CYCLE 4 DAY 22
A full day today and it has left me full of “stuff”. You know the sort of “Stuff” that wheedles its way into your being and requires some time to sort it out, to understand it and to incorporate it into the way you make sense of the world.
It started with having to get up early to shower before going and seeing the oncologist, “he who made a pact with the devil”. I drove this time, I must be feeling chipper, and in fact if this isn’t a chipper day on the last day of this cycle then I’m screwed. Tomorrow is a poison day and it will go downhill from there. Anyway we rock up, my partner and I find ourselves so early that there is no one on the desk to take my now battered and dog eared appointment card. We seek coffee and settle in for a bit of a wait and try to read the doctors names on the board at the end of the waiting area. I blag it and deduce which is mine and gently tease my partner who is convinced that the last letter is a “K”. By the time we are called we are both convinced we need to have our eyes checked in the near future.
The nurse shows us to the consulting hutches and we are in for a surprise. “He who made a pact with the devil” is not there, so we get the “sorcerer’s apprentice”. He shakes hands and says hello and explains he is houseman or some such label; the word consultant did not crop up. He’s about to tell me my blood results but I tell him, and we chat about how well I’m doing. I note that he asks me if I have settled the 21 day or 28 day injection situation with my GP. I am impressed, this sorcerers apprentice has read the notes, and I like him. He assures me that my night time calf cramps are due to the chemo and that he will check my magnesium level on the next bloods and that if it gets too bad he can do something abut it, I bet magnesium supplement is the answer. By the time I get to see him again my partner will have adjusted my diet to include every known natural source of magnesium know to the species. If my tits grow I will be expressing milk of magnesia!
Any way sorcerer’s apprentice goes on to explain what happens when I get to the end of the six cycles. Just volunteered it out of the blue! So here we go, at the end of the six cycles they will see me and then again in three months to assess the CT scan results that they will do just before the appointment. This I have called the “fingers crossed” phase. If all is as well as can be expected (whatever that means) they will give me a phone call once every three months, and I assume blood tests every month via the GP, and then an annual appointment. I have called this phase “fuck off and die”.
Well that’s what I call live and direct. No blurry around the edges, ifs and maybe, waffle in there at all. I should point out that I received this thrilling piece of information dressed in my three piece black funeral suit complete with diamond skull cuff links (Vivien Westwood), and my grandfathers double watch chain strung across my waistcoat: skull ear stud in of course. Yes of course I was wearing my black Crombie overcoat as well, topped with my peaky Blinders cap. Funnily enough we were out of the “consultation” pretty rapidly. Drove home, where my partner readied herself to go to work and I set my satnav for the funeral.
I drove to the funeral with little or no aggravation from the satnav. Most times it takes me via insane routes but once on The M1 it was very compliant. I met an old acquaintance and colleague in the car park for which I am eternally grateful. There is nothing worse than turning up at one of lifes major rituals and feeling an interloper at best and a spare part at worst. We found our way to reception where we found another of our colleagues. We said our hellos and then hung around the appropriate room until invited in by the “Life Celebrant”, who was to facilitate the service. The three of us sat ourselves behind the three rows reserved for family members and picked up the programme for the celebration. As is my wont I secured a couple of extra programmes to give to those from our friendship group who could not be there.
I noted very early on that the curtains that would be drawn around the coffin at the end of the celebration encased a resting dais that had no doors at its end. We were to be spared the sight of the coffin rumbling along a set of rollers through a pair of doors and to whatever fiery end we cared to imagine. We were asked to stand as the family followed the coffin in. It was a beautiful wicker coffin adorned with personal tributes. We listened to Alan’s entry music; Chan Chan by the Buena Vista Social Club. That got me to start with as I had had long conversations with Alan after his first wife died and he had gathered up his courage to go on holiday on his own to Cuba where he saw the Buena Vista Social Club. It was an emotional time for him and one that set a tone for him for a while.
There were words of welcome and scene setting and then an old friend of Alan’s spoke of Alan’s childhood and the development of his career up to the point where Alan met his new wife and started his own company. This was followed by a series of pictures of Alan through his marriages and travels whilst we listened to Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits. Somewhere in there had been sneaked a picture of two Minions from the film. Finally the life celebrant read some reflections from one of Alan’s work colleagues and then a poem “afterglow” by Helen Lowrie Marshall.
At that point the formal farewell and closing words were said and the curtains encircled the small and earthly coffin. A few last words and we were invited to leave to Alan’s “exit music”, which was Psycho Killer by Talking Heads. Yep, Psycho Killer, not one that get played much for this purpose, but then he liked his music live and direct. I miss him, and that’s the hook that leads me to the difficult places.
It’s that wandering outside to speak those words of necessity which is always so nerve wracking. Fortunately for me I came bearing the condolences of the Royal College of Psychiatrists team who had worked with Alan, which made my life a bit easier. I chatted briefly with Alan’s widow who was upbeat in a pink jacket and jaunty hat, with her daughter at her side. I decided that I would not go to the wake/reception at the end and said farewell to my colleagues and headed for the car park. Sometimes I find it difficult to be kind when I know things are churning around for me, and there was going to be no great throng in which to lose myself. One of my old supervisees pulled up beside me and we chatted about how our lives had moved on and how life is for us now. It was an unexpected pleasure and even more so when she text me later to reiterate her well wishes.
Home and out of the black armour of death and into jeans and T shirt before going to the gym. By the time I got to my machine the gym was beginning to fill. Cross trainer for an hour and 771 calories burned off. Now for the refreshing experience of a shower to wash away the debris of the day and the sweat of the gym. I should be so lucky the showers are cold. No doubt using the upcoming revamp of the changing rooms to save on heating water. This does not do my compromised immune system any good though. Bastards. I drive off in a huff and pick up a Sainsbury’s Indian meal for two intending to eat the lot myself given that my partner is out tonight with a friend dining. I get home and nuke the meal in the microwave and the oven and find that I have out grossed myself so I split it and give my eldest daughter a surprise Indian meal.
Then I settle to try and capture the day. I have a lot to process, but not sure what exactly. I have urges to ring people, not for anything specific, at least not mostly, some I am clear about. All death related no doubt, but I will rely on my unconscious to work on it and gradually reveal stuff to me. I have to keep my direction and my focus. Tomorrow is a poison day and I need to be strong to deal with the frustrations of traffic before we even get there. Then I would normally go to the gym to work the poison through, but if the showers are cold then I shall improvise.
What is sure is that tomorrow is a new tooth brush day, and a new set of stab sticks will be sitting in the fridge ready for Thursday. One last thing; I had a comment on CHEMO DAY 13, which said nice things and asked if parts of it could be put onto the person’s website. I was more than content for them to do so if it was useful. Someone, somewhere has found prost8kancerman.co.uk, and found it useful, what more could a blogger want?
