CYCLE 6 DAY 1

So today is the day I start cycle 6, the final cycle of my chemo. It starts well with a bit of a lay in and a lazy selection of what to wear to face the day. I am on a bit of a mission as I promised myself to get to the GP surgery early to make a date to get my B12 injections up to date as they ad lapsed. As B12 is quite important element in keeping platelet level up it seemed a wise thing to do given the anxiety over my platelet levels over the last couple of days. So I pop down to the local shop to get a paper and some cash before making my way to the surgery. I enter reception and the usual person on reception is obviously fielding a tricky call. Any telephone conversation from a GP surgery that contains the phrase “it must be in the next two hours” is not one to interrupts, however one of the other reception staff asked me what I wanted. I said I just wanted to make an appointment to get my B12 up-to-date as it had lapsed due to all the other stuff that was going on for me. She promptly consulted her computer and conformed my name and date of birth (I would dearly love to know if there is another Roland Woodward that was born on the 6^th of July in 1948. Any thoughts about parallel universes can be left at the door, I’ve not got time to argue with that nonsense.) She looks up from her computer and asks “Are you available now?” I am taken aback for a moment and say “Sure”. I take a seat and begin to get out my newspaper, but before I can my name is called.  I am whisked in and before I know it I am hearing the words “sharp scratch” and I am one armful of B12 up. Not only that I am clutching an appointment card for March for my next one. Now that’s efficient.

 So with an unexpected fluffy cloud on my right bicep I leave the surgery feeling like a bit of a winner. In celebration I head for the village cafe and have bacon and sausage baguette and coffee. This all consumed as I complete the crossword puzzles in the paper. I get home where my partner is working from home. I rescue the Christmas tree from outside and bring it in and set it in the cast iron Christmas tree stand that has been part of our Christmases for years. I had time to remove its netting and put water in the stand. It can stand for a few hours and return to its original shape before being decked.

 My partner and Leave early for the hospital due to the fact that we anticipate a long wait to get in to the car park, which has been our usual experience. We drive straight to the car park in record time and drive straight in. We are an hour early! We chat for a while and then go to the oncology building for a drink. While there I fulfilled my promise to buy raffle tickets if my platelet levels went up, which I told the nurse who promised me more platelets. All this is tragically superstitious but it felt somehow important to keep my word. I gave the nurse on poison reception my appointment card and we waited outside for a while.

 It was not long before I got called in and settled into a chair. No recliner for me this final time, I guess I am a rugged participant now, evidenced by the lack of wobbly veins and adequate blood flow. So I am soon hooked up to my black bag of poison and I settle into eating chocolate bars and drinking lucozade. My theory is that my body knows that to is having poison pumped into it and reacts with a certain degree of shock which lowers blood sugar so I try to load sugar into the system to counter act this. I think it works, and if it doesn’t it’s the only confectionary that I get in my current diet.

 I sit reading my kindle, while my partner does puzzles and falls into conversation with the man in the next chair and his daughter. Before long they know my history and that is my last session. “Am I going to ring the bell?”

 I ignore the question and let the conversation go on. That bell is a pain. I am not against some symbolic signal of achievement for those that want that but I am offended by the arguments about hope for others and the rainbow and the words that go with it. I know what’s happening to me and I know this is no end and to “survive “chemo is not for me significant. It’s not something I want to proclaim to the world and particularly the other people in the room who all are undergoing their own journey in their own way and doubtlessly wrestling how to make meaning out of their experience. A ritual bell is just that and trivialises the humanity of those that are cancerous. I did not ring the bell despite the man’s daughter asking for just a little ding.

 Next stop the gym with my new set of stab sticks stowed safely. We sit in the gym lounge and indulge in drinks and a mince pie waiting to see if my partner’s personal trainer is going to show up. Eventually my partner goes off to train and I delay a bit to finish my drink. I eventually get changed and get up onto the gym floor. No cross trainer so I climb onto a bike and swap my Fitbit onto my ankle from my wrist. A tip from my partners trainer as the fit bit does not pick up cycling on a static bike in the gym but it will pick it up if on the ankle. I was dubious but at the end of the hour I checked and found it had registered all the strides. I had attained my days 10, 000 steps and burnt another 551 calories.  A brief stretch out and then off for a shower. Feeling oddly refreshed I sit in the gym lounge and finish off my 750 mls of water in an attempt to get my 2 and a half litres of fluid down me to help move the poison through me. I am having a hot flush and need to sit tight for a while to cool off. My partner arrives and we wait a few minutes before heading off home.

 Beans on toast for me so that I can take my next dose of block steroids and then I am off to write the blog. I’ve not got the energy or inclination to get into the loft to get the Christmas tree decoration boxes down, that will have to wait till tomorrow. There are still some Christmas organising to do, but right now there is a bin to go out for tomorrow’s collection and sleep to be had.

CYCLE 5 DAY 21

I woke today feeling quite chipper after going to the gym last night and was determined to keep the pace up, to keep my direction. It would be the last day of toothbrush 5 of six, which has a Borg like ring to it, which I like. This whole adventure feels like a Star Trek adventure where I am boldly going where I have not been before. New planets, new starts and new bits of my body that demand new understanding of biochemistry and physiology. Perhaps I should start heading these blogs:   Star Date ……

I cook fried egg sandwiches for breakfast and make coffee while I check e-mails and WhatsApp. I down my first lot of block steroids and start my “to do” list:

1. Pay the remainder of the registrar fees for the 24^th of January. DONE
2. Post RCP invoice to meet finance deadline. DONE
3. Change dentist appointment to New Year so its post chemo. DONE
4. Get bag ready for gym later on. DONE
5. Pack bag for hospital trip. DONE

By the time this is all done its time to get ready to go into town and have lunch at the Cosy Club before seeing “he who has made a pact with the devil”. We both wanted Ham Hock Hash, we were both disappointed, they had none. This is at least the second time this has happened in a short space of time. I’m not amused. I settle for macaroni cheese and a kicking mule. Nice enough but it is not Ham Hock Hash.

We walk down to the hospital and settle in for a wait. I produce the newspaper and we sit doing puzzles and watching others go in to the inner sanctum. My name is called, I follow and answer the ritualistic questions, name & date of birth. We are shown into the consulting room but there is no consultant. “He who has made a pact with the devil” is not in this week, so a nice registrar is standing in. Lovely social skills and very pleasant.  I raise the fact that my platelets have dropped to 90, outside the normal range, and there is a moment of pause. I’m informed that normally this would mean a delay until they recovered, but I’m in good shape, so as the last bloods were done on Thursday the platelets should be up more by now. So the nice registrar orders new bloods to be done today. If I get up to 95 I can do my next cycle tomorrow as planned. This would be really good as if it gets delayed by a week it Christmas week. The agreement is that if I hear nothing from the clinic or the McMillan crew then I should rock up as normal tomorrow. The registrar also confirms that I do not need to take steroids after the 7^th of January when my 6^th cycle ends. He gives me blood forms for an interim blood check post cycle 6 and one for my next appointment after three months. He also says that tey will book me a new CT scan just prior to my three month appointment. We shake hands I go to seek the local vampire down the corridor.

We go to the “Blood Room”, I promise this is what it is actually called, and deposit my blood form and we sit and wait, resuming our puzzle completions. After a relatively short wait I am called forward and this time manage to give the wrong birthday. For some reason I swapped the 6th for the 4^th of July. She noticed and we joked about thanks giving and then got on with the sample taking. In no time at all I had aa new fluffy cloud taped to my arm and I was out of there.

We walked back to the car and I drove home. My partner went to work and I started to check my Patient View app to see if the results had come through yet. They had not so I down loaded the Patent View app to my phone so that I could check when I went to the gym. I downed my second lot of block steroids and headed for the gym. All went smoothly apart from a short wait to get a cross trainer, but once on I did my hour clocking up 767 calories and my 10,000 steps for the day. It was tiring but I am determined to keep my exercise up as I am convinced this greatly helps my chemo and my vital signs.

I step into the changing room and begun to get ready for the well earned shower when my gut reminded me that taking block steroids on an empty stomach is not a good idea. I made it to the toilets and sat for a while in contemplation of the need to stay focussed and to remain disciplined till the very end of my chemo and beyond. The shower revived me and I retreated to the lounge for a coffee and to check if my result were in, they weren’t. What is more I was hot flushing, so I sat back and waited for a while till I had settled down and made way home via the chippy. I ate my chicken and chips, chicken is good for platelets my research told me, and settled to watch a bit of TV, but almost immediately my sister rang me. We chatted for about an hour and a half, mostly family stuff and our experiences of late of friends being ill or dying. By the time we concluded making arrangements for me to do the annual “Santa run” to London on Thursday it was time to begin the blog.

00:14 Hurrah my blood results are up on my Patient View. My all important Platelets are up from 90 to a majestic 176. I go to bed a pleased and relieved person.  

CYCLE 5 DAY 20

Got my blood test results back today prior to seeing the oncologist tomorrow to get signed up for cycle 6, the final cycle.

PSA 1.4

Also went to gym as part of the final push to make the most of the cycle.

CYCLE 5 DAYS 18 & 19

Friday 13^th December 2019

Up at 5:45 and down the meds as I speed dress to get out of the house and off to the station. Today is a London day at the Royal College of Psychiatrists. I have an easy ride into town and get on an early train. I settle down with the Existential Cafe and read while at least two people around me snore and dribble contentedly as they pretend to be paying attention to the white buds in their ears.

London means my favourite art work. Its nice to look at it as I work my way through bemused foreigners as they are disgorged by the cross channel tunnel trains, or queue to get on one.

 I am early enough to get into an almost empty tube train and I am soon stepping off at Aldgate and walking to the RCP. Straight down to the cafe for breakfast and a coffee till my colleagues arrive. We spend the morning reviewing various areas of work and reflecting on the year as we nibbled both savoury and savoury goodies. Work done and we are ready to face the challenge of a London murder mystery.

 We are split into teams and provided with the rules and instructions and then we are off to Liverpool Street station to start our investigation.  A colleague and set off to hunt down the culprit. The clues are obscure and need a lot of observation and thought to hunt down. It’s cold and my colleague is getting progressively colder and I am getting to a point of flagging somewhat, but I am seeing parts of London I had not seen since I was a child. By the time we got as far as the old Jewish soup kitchen we had had enough and made our way to the Giraffe restaurant in Billingsgate which had been booked for 3:15. We found our way quickly to it and I had the satisfaction of my Fitbit congratulate me on doing 10, 000 steps in the day.

 By the time we arrived, two colleagues had already arrived and like us had failed to complete the investigation. I order hot chocolate and we waited for the eager and competitive team to arrive and smugly inform us that they had answered all the clues and had a answer. We did not want to know saying that we would complete it one day in nicer weather. A worthy ambition but I wonder if we ever will. It turned out later that they not only completed it but also got the right answer, perpetrator and weapon. We sat and chatted, ate and drank. It is one of those moments when I miss alcohol. I’m not sure what exactly it is that I miss, whether it is the taste, the socially shared activity or the delusion that I am talking really intelligent stuff when I am actually talking crap. I know that the first thing that goes is judgement, so it maybe the loss of any good sense that I might have that gets in the way of me being un-sensible that I miss. Anyway after good food, drink and company we do the group exercise of trying to work out who pays what. Now after three bottles of white wine this could be a true challenge, but on this day it worked out to a convenient round number. So we walked back to the station through a now increasingly celebratory and crowded London. Some joined in the activities at Dirty Dicks while I and two other colleagues found our way to the trains. It was underground to St Pancras and then a quick spring along to the cheap seats on the train about to depart to Sheffield. I resort to the Existential Cafe again until we arrive back in Leicester.

 Home and I am tired, my calfs ache a bit and I sit and watch TV, Have I Got News for You, Mock the Week and the Last Leg, all of which made what fun they could of the general election and the various buffoons and mendacious slugs that are now our representatives in the Mother of all Parliaments. Fun from a sense of powerlessness is probably the best way to describe it. The fear will come later. I retire tired and vaguely disturbed to bed.

Saturday 14^th of December 2019

A tricky night as my legs kept cramping up, so I finally get up at about 9am to make coffee and tea and move the car so that the Sainsbury’s delivery can be made at 9:30. I have a headache and return to bed with the drinks. It is my partner who gets up and deals with the delivery and my eldest daughter disappears off into the real world to return at tea time. I get up, tempted by bacon sandwiches and fresh coffee.  While eating these I duck tape the box of goodies that is going to Shri Lanka and think about what else there is to do before the great celebration. My partner works out how to order our Christmas foods on her tablet and we do so thus saving us the usual Christmas Eve dash to the shop to collect the dead bird we are so looking forward to. This is a welcome result.

 So we visit the post office to send out parcel on its way and walk to the chemist to collect my partner’s meds. Newspaper clutched we return home to a cup of coffee and get ready to go to the garden centre for vegitables and pies. It is also exciting as this is the day I get to buy the Christmas tree that can then be brought in over the week and decorated. Of course I have to risk life and limb to get the decorations out of the loft and play the find the dead bulb game before it can be shown in all its glory.

 Tree selected we decide on a drink and a sandwich before we return and load up the tree. We queue at the café until I get fed up with my partner shoving a Dobie’s card in my face as I’m preparing to order, I leave her to it and find a seat, where I look at football scores and think about other things.  Our food arrives with the drinks, more hot chocolate. We have some discussion about Christmas presents and the ones I need to select for myself so I go on line and order new clothes that will fit my expanding waist line. I shall dazzle in plum. So with that sorted we decide to leave so I start to place the cutlery and crockery on the tray at which point my partner in an attempt to be helpful, never a good idea, then tips cold hot chocolate into my crutch turning my instantly in to an old man that’s just pissed himself. Not amused, I go to the toilets where, after getting comfortable standing on one leg with my wet leg under the hand dryer whilst waving my hand under it to keep it going and hot enough to dry my jeans, I try to change my image of being an incontinent old man. Had any one come in it would have looked like pervert man trying to fuck a hand dryer. The position to try and dry my fleece was a little more dignified but still required an inappropriate hand movement. At these times I become mute and suffer a serious sense of humour bypass. We pay for the Christmas tree and some wrapping paper and return to the car, which I drive to the front of the garden centre. I leave my partner and collect the tree, which I then get into the car.

Its a silent drive home. I unload the tree and stow it by the house. I then spend time in the laundry putting my chocolate stiff clothes into wash and dry properly. I watch rugby and order more Christmas presents on line for relatives. Early evening arrives and I blog. My sense of humour has yet to return and I am looking forward to the oblivion of sleep, perchance not to dream and just wake up in a new day.  

CYCLE 5 DAY 17

Today is the day that we have all been waiting for, that chance to place our X in a box and hope for the best, whatever our version of the best is. Like everyone else my partner and I drove down to our polling station and caste our votes, then we got on with the real world of life and relaxation. First stop the GP surgery so that I can give blood for my oncology appointment on Monday. Fingers crossed it is still going in the right direction. I shall know tomorrow or the day after. Always a time of anxiety. The nurse was quick and painless as usual however over the day I seem to have developed a dark bruise around the needle site.

 So without a break we drive to Ragdale Spa and check in by 10 o’clock. I fill in the medical information form and hand it into the reception person who looks at it and says she has to show it to someone else. Sure enough a person wearing a badge saying “Health Coordinator” on it. Apparently, even though I still train in the gym I cannot have a back massage. No idea why but that was their judgement so I have to change my “treatment” options. So I am a spa leper now. Clearly I am a risk to their precious beauty and pampering regimes. So clutching a fluffy white gown and realising I have no flip flops with me we head for the “treatment counter” and I swap a massage for the “man’s hand reviver” session. The admin done I trudge off to the changing rooms feeling a mixture of pissed off and a publicly labelled sick person who needs special risk avoidance. I find I have my Champneys free flip flops with me and proudly don them and wear them all day. That will show these Ragdale people a thing or two! So we meet up and look around the “stuff you cannot do without” shop, which essentially is twee crap. Nothing bought we explore the clothes shop and buy a newspaper.  Time for treatments. So I spend almost an hour having my hands and nails done by a chatty and informative young person who looks uncannily like a marmoset. A good job done, its time for lunch. Thank fully there is enough meat to keep me happy and puddings that can be spruced up with additional honey and fruit. After a post lunch coffee its time to venture into the spa proper and begin to try out all the rooms. So we steamed, reflected, salted and lazed in a candle pool until the urge to swim became too much to ignore.

 I tried to swim a few lengths and failed miserably, I have become so unfit it is untrue. In the end I resorted to walking up and down the pool as fast as I could for as long as I could. I brief rest and some dolphin time in the pool and it was time to shower and go for our cream tea. So showered, shiny and hungry we sat down in the veranda bar and was served sandwiches, scones and a plethora of mini pudding, so many in fact that we ended up bringing a box full home.

 We set off for home anticipating a quiet evening when my partners singing teach text to say she is on the way, which was a bit of a surprise as my partner thought she had cancelled the session. We arrived home to find the singing teacher waiting so my partner got a session she was not expecting. I retreated to the office to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting in London and to write the blog.

 It’s nine minutes past ten and I can hear the election coverage going on on the TV. I am half fascinated and find myself drawn to it but if I am going to survive tomorrow and do anything sensible I cannot afford to spend my night being alternatively disappointed and enraged. After waking up to find Trump president and then finding the British public had voted to come out of Europe nothing would surprise me now.

CYCLE 5 DAY 16

I woke up this morning after a night of disrupted sleep due to hot flushes and my inability to fully get to grips with the rooms heating system. I was tempted to just go back to sleep but as I was in a hotel room I was determined to get my money’s worth which included a breakfast I did not have to cook or go far for. So I go down to the restaurant and get greeted by the regular head waiter who waves cheerily and asks how I am. I used to be a regular at this hotel and being a true professional he had logged me.

 I checked my e-mails and WhatsApp over breakfast and made a couple of calls, serendipitously an old colleague was available for coffee who I could drop in on my way to my Leeds meeting. I checked out and met my old colleague, who was glad to see me as it saved her the trouble of mailing me a Christmas present. She is someone who reads my blog and, like several others, have been taken by the frogs that sometimes appear in the blog to brighten things up. She had found that it’s possible to get them and has given me her favourite one. It is of course the frog blowing a raspberry. I think I have mentioned that when I experience the Dark and Tricky stuff that sometimes goes in my head that the antidote to it is to blow raspberries at it. The frog embodies the spirit of this and now the frog sits and watches me as I type the blog.

 Onward to my Leeds meeting which was brief and straight forward and then back home down the trusty M1. My priority was to get in to a warm bath, hotels having only showers, to soak the ache out of my pigeons egg injection lump in my midriff due to Mondays monthly injection. The only bath bomb available being a Harry Potter Golden Snitch I ended up being quite sparkly to watch football and to complete some on line Christmas shopping during the evening.

 I end my day blogging and looking forward to tomorrow during which I shall vote, have bloods taken and spend the rest of the day with my partner at a spa pretending the election is not happening.

CYCLE 5 DAYS 14 & 15

Monday 9^th December.

I remember Monday as being a full day. Any day that starts with a trip to the GP to get the regular stab in the stomach fact is going to stick in the memory a bit I guess. In fact it went very smoothly with the nurse being her usual efficient self and remembering that this month it was to go in the left side of my stomach flab. I left the GP surgery and jumped straight into my car to go to a review meeting in Derby.

The area that I go to to do the reviews is a nightmare to park in if the nearest car park is full. It is patrolled by a keen and dedicated attendant who has the measurements of how to fit as many cars in as possible at his command. Fortunately there were spaces and I duly fished around for enough change to cover my parking period and headed off  to the probation offices. Almost my first conversation was about the effects of the London Bridge killings. A probation officer told me that they were being told not to go to conferences that were going to be attended by ex- service users or current service users of the criminal justice system. As the conference on Friday that I was contributing to was a CJS conference I made and immediate call to check if it was still on. A colleague told me that there were meetings going on that would determine if it was to be cancelled. I would get told the following day. My first thought was that it was a bit of an overreaction, my second thought was that it would be par for the course for the agencies to respond in this way.

The review of the services went well enough, Several services have now got the award and some development reports, while others are in the process of requesting assessment dates. All well and good except for two or three services that are lagging behind through a number of reasons. It always difficult to try and be as positive and constructive as possible when all I want to do is ask what the fuck they have been doing for the last two years. They always have an answer of course but never a recognition that it’s down to them. Any way the day went well enough with future training dates arranged and a new review date agreed for next year. In the middle of the morning the managers had to deal with an urgent demand for a bed due to the fact that the parole board had released someone without a bed to go to who ticked every risk box possible. It was impressive to see the service managers working so hard to try and find a suitable bed in order to protect the public. It’s not what the general public sees and never know, but this team did their best to find a solution and ultimately they did.

Work done I drove back to Leicester for lunch and a bit of Christmas card shopping before going home to write cards and work notes. The office still smells of Mr Sheen by the way. I also began to think about the conference on Friday and my contributions but only half-heartedly given the uncertainty of the day. At about six o’clock I headed out to drive to Staffordshire to meet with old colleagues from my prison days. Tonight we were joined by the widow of friend who had early in the month and whose funereal I had gone to. The evening was convivial and went well, with a lot of chat and a traditional Christmas dinner.  By ten o’clock we were done ad I drove home. The M1 junction at 24 which is run onto by the A50 was closed for the night meaning I could not get on the M1. Huge traffic jams and clogging, in the end I drove off in a general direction that I recognised with my satnav having a melt down and trying fro ten miles to turn me round. Eventually I got to a village I recognised and drove across country to get home some hour later than I expected. I was by now tired and grumpy and ready for bed. I did remember my drugs.

Tuesday 10^th December.

I’m in the bath getting ready to go to the north when my phone rings. Conference on Friday is off but I and my colleagues may well still meet and run through some development work, I will know later, I am told. Later one of my colleagues rings me to talk to me about Friday’s cancellation. We discuss the overreaction and think about an agenda for the day. No sooner than I am off then phone when a friend rings and we chat for a while about Christmas and life in general. I enjoyed the call but by the end I realise I’ve been in the bath and hour and have gone the tradition prune configuration. I did discover thought that the small fold up table that we got to put next to the bed when we upsized it to a gigantic size does an admirable job as a bath side table supporting my phone, coffee and toast. I have left it there to inspire others to use it as such. I get into the car with all my stuff and drive to Harrogate. Meeting went well and I ran away to York, where I book into the hotel and relaxe before dinner. I like these nights away from home. They break up the week, give me thinking and reading time. They also let me be with strangers who have no idea that I am ill and I can swan about like a normal person. It’s a strange sensation but a welcome one. I know that if people look at me they are just looking at me and not assessing whether I am looking tired, ill, or need of something. I might not like what I see in the mirror but strangers have never seen me any different. So I’m just an overweight bloke with irregular stubble and a football head, just like thousands of other middle aged blokes. As long as people leave me alone then life is fine. I took my drugs and headed for bed for an earlish night but cannot sleep, so I blog before trying again.

CYCLE 5 DAY 13

Is it possible to die of Mr Sheen inhalation? This is the question I ask myself after an afternoon of cleaning and organising the office. It is true that it is, for the moment, pristine both in sheen, shine and ship shape order. No more dead flies, deceased moths and immobilised insects lay strewn across the flat surfaces, nor can one write memos to self in the dust, which in fairness was handy at times. Now all is sparkling but reeking of polish.

 This was my contribution to tidy up Sunday, which was temporarily suspended by the visit of my partners brother to deliver birthday presents to her. One cup of tea led to another and so we idled some time away chatting round the kitchen table in true Sunday fashion. It was an ideal time to sort out Christmas arrangements of who was doing what, who was working and when. There was the discussions of Christmas dinner for my partners elderly mother and what state I would be in, given where I will be in my sixth and final chemotherapy cycle. All of this being the usual Christmas juggling when things are uncertain. I think we got to a manageable place.

 Once our guest had left we ploughed on either cleaning or wrapping Christmas presents and comparing lists. By the end of the afternoon it was time to get work things ready for the morning trip to the GP and then onto a work meeting in Derby. All this achieved we sat down to dinner as Richard Attenborough stood and patted the last two North African white rhinos and waxed lyrical about us humans slaughtering other species and generally fucking up the planet. This was of course followed by His Dark Materials in which children have their souls detached from them by some evil religious organisation. One could almost get sentimental over Songs of Praise. My inner mammal could take no more so I went for a bath, leaving my partner to take my Amazon delivery of litres of mouthwash and kilos of squirrel and bird food. I like to think that when I am gone and people are scratching around for something nice to say about me they will at least say “Oh yes he fed the birds and a squirrel.” So post bath I blog and promise myself an early night. I might even let myself read for a while.

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CYCLE DAY 11 & 12

Friday 6^th December 2019

This was the day that my partner and I give notice of our intention to form a civil partnership but that means an interview, so it’s up early and a shower. Once I feel non smelly and have downed my drugs I sort out the small forest of papers that we need to take to prove that we are real people. Birth certificates, marriage certificates, passports, divorce papers, change of name deeds, drivers licences, household bills and an old persons bus card just to be sure I‘ve covered all basis. Yet there was still the nagging little voice at the back of my head suggesting that there was bound to be something I had forgotten. We drove to the registrar’s office and announced our arrival an waited in the reception area. It was very quiet, with the odd person tip toeing through the lobby. The one person waiting with us seemed cheery enough and was soon escorted away to do whatever it was he was waiting to do. He did not look like a “birth” to us so that left “death” or “marriage/civil partnership”. Impossible to tell really, seemed too cheery for “death” , but on the other hand an improbable marriage/ civil partnership  being on his own. It was a mystery but not one we had long to ponder as we were soon called in to the registrar’s office. A person in blouse and skirt, no signifying rings or tattoos, smiley, greeted us with the words “I’ve not done one of these before!” Being a civil partnership made up of male and female at this moment in time is apparently a bit of a rarity given that the regulations have only just come into operations, and ceremonies can only happen from January 2020. So even the paper work we were about to see filled in was new. According to the registrar the LGBT+ community were not doing civil partnerships any more since they could get married. I refrain from comment. Anyway we start going through the mountain of documents that we had brought with us. To our relief we had all we needed and we set about constructing our life histories for the registrar. The only tricky but was proving that my partner did to become another person between getting married, divorced and changing her name. Having established continuity of identity we were able to move to stage two, paying some money, and then out of the blue the registrar says” Good now I can interview you, who wants to go first?” I realise at this point she means separately. No need to panic, my memory is holding up quite well if my crossword ability os to be believed.

I am shown back to the reception area which is now empty, although through a half closed door I can hear a staff member discussing payment over the phone for a ceremony of some sort. The person is obviously agreeing with the other person that paying for fancy stuff to be put on the chairs is a waste of time if all you do is sit on it and never see it. I note the hint, and wander off to find the nearest toilet wondering if I take too long and they come to call me for my interview whether they will think I’ve legged it in a fit of cold feet panic. Another fantasy that did not come to fruition. I am called in and sit like a school boy about to be tested on his Latin prep by the house prefect. In reality I would have no idea what this would be like but I’ve seen Harry Potter. The registrar asks me my name, easy I can do that one, then my birthday, easy peasy, I’m walking this. I am asked my partners birthday, I grin as it was the day before, yes I’m doing well here. The registrar looks at me and asks “have you been married before”, “yes” I say and then I panic, “what was her name” is bound to be the next question and I have a mind blank. I know it was P….., but P…… what? I can remember her parents first names but not the surname. How thick am I going to look in about two nano seconds time. I’m casting about my mind frantically, the pixies are ripping file cabinets open desperately looking for where I’ve filed this information. I take a breath and make a note to do more difficult crosswords from now on. I also remind myself that my son from that marriage has his mother’s maiden name as a middle name. Sorted, I smile and feel safe again and realise that the registrar is waiting for the answer to her last question that I had just missed while solving the missing name problem. The question was repeated and I say yes and we move on. A few very basic questions later and I am done. I sign some forms and my partner rejoins us. The registrar types some more stuff in to the computer and presses a button and says “there you are notice is now live”. She gives us some info, reminds us we still owe some money and wishes us luck. We leave and drive off  to meet the manger of our partnership venue.  In the car we have the usual “how was it for you” conversation. My partner was asked why we had chosen to go for a civil partnership, to which she replied she was not sure. What was interesting was that I did not get asked. My fantasy was that a woman did not fancy asking a bloke, or after getting my partners answer thought better of asking me. Probably the latter.

We head for Beaumanor Hall where we meet the manager of the venue to discuss what our ceremony will require the venue to supply. We drink coffee and let the manager ask us his pre structured interview. Apart from the need to keep reminding him we were not marrying but civil partnering he was very good and helpful. There were a lot of questions we could not answer but his questions were very useful in helping us to structure some of the things we needed to consider. We even made some decisions there and then. We did set time parameters and what bits of the venue we would use. After outlining the event he took us on a tour of the venue. It has a tremendous ornate staircase set against a back drop of a stained glass window, which my partner is determined to walk down to the ceremony room. Apart from this piece of indulgence the rest is straight forward, formal legal bit followed by casual drinks and nibbles prior to a private meal for the guests. That’s all I can say at the moment, the rest is either unknown or secret, there is Christmas to do first. We thank the venue manager and drive away with a new to do list.

We headed for a restaurant in a village not far from us, me making the reservation as we drove to it. My first Christmas dinner of the season, surrounded by locals lunching and out for their traditional Christmas lunch met up. All morning it’s been raining and we dash to the car trying to avoid getting soaked on the way to the car, all this and it is barely two thirty in the afternoon. Once home there are chores to do and domestic organisation to attend to. My major task was to wrap the presents for my son and his family and to get the parcel box ready to send to Stockholm. The box is heavy so I might need to readjust, but not this day. By the time the evening arrives I’m ready to indulge in a fantasy film, The Black Panther, total nonsense but has not intellectual requirement at all. Thankfully Have I got news for You and Mock the Week follow and with the election campaigns in full swing there is lots to laugh at and to mock. I realise that the day has taken its toll on me and I suddenly feel tired, so I resort to my refilled drugs wallet and take myself off to bed.

Saturday 7^th December 2019.

I wake after a reasonable nights rest, including the unavoidable bathroom interruptions during the night. Donning my new onsie I clear the kitchen and makes drinks for my partner and myself. My eldest daughter pass me on her way out to work and I settle down to begin some work till my partner gets up and goes shopping for bread. There is magically bacon sandwiches. I repack the Stockholm parcel so that it can go in the post. I do my washing, fill the bird feeders and for some strange reason feel impelled to rake up leaves in the garden. By the time this is all done it is time to go to the post office. Not just any post office but our village post office that has now reopened after being ram raided over six months ago. It was good to see the couple who run it back in business with a bright and shiny new shop. The new shop/post office notably has not got a cash machine. Back home my afternoon was taken up with writing Christmas cards and doing some civil partnership research on things like cost and food. My Christmas cards complete with seals are now sitting in the post box waiting collection. So I blog and try to catch up. It is clear a few die hard people are still visiting my blog, which is very reinforcing to me to carry on. Originally I started the blog to help me manage being ill and the consequent treatment. It does this but also allows others to know how I am without the need to have the conversations all the time. It also allows me to keep a grip and a perspectives on the overall process of being ill. Keeping a direction and having a strategy for dealing with the cancer and its effects on me is helpful. Tonight I shall rest, read and watch a little TV. I need to go to the gym tomorrow, as I have a busy week ahead of me.

CYCLE 5 DAY 10

Today was my partners 60^th birthday and we spent it at Champneys spar. An early start got us there at about 9 o’clock. If it had been left to my sat nav we would have arrived somewhere four and a half miles away, thankfully it is well signposted from quite a distance off. Our first time at this spar so we of course acted innocent and appealing dumb to get shown everything and to be looked after. So after signing up and collecting our fluffy robes and flip flops we were given a quick look round and importantly shown where breakfast was.  Breakfast was of course the health kind, but as we had toast and coffee before leaving the healthy stuff was manageable.

 We made our way to the changing rooms clutching our locker fobs and agreed to meet in the pool. I got another bloke to show me how to use the locker fobs and was soon in the bubbly bit of the pool waiting for my partner. We bubbled away merrily for ages until the thought of coffee and a scone became overpowering. I spent ten minutes in the sauna listening to two people discussing why and what they had to eat the night before and other really interesting tit bits about their domestic lives and then the tedious decision making about what they were going to eat at lunch time. They lasted all of three minutes in the sauna, noting in passing that it was “hot in here”.

  With fresh dazers and wrapped in our fluffy robes we head to the cafe for coffee and scones. Top tip: spread the jam on first before the cream, otherwise the jam does not spread and sits in a lump on the cream. By the time we had downed the scones it was time for my partner to go and have her revitalising all over treatment, which left me to ponder my e-mails, WhatsApp messages and read a news paper.  My partner reappeared about an hour later looking quite flopsy and feeling hungry so we headed for the restaurant to have our three course meal. The meal was okay, opportunities for less “healthy” eating.

There is only one thing to do when you have just eaten a meal in a fluffy robe and that is to grab a coffee and head for a sofa, or more accurate a day bed. Snuggling down to a brief nap was both our aims. Of course there was the usual paranoia about snoring, farting or drooling to excess in public but I certainly went under very quickly and resurfaced at some point after three o’clock. My partner did the same and I think we continued to “drift” for a while until we both got thirsty and a tad peckish. A quick jaunt to the cafe and back to the sofas to eat, drink and chat. In no time at all it was time for my partner’s pedicure, so off she went while I further lazed and eventually had a shower and changed out of my fluffy gown.

 We meet up again about six o’clock. Checkout relieved us of some money, told us our flip flops were ours to keep as was the bag they came in and waved us good bye. Home and some quick organising of the days post and a chocolate cake and my partner set to opening her cards and presents, including some lovely flowers from work. We made ourselves comfortable and watched Fantastic Beasts the Crimes of Grindlewald. Excellent fun that left us all wanting a Niffler.  So end of a day of rest, relaxation and celebration, so time to blog and think about tomorrows trip to the registrar and the partnering venue. From now until the new year the dairy is busy.

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