my livelihood, it may be prolonging my life. 

I am what is classified as BRAF negative, which is a form of melanoma less responsive to immunotherapy. Nevertheless, on balance the chances of surviving a bit longer are greater with the treatment than without it. I will have intravenous therapy every month for a year, preceded by blood tests to make sure it's not knocking out my thyroid, liver or pancreas. He thinks I will get the first dose in about a fortnight, so I will keep this blog posted re any side-effects or problems.

Edwin returns to the UK today. He let me know what flight he will be on so I can track him over the Atlantic on FlightRadar. He went to the US in good time; I read tonight that they may introduce mandatory isolation again for all visitors to the US in the near future, meaning family Christmas's will be out yet again for many people. This new variant should have been called xi if it followed the Greek alphabet strictly, but the WHO have refused to name a virus after the Chinese president Xi. They also decided to skip the letter nu in case the Americans confused it with some different "new" virus. So, two letters further on, it is called omicron. Although its presence seems to be increasing rapidly as it displaces the delta variant, it doesn't thus far seem any more dangerous in symptomatology, but governments around the world are panicking like mad and gleefully imposing more and more restrictions. At this rate, we'll all be facing repeat lockdowns and furloughs. Happy December!

We see Dune as a new variant emerges

Two neighbours down the road from us have only been here a couple of years, but have never settled in the village. They call it aloof and unfriendly, so they finally put their house on the market. It sold rapidly within three days, but alas the purchasers dropped out at the last minute, so they lost the house they wanted. They will put it on the market again in the New Year. We have never seen the house since it was a rectory occupied by Father Jeremy, but finally the present owners invited us in this morning for coffee. Then as we were about to go, they phoned to say the dog was ill. They couldn'd get in to their normal vets, so they were having to take it to Saffron Waldon and the coffee morning was cancelled.  

We saw Dune yesterday, but I need have had no fear that it would expose the ending before I reached it in the book. In fact, it didn't get anywhere near the end - they stopped it before the book was halfway through and had the nerve to call it Episode 1. It was the most tedious two hours fifty minutes I have experienced in cinema, filmed in dull sepia monochrome, with no focus as drawn=out battles and mayhem raged about the weakly drawn characters. Ann mentioned that she had lost three hours of her life she could never get back, but after the brilliance of the book I felt that more than time had been taken from me. I cannot recommend avoiding this film enough. I cannot believe they hope to make a followup Part 2.

Edwin and Andre at the Space Centre

Edwin continues his journey through the USA, going to Washington, then through Philadelphia into N. Carolina where they celebrated Thanksgiving in true Yankee style at a dinner for twenty people. The meal was held in the house of the parents of the fiancee of Andre's sister - if that's not too convoluted. They are strong Catholics and offered a prayer of thanks where each of them named something they were grateful for. Andre's parents are very strict house church. They will not drink alcohol or sing and disapprove of many accepted practices in the modern world. They also consider religious statures as idols, not allowing any images in their church. As they were leaving, the grandmother in the house gave them a present as a token of friendship between the two families. It was a gaudy statue of an angel. 

Now another variant of the Corona virus has emerged. It only emerged five days ago, but already we are being forced back into masks and potential lockdowns. This virus seems to have a life of its own, behaving like no other virus. Even such nasties as smallpox did not mutate and were eliminated with a vaccination program. Ebola, another highly contagious and fatal disease, can be controlled by isolation. But Covid mutates frequently, each variant seeming more potent than the last. It is not being contained by isolation or antiviral treatments, or the vaccination program. It is not good to talk conspiracy theories, but this virus is so completely nasty and untameable one feels that it was almost designed to be this way. 

Edwin and Andre will now have to take the full PCR tests on their return. They have to take it within two days; as Ann says, this will give them plenty of time to pass on any infection they've acquired, but the government don't seem to consider this. We just hope there are no cases in America before they return, or they may be subjected to full lockdown. 

Dune and driving again

 

Behind the Tiguan wheel

Finally I am back behind the wheel, after four weeks forced abstinence. The respiratory consultant had advised me not to drive for this time, but on checking it was a legal requirement, so I would not have been insured. My first trip was not romantic - it was to ferry Ann to the dentist, but we did take the dogs and I had a good walk with them by the river in Hadleigh while Ann suffered in the chair of doom. I always think hygienists are more sadistic in their treatments than the dentists. It is strange to be driving again; we have had the car for three weeks, and I feel that everyone has driven it but me. I couldn't even take it on its test drive when we bought it! But it is a lovely high car, and feels much more sturdy than the Jaguar, and far better suited to our rutted muddy Suffolk winter roads.

Edwin and Andre have managed to get to New York. This was a major achievement with the restrictions of Covid, but Edwin booked the tickets early having anticipated the reopening of USA to foreign visitors even before it was officially declared. This is an important trip for them as they will be holding a family gathering with Andre's family, presenting Edwin to his mother and father. Andre's sister Flavia and her fiancée will also be there, so it will be a grand reunion. 

Edwin in New York

On other news, I had my repeat whole body scan last week to check if the melanoma has spread its black wings further afield, and will see the oncologist next week to discuss future management. Lucy had mentioned that a friend from her childhood, Laura, also has metastatic melanoma and is receiving immunotherapy, therefore I made contact with Laura this week, first by email and then by phone. She is incredibly positive about a nasty condition, despite bad side effects from the immuno. Indeed, her positivity is inspirational and puts my moans about minor pain and breathlessness in perspective. Would the world could be so cheerfully brave. 

Ben gave me a new book a little while back called Dune. It was written a long time ago (1966), and was incredibly popular at the time, but I had never read it. Now I'm racing through it; it's extraordinary in its characterisation and depth of analysis of motivation and storyline. I haven't quite reached the end, but Ann and I are going to see to film version this afternoon so I will see how it plays out before I finally finish the book, for I'm a very slow reader.