Seeing the World

The sun has shone brightly today.  Not quite to the point of making the dash from hot tub to front door warm.  But it’s been bright and sitting outside submerged in hot water has been great.

During my afternoon intermission the hospital called.  A cancer nurse checking how I was.  We discussed exciting things like nose bleeds, constipation and holding in a sick feeling only for bright yellow chemo drugs to exit my body via the nostrils rather than the mouth.  A good look in front of my landlord.

She said my Friday blood test has come back okay.  A slight reduction in immune system.  I looked down at my ingrowing toenail and cursed the wound that keeps bleeding.  I need something more exciting than “ingrowing toenail” as cause of death when the time comes.  A reminder to use my anti-bacterial spray.

The nurse tells me she’ll arrange for more laxido sachets to help manage the constipation.  I do have a fair few left anyway.  But it’s the second time I’ve been promised a top up and that first offer of thirteen days ago is yet to materialise.

Still, I seem to feel ok.  That seems like a good thing.

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My sister’s Anglesey retreat remains a favourite place of mine.  It’s usually available, it’s pretty much free and there’s a hot tub.

When I was here last month I decided to leave a small supply of my own things here.  A little presumptious, but I figured out that they’d be welcome and would reduce my bag carrying requirements next time I’m here.

I left a dressing gown, some painkillers, a couple of pairs of socks and undies and some swim shorts.  The possibility of just turning up with nothing more than some food to put in the fridge opened up.  I could decide on a Saturday night after football to head straight to Anglesey, no problems.

This time I did pack a bag.  Swim shorts included.  Two pairs works well as one can dry on a radiator and I can wear the other under a dressing gown.  My lifestyle here is bed, food, hot tub, repeat.  Leaving the site means going home.

Alas, while everything else is here as I recall leaving it, tucked away in the corner of a wardrobe, the swim shorts are nowhere to be seen.  The good news is that I have brought a second pair with me.  They’ll do, even if I have to reuse them damp on subsequent hot tub trips.

But what on earth has happened to the other swim shorts?  I suppose I’ll find them at home, but I have strong memories of leaving them here.  And if I hadn’t brought a second pair with me, would I have risked naked hot tubbing?  There are no neighbours overlooking.  The farmers are rarely in the adjoining field.  The sheep aren’t close.  Outdoor nudity for medicinal hot tub use only may have become necessary.  Albeit the walk from door to hot tub is short.  I suspect there’s a decency clause in the lease though.

Fortunately it’s not a reality.  I do have some shorts with me.  But it raises the question of do I leave these behind when I head home on Thursday?  The idea of being able to spontaneously head here without packing a bag still appeals.  But shocking the neighbours with my body isn’t something I particularly want to do.

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Over half my income comes from a permanant health insurance policy I took out when I bought my first house in 1992.  £6.93 a month to give me £550 a month to the age of 62 if I successfully claim.

Hindsight tells me it was a smart financial move.  The claim process was quick and the money started flowing every month fairly soon after my diagnosis and policy deferment period.  My mistake a quarter of a dentury ago was not to tick the box to index link premium and payout.

So far, as promised, they’ve rung me three times to check on my wellbeing.  A nice chap who’s courteous and professional.  The calls tend to last no more than two minutes.  The policy wording, printed on an early 1990s dot matrix, says there will be a two yearly review.  Three monthly doesn’t get mentioned.

My best assumption is that the operating manual for what is now Aviva says “make sure you ring the claimant regularly, because with lung cancer he’s going to be dead pretty soon and we don’t want to lose money if his estate is worthless”.  My assumption is that if I don’t take the calls they will eventually get in touch by letter saying “call us or we’ll assume you’ve croaked”.

It doesn’t particularly bother me.  I have given vague consideration to complaining.  Some might see it as harassment, especially given the policy wording.  But while it remains as it is, it’s tolerable and the money keeps flowing.  And when I do eventually kick the bucket I have supplied a phone number to stop payments of nothing this insurance and the modest Personal Independence Payments that top up my income.

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Afternoon tea with my sister, brother in law and of course Rachel.  Overlooking the Menai Strait.  Very civilised.  Very British.  Very filling.

I first discovered the pleasure of afternoon tea two years ago.  Newly separated, I hit the dating sites.   My first new date in over twenty years was a nurse.  It formed my MO for some that followed.  A walk followed by afternoon tea in one of the Yorkshire Dales many tea rooms.

While the afternoon was pleasant enough, things started to go wrong over food.  Mainly the bit where the bill came and I discovered that they didn’t accept card payment.  I ran out to my car, emptied my bag of emergency parking money and politely let the lady know she’d have to go halves on the bill.

While we never met again, the simple concept of the tea room stuck with me.  In the right location it is an utterly wonderful experience.  One I’ve now shared twice with Rachel, who didn’t get the tea room routine from me originally.  Sunday lunch was the order of the day post-walk that happy day.

Alas, after today’s tea, Rachel has returned to Yorkshireland and work leaving me to continue my Anglesey experience solo.  And while I’m usually quite happy in my own company and own world, I’m feeling a little lonely tonight.

As a couple, this has been our most visited place away from home.  It’s already packed with happy and simple memories.  While I can stare at the stars solo, it seemed so much more fun with company.

My current plan is to depart Thursday.  The option to shorten or lengthen that timescale remains.

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It’s 10.30am.  I leave my desk for a few minutes daily.  Regular as clockwork.  An opportunity to escape the workplace.  Post something meaningless on Facebook.  And oblute accordingly.

The halcyon days that preceded cancer, redundancy and pain relief medication.

Naproxen, tramadol and morphine have had words though.  There are an army of people in this country and across the world on such drugs.  Many suffer a side effect that must drive them mad.

I will try not to be too descriptive about constipation.  It’s a curse though.  And not one that people tend to talk openly about.

The normal function of your body’s waste disposal is completely changed.  Sitting there knowing it’s time to go.  Only to discover it isn’t.

Sitting there knowing you’ve been.  But 85% of what was hoping to depart remains in tact.

Standing up, thinking you’ve not been able to go.  Only to discover that somehow you have, but just didn’t feel it.  And yet you still have more that declined the exit opportunity.

Needing 18 triple ply rolls for a fiver.  Because it’s sticky.  Sorry, but it is.  Multiple removal efforts needed each time.  Not to mention extra bleach for the porcelain.

Granted, the sachets pictured above help.  But overdo them and you’re visiting half a dozen times a day.  Underdo them and the problems listed above return.

I would like to think I will die with some element of dignity.  Constipation makes that seem rather unlikely!

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Today sees a return to Anglesey and that much loved hot tub.  There was probably a time when I’d have quickly become bored of sitting there doing nothing in a pool of hot water.  But it has become an essential part of my therapy in recent months.

Standing, sitting or lying in one place becomes uncomfortable quickly.  My crumbled pelvis to blame apparently.  And quickly adjusting position isn’t something easily done these days.

Hot tub therapy works for me.  The water takes weight off my midriff.  The jets soothe areas of pain.  Oddly now that radiotherapy appears to have removed my tumour pain in the pelvis, a coccyx pain has returned.  Water will hopefully relieve that too.

And with my daily route limited between bedroom, kitchen and hot tub I only have a few yards to move before I can lower myself into the waters.  Granted, a heavy cover needs shifting.  And the step down into the welcoming pool requires an act of balance and care to avoid injury that remains deliverable even on my frailer days.

But the results of just sitting there while my whole body benefits from the waters cannot be compared.  It might not be extending my life, but it’s a simple therapy that brings new comfort to a body that so often struggles to relax as disease has spread.

While Rachel is there the wine and Prosecco will flow and we’ll enjoy time with each other.  After she returns home on Monday a simpler life of cooked breakfast, bathe, dry, eat, repeat will commence.  Less alcohol.  But still time to enjoy the views over fields of new born lambs and forget about dying for a bit.

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