Tuesday and the first thing I notice is the light, its different and I know instantly what it is: SNOW! It is instantly confirmed and WhatsApp messages come in with pictures of snowy gardens. Of course I followed suit once I have taken my morning vitals.

Having got over the joy of snow I get up and perversely decide to train, so I don my training gear, down my morning meds and head for the garage and the rower. Not surprisingly I find the garage at it’s coldest, a chilly 5 degrees.

I strap myself onto the rower and set up a half hour session and set off at pace hoping to keep warm. The half hour goes past quickly and I do indeed keep warm. It is not a personal best but it is over 6 kilometres.

I record the session and then change into something warm before noting that it is still snowing.

It really is snowing in the video. I lunch and and set about drawing up my Christmas list. I find the one I’ve been using for the past four or five years and edit it. It is of course shorter that than it was, which is a consequence of beginning to outlive people. There are the inevitable presents that have already been bought and squirrelled away along with the anxiety that I am going to remember where I have squirrelled them, the rest are a challenge so I need to start to hunt the internet for suitable presents. Some are easy like whiskey and socks others demand more creative and thoughtful attention. With the list done I write a half cocked poem. Its one of those where I have an idea but it does not flow out of me as I had hoped. In fairness to myself I think my ideas are far too grandiose for my talent at times and I end up with a stunted version. I may return to it I may not but here is is in its roughest form (so rough it as yet has no number):

I measure my capability 
in spoons of energy.
It is a tricky method
as no two spoons are the same.
Apostles line up with soup,
dessert with serving
while slotted and wooden
lurk in the background.
Each activity eats up
the spoons until
I am spoonless
and flounder
lifeless in the 
empty slot of
the cutlery draw.
This is how the chronically
ill balance what to do 
against what to leave.
There is a waking
spoon count and 
a scrutiny of the to do list
and then we proceed
hoping our spoons are sufficient
and never quite knowing
how much spoonery there is
in each spoon. 

                                                       19-11-2024

The post today brings the joy of a letter from a friend, which I sit down and make a slow time to read. Its a delightful letter written across three time periods and at least two countries. Included in the letter is a watercolour done whilst on a painting course in Seville, it is a truly international letter in the mould of the Bloomsbury set. I am delighted to get such letters. After the delights of the letter I settle down to organise some life admin. My partner’s friend arrives so I play the host and make tea until my partner finishes work and takes over.

I return to drafting the blog and as I do so a friend rings and we have a chat about how we are and the things that are going on for us. Its lovely to be able to chat and hear about each others families and what we are up to. The evening arrives and I am on my own, so I whip up some pasta and settle down to an evening of reading and a really violet film, hopefully. To be followed by night meds and an early night as tomorrow I have my appointment with the doctor who will hopefully get rid of my Dupuytrens Contracture.

Sunday, its a slow start but there are some things that need to be organised for Christmas, so after a quick breakfast I and my partner once again walk down to the village craft fair. I knew exactly what I wanted and headed for the stall where the woman who uses recycled materials to create all sorts of things resides. On display she has three of the things I want, when I ask if she has any more she rummages around in a cardboard box and produces three more. I look them over and then tell her her which five I will talk. She is surprised and I explain I have crafting friends who will really love them. It was probably the biggest single sale she made all weekend, which is why I left with a “Merry Christmas” ringing in my ears.

My partner and I walk home and then drive to our favourite butcher at the garden centre. After a bit of toing and froing we joined the Christmas Club and ordered the turkey and turkey crown we will need for Christmas. With nothing else to buy we return home and I start the Sunday rugby and football marathon. The rugby was okay but the game of the evening was England thrashing Ireland while we ate a roast dinner. The Strictly results show goes to prediction as the Welsh opera singer goes out and then the evening meanders into a malaise of TV wall paper until the only sensible thing to do is take my night meds and go to bed.

Monday and I find my partner has gone to the gym and left me to do my vitals and get up and into my training gear. I get up and find a cold and empty house so go off to the garage which is decidedly chilly. I strap in and get going, its hard work and I am not sure I am going to make my benchmark 11 kilometres. Towards the end I am able to pick up the pace a bit and just about get to my goal.

With the session recorded and the kitchen cleared I shower and wait for the return of my partner. Lunch is at a local delicatessens come pub come restaurant. The Chilli is reasonable. Back home I catch up with the blog and assist in the present buying for the youngest grandson while taking past in a video call with my youngest daughter.

With time my own I go in search of the W. H. Auden poem that I had come across again from watching Four Weddings and A Funereal the other night while I was waiting for my night meds to kick in. I wasn’t sure why it was so affecting until I read it and realised the rhyming scheme and how it was constructed. Of course the context and John Hanna’s rendition of it is powerful.

I am trying to decide which poem to take to this months Poetry Stanza meeting. Its been a rather dry creative month so far and I am struggling to find words to put to paper. My out put recently has been meagre and not very inspired so I might have to rake through my old stuff to see if there anything that warrants an airing. When I am feeling like this I tend to go for something short and more pithy than usual, so at the moment my Dylan Thomas poem is the most likely.

418
Dylan Thomas
staggers out
from a days
labour.
“three words”
he mutters.
That’s one
“bible black bat”.
Can’t help feeling
the lazy bastard
could have managed 
more.

								418 21-10-2024

By 4:30 the world is pitch black (sloe black, slow, black, crowblack) and I slide into the evening during which I shall read, perhaps write and continue to watch whichever TV series has taken the family eye, hoping that inspiration will strike me at some point.

Saturday and I wake and get on with breakfast with my partner, the intention is to go to our local village craft market. I am expecting a 3P experience; Pick up, Put down and Piss off. So after breakfast my partner and I walk down to the village hall and start to pursue the stalls. To my surprise I found a woman who made miniatures from recycled materials. I could not resist adding to my collection neither could resist the tiny under glass constructions. The artist goes under the name of Khulelo.

My partner also finds things and we the ideal Christmas present for our garden guy. By the time I’ve walked round the stalls I am overheated, sweating and need to sit down. The walk home is slow and as soon as I am home I strip off and rest to get cool. Once I have cooled down and and had a couple of restorative crumpets the next chore is to go to the supermarket and sort out the weekends food. I had an urge for Tizer but found none.

Once home the day descends into rugby, food and more rugby until Strictly in the evening. and night meds. While they kick in I draft the blog feeling with every moment that my energy spoons are going into deficit. I can do no more and head for bed.

Friday and I am just recording my vitals (still very good) when the appliance repair man rings to say the spare part is in that the dishwasher needs. He’s on his way over, so I change my plans to train, pull on clothes and get busy. Having taken my meds and started to update my vitals spreadsheet the guy arrives. I barely have time to finish my update when repair man is done. I offer cash and to my surprise he says he prefers card as he doesn’t want to have to go to the bank. Whatever happened to “one for me and one for the tax man”. I proffer a card and have the receipt sent to my phone before waving the guy off. Of course there is the pleasure of putting things back under the sink cupboard and reallocating somethings. With all this done its noon and I ‘ve already started the draft of the blog. I’ve chosen a new Rocket picture to mark over 51 days into the Chemo II The Reboot as it feels that there is progress being made.

My partner goes to have her nails done and I begin my afternoon by trying to sort out the laundry. It is clear from the baskets full of clothes waiting to be dealt with that I need to replace the clothes dryer that got broken months ago. I hunt Amazon and several other outlets until I find what am looking for, namely the Good Housekeeping recommended one that has nifty sock and knicker hangers on and is expandable to a size that can cope with our drying needs. Because I am lazy and cannot be arsed to go to Argos and pick it up I pay to have it delivered and to my surprise I can get it delivered today, result! With my washing in I change into me training gear and head for the garage and the rower.

I really do not want to be training, I ache and feel spoonless already today so in my head I am thinking 30 minutes, however by the time I have got on the rower and gone through my pre row routines I find myself committed to a 45 minute session. I groan inwardly and get on with it. Every stroke seems an effort so I just settle for the best rhythm I can manage and find a suitable fantasy to get me through the time. By the end I out of spoons, almost, but I have reached 8 kilometres, which is okay.

Before I can record the session or change into my evening slob wear I attend to the washing I had put in, loading it into the tumble dryer, only then can I get comfortable and ready for the evening. I return to the sofa and update the blog as I wait for my washing to dry and I prepare for the evening. This is another international rugby weekend so there is bound to be a game to watch as an alternative to the Children in Need night. There is only so much suffering and pain I can watch these days before I need to switch off.

Thursday and I wake up feeling more human than I have done since my injection on Monday so I take my vitals which are super normal today. I get up and get into my training gear and take my morning meds and head for the garage. Its four days since I have been able to train so I go for an hour session. I set myself up and get underway. My body is not initially keen on the exercise but I get going after a while as listen to yet another Mark Steels in Town. Its a bit of a grind but I do manage a 11+k distance and a 700+ calorie burn. I’m okay with that as a session to get me going again.

When I check how many PAI points this has earned me on my fitness tracker it is disappointingly few, it makes me wonder if the tracker is working properly. I record my session in my journal and then take myself off for a shower. While in the mood I hop onto the scales and to my surprise find I have cracked the 100k barrier. I come in at 99.7 kilos at least 2 kilos less than I was when I started out on my “no sweets, biscuits and cake” regime. This is an unexpected bonus, I just hope I can continue it till my official weigh in on Sunday morning. I am convinced that the issues I face at the moment are mostly caused by carrying too much weight (flab and fat), hence weight loss being one of my primary targets.

I down a lunch of ham sandwich and a diet Red Bull and head to the chiropodist in the next village. I am early but ushered in early by the chiropodist who is still waiting for her new chair. She sets to work on my feet adn we chat as she expertly puts my feet in order. About thirty minutes later my feet are singing with joy as they have been rejuvenated. I’m up for a dance.

I pop my socks back on, pay and pencil in my next appointment and make my way home where there is a news paper waiting for me to do the crosswords. Its a good day as I cruise through my regular ones without Google assistance. With my body and brain exercised I start to draft the blog before the evening begins in earnest. As England are playing Greece tonight I shall watch it and then slot into my pre-bed routine of meds, a brief read and then sleep.

Of course a lot more goes on between the cracks of the day, there are messages and emails to be dealt with, not to mention the persistent sales folk. Chief of these are the folk from E.O.N who are trying to get me to have a SMART meter. Full marks for tenacity, but they stand no chance when I just tell them I am not having one and put the phone down on them. The amount of energy used in the manufacture, upgrade and fitting of them is astronomical, not to mention the resources used, with them the companies could reduce my bill. I am quite happy to read my meters and send them my readings via the app. In fact they should give a “competent human being” discount on my bill. Anyway I exchange messages with friends as I begin to try and organise a pre Christmas trip to York to see some of my friends. From my post and messages it feels like people are going abroad more frequently now since the COVID era. Hopefully in the Spring I will be amongst them.

Its Wednesday and I wake up feeling like my body has been given a pummelling but at least the blows have stopped. It would appear that my 28 day jabs are giving my body an increasingly hard time leaving me weakened and tired for longer than it used to. This morning I have no option but to get up as my partner is going out on business and there is a dishwasher doctor coming to look after Daisy, our sick dishwasher. So rather than my usual lazy waking routine I am up and breakfasted and doing life admin from the off. In preparation for Daisy’s operation I clear the mass of things that have accumulated under the sink cupboard and clear the area. All I have to do is wait for the engineer to arrive. My partner returns just as the engineer arrives.

My partner goes off to see her mother and the engineer cracks on dismantling Daisy who has become incontinent. From then on there is much activity taking bits off and putting bit back on. There are test runs and adjustments going on as I retreat to let the man work in peace and I start to draft the blog. I can hear there are several false starts as it is proving difficult to stop Daisy leaking from one of her inner pipes connected to the pump. Eventually there is failure, the right sealing kit has to be ordered, so it will be next week for the return visit. A new sealing kit is £46 so I just have to wait and let the guy ring me when the it arrives and he can get to us. So now I can get on with the rest of my day.

With the engineer gone I sit down and write a letter. I type it because writing with a pen is less comfortable due to my Dupuytren’s contractor in my right hand, mind you typing is also a bit more awkward. Having completed my letter and tucked it up in an envelope I venture out to the post office to send it on its way adn to buy a paper. Once home I settle down to do all the days crosswords, which I manage far better than previous days, so I am clearly getting better. I nibble a sandwich and read a bit before my partner returns from visiting her mother. It is only 4:30pm and already it is dark, the light rapidly failing. It feel as if winter is here and preparing to spring typical wintery weather on us. At these times I feel the urge to hibernate but there are still many chores to do before I can truly hunker down. Tomorrow is a day I must make the effort to train and to get to my chiropodist before the afternoon. Before then is an evening to fill, meds and bed.

Sunday was a slow day of walking in the local park and preparing for Mondays jab, filling the car and checking the tyres and watching a rugby match. Of course there was the Strictly result to thrill to but apart from that not a lot happened.

Monday is a far more interesting day. I am up early in order to shower and then make my way to the GP surgery for my 28 day jab. It goes well but it is in my right side which historically tends to give me more jip than the other side. I get home and I have a sudden flurry of activity which includes booking some one to come and mend our ailing dishwasher. My partner and I go to the gym, she to train and me to eat bacon rolls and do the days crosswords. It is a relaxing time until we head back home. Once again there are things to be organised including a birthday stay at a Spa for my partners birthday. A friend rings adn I have the luxury of a conversation out side the family. It is really good to catch up with my friend and hear how her family is doing and how Christmas is creeping up on us both. By mid afternoon I start to type up some poems, ramblings really, but I am very aware that I am flagging as my energy is leaving me and I am becoming more and more sore at my injection site. Here’s a couple of poems that I typed up.

416
It’s a universe away
The woman playing tennis
While the sports club lounge natters.
There are baristas forced to serve
me fruit tea. 
Legging clad exercisers passing through 
like migratory birds, with 
stick thin legs they stride 
by basking sofa bound walrus
and torpedo seals.
Somewhere these fowl flutter
and then bathe in marble baths
and showers warmed by heating
not paid for by them.
Perched upon my rock
with a head full of young sirens
I hear music and order flowers
for memories still cherished.
I feel like the elephant
but I am more perplexed
by how quickly the hibiscus tea
can chill and become insipid ink.
I missed that amongst the ant hill
being poked with a stick
and the scurrying became escape.
Time for more go cold quickly
Rosie Lee and a giant cookie
while I wait for my mate
to return  to me. 

							416 21-10-2024

418
Dylan Thomas
staggers out
from a days
labour.
“three words”
he mutters.
That’s one
“bible black bat”.
Can’t help feeling
the lazy bastard
could have managed 
more.

								418 21-10-2024

I stop typing up poems because I am now feeling rank. It is increasingly difficult to do anything and all I want to do is curl up into a ball as I start to get cold and shiver like a junkie doing cold turkey. It is as my body has has finally decided that it does not want the 28 day jab in it and is reacting to it as if is a foreign body. I manage to watch the final episode of Paris Has Fallen before going to bed and laying there shivering. My normal night meds are taken but I am reluctant to take anything else until I’ve been in bed for two hours when I resort to taking paracetamol. The rest of the night is a restless, shivery experience.

Tuesday and I wake late still feeling like a withdrawing junkie and lay there trying to form some sort of strategy to get through the day ahead. First thing is to try and book a Christmas delivery slot at Tesco. By the time I get to log in all the slots have gone and the closest I can get is Saturday 21st. Just one of the practical ways this bloody cancer fucks up life. Eventually I get up, have breakfast and then finish off the typing up of some poems and drafting up the blog. I ‘m feeling rank and I am aware that there is a list of jobs that need doing, but really do not feel well enough to do them.

Of all the things I need to do I manage to wash up the pots and put the bins out for tomorrow. I then fall asleep on the recliner, so that when I wake up it is dark, my body still feeling grim. Basically I am sitting it out until the Tesco delivery rocks up and then I shall eat and take myself off for an early night. My body just needs to pull itself together. This is keep it simple time, Tesco in, pasta eaten and now utter rest. I hate this, this is cancer fucking me up.

Saturday and I wake with training on my mind. My partner is on her way to meet friends for morning coffee and then lunch. I take my vitals and my morning meds and then I am off to the garage and the rower. This is a day for an hour session, so with radio 2 in my ears I set off in determined mood. To my surprise I am able to maintain my pace and end the hour with my best hour figures yet. I get over the 12K mark, which used to be my pre operation one hour standard row. This is good news, it is clear proof that I am getting fitter and stronger. I will know at my Sunday weigh in whether I am getting any weight loss, which is the crucial element. I am hoping over the next two weeks to get under 100 kilos and down to 98 kilos by Christmas.

I record my session in my journal and then send various messages and emails before changing. By the time I am changed I have a response from the hospital I contacted about my hand, they will contact me soon to discuss options. With a bit of time before the rugby I cook a quick tacho based quiche, which I an my eldest daughter tuck into. The rugby starts with England doing quite well but inevitably fall behind, it is the usual story. I start to draft the blog for the day so far.

The day is then full of rugby, Strictly, fish and chips and football, all very prole until I learn my youngest grandson is still in hospital and poorly. It puts everything else into perspective. The only thing that matters now is family and getting the newest member better. I take my night meds and go to bed hoping for a good night for everyone. Tomorrow is the day before my 28 day injection so I will start taking prophylactic paracetamol to overcome the side effects and get me through the first two or three days of my next injection cycle. Step by step, day in day out is what will get me where I am going.

Friday and I wake up to find my partner off to the physio, so I take my vitals, which are all good, have breakfast and then whizz round doing chores to tidy the house. My morning meds get taken and them I take a quick walk to the village chemist to pick up my months medications. This is prior to Monday, how quickly jab Monday come around. It means that from Sunday I will start taking prophylactic paracetamol to counter act the side effects of the jab. These tend to last two to three days and make me feel like a junkie doing cold turkey.

On my partners return we drive off to an art and garden centre. There are all sorts of small traders at this centre as well as the usual plant selling centre. What I had forgotten was that it has a model village. It at first looks impressive but on closer inspection it is clear that it is falling into disrepair, which is backed up by a notice that says “wanted, plasterers, renderers, and enthusiast to renovate the model village.”

After a quick whizz round the model village and the various craft and art shops we have lunch at the restaurant. The food is good and afterwards we return to the shops and buy the things that we had ear marked on the first round. With our bags full of pasties, diffusers, a tray and small bag we drive home, collect a paper and settle down to do the crosswords as the sun sets and the temperature drops to truly winter proportions. Every so often I check my phone to see if there is an update on how my poorly youngest grandson is doing, he is currently in hospital with an infection. So there are reasons to be concerned.

The evening sneaks up and so does the international rugby. Its going to be a full weekend of international rugby so I have a reasonably good idea about what I will be doing. Intertwined with the matches I shall be doing odd chores and doing life admin, like chasing the plumber and seeing if the local private hospital will consider me for the removal of my Dupuytren’s Contracture.

Thursday, a good day, I slept well and wake ready for the day. First there are vitals to take, messages and emails to check and respond to before getting up. My vitals are good as is my memory, I get up ready to train. I slip down my morning meds and go to the garage and my faithful rower. Today is an hour session day. I get going to the accompaniment of Mark Steels in Town. It is difficult to know how it is going so I give myself up to listening and letting my body find its own rhythm, in this state my mind drifts to times that have found their way into my universe and stayed with me. Before I realise it the display says 0 minutes. I gather myself together and go and record the session. When I do this I find I have just rowed my best hour since I started to train again. Just goes to show how things can happen.

Being pleased with my effort I settle to the task of filling my drugs wallets for the next two weeks. There is a moment when I do not think I have enough cancer chemo to see me through to my next oncology review in December but when I check and do the maths I find I have ample to see me into the new year if needs be. Its a laborious job but in the long run it makes my life easier in terms of a daily meds routine. With my meds sorted I take a shower, a shower that includes hair. My hair is now four years long as I keep my word not to cut it after the first bout of chemo made my hair fall out. I am interested to see just how long it gets to, as long as possible hopefully, even as long as Hamza Yassin. Its good having long hair as I get my moneys worth out of the shower gel.

Once preened and dressed I head for the village café and have a very late, mid afternoon, sausage baguette breakfast, where I do the days crosswords and try to ignore the pages of depressing speculation about what a Trump presidency means. I turn quickly to the sports pages that are no more comforting. They are full of English loses and examples that show that footballers, professional footballers are a bit dim. Having finished all I can get out of the paper and eave dropping on the conversation that is going on I go home to clear the kitchen and draft the blog. There are messages to catch up on. My youngest grandson is back in hospital on oxygen, clearly a concern. Other friends are either traveling abroad or wrestling with the perturbations of life. All I can do is try to be supportive from a distance.

My evening heaves into view and my mind turns to the evenings entertainment, possible football or reading, but once again I will retreat to my bed early after my evening meds to try and keep my restorative life style going. I want to travel again, firstly to York to see friends and secondly abroad with my partner while I can, but I have to be fit to do this, hence my current determination to get myself fit and strong enough. Getting fit and loosing weight is not in itself fun but like all important things in life it is what choices it brings me.