Its Tuesday, and I’ve had a tricky night due to a bad gut. In the end I give in and take a co-codamol which allows me to sleep until my partner has gone to work. I think I am at the dentist at 10:15 so with about an hour to go I have a shower and get myself into my jeans and something outdoor appropriate. No time for breakfast but I do measure my vitals and they are good enough. Checking in at the dentist I discover that my appointment is not until 10:30 so I settle down in the waiting area and read some more of of Kate Wilson’s Prospects. I am enjoying the book, especially the wry humour being poked at rich show business America. So although I have yet to finish it I would recommend it to folk. A holiday read perhaps?

Dead in 10:30 I get called into the dentist. I have returned to my usual dentist who has been away on maternity leave having her first son. She knows me and the family well so there is some catching up to be done. When the talking is done we get down to the business of my lost filling. After some prodding and poking I am presented with the options, a quick patch up and hope or a longer term partial crowning solution. We chat about the pro’s and con’s and I go for the longer term solution, which means I get an x-ray today followed by two appointments. One to do the foundation work and the second to stick the the new crown in. I also agree to a hygienist visit to get my teeth back up to scratch after the recent dip in tooth care. That will be Thursday, giving me a rest day.

On the way home knowing I have a plan I drop into the village shop to get a paper, nibbles and some cash. having got home with my bag of swag I clear the kitchen, put the bin out for tomorrow and do todays crosswords. I do not feel like much to eat so nibble some pub mix and then have soup while watching the business end of Wimbledon unwind. Feeling more comfortable I watch the tennis until I realise that the men’s quarter finals are going to be long games. At this point the gas boiler service men arrive. I say men but one of them looks like a school boy, clearly this is the apprentice. He is asked by the older guy if he has done a boiler like ours before. Apparently he has so he is given the honour of doing ours. Neither of them want a drink so I leave them to get on with it while I return to the tennis. The slug fest continues at Wimbledon as I listen to the master and the apprentice giving my boiler the annual going over. Eventually the master pops into the lounge with my certificate of boiler worthiness and tells me all is in working order and that the “magno filter” had very little in it, which means my radiators are sludge free. I’m proud of our system for doing so well. The master and apprentice leave in the aptly number plated van and leave me to get on with drafting the blog and watching the tennis.

The tennis is taking a long time and I drift preferring instead to read. It is not until late afternoon that I realise that the first semi final of the European football championship is on tonight. Spain take on France it should be a good game. I feel like writing again although I am not quite sure what yet, I suspect poetry, inspired by a quote that a friend sent me as a personalised birthday gift. I am also aware that the Americans want me to sign up to having my books as audio books, at a price of course, but I am unsure about it. It is something to reflect upon. As it turns out Spain wins, I take my night meds and go to bed hoping for a slow Wednesday to rest in.

Monday and I wake up early after a reasonable nights sleep, but for some reason I cannot get back to sleep even though I feel tired. I get up and read more of Kate Wilson’s Prospects before making breakfast and take my meds with a coffee. My partner gets up and we spend our mornings organising, cleaning and doing washing. There are things to organise like a visit to the dentist. I have lost a filling but because I have been preoccupied with my other woes I have not got round to getting an appointment. The practice answers my call promptly and to my amazement offer me an appointment tomorrow morning! Now there is a result! I will have to give my teeth a special scrub tonight and in the morning.

My partner takes me for lunch to our favourite garden centre. Its a quiet little place and suits me. I’m already tired so my partner and I are quiet but it is good to get out for the first time since I came back from my TWOC (Trial Without Catheter). On returning home I set about clearing out the draws of the two welsh dressers that are in our dining area. They are full of old Christmas cracker games and debris that has shoved in to them along with tea towels and aprons. It takes a while because there are always those tricky “should I or shouldn’t I ” throw stuff away. Eventually I end up with a bag of stuff for the dustbin. With that done I get a call from the company that service our boiler confirming that they can come tomorrow afternoon to do the work. So I have gone from having a free to having a full day of maintenance toped off with a Tesco order. By the end of the afternoon I am almost out of energy so I change for the evening and eat tea.

The evening I am hoping for is a binge watch of the Turkish Detective and an early night now that I have a busy day tomorrow. My anxiety is that I won’t sleep but that’s a bridge to be crossed if I get there.

Sunday and I lay awake for a while, before I make warm drinks which my partner and I drink as we chat for a while before getting up for a simple breakfast. I get my meds down me and then my partner and I start to work on the garden as we still have flowers to put in and of course the two Japanese Acers that I have been given for my birthday. I focus on getting the new house number put onto the the new gate pillar as my first job. Once I had got all the tools out and organised it was fairly straight forward job. While I did that my partner finished off the arrangements of pots along the front bay window. All that remains now is for the new gates to be put up and some stump grinding to be done in early August.

With the front of the house sorted for the moment I help my partner in the back garden where she has beavered away at potting up the remaining plants. I pot up the two new Japanese Acers to go in either side of the patio steps and then set about moving all the remaining pots off the grass areas and stowed away. There are the odd brick and bit of stoneware to get put away. After a short drinks beak there are some last minute pots to move and then I am done. There are no more energy spoons in the locker so I clear away everything I’ve used and have a look around the garden and make a mental list of things that need doing.

With everything put away I have a lunch time sandwich and settle down to rest while drafting the blog to the background of Wimbledon and the British Grand Prix. The evening arrives when I am out of spoons but I hold on to watch a documentary about Pavarotti. Just brilliant, no wonder I love opera so much. I still think people who can play an instrument or sing are special people. I take my night meds and go to bed

Friday the 5th of July and its TWOC day (Trial With Out Catheter). So I am up early going through my new routines hopefully for the last time. I choose easy to remove clothes before getting a couple of rounds of toast down me. As a precaution I take a prophylactic co-codamol as I m not sure how gentle a process taking the plastic piping out is going to be. With my loins well and truly girded my partner drives me to the clinic.

On arrival we get shown into the familiar waiting room, it is here I wait to see the oncologist on the rare occasions he deigns to see me in person. My partner and I check our phones while others around us chat and I notice some have little blue lidded jugs of water form which they are drinking. The conversation around us is strange with one person asking who won the general election and another not being sure. No one seemed to know that Keir Starmer had just won a landslide Labour victory over night. I get called in after about half an hour. I am lead to a clinic room, number 17, where I am greeted by a nurse, a student nurse and a healthcare assistant, all women. I recognise the nurse as the one who taught me how to self catharise myself when I came back from my Jamaica kidney failure adventure. Without putting a too finer point on it the removal of the catheter was a perfunctory yank and mop up process after which I was sent back to the waiting room where I was given my on blue lidded jug of water to drink, slowly, and shown where my personalised urine bottle was by the toilets. I was instructed to return to the clinic room when I had used my bottle. So I returned to amusing myself in the waiting room until I experienced “a good urge” as instructed by the nurse. Inevitably such urges take their time until at last I was able to bound into the clinic room and go “Ta Da” at which point the assistant scuttled off to measure my out put while the nurse scanned my bladder to see how much I had retained. All was acceptable but the nurse insists I repeat the process. Clearly it was a two strikes before you are out process, so I return to the waiting room and take my partner to the maternity unit coffee shop for coffee and a chocolate bar. We walk back to the waiting area and find that most of the other people have gone or are on the way out. Its tricky knowing when your getting the urge post plastic piping but eventually it becomes all to clear and fairly soon I am back in clinic room 17 going “Ta Da” again. The same routine follows and this time I am declared even more satisfactory and told I am discharged. Back in the waiting room I wait for my discharge letter, which duly arrives with the relevant arithmetic and advice in it.

My partner drives me home, however I had forgotten just how much water and coffee I had drunk in a short space of time. I am not going to elaborate beyond saying that I was mightily relieved ( no pun intended but accurate) to find a disposable bottle of water in the car, which I could refill in a somewhat urgent and acrobatic fashion. Once home I was able to get my breath and relax a little. My partner then had to ferry my eldest daughter to another hospital to have a scan. While they were away I settled down to Wimbledon and then a quarter final of the European football competition. During this time various parcels and packages arrived for me which I neatly stowed for tomorrow.

The evening was seen through with fish and chips and a second quarter final which ended late due to going into extra time and ultimately a penalty shoot out, which France won and in so doing put Portugal out. By this time I was floundering for energy but watched the Last Leg Election Special before taking my night meds and heading for bed. Despite my successfully liberated state I chose the spared bed again just in case my body was not yet ready to go through a night without adequately alerting me that I needed to pay attention to my comfort. I settled down to what proved to be a fitful night but the morning arrived having been navigated successfully.

Saturday! Happy Birthday me. 76 today. I wake up bagless but I’m experiencing phantom bag syndrome, I guess it will take a couple of days for my body to get used to not having the catheter. I join my partner in our room and we have warm drinks and a bit of a chat as we usually do on a Saturday morning. Wrapping myself up in my dressing gown I have breakfast and when my partner and eldest daughter have gone shopping I attempt to tidy up a bit and organise the meds admin. I have loads of stuff to get rid of now and washing to be done. Some of the stuff gets shifted but nicest of all is responding to the happy birthday messages from friends and family. I open the cards and parcels that arrived yesterday and send my messages of thanks. The luxury of the morning is to shower and once again feel clean and refreshed before settling down in the lounge to draft the blog while Alexa plays me meditation music. When my partner and eldest daughter return they give me the new book that as been delivered. It is Prospects by Kate Wilson , on of the people with whom my partner and I spent on an Arvon writing course a couple of years ago. I am eager to get on and read it as Kate was a bright and witty person who was very acute in her observations.

I shall put here what I think once I am into the new book, but for now I am content to read, watch Wimbledon and wait for England’s match against the Swiss tonight. I feel something nudging me to write something but I am not sure what it is yet, but occasionally I get the sense that there is something brewing in the depths. The evening arrives and I suffer the torture of watching England win on penalties and then eat birthday cake and open presents. I am very fortunate and feel loved and cared about. Eventually I get to take my night meds and finish drafting the blog. I have run out of energy and I am still feeling like my gut is off by the time I go to bed but I have a new tree to plant and a garden to tend as well as a new slate house number to put up outside if the weather gets better. For now I count my blessings and hope for sleep tonight.

Thursday and its general election day, my partner has gone to work by the time I am fully awake. I go through my morning rituals, making myself comfortable and taking my vitals, these are good as usual. I dress in everything this morning as I intend to vote at some point after breakfast. My eldest daughter is a hero and goes to the shop to buy honey so I can have my favourite breakfast of muesli and yoghurt. With the kitchen cleared and having had a post breakfast rest I take the plunge and decide to shuffle to the polling station accompanied by my eldest daughter.

Having collected my voting slip I swash over to the booth and peruse the ballot paper. In this heart land of conservative politics it fell to the liberals last time so there is a decision to be made about whether to conviction vote or tactically vote. It occurs to me that this could be the last time I get to vote, of course I hope not but I have to be realistic, and suddenly I can’t face not being tactical, I would not forgive myself if I had not used my last vote to reflect my life long political views. I make my cross, fold my ballot paper and make my way to the ballot box, where I drop my vote into it. The polling station has filled up, full of very clean and pressed pensioners and I wonder if my vote will have been in vane, perhaps these are the people that have worked hard all their lives and at last sense they have a chance to have the world they want. There is no way of knowing, they may equally be those tempted by Reform and its promise of a return to some imaginary colonial heaven. I’m just content I’ve done right by my conscience.

I shuffle home and settle on the recliner and rest for a while before making myself lunch whilst watching Wimbledon. Its a rare match between two British players in the second round and is a match that goes on and on until it comes to a ten point tie breaker. There will be tears. And there were as the under dog finally wins out.

By the time my partner returns from work I am pretty much out of spoons and I can feel myself flagging. I may not last out for too much of election night especially as I due at the TWOC clinic tomorrow at 10am to get rid of the catheter and that is by far my priority at the moment. It is also my greatest source of anxiety, in that I am desperate for it to go right. It will be a sensible evening ending in night meds and hopefully my last night in the spare room with all my paraphernalia.

I go to bed having seen the exit pole, and it is good. Tomorrow will bring the reality of what a Labour landslide actually means.

Wednesday and I wake up after a night when I took co-codamol part way through. I cold and get myself up to empty my night bag and to fit a new 7 day bag. It feels like a need a fresh start and not want to risk getting an infection from over using the current bag. This is all part of my new self management needs and is a dimension I would really like to be free of. I dress, another task that takes a little long than usual. The acquisition of new slip on slippers makes my life a little easier. After checking my emails and messages I finally get and make breakfast.

Amongst my messages was one from the team that had completed the work to our drive way and patio. It pointed out that their invoice for the ordered gates had not included a small sum and I was being asked if it was alright to be billed for this sum. I of course greed as gates without gate furniture are useless. The up side was that the new gates had been delivered to the teams yard and that once the gate furniture had arrived they would come and fit them. So the final leg of our house upgrade is in sight. All that needs doing now is a new house number plate.

Lunchtime comes and goes and I settle into Wimbledon but frankly I get bored and realise that the Post Office Enquiry is on and switch over to watch it. Yet another Post Office chairman is under the microscope. This one is the one that came in to clear up the aftermath of the judgements had gone against them. Once again hindsight proves to be a wonderful thing and he is given a going over about all the things he could have done but didn’t as if a single person could have controlled the massive organisational systemic cultural cover up that went on. He would be the last person that anyone would have been honest with. What is clear in all that I have seen is that the lawyers were as much of a problem as the faulty software that started the whole thing off. As the afternoon goes on and the Post Office man is being ground down I start to draft the blog. The evening poses a crisis in that S.W.A.T. has been exhausted so the hunt is on for something new to watch. Perhaps tonight will be a film night.

The evening was dull apart from the Great British Sewing Bee. I take my night meds and take to my bed after going through my new night routines. One and a half days and I will be free of this damn catheter, perhaps then I can begin to live a little. Tomorrow will doubtless see me staying up a bit later to see the election results come in. As for me I do not know if I will get to vote, I will see how I am.

Sunday passed me by pretty much, I know there was football, food and flowers in the garden. Monday was little different apart from a bad gut. The overwhelming sense of the last couple of days has been one of fatigue brought about by discomfort. It feels a bit like a desert land, long expanses of arid dry sand with no life in it but I am sure that there were meaningful oasis of brain food and stimulation. It always seems the way of things that it is at these times that bloody EON want to hassle me to have an energy meter and the Americans keep asking me about producing an audio book of one or all of my currently published collection. There are lessons to be learnt as well. For example the benefits of having slip on slippers that do no need me to bend down to get my heel into them are a real luxury and make life that little bit easier. I am very aware that people are getting on with life around me while I feel that I am stuck in the pit lane while the mechanics tinker with my engine and change my fluid levels, or at the very least I have pulled into a service station and found that I cannot get back on the motorway to continue my journey. The biggest issue is the inability to concentrate for any length of time and to be as creative and adaptive as I usually am. I think the normal me would be drawing faces on my leg bag and thinking up names for it, like Koala Piss Pouch or Pissy McPiss Bag but I seem not to be inspired. The restriction that I feel is there is noticeable when I think about writing so I may go for making something on audio again. The desperate element of all this is how my energy just falls off the edge of the cliff in the evening yet despite this when I get to bed I have trouble getting to sleep. There is a lot going on in my head about the anxieties of how the removal of the catheter will go on Friday. Its the day before my birthday and for the removal to go well would be the best possible birthday present. I long to get back into normal non lounge clothes and to go out and to be able to drive comfortably. Most of all I want to be able to get back on the rower and get myself on the road to fitness again. I’m desperate to get rid of the weigh that I have gained and to restore some basic fitness.

Its Tuesday and my partner has gone to work so I have a slow waking and lazy rising. Eventually I get up about 10:30 and make breakfast, which gets eaten to a background of the TV news and then Wimbledon. Felling slightly more chipper I clear the kitchen and then begin to draft the blog, having not been able to get into my website yesterday due to a technical problem at the providers end. By lunch time I have caught up and begin to plan for the rest if the day. I have a burst of energy and mend the broken foot on the patio table, (super glue and gaffer tape of course) and then I check my car will start without lighting up fault lights. To my relief my car starts up and is in good fettle. While I am on a roll I put the bins out or tomorrows collection. Next on my list is a shower. Its a high energy sapping activity especially when I include a good hair washing given the length of my hair now. By the time I’ve had my shower got dried and sort out I am out of spoons. Feeling fresh and clean I return to the recliner in the lounge.

Just as I am settling into resting a friend rings and I am able to have a chat. We catch up with how we both are and how our families are. Its a pleasure to be able to talk to someone who is not in my household, it helps to keep my situation in perspective. My partner returns from work and we move into the evening watching a football match, eating and then watching all the remaining episodes of S.W.A.T available on Netflix. By the end of the evening I’ve nothing left except to finish off todays draft blog and to take my night meds before heading for bed, having gone through my pre-sleep routines. I’ve just got two and a half days and I will hopefully be free of this bloody catheter, and all the paraphernalia and discomfort that comes with it.

Saturday and the co-codamol I took last night did the the trick and got me through the night after I had crashed out. My partner came into the spare room (or Roland’s nurture room) for our usual Saturday morning chat and drink. As a family we are handling a lot at the moment so having time to talk and reflect lie this is crucial. While I go through my getting up rituals my partner makes me a bacon bagel, a Saturday treat, which I eat in the lounge. Today is drug wallets day. I have all my medications out and my drugs wallets opened so that I can prepare my pill intake for the next two weeks. Its a tedious and slow job but one that is helpful in making sure I keep everything on track. I have a nagging headache which I am becoming more aware of as the morning goes on so I eventually turn off all the screens around me and take some paracetamol. Alexa plays me meditation music and I let myself drift in and out of sleep while the pain killers get to work.

My doze takes me to about two o’clock when I wake up feeling a bit more human. Having indulged in a fondant fancy, made myself comfortable and recorded my output I settle down to draft the blog. My partner has gone for lunch with an old friend. My inactivity has meant that I have not written or recorded letters to friends recently. I do not like this feeling of inattention to my friends, it feels as if I am being lazy and not making the effort that relationships require. I thought about writing an open letter here but it is not what I think I need to do, which is to make the effort and either go to the Shed and write or record more audio letters. While I am thinking about this I get the news that my youngest grandson is being discharged from hospital today. This is great news and means the family, who have all been ill over the last few days can finally be back together again.

The day continues with a first draft of the blog and some thoughts about writing something. There is an unread quarterly poetry review yet to be discovered and some thought to the difficult question of what I might want for my birthday. I am truly lucky, I have a garden and a library of books. I am loved and cared about: what more could a chap want. On reflection celebrating my birthday at this age is less meaningful than being recognised on Fathers day. Being alive is relatively easy, the alternative of not being is nothing, or will be nothing to do with me, however being told that I am loved as a father and a grand father seems to be a more valuable acknowledgement of what I’ve done with my life than just being born. So I am coming round to the idea that I would scrap birthday celebrations and celebrate parenting days as being more meaningful. Of course those without children or families could go on celebrating their own birthdays as achievement or growth days, perhaps even survival days. Alternative perhaps birthdays should become “birthing days” where everyone involved could acknowledge the process of the creation of new life and all of those involved, it would include ancestors and deceased parents. It feels that this would provide more “depth” to the celebrations. Our house has a spirit home outside it. I put it up after a holiday to Thailand, where all the houses had a spirit house outside to house the spirts of the families dead ancestors. I am not sure why I did it at the time but now I kind of get it. It acknowledges the continuity of family and the interconnectedness of family members, past, present and perhaps those to come.

All of the above is all very well and fine but does not answer the question “what do you want for your birthday”, or perhaps it does. Perhaps all I want is to go on feeling loved and cared about and that does not need presents and cards, just inclusion in peoples thoughts and actions occasionally. By mid afternoon my youngest grandson is out of hospital and back home with his mum and dad. It seems everyone is tired and in desperate need of as much rest as possible.

I grab a bite for late lunch and prepare for the first knockout matches in the European Cup this evening. First kick off is at 5 o’clock and then another at eight o’clock. This is where things get tasty and go all the way to penalties occasionally. No doubt I shall droop as the evening goes on. As it turns out that is exactly what happens. I take my night meds and fix myself up for the night and try to get some sleep.

Friday and I find myself up at 5 o’clock unable to sleep. I get up and go through my new rising routine and go to the lounge to see if I can nap before the day starts. For a couple of hours I doze fitfully. I eventually shake a leg get into so day clothes, take my morning meds and have breakfast, which my partner made for me. I am feeling fatigued so try to activate myself a bit. My first stab at this is to read the meters and submit the readings for June. A small task but a start. Once again I get hooked by The Post Office Enquiry where the Fujitsu expert witness continues to be scrutinised and chopped into small pieces. Of all the decisions I took when I was working, staying away from going into court and trying to mix it with the lawyers was a very good one. Part two of trying to get going was to begin the drafting of the blog.

I’ve blown it. It’s 10pm and I’m knackered. I’ve done some odd jobs but mostly tried to rest, but I’m still so tired. I’ve already taken my night meds and end the blog for the day.

Thursday arrives and its been a reasonable night. I get up after ditching the night bag I make breakfast and settle in on the recliner in the lounge. I watch the Post Office enquiry chew up and spit out a Fujitsu witness and listen to some odd radio programmes. God I’m bored and listless, in truth I’m not sure what to do with myself. I am just constantly uncomfortable and I’ve another eight days of this mixture of frustration and confinement to endure. I am sure I am not easy to live with in this state as I get more and more fractious and discontented with myself. Its difficult to engage with anything in this state and difficult to maintain focus on anything.

I have lunch and make an attempt to write something as a change to my routine. Its a painful process so I decide to try and get some time on the patio. Just sitting on an ordinary chair is a challenge but after some comfort arrangements I fire up the laptop and type up the poem I drafted earlier. Its a real struggle to be out on the patio and in the end I give up and go back to the lounge recliner and draft the blog. I add my effort to write earlier today.

399
So it appears
a pipe up the prick
stunts poetic urges.
Nine days after Uluru
is crushed to dust
and passed through plastic
I am a slave 
to catheter and bags.
My new found 
nautical gait impedes
along with a sloshing
calf.
It all sounds flip 
and fun
but the fitting in
and fixing to me 
was a night of trauma
as eventually the surgeon
mutters “got it!”
and I am bailed out.
All the horror of Jamaica
came flooding back
and once again 
I become medical flotsam. 
Slowly I wash up 
on beds of protection
and beaches of pills.
So days become
drainage and disposal
against a vista
of unexplored radio
and television gruel.
I’m stuck like this
where seven days 
becomes seventeen
before I get my chance
to prove I can pee 
free style,
and I can get back
to battle the cancer
that remains,
lurking and leering 
at my discomfort
and hoping my energy
has been leeched.
No chance sucker!
I’ve got clown pants
and athletic strapping
so I will be out
and about. 
Beware!

						399 21-06-2024

So I slide into the evening distracted and once again listless, I’ve got eight days of this, while other family members are ill and struggling. Its the fact that everything is such an effort and I become so spoonless so quickly that is getting to me.