Thursday and I wake to my partner going out to work and the builder badgers arriving. I do a quick check of my messages, take my vitals (all good) and get up. I make the badgers coffee and then have breakfast. My COVID jab arm is aching a bit but more worryingly it feels a bit like I am getting another Uluru (ladder stone) attack, so I retreat to the sofa, sip water and then settle into editing the two final drafts of my next two collections, The Cancer Years: Some Rough Stuff (TCY:SRS) and Herod’s Children Crumulent Collection (HCCC). This is a real challenge to me especially when I am feeling a bit off. I can only concentrate for a relatively short period of time and every so often my dyslexia sticks it or in and I spend ages Googling spellings or meanings. The morning is taken up with this effort until lunchtime comes around. Meanwhile the badgers are busy laying the front drive. They are making good progress and by two o’clock they have a section laid and I have to say its looking good.
The Badgers making progress.
After my lunch I decide I need to do something active so I rebuild the water terrace with the replacement parts that have arrived. Its a bit like a giant jigsaw but it soon comes together. I remove the temporary down pipe that I had rigged up, so the builder badgers and the electrician can get on put the finishing touches to the patio.
The Water Terrace is now reinstated.
It takes a load of my days spoons (energy) to do the water terrace so I go back to the editing of the collections, which I manage to finish and get sent off to the Americans. Nothing left to do than relax and start to draft the blog, while the badgers continue to prepare the rest of the drive area ready for block paving. I indulge in fruit cake as I draft the blog and watch the badgers lay more of the block paving. It feels like this is a day of movement.
The evening comes around and I get my weekly wash done while my partner has her singing lesson and then there is time for a couple of S.W.A.T episodes to watch. I down my night meds and prepare for bed. Tomorrow I have a chiropody appointment so with luck I will have a moment of luxury and my feet will sing happily.
Wednesday and after an early bed time last night I wake at no different time. Best laid plans… So I get up and have a shower, and then do my vitals as my hair dries. There is time for breakfast before I walk slowly down to the GP surgery to have my COVID booster jab. I am in and out in a trice. On the walk back home I collect a paper, some cash and a bag of sweets, the latter being ill advised comfort. Once home I set to work on the crosswords, and whip thorough them with our google assistance. Go me at least my head works, but as the morning progresses I feel rank and it begins to feel like another Uluru (bladder stone) attack is on the way so I down a co-codamol in the hope of staving off the discomfort. I cannot face doing the dentist and the dental hygienist and cancel tomorrow appointments.
Lunch comes and goes as does my partner as she goes off to see her mother with her brother. I am left to watch the builder badgers take another delivery of huge bags of sand and shale along with the paving bricks. My symptoms worsen so I retreat to the sofa and start to draft the blog having emptied the dishwasher as that appears to one of the remaining functions of my life, that, and loading it last thing at night and setting it going. This is the erosion of my will. I feel chipped away at and reduced in functionality and self worth. It is at these moments that I draw a deep breath, remember that I am loved and cared about and are far more fortunate than many other carbon based species units. This is where the fight is, this is where Rocket and I do battle everyday to be able to do whatever we can to be here, to be making a contribution and to be something that others can engage with. This is where the battle to be kind, reasonable and rational takes place, where the wrestle with self pity is fought and where the belief that tomorrow can be better is clasped too. This is where writing this blog distracts me, allows me to hear my own voice through my eyes and to pick apart some of what is going on inside me. Its clear that Rocket and I are fighting on two fronts now. My prostate cancer is one, and here we have learnt to hold our own, just. The PSA holds low, the vitals are holding up but on the bladder stone front it is a hard battle, perhaps the intricacies of the combination of the two is too difficult. Five short days ago I stood and clapped and sang to Seven Drunken Nights in a concert hall, today I’m feeling fucked, it is this waxing and waning of my energies and my being that is hard to take. It is being able to predict the world and the future, within reason, that makes people feel safe and secure. It is the erosion of this that makes life hard, threatening and unsafe and that is what my body is doing to me at the moment. As a result I withdraw and try to maintain some rituals, some scaffolding that enables me to predict what is going to happen next, that and trying to stay engaged with my friends, family and some sort of vision of the future in which I can play a part. This, my poetry and my correspondence are the tools that I use in my battle, and how ironic is that for a dyslexic. The very thing that I have struggled with all my life is the things that I now depend upon. Always I come back to D .H. Lawrence’s poem:
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
From this stems resilience and resistance. There are other poems of course that I carry parts of in my head that pop up from time to time but it is Lawrence’s little poem that comes up most often these days. So I try not to be self pitying, as I have said before there are many carbon based species units that are by far worse off than me. In the time that it has taken me to write this the builder badgers have filled the drive way with huge bags of sand, shale, bricks and all sorts of shaped bits and pieces. My replacement part for the water terrace have arrived , which means when I can raise the energy I can reinstall the water butt by the new patio, but not today.
My builder badgers get even more materials to play with.
By mid afternoon I have settled down a bit and will rest for a while with the half formed thought about whether or not I will get a reaction from my COVID jab or not. So far so good. The builder badgers lay the first row of our drive and then call it day and pack up. Its a bit of a tease but hopefully tomorrow they will steam ahead and it will look like it is all coming together.
The evening arrives and my partner returns from her mothers to find its a bit of a hop and a step to get into the house as the front step is under reconstruction. There is an evening meal and the last episode of Race Across The World to watch. I will then have a second go of getting myself to bed early, early meds and then hopefully sleep. The reality is that my arm with the COVID jab starts to ache and out of the blue the Americans send me the final final drafts of both of the new poetry collections. Tomorrow is to be a day of editing, something to focus on and to distract me.
It feel as if my life clock is finding the breeze hard to resist.
Tuesday post Bank Holiday and I am awake and up by 7:30am as the cars need moving off the drive before the builder badgers arrive. Its raining and I wonder if they will arrive. Having moved the cars I return to lay down for a while to go through my morning getting up rituals but do not stay there long before getting up again for breakfast.
By the time I am up for the second time my partner has provided the badgers with coffee and had a chat with then about the fallen water terrace and a new doorstep design. Early on the windscreen wipers I ordered for my partners car arrives along with the post. They get labelled and squirrelled away. While I am doing that an item on TV catches my attention, it’s about the Inhaler Tailor in York. He makes inhaler covers for all sorts of inhalers to encourage children to use them, so their are lots of fun ones. Its a stroke of genius and of course given that my youngest grandson is on one at the moment I thought it worth a look.
I think these are brilliant and there are loads more.
As my partner uses an inhaler I am tempted to go for one of the “classic” ones. They are a great gift for anyone who knows someone who uses an inhaler. The Inhaler Tailor makes them for all sorts of inhaler types, he really has found a brilliant idea, apparently the nhs is going to run a project to see how much they encourage children to use their inhalers. After this piece of indulgence its time to empty Daisy dishwasher and to change the light bulbs that are on the blink in the dining room. Its all puttering and a distraction as I pass time wondering if the Americans are doing anything with my books or not. I know its a slow business but I am impatient to see the two new collections available, perhaps later in the day there will be something. As the morning goes on the badgers get noisier as they start to use their “flattening machine” to level out the front drive. They are working in the rain but making headway with the edging stones already. By lunch tine its looking like the weather might lift a bit, Apart from Tesco delivering today today is a rest day where I can feed my brain and try to work towards an early night. I’m going to try to have some early nights this week as I have still not fully recovered from my last Uluru attack and last Fridays injection.
By four o’clock I am out of spoons having taken in the Tesco delivery, squirreled and done todays crosswords. The builder badgers have gone having steadfastly worked through the rain. Within ten minutes of them leaving in rain it is sunny. No doubt they will be back tomorrow as they have a schedule to keep and they risk falling behind. So by mid afternoon I hanker after fruit cake and a drink before settling down to read for a while. The Calvino stories are like fine red wine and can be sipped slowly to make them last and savour the flavour of them. I am getting physically “itchy” as well as mentally but I know that if I over exert myself physically I will set myself back but I can feel the pressure to get going again on some sort of exercise regime. I must exercise patience.
The evening arrives quickly and I find myself very tired and start heading for bed in head early. There is only The Great British Sewing Bee to hold me before I down my meds and think bed and then realise the dishwasher needs to be filled and set going. Tomorrow is COVID booster day, that could be fun.
Bank holiday Monday and wake late to sunshine again, it won’t last. I’m still feeling sore from my Friday injection. I do my vitals and get up to breakfast with no plan for the day so I putter for a bit, emptying Daisy Dishwasher and fitting a new wiper blade on my partners car before deciding to accompany her to the gym, she to train and me to read somewhere different. On the way we tend to my partners tyres before entering the club and me settling down with phone, journal and book to read. I write my weekly check list and find I have a week that includes another COVID booster jab, a double visit to the dentist and one to the chiropodist. So much fun going on here.
I have an Americano but cannot really face it so I set to buy a spare set of wiper blades for my partners car and some other odds and ends. Before I can settle to read I am impelled to try and write the half form poem I woke up with this morning. Here it is in its crude form.
396
I wake up, there is sunshine, that will do me. Recently I am tired weighted down by the emotional noise. Where is the good news? I feel tricked, every story is doom even the upbeat. The supposed to be uplifting aren’t. Young people raising money, “I did it for my dad” Dead of cancer. “I’ve raised millions, to raise awareness” My son stabbed to death. A trillion miles run for the four horsemen of the modern apocalypse. I don’t watch anymore like a magician giving up watching card tricks, spin and mirrors. Cicero was right, all I need is my garden and my library. Nature is red enough In tooth and claw without BBC news, Fox news, ITV or GB racist, nationalist shit. Everybody’s being kind in the face of pain, so, when did we stop being kind for kindness’s sake? Its all too noisy this loud, proclaiming good. I crave a quiet pool where I can sit and be silently kind to the ones I love for life’s sake.
An after thought: Don’t get me wrong, helping those in pain is good, but why do we have to wait till then? Can we be kind to the kind or do we ration it to birthdays and Christmas because that’s the rule. I ask myself; When was I kind just because I could? 396 27-05-2024
I read for a while until my partner returns from the gym floor. We drive to our favourite garden centre café for a bite to eat and drink. We sit and chat and catch up on where we are and what our week looks like before returning home. I start to draft the blog. This is ordinary life and mundane, I just wish my gut would stop hurting and I felt less listless. Before long the evening comes around and the evening meal. By now I’m feeling decidedly “off” so I settle down with the family and binge watch series three of Bridgeton. Its a bizarre series but strangely compelling. My family goes to bed and I draft the blog before taking my night meds and retire for the night.
Its a Sunday so I am up first to make the warm bedtime drinks before I and my partner get up for the day. Its one of those bright skies and heavy rain fall days, and odd sort of weather combo. After our Sunday chat I get up to check that the temporary down pipe is still working and to have breakfast. To my relief all is working well and after breakfast I start to get on with some admin. The water terrace collapsed after the builder badgers put it back in the wrong order so I have ordered parts to upgrade it, once they arrive I will have another go. There are birthday things to send and mop wipes to find and buy, the life of a putterer is ever busy. With that do and my partner at the gym I start to draft the blog and indulge I a Betty’s fondant fancy.
All of this is against the background of my youngest grandson still being in hospital and on oxygen. The hope is he gets move to the ward today and improves enough to go home tomorrow. It is an anxious time for everyone, especially the parents. I sit and think of them and think about what I and m partner can to do be helpful, its not easy being at a distance, perhaps this is one of the trickier bits of being a grandparent.
My partner goes to the gym and I do very little as I feel listless. There is the French open tennis to watch but I get bored and instead turn to Shaun the Sheep and the film Farmageden. My partner returns from the gym to finds me watching the sheep film. By the time the film ends I am itchy of mind and body so I decide to cook tea and set to preparing salmon with herbs from the garden. Just as I’ve got everything on the go my partner comes in with a face to face call with my youngets daughter and to my surprise and delight there is my youngest grandson safe and sound at home. He is looking wriggly and active, like his usual self. It is a great relief to see him home and looking as good as he does, this alone make this a very good day. My partner and I chat to our youngest daughter and wave and chat to our youngest grandson. After the call we eat the tea I’ve cooked and then get on with the evening.
There is very little to watch on TV so I start to draft the blog and then seek a film or a book to read before it is time for my meds and another attempt to sleep. When all is said and done the return home of my youngest grandson is the best possible thing to have happened , just the best.
Last nights outing was excellent, so good I forgot to post the blog.
Saturday and I wake up late feeling the soreness of yesterdays jab and the expenditure of spoons from the night out, which was well worth it. I do my vitals, again all good, and then have breakfast. While I have spoons enough I try to sort out the water butt tower that has collapsed in the back garden by the new patio. It takes a while to drain the tanks and to tidy up the spillage. By the time I am done I am pretty much out of spoons. At 11 0’clock I discover my youngest grandson is in A&E with breathing difficulties, It’s going to be a long day.
In the afternoon I watch the FA cup final while keeping an eye on my messages. The whole family does, its a tricky time. By the time the match is over my youngest grandson is sleeping but the hospital is going to keep him in over night. The family take the easy way out for a meal in the evening by ordering in an Indian. The evening is a binge watch of Rebus all the time keeping an eye on the messages. Finally its time to take my night meds and go to bed and try to get some sleep. I am hoping that tomorrow can be a gentle day, there is a need to get some peace and quiet .
Its Friday and its a nine o’clock jab day so I get up and shower and grab a quick breakfast before walking down to the GP surgery clutching my hugely packaged injection. My usual nurse calls me in and we are soon agreeing which side I am due to have the injection in, right this time. Before I leave I book the next jab and for good measure I book myself in for my COVID spring booster during the coming week. On my way home I pick up the drugs owed to me by the pharmacy and some more paracetamol. I pick up a paper from the shop and return home feeling quite breathless.
With a fresh glass of water I set to on the crosswords of the day and to my pleasure do not need to resort to Google at all. On checking my emails I am taken by surprise by one from the Americans who have sent me a draft of one of the collections. I now have two collections to edit, so as my partner goes off to shop I star to flog through the tedious bit of the production. I find major mistakes in formatting, they have used first lines as tittles and not structured the contents page properly. On top of that they have used American spelling all over the scripts. Its slow work and being dyslexic does not help as I have to Google some things to check them. Eventually I get to the end of the task and email the Americans back with a length email about what I have done and my understanding of where we have got to in the process with the two collections. They want to sell me the idea and the reality of an audio version of the first Cancer Years collection, but I am putting them off and suggesting an audio version of a selection of all four collections when they are all out on all the platforms. Its a waiting game now. After all this I find an interim invoice from the builder badgers so spend a bit of time sorting that out, by which time my partner has returned and I am hungry.
A late lunch and start to feel my injection site getting sore, its the usual process and as yet I’ve not taken any pain killers so I settle down to start to draft the blog. Tonight I going with my partner to see Seven Drunken Night, a show about the Dubliners. Lots of diddly diddly music and traditional songs, many of which I will have heard in my folk club days. For now its about getting comfortable and conserving energy.
Thursday and I wake up decidedly groggy and wonder if this is due to the additional drugs that the GP has prescribed as a guard against future UTIs. I have no way of knowing so I check my messages and then my vitals. These are all okay. The builder badgers have arrived and putting copping stones on the tops of the new patio walls, very smart. I make breakfast ad as I do I remember last nights episode of “Race Across The World. The young brother and sister couple are filmed talking to each other and the sister tells him what it is like to be be born without a uterus and only one kidney, of how the loss of hope for children of her own affects her and how it has in the past. They have never talked about this before. The edit cuts to the brother talking to camera about how that conversation has affected him and suddenly he is in tears and all he can say is “Can somebody hold me” Thankfully a camera crew member does. The memory of it makes me feel unexpectedly tearful at first I think this about my dead sister but then I realise its about missing my old work in therapeutic communities. I write a poem.
395 They race across the world a brother and sister. She talks to camera after telling her brother what it is like to be born without a uterus, without hope of children, and with one kidney. He talks to camera and cannot bear the pain and can only tearfully say: “will someone hold me”? A film crew member does. This comes back to me as I make breakfast, out of the blue, I am tearful. At first I think this is about my dead sister and then I realise, I miss my work. All those men, criminals living in community who desperately wanted to be different, good, kind, loved. Those oceans of tearful realisation in the struggle to be a better person. The grief of killing a best friend, wife or stranger. That inception of horror and the desperation to never create a victim again. Some succeeded, some could not bear the pain, others saw the process and ran. Time and time again I saw those tears and the plea to be held; held by community, held by group; just held.
395 23-05-2024
I eat breakfast and then take to the sofa to transcribe poems to digital and then start the blog for the day. I feel terrible still and just want to sleep. It feels as if I just need to become mindless for a while and sleep it off like a drunk but tomorrow is jab Bank Holiday Friday and we are supposed to be going out in the evening. I need to pull myself round and its noon already.
The afternoon is filled with finishing “the sun and her flowers”, a book of poetry that is beyond anything I could do. I can see why it sold. It has a unique voice and speaks to many contemporary issues. I am so taken with it that I have sent it to a friend. Having finished the poetry I caste around for diversion still feeling ropey and then I find the Post Office inquiry, and I am in luck its Paula Vennells giving evidence. I spend a long time watching is a sort of stupor. How did such an incompetent get installed as the CEO of the Post Office. I lost cunt of the number of times she could not recall or remember or did not know. Another display of denial and ingenious obfuscation. There was no a moment when I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, she clearly was so thick she was out of her depth or she knew very well what was going on and chose to let it go on. It is a modern spectacle of throwing the Christians to the lions, it was never a fair contest really as the Kings Council minutely devours her tiny morsel by tiny morsel. So I watch and wait to see if there is a phone in vote to see if I can give a thumbs up or down. I know it does not work like that but what fun it would be, instead I will have to rely on social media and Private Eye to ensure the final lasting blows to any future Paula Vennells thinks she might have. I say good bye to the builder badgers for the weekend, they have done a lot of work today including installing a new manhole cover on our discovered one on the back path. The whole project is getting along well now, there is just something like 2000 paving blocks to lay now, gate pillars to finish building, electrics to finish and drain ways to install. There is still about two weeks worth of work to go.
The evening begins with a classic Star Trek and then drifts on into an evening of drivel really but it serves it purpose of getting me to Friday and my monthly jab in one piece. Suddenly there is a flurry of activity from the Americans and a new cover design for The Cancer Years: Some Rough Stuff arrives and is shortly followed by the manuscript for that collection. I have a quick look at the draft manuscript and my heart sinks as who ever put it together clearly has not understood the manuscript. I sigh and know it will take me all day tomorrow to get it straight. It appears I am going to have a busy day, jab, editing, concert.
Wednesday and its pissing down so I hope for a lay in. I read a bit more of “the sun and her flowers” adn then do my vitals. All good there. The builder badgers will not come to day due to the rain but the master badger drops by to say they have collected their digger and not to worry no one has stolen it. He also tells us that the coping stones for the patio are going to be delivered. In fact they arrive mid afternoon. I get up and have breakfast and start a sort of mooch around getting ready to go to the hospital to collect my next three cycles of “chemo”. My partner offers to drive me to the hospital, so mid morning we set off. Our local hospital is notorious for its poor parking and access. The upshot is that my partner drops me at A&E and I walk thorough the campus to the pharmacy. There is a long queue and one bloke is arguing over drugs he wants but the pharmacy as no prescription for him and a woman who is clearly being tended to on a “not well now” basis. I get to the front of the queue and hand over my details. As always there is a long search and much rummaging around. Eventually they find them but of course they can’t just give them to me I have to wait to be “dispensed” to. As I wait to be called to the most un-confidential dispensing area I have ever see, apart from in prison, I can’t help thinking that Argos wold do this so much better. I get my drug and message my partner who is now in the queue for the car park. I walk the several hundred yards of cars that are queuing to get into the hospital car park and find my partner. We soon get into the “flow” lane and head home.
My partner and I have just about got in the door when one of my eldest daughters friends rings to tell us that she is at the GPs and that they have called an ambulance due to a suspected embolism. There is immediate alarm and we dash to the surgery to find her in a wheel chair with doctor in attendance. There is conversation and then the ambulance arrives. The two paramedics take her to the ambulance to run tests while we wait in the surgery. The up shot is that she is taken to the local hospital we have visited this morning to get my drugs. I am not well enough to go with her and she decides to go un accompanied. My partner and I return home preparing to wait for text from her. we eat and wait, watch coping stones being delivered and exchange messages with our eldest daughter as to what is going on. so we wait, my partner goes to the local pharmacy to pick up my regular drugs and some new ones the GP has prescribed me on the fly so to speak to help me get through my current Uluru attack and future ones. I take to drafting the blog to divert myself. We are all anxious and just trying to get through this latest crisis. Trying to keep calm and be rational about what each of us can realistically do. I want to be there but I cannot and my eldest daughter has chosen to be there on her own at the moment. So I wait, send messages and wait. This is is a horrid day. Its my jab day on Friday due to the Bank Holiday Monday so I order treats, trying to think about all of us trying to recover and rest over the long weekend. Its been a grim week for all of us, we need respite and quiet.
Its only mid afternoon Wednesday!
By 10:30 at night my eldest daughter is on her way home. A friend of hers is picking her up and bringing her home. So the priority is to feed her and then for everyone to get some rest. This is the time to re-balance and find ways forward. Fortunately its a Bank Holiday so there is a bit of time to take breath. For me its time to take my meds and get as much sleep as possible before Friday when I will get my 28day jab. Ultimately today was horrid but has got better.
Tuesday and I wake to the sound of my partner going to work to be quickly followed by the arrival of the builder badgers who have started work on the front drive and building the new entrance pillars. I take my vitals and take some time to write and to read. I read the first section of rupi kaur’s “the sun and her flowers”. She is a poet made reference to in the book Yellowface that I have just finished reading. I was intrigued so ordered it and thought it might be a an interesting way to find new brain food. The collection traces the aftermath of a broken love relationship. This collection contains sketches by the author as well, it was apparently a Sunday Times best seller and was published in 2017. I am intrigued by the style and the format.
An interesting find via Yellowface.
Whether it was reading poetry or reflecting on the family at the moment I find myself jotting one of my own.
393 I wake up expecting poppies the platoon has scattered each wounded in their own way and all seeking safety. The battlefield is strewn with dangers, survival is tenuous. Bound together by blood it’s the fear of loss that pushes one foot forward. Some wander seeking aid, a nurturing, saving hand that will guide us back to the regiment of family. Field dressings have been applied with promises of care to come. No need yet for a stretcher or the surgeon’s skill, yet here we are hurt and disconnected our individual pains driving wedges between us as we crave care and attention but feel unable to reciprocate. So tired so exhausted by the pain that no one can take away. We are isolated fearing stepping on a mine as we look out over the killing fields of life, right now. 393 21-05-24
Finally I get up, breakfast and give the badgers coffee before taking to the sofa office. It is here I attempt to settle and to do so I start todays blog but to be honest I feel ropey. Soon its time to oil the badgers again with more coffee. I clear the kitchen and settle on the sofa where I start the days blog and tidying up my paper work. My meds are taken and note that I am back on the blood thinners after my three days off them to aid my recovery from the Uluru (Bladder stone) attack. Lunch time comes around quickly and then I start to try and record a video letter to a friend. Initially I have trouble with the sound level and some interference, but eventually after trying various solutions I change which laptop I use and the start. It takes me three goes to get the letter recorded through a mixture of inept techno management and dissatisfaction with the content. Finally I get a one that feels about right. Once the letter is on a USB stick I get it in to an envelope and take it to the post office. The short walk is a real challenge for me, I return home spoonless, it disturbs me.
Just as I settle down to do the days crosswords I get a phone call from a friend who I’ve not had a chance to chat to recently. It is a brief conversation as she has to collect her daughter after some shopping. It is good to hear another voice adn to hear someone talk about how they are and what it is going on in their lives. After the call I get on with todays cross words until the builder badges wave good bye. The front drive is beginning to take shape.
The front drive is coming along
The evening arrives and I am still feeling under the weather, mostly my gut aches, but it’s having to have to deal with a lot at the moment in terms of the drugs in my system. I eat tea and return to the blog to a TV background and the wait for Tesco to deliver. Again I shall work towards taking my meds and having an early night. I will of course watch the great British Sewing Bee.
