I’ve spent over thirty years loving Chris Rea’s music. His Saturday night collapse on stage in Oxford was barely a surprise to me because the poor sod has gone through so much.
Pancreatic cancer. Usually one of the faster killers. Removal of said pancreas. Surely living without a pancreas is impossible? It would seem not. Various other bits chopped out. Oh, and a stroke last year too. 34 pills a day to top off seven injections. And the old bugger still takes to the road.
I’ve seen him live on numerous occasions. Brilliant slide guitar. A unique booming vocal. Terrible set lists that don’t flow. And shows well under the two hour mark. But his recorded work really does it for me. Stainsby Girls. Road to Hell. I Can Hear Your Heartbeat. And so much more.
His public image is different too. I’ve never me the bloke, but he comes across as so un-rock star in interviews. An awkwardness with the media? Or perhaps towards the media.
Different cancer. Different treatments. He was diagnosed at a similar age to me and has made it to 66 years old. He looks bloody ancient. But I’d quite like to get another fifteen years or more out of my innings. Even if I end up collapsing live in a hot tub somewhere in 2032.
I’m convinced this island has magical healing qualities. Ok, the big stuff is beyond it I’m sure, but every time I visit something seems to improve for me.
Last time my aching shoulders stopped aching on our final day here. Yesterday at the football I was something of a physical wreck. By the time I got to Anglesey I was tired and slept poorly. But most of my overnight pains had completely gone.
This has continued throughout today. Sat in the hot tub I’ve felt little to no pain. Minimal pins and needles in the right leg. And I’ve not felt the need for medication. Much the same out of the hot tub. I’ve pottered around in reasonable comfort and despite not getting much sleep feel both physically and mentally sharper today.
Granted I’m still doomed. And yes, my face is still distorted by the evil palsy. But I feel better and my ingrowing toenails look much improved.
As long as my ailing body allows me to, I’m going to do football. Alas, in the main that means Oldham Athletic’s Boundary Park stadium, nicknamed Ice Station Zebra. Commonly perceived to be England’s coldest football ground. It is the highest in the football league.
Yesterday’s match nearly didn’t happen. Snowfall bringing treachery to the surrounding roads and making the referee ponder the sense of even playing the game.
In the end it went ahead. And the limitations of the blue disabled badge came to the fore. While most of the civilised world gives disabled drivers unlimited free parking in restricted areas, the U.K. limits them to three hours on a yellow line. This makes a pre-match drink at the ground more awkward as I can’t park on the street nearest without going over three hours. Worse still, much of the surrounding area is residents only parking. So the disabled wishing to stay over three hours are pushed further away. The local authority seemingly making disabled drivers walk further.
Yesterday there was also ice and slush on the roads and pavements. As I found my usual parking space for pre-match pint I was genuinely frightened walking to the ground.
At one point a relatively innocuous looking grass slope had me and my walking stick doing some sort of Bambi impression. Then it was a case of walking in the roads because pavements don’t get gritted. Even there, my fear of slipping was huge. And with clearly damaged right leg I’m fairly sure Oncobabe would be advising against such folly.
Eventually the joy of a staircase opened up to me. No ice. No damp. And I slowly made my way up to the hospitality portacabin that passes for a bar for the pre-match drink. Only to discover that while the room was open the bar wasn’t. At least not for half an hour!
It was bloody freezing. And the ice cold cider probably didn’t help my five layers and leather gloves keep the cold out. Eventually we made our way down the stairs and around the ground to enter the stadium. More ice. More difficulties. Genuine fear coursing through my veins.
In we go. Take our seats. And a few minutes later the evil chill of Ice Station Zebra is warmed by one of the best goals I’ve seen in a long time. The party went on and on with a 5-1 win recorded. The biggest league win in over a decade.
And, just before the final goal went in during the dying seconds of injury time, I came up with a plan. Exiting football grounds has been difficult. The crowds on stairways frighten me. The fear of being knocked to the ground high. As the game continued I hauled myself up, grabbed my walking stick and walked towards the exit.
Then turned into a safe haven behind the wheelchairs to see the glorious Latics score that fifth and final goal. For home games at least I can now move to a safer area before the masses clog the aisle, and still see the end of the game. A moment of triumph on a day of difficulty.
Then the tough walk back to the car. And a tasty Thai meal in a local restaurant.
The original plan was Sunday to Thursday. Catch a bit of Anglesey in December and park my ailing frame in a hot tub for a few days.
Alas, with heavy snowfall and an amber weather warning forecast for Sunday I’ve brought those plans forwards. Departure will be Saturday evening after the football.
If the football even takes place. Freezing temperatures forecast might mean the game is called off.
Travelling tonight won’t get without its own risks. A mere yellow weather warning with snow and ice loitering. Reports from north Wales (Liz on Facebook to get precise) suggest the A55 is a bit iffy.
But I’ve decided to make the journey. Another few days away alone. Somewhere I really like. Hot tub. Peace. And despite the large number of drugs I seem to be taking with me, relative comfort.
And spending time in the hot tub in the snow quite appeals. Although warmer sun is forecast after Sunday.
A Tesco visit to stock up on food before starting my journey. Bacon breakfasts. Some fruits and yoghurts for lunch. Something on special offer for four evening meals.
It’s highly likely I won’t see another soul while I’m there. And I’ll enjoy it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed snow. A bit of sledging on the local golf course a few years back.
More recently it’s just been an occasional pain in the backside to have to dig a car out occasionally, or park 100 yards away on a road the local authority can be bothered to grit.
Sunday’s forecast looks pretty grim. And the idea of walking from front door to car in ice is particularly unappealing. Rachel has suggested I head to Anglesey on Saturday night, but that means missing out on a few hours with her. Although it looks like the best way to avoid driving my suspect BMW through poor conditions.
In the past I’ve loved cold winter days. As I’ve aged that love has diminished. And now my movement is compromised and Oncobabe keeps advising me not to break a leg my approach is pretty close to stay indoors until it all warms up.
That weather forecast of snow and ice either side of the Pennines makes a return to a milder looking Anglesey look very appealing. As long as getting there is safe!
I’ve loved all my trips this year. But as the right leg has become more useless in recent weeks my desire to get on a plane again when Oncobabe’s flight ban ends is greatly diminished.
In the early hours of this morning I was meant to fly from Adelaide to Melbourne. The mix of stiffness and pain in the offending leg would make such a flight uncomfortable. Meeting a mate in Halifax last night became difficult with the short walk from car to pub and then a realisation that my leg hadn’t moved for three hours being under the table.
And I really don’t know how to handle it. I’ll probably spend another few days alone in Anglesey next week. The hot tub drawing me in whatever the weather. Taking the pressure off my leg and pelvis. But while I want to be more active I am really struggling. Each time I stretch myself, I feel completely wrecked for the following few days. And the definition of stretching myself is becoming less intensive. Short walks are just about my limit. And I mean really short. And not very often.
I’m glad I packed a lot into 2017. The new year will need a different approach. And I’ve not quite adjusted to that yet.
Eighteen years after I entered the world of online banking, I now have access to my GP via the interwebs.
Over the years I haven’t tended to bother doctors too much. The occasional bout of tonsillitis, a couple of depressions. Oh and appendix removal.
So my new world of taking up significant NHS time and resource is alien to me. It took me some months to get used to my GP having a telephone triage system where they allocated one hour time slots to silly things like “I’m really poorly please can you see me”. Eventually I got used to the way they work and worked out how to play their system.
The idea of dropping in a repeat prescription request, popping back in two days later and walking it to the next door pharmacy worked for me too. After all, I’ve had time on my hands. Although I was vaguely aware of some sort of match up between GP and pharmacy that could be arranged I didn’t need it. I walked from home to surgery and back too.
But as my immobility has increased, my desire to do such mundane things is beginning to dwindle. I’m quite excited to be able to go online and request drugs and then drive down to the pharmacy to collect a day or two later.
It’s simpler. Quicker. I just need to ensure I don’t waste away from complete lack of movement. And I’ll find out if my request for more amitriptyline has been accepted soon too!
As I continue my quest to have as many medical conditions as possible, to sit alongside the one that will eventually kill me, the NHS are kindly sending me to a private clinic for treatment on my ear.
The right ear remains 80% deaf (my estimate). An improvement after wax was removed from near total deafness. And many moons ago the eye consultant who diagnosed my deafness put it down to Bell’s palsy.
Over a year on and my Bell’s palsy remains firmly in place. Or rather wobbly lip in place. Right eye permanently open. Right nostril torn by the facial collapse. A smile that only works on my left side, leaving me with a diagonal line on my face when Oldham score!
There is no cure. I tape over my eye each night to avoid ulceration. I wonder how many people think I’m a stroke victim. I’m reluctant to talk to strangers as my voice lisps badly unless I hold up the right side of my face with my hand. “It’ll go away in a few weeks or months” they said. Fourteen months on I’m still waiting.
Six months in and my eye went very sore. A quick referral to the eye clinic and the deafness was noted. I hadn’t even realised. But no referral to deal with the deafness. Even after an MRI scan. Just packed off and told to return to the eye clinic in six months.
I jetted off around USA and Chile and forgot about it. Until the ear wax hit. Now that’s gone my GP has referred me to a hearing specialist. I got a letter and a password to book my own appointment online. Excitement!
Huddersfield hospital could see me in 18 weeks. Halifax hospital in 18 weeks. The private Yorkshire Clinic, under the care of Professor Somethingorother, 11 weeks. So I booked my February appointment.
A letter confirmed this with a note saying “bring any scans you’ve got” Ask my GP not me! Then another letter. We’ve put your appointment back two weeks. That might be 25% of the rest of my life before I’m seen! Little choice I suppose. West Yorkshire clearly has a glut of deaf buggers waiting to be treated.
Hopefully there’s free parking and disabled spaces at Yorkshire Clinic. I drive past it on the way to Rachel’s place so finding it shouldn’t be a problem. But there does come a point where I wonder if it will actually be worth the effort.
This is very much a mindset I’ve been keen to avoid. I want to feel an air of positivity about my days even if sooner or later this illness will finish me off.
Today I failed. I can’t described my right leg problem as agonising. But it does hurt a little. I can’t twist round on it, needing to perform a 180 degree walk if I wish to change direction. I can’t even pinpoint the source. It’s around my waist. In my back. In my thigh. All of these. None of these. Getting off the bed takes an age again. Sitting up hurts. So does lying down. Not agonising, just little pockets of pain interfering with my life.
My plan today was drive to the podiatrist and pop into the doctor’s surgery to fill out a repeat prescription form. Important because I’m rapidly running out of the naproxen I bought in Walmart. Important because I’ve discovered amitriptyline is a brilliant painkiller and sedative for one type of occasional pain that hits through my bones.
In one of those driving trances, I found myself at home having left Mr Podiatrist. No recollection of my journey. No recollection of pedestrians cursing me. Must the realisation that I was home and hadn’t done the rather important repeat prescription request.
And I couldn’t be bothered going back to do it.
Its not a complete disaster. I can do it tomorrow and collect my drugs on Friday. But the sobering thought went through my head of how many people with severe medical conditions lose the will to act in their own best interests. Give up and suffer more severe pain as a result.
I gave up today. It’s an act that bothers me greatly, It’s only a small thing and it’s fixable. But it is a sign that my mindset is letting me down a little right now. I’m not happy about it.
Seeing the World 