Wednesday and I wake quite early for me and read more chapters of The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August. Its about a man who lives and dies over an over into the same life but retaining the memories of each life from the moment of his birth. So each time he is born he is fully conscious as an adult of all his previous lives. Its a disturbing but intriguing read so far and I have a feeling that there is far more to come. I get up and find my eldest has camped in the lounge with her breakfast boiled eggs, which smell appalling, so I shoo her out of the lounge. I take my morning meds, clear the kitchen and put my washing in, it is then that I discover we have run out of honey. I dress and go to the village shop and then onto the village café for a full breakfast. In order to do the crosswords I borrow a pen and then sit reading, eating and fathoming the crossword. On my way back I meet my partner going to the doctors and we make a quick plan of action for the expected visitors. Once home I hang out my washing and start to do the days admin.

Its just chores then until I drop off a bag of shirts and suits to Age UK and pop into the chiropodist to change my appointment next week. By the time I get home more death admin has arrived. My new book from Amazon arrives, Newton’s The System of the World. Its a slim volume and I set about reading it. Clearly Newton was a bit on the bright side, I get lost in the maths but I now get how tides work. I go shopping and get additional goodies for tonight’s tea and tomorrows birthday celebrations. By now I am tired and its a drift into the evening as I find out my youngest daughter is not coming today but is going to arrive tomorrow. An evening of pizza, TV football and drafting the blog. It feels like I am doing everything except train. This feels like survival but I shall make sure I moisturise before I go to sleep tonight, its part of my radiotherapy preparation. Life is becoming more weird.

I wake at 9 o’clock to an empty house and sleepily have breakfast and morning meds. I sort out some odds and ends and then drive to a friends house for coffee. I post the broadcast details of my sisters funeral on the way. My friend drives us to the Staunton Harold Estate where we go for a walk around the grounds. As we walk past the peacock pen the male suddenly displays its tail and provides an unexpected treat.

We continue our walk around the grounds and down to the lake to feed the swans and ducks. There were a large number of coot and moorhen but no sign of a previously spotted egret.

Lunch follows after looking round the arts and crafts shops and studios in the courtyard complex. Over a tasty lunch I talk at length with my friend about the effects of being ill and the effect that has on those around us. I certainly recognise that my own cancer makes me self absorbed at times and I know that this makes me insensitive to what is going on for the other members of my family. We visited the on sight garden centre and finally found ourselves in the automata workshop. A strange little shop inhabited by a single small man making all sorts of moving objects. Not only were there owls, fairies and machines all moving in he shop but also objects made for the film industry and theatre. There is a case were the two Totos made for the stage production of The Wizard of Oz. On the wall was mounted the original parrot headed umbrella that was carried by Mary Poppins. The small man who was busy building his latest creation was a mine of information and was someone who had been a builder of automata all his life and remain fascinated by who was making what and what was new in his world. My friend drove us back from where I drove home feeling that I had had a good day, out in the open air and having had a conversation that I would not have had at home. I conversation that would change the conversations I would have at home.

I get home, realise I have missed a call from a friend and start my usual chores. It being Tuesday I get the bins put out. There is post. Letters from people sending condolences and describing their relationship with my sister. I sit and chat to my eldest daughter till my partner returns from work. So the household slides into the evening, with tea and a televised football match. I take my evening meds and draft the blog. Today has been a good day, an oasis in what feels a bit desert like at the moment. Life will get busy again tomorrow as my youngest daughter is due to arrive with her partner and we move towards Mothering Sunday.

Monday, another week and more coffee. I’m up early, not sure why because once I am up I am throat deep in death admin. After morning meds mind you. It goes on all morning emailing funeral directors adn trying to get all the materials for the ceremony together. After while I can do no more so spend some time parcelling old shirts up to go to sod the aged. I move all my ice hockey jersey to my hanging space so they are all together and easily accessible. There is time for lunch and then I am back at death admin, sending out the webcast information that people require. Tesco deliver adn my partner goes to the dentist. I plough on with getting stamps for a new batch of notifications and grab eggs as well.

I get back to find a new book gift has arrived. It is a real surprise, it is Claire North’s The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August. I sneak a peek and I am immediately intrigued.

The evening arrives and with it a call from the appointed Celebrant, who askes me about my dead sister and what thoughts I have about the ceremony and the content. We chat and exchange contact details. After that its TV and draft the blog. I find the admin tiring. I find the raking through old family history particularly taxing. However now its time for meds and sleep.

Sunday, and I wake up slightly groggy. I weigh myself and feel depressed by the 98.5 kilos that stares back at me. In truth I am not surprised, I’ve over indulged this week mainly by way of comfort eating. Need to restart on Monday and give myself the goal of being fit and lighter by my first radiotherapy sessions in May. My partner and I chat before getting up for breakfast and morning meds. After a large breakfast there is the usual Sunday face time with my youngest daughter. We chat and make plans for the coming weeks visit. After the call I continue ot respond to people sending condolences and putting together the electronic file of material for the funereal. My partner books us into a Spa for a couple of days during her time off in a couple of weeks time and then goes to the gym. After moving my car I notice how well the crocus and narcissus have survived the snow, which has now melted. Once again my garden reminds me of how Spring is on the way and that life moves on.

Having got myself organised I finally get myself ready to train. Its an effort but I make it into the garage. I strap in and set out on a 45 minute session. It goes reasonably well and I burn off 600+ calories.

I record the session and get out of my kit before settling down to dinner. I continue to do some death admin and then watch the final episode ever of Endeavour. The usual Sunday ritual of doing the Tesco order is done before I get down to drafting the blog. I take my meds and go to bed thinking that I might go to the gym tomorrow.

Saturday, its a slow start. Coffee and a bacon sandwich for breakfast and my fortnightly ritual of filling my drug wallets for the coming weeks. I clear the car of snow and then drive myself and partner to the garden centre to food shop for the next couple of days.

Before I know it I am in the monthly poetry Statnza zoom meeting. I spend two hours listening to and talking about the poetry that people have presented. In the midst of this public forum I realise with horror that my poem that I have proudly thought contained no “e” in fact contained two. Once again I had fallen foul of of my dyslexia. I had to publicly declare my poem a failure and a botched experiment. Such is the life of a dyslexic. The days post brings my can of E45 moisturiser with which I plan to pre-empt the soreness side effect of radiotherapy. Also in the post are a couple of condolence cards. It reminds that there is still admin to do around my sisters death. I reflected that many of her peers are older and infirmed and will not be able to attend the funereal in person. I decide to explore the possibility of “Zooming” it with the funereal directors and the crematorium. It needs to be done quickly so that I can send the link out if its possible.

I sit and watch England get thrashed by the French at rugby. Its a dismal display. The family sit down to a roast dinner before sinking into the evening and a Luther film. The football highlights tonight were just that, no presenters or pundits due to the Lineker controversy going on. Strange how a government objects to people suggesting they may be using language redolent of 1930s Nazi sentiments. Good to see his colleagues have stood by him. I draft the blog and then go to bed with the thought of a free day before me.

Friday and it still snowing. I have coffee, get up and then have breakfast and my morning meds. I look out over my front garden and all my crocus and narcissus are drowned in snow. Here and there a single stem waves like a flag of spring.

I go to the Shed and spend my morning writing letters. At lunch time I take a break and then returned to the Shed to finish my letters. When finished I return to the house and pick up my Amazon deliver. My E45 moisturiser has arrived as part of my pre radiotherapy regime. I check my emails and run off the poems that are coming in for tomorrows Stanza meeting. When I have read them through I go to the post office to send todays letters. I pick up some treats and then go home. I finally get my training kit on and head for the garage. I strap into the rower and set of for an hours session. When I come to record the outcome of the session I realise that it has been 16 days since I last trained. An understandable time given what’s going on at the moment but it is far too long. Its no wonder I’ve been feeling crap and dissatisfied with myself recently. I burn more than 800+ calories and go over the 13 kilometre mark for the first time in a long time.

Before getting out of my training gear I hoover the lounge and stairs. I change and then settle in to the evening. There are messages related to sorting out my sisters estate and I have created files to cope with the management of it. I settle into the early evening with tea and a rugby match followed by TV series. I start to flag and draft the blog before taking my night meds and going to bed to read through tomorrow’s poems again.

Thursday and I wake. I drink coffee and finish reading Perfume. Breakfast and meds follow and then I go to the Shed. It feels an age since I was in my Shed. I light the scented candles, turn the heater on and begin to write letters. I am at my writing table for the morning until my partner entices me back to the house with bacon sandwiches. All morning it snows as I sit and write.

The bacon sandwich goes down a treat. I return to the Shed in time to take a call from a friend. We chat for a while and catch up with our situations. It is good to hear someone outside the family and to hear about others lives. I return to writing letters until I can no more. I pack the Shed up and return to the house and go to the post office to send my letters on their way and to stock up on treats. Back home I read the paper and do the crosswords before selecting which poem I am going to take to the Poetry Stanza on Saturday. I am feeling slightly disconnected and select a poem that I wrote as an exercise. I decided to write a poem without the letter “e” in it and let my unconscious decide on the content. I ended up with a typically bony Roland poem about radiotherapy, I think.

My radio
All knobs and dials
FM loud and proud
Blasts out 
And blastomas.
Its slaying a tumour
Its wild and a rumour
that pill and potion
Are in commotion.
Rock and rollology 
Biology and physiology
Burn, scar and cullolgy
On my radiology.
So go man go
And scorch away,
Tomorrows so
Another day.  
Old and gay,
I could spit
This cutting ray
This drill bit 
Sunk within
My skin,
Is no mix,
ain’t no fix.

I send my poem off into cyber space and then I settle down to an evening of football, tuna pasta and finally to draft the blog. I feel that I have done little but feel exhausted and full of stuff washing around in side me waiting for processing. I need to be physical, to train and to submit to the effort to clear my head. I take my meds and go to bed. It all feels a little desperate.

Wednesday and I wake up and read for a while until my partner brings me a coffee I encourage her to phone the GP and get an appointment as she has a pain. . Soon after I am up and breakfasted and continuing to read Perfume. There are chores to do and as Tesco (Bastards) did not deliver yesterday I need to go to the village shop and grab some basic Giffin goods. All the things pensioners fritter their money on like bread, milk, butter and cheese. Its a successful trip. My partner and I have a snack lunch and then I drive her over to her mothers to visit and sort out some carer business.

Whilst there I take the opportunity to buy a new suit and cash in some points on an old clothing account. I can’t face squeezing into my old but smart black suit and being uncomfortable for the entire time on the day of my sisters funereal. Since being on this medication shifting my weight has been difficult so I am adapting my clothing environment. I also read some emails that have come in in response to the news of my sisters death. I drive my partner home and she goes to her GP appointment while I do a bit more admin.

The evening starts with me going out in the snow to top up the hedgehog canteen and then settling down to wait for my partner’s return from the GP. Its an inconclusive out come and a possible option to go back again soon. Its Indian takeaway for tea and then I watch a football match before clearing the kitchen and drafting the blog. All of this sounds puerile in the face of my sisters death, my impending radiotherapy, my partners brother in hospital and the management of the stuff that goes with all this. It is tricky to keep training and also to find the time to write and pay attention to my friends who are being kind at the moment. I am hoping that over the next couple of days I can get back in to my routine. The shed in the snow should be fun.

Tuesday and I wake up late, 9:45 late and I have an oncology review in two hours. My partner brings me coffee and I come round a bit. I have breakfast, more coffee and my meds. My partner braids my hair and the post man delivers two letters. I am fortunate in my friends, they have written me thoughtful and supportive letters since my sisters death. I drive to the hospital with my partner, where we both sit and read until I am called.

I am shown my PETT-CT scan results. My cancer is obviously in my prostate but apart from that I have small amounts in a gland in my left side and one other spot. It would appear that I have not been invaded too radically. Given this the team think that giving me a shot at radiotherapy is a good call. I ask about a change in the drugs that they talked about. The discussion centres around why we would use two things at the same time and risk burning out all the options. Using one at a time is a better bet at preserving me in the long run apparently. Steroids get mentioned but I am not keen, very not keen on going down that route at all. So the bottom line is I will do radio therapy and stick with the meds as they are at present. I will have s blood test before I see the radiotherapy team in May to establish a baseline PSA level and I will have another CT scan before the radiotherapy. The expectation is that while I wait my PSA will rise. The expectation is also that my PSA may rise in response to radiotherapy and only then decline. The whole tone to me was about buying time and going step by step through the options. My part in all this? To stay as fit as possible and control my diet. My partner askes about my pissing blood if I train too hard, the oncologist shrugs it off and says its just the prostate. He did not seem concerned at all. So all I can do is train, train hard and try to stay off the sweet stuff. So now I am in the run up to radio therapy and Rocket will have to keep fighting for me. I was intrigued by the oncologists comments about the fact that two years ago they would not consider me for radiotherapy and that the thinking around it has changed. I guess its a matter of degree, but as I said to he has made a pact with the devil, I’m all for cutting the head of the snake and I would have attacked my prostate long ago. So I am to be spot welded.

I drive us into town where we go to a restaurant for lunch. Its an Italian place called the Merchant of Venice. I am disappointed to see that “a pound of flesh” was not on the menu. I settled for Arancini followed by creamy chicken penne. The final glory was a light chocolate cake called Salvini washed down with coffee. My eldest daughter met us at the restaurant and we brought her home with us.

As soon as I get home I set about sending out the death notices. I and my eldest daughter sort out addresses and I write the envelopes and put the cards in. It takes a while but we get there when we run out of cards. I fil in the mail redirection form and my eldest daughter and I go to the post office for stamps and to process the redirection form. That done I return home and make up a list of all the addresses we have sent cards to and I download a couple of pictures my son has sent me of him and my sister. Finally the admin is done and I start to draft the blog. While all this has been going on there has been the worry of my partners brother being admitted to hospital yesterday. He remains there at the moment and so it is a household full of concerns and no little anxiety. To crown it all Tesco suddenly out of the blue cancel our delivery with no explanation. We will not starve but we could have done with out the additional aggravation at this time. I guess a trip to Sainsburys is on the cards. I drift into the evening with no ambition beyond feeding the hedgehog and reading my latest book, Perfume by Patrick Suskind. It is a reread, but an excellent one. I feel I need a time of reflection and processing, my pixies are feeling over worked but I cannot slack off, I need to be as fit as possible to meet the challenges of radiotherapy. Onward.

Sunday was a slow day. There was breakfast and then I spent the day sorting through papers relating to my sister. Apart from a little gentle vegetable shopping the outside world was not indulged in. I spent most of my time putting together a file of pictures relating to my sister. There were pictures of her art work, stained glass work in particular. The rest where documents, I think my intention was to produce materials that the celebrant can use to construct the reflection moment and to get a framework. I provide an example of stained glass work.

The evening came along and I found myself watching TV and trying to get some organisation into the materials we brought back from London. I’m tired, fatigued by going through family history and piles of photographs of people and places I thought I had left behind. One piece of her art work sticks with me and in some way sums her up.

I go to bed post football and just want to sleep, there is too much to process at the moment, my pixies are over worked and tomorrow is a full day.

Monday, awake at 7 o’clock and being jabbed at 8:30 having had a shower and a walk to the surgery. I return home for breakfast with a paper and do the cross words. I surf the net looking for a hotel near the crematorium where my sisters funeral is to be held. I find one and book the family in. It will be the first time that all my children will be together in a long time, but that’s what funerals do I guess.

The rest of the morning was taken with mending the washing machine, Not spinning and draining so its a manual syphon and drain followed by the removal of the drain filter. I forgot to take a picture but it was stomach churning the state of it. After a bit of a paddle and a lot of quiet cursing of tissues, hair bands and general gunk the machine is ready for a trial run. I use the wet towels used to mend the machine. All goes well and the machine pumps itself empty as planned. Go me, I’m a hero.

I dash to the printer to pick up the “death notice ” cards to be told the printers had forgotten to do them. I’m not chuffed but they agree to deliver them in the afternoon. I agree and leave them to it. I have very little time before I am laying on my back in the dentist chair having a filling. Numb mouthed I return home a few quid lighter and put away my washing. The cards are delivered as I am drafting the blog and beginning to feel hungry as my mouth has been in quarantine for a couple of hours post dentist. Tonight I and my partner are going to see Coppelia, I hope I stay awake although this ballet is one of the chirpier ones. My injection site is now getting sore and tomorrow I have an oncology review to go to where I will get my PETT-CT scan results and and an explanation of why I have an appointment with the radiotherapy team in May. Its going to be another fun packed day. And the cards need to go. Meds and beds will be the order of the day.