A Feast of Consequences
Weren't the old adds for cigarettes brilliantly incorrect, read on.............
It’s been a fairly quiet time since the last
real update, I’m not including the interlopers Neville and Penny, who by the
way seem to think they should have a regular guest spot, or indeed their own
blogs. Hmmm……. We’ll see.
I’ve been ably cared for by the lymphoedema
team at the Duchess of Kent Hospice. I’m getting regular work outs with the
physio on my shoulder, she’s really happy with the progress I’m making and was
very complimentary of the work that Vicky had done on it back in August of last
year. Slowly but surely the movement is getting better in the shoulder, but
I’ve been advised it’ll be a long journey. Luckily most of the exercises I’ve
been given I can do happily at my desk whilst working. The second specialist
I’m seeing is for MLD Massage (Manual lymphatic drainage). I get to spend an
hour lying down on a couch whilst the lumpy bits in my neck are expertly massaged
to attempt to move the build-up of fluid so it can drain properly. Following
the removal of around 35 lymph nodes under the knife last year I’ve had solid
lumps below my chin, which aren’t painful, but over time they could cause
problems. The scars are also being massaged as they are fairly sensitive. I’ve
got to say that out of all the treatments I’ve had over the last couple of
years, the MLD Massage is one of the best at producing immediate results. Over
a fairly short period of time the difference has been amazing, the lumps are
shifting, the scars are feeling better and I get to have an hour’s kip whilst
it’s being done. The only procedure that I’ve dropped is reflexology. I was
recommended to try it as my sleep pattern is still so poor. After three
sessions I’d noticed no improvement, in fact I had once of the worst nights
sleep in living memory immediately after one of the sessions. Whilst it was
quite pleasant having my feet massaged for an hour I can’t really afford the
time out for work along with the other treatments where I am seeing a benefit. I
had a meeting this week with the person who’s been coordinating my treatments
at the hospice, she’s happy that I’m responding positively and the treatments
will continue when Carol and I get back from holiday in mid May. All of this is
above and beyond the normal NHS treatment and is partly funded by the Sue Ryder
charity.
I first came across the Sue Ryder charity when
I was working for Lloyds Bank in Bracknell, many, many years ago. They are
linked via marriage to the Leonard Cheshire homes. Now to digress for a few lines.
Leonard Cheshire VC was a hero of mine. I’ve had a fascination with 617
Squadron since I was about 10 and first read the Paul Brickhill book “The
Dambusters” which told the story of the RAF raid on the great Rhur damns during
the World War II. That raid was led by Guy Gibson VC and it’s debatable as to
the actual success of the raid when you also balance out the aircrew who were
lost completing their mission. Gibson didn’t fly with 617 squadron again.
Cheshire was instrumental in pioneering the “Master Bomber” role for the
squadron when he flew a Mosquito at stupidly low heights to “Mark” the target,
relying on the speed of the plane to out run the gunners. He was very much a
thinking man and soon after the end of the war he set up the first of his
hospices. He had no money, but he had a very strong faith. There’s a story that
one day he had a deadline to pay a bill, with no funds in the bank, that
morning a cheque arrived from an anonymous donor with enough money to cover the
bill and a little bit to tide them over for a few more days. He and his second
wife, Sue Ryder, went on to dedicate their lives to charitable work in the care
of the terminally ill. He was a man who had his critics and wasn’t what you’d
call conservative in his beliefs, but he worked for the betterment of others.
I briefly mentioned that Carol and I are off on
holiday again soon. It’s been a whole 5 months since our last sunshine break so
we’ve booked a 7 night stay at the Barcelo Hotel in Corralejo. We’ve stayed
there a couple of times before and loved it. Our plan is to cycle out to the
dunes in the morning, back for a late lunch then Carol can spend time in the
hotel spa whilst I do a bit more cycling. As I’m now up to 87kg I reckon I’ll
need to do some exercise to counter the meals and drinking my own body weight
in gin on a daily basis.
And now
for another step back in time……
Let’s look back at 30th December
1978, I was 16. Some of the readers of this blog probably weren’t born, or even
thought about. That night I was with my best mate, Rob Day, at a party in
Wokingham. Dressed in my best Levi’s, cowboy boots and UFO T-Shirt, I was ready
to party like it was 1999, albeit 21 years early. The party was held by Claire
Porter who’d persuaded her parents that having a bunch of mates round between
Christmas and New Year could only be a good idea. The evening was memorable for
three reasons.
1/. As per usual I didn’t pull.
2/. Rob managed to back his mums Austin 1100
into a stationary gate post, giving it a large dent. (the car, not the gate
post!).
3/. I smoked my first ever cigarette.
At this point in my life I was a bit of a
“Jock”, not the Scottish type, more the sporty type (those at the back who are
giggling please stop it, and that means you Parsons!) I played for all the
teams at school, was still playing for Berkshire at badminton and considered
myself to be a pretty fit young man.
(Parsons, this is your final warning!). Both of my parents had smoked
for as long as I could remember, but I’d always said I’d never do it as I knew
the nasty consequences of being a long term smoker. I vividly remember the
disappointment on the face of the Head of PE at Forest School when he saw me
smoking a fag at one of the school discos in the 6th Form. He was a
massive anti-smoking person who lectured us on a daily basis as to the long
term effects of smoking the evil weed, but we knew better, we were invincible,
we’d live forever.
Over the next 35 years I’d have numerous
attempts at quitting. When Carol agreed to become the current Mrs C. I said I’d
give up, I failed. When the current Mrs C. fell pregnant with Anna and then Max
I said I’ve quit, I failed. God knows how much money went up in smoke over
those years. I did eventually go to a “Quit Smoking” clinic which seemed to
work for around 8 months until a fairly major event caused me to revert back to
the drug. The next five years or so were spent saying “Next week I’ll quit”,
but “Next week” never seemed to arrive, until that fateful day in December 2015
when the doctor gave me the news that I’d probably be expecting for a number of
years.
Since that Thursday afternoon in the ENT Dept.
at the Royal Berkshire Hospital I’ve seen consultants, surgeons, CNS
specialists, SALT team, radiographers, chemotherapist nurses, anaesthetists, head
and neck specialists, nurses who earn sod all but give everything, specialist
treatment nurses, GP’s, practise nurses. Not one of them have said, and they
could have done, “Mr Clark, you’ve brought this on yourself by being a smoker”,
they’ve treated me with the upmost respect and dignity, they haven’t judged me,
they haven’t lectured me, they’ve kept me alive.
When I took that first puff of a Silk Cut I
wasn’t thinking that 40 years down the line I’d have my voice box cut out
because I was being a prat, I knew it wasn’t going to do me any good, but I
still had a suck. There is no one else to blame for me getting cancer, I’m the
first in my family to be hit be the bastard, so it isn’t hereditary, it isn’t
in my genes. I got cancer because I was a smoker, I’m facing the consequences
of my actions without blaming others. I’m thankful that the people keeping me
alive aren’t judging me, they’re treating me. I’m thankful that we’ve got a
“Free at the point of treatment NHS” regardless of its short falls.
In other news, the rugby season is coming to a
close in the next few weeks. Rams will finish either 3rd or 4th
in their league, their highest ever position. The Mighty Cents, the team that
Max is playing for, will also probably finish in 4th place to match
this league position of last season. One of the highlights of the season took
place last weekend with the Rams Mini Festival. Last year it was played in
temperatures in the high 20’s, this year it was a mud bath, but as always there
were happy and smiling faces at the end.
Neville is still being a puppy, even though he’s
now a couple of nuts short of a Waldorf. He’s signed up for another set of
lessons with Tails of Tilehurst to improve on his recall. He’s pretty good now
at loose lead walking and is learning to sit and wait pretty well at the curb,
but he can be a real pain when it comes to being recalled in the park. He never
strays far away, but likes to come back in his own good time when he’s finished
sniffing whatever it is that he likes to sniff. I’ve heard it said by various
people that “Dogs know things.” Neville seems to sense if I’m not feeling great
and will often come and sit next to me quietly for a while, it’s his therapy
dog trick. Ok, 20 minutes later he’ll be barking at the cat flap for no
apparent reason, but he’s still a puppy and that’s what I need to remember.
Max is going to
look after Neville whilst we’re away, what could possibly go wrong? J
That’s about it for this post, I’m not sure
when the next blog will be, probably just before I take the #Stalker away to
the sunshine.
As always, thanks for reading.
To be continued………………
#Shoulder2Shoulder
Neville already sounds better trained than my 4-yr-old and 7-yr-old dogs, and pays more attention to your feelings than mine do to mine. AND he's pretty darned cute. Mine are cute, too, but sometimes I still want to throw them to the lions.
ReplyDeleteMy younger sister started smoking around 1972, I'd guess--and, yes, that would've been 14ish. (And that was after pretty intense health education every other year in school describing the dangers and addictions.) She was furious with me when I caught her smoking and I said many things about cancer and death and smelling awful and looking like an idiot and the waste of money and such--she was furious because that's what parents would've said if they had known, and as her big sister I was supposed to support her. Caused a huge rift between us. Years later when her first kid was born, she said something to the effect of "I like it too much to want to put the effort into quitting." And years after that, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, had parts of her body and many of her lymph nodes removed, when through months of chemo... she finally managed to quit. Even though links between breast cancer and smoking aren't as strong as other things, still, she was only 42 and the only smoker in the family and the only one with cancer. She lives on, with a perpetually swollen lymph-filled arm and one recurrence so far. All of that to agree: Teen kids just can't be told. Organizations like the ones helping you are amazing; people who devote their lives to things like this are amazing. It's so cool that there are treatments to help with after-effects like yours. We are lucky to be living in these times with so many increasing advances in care. Meanwhile, thank goodness for animals and children, despite everything.
Elf, animals and children make us fully grown adults look like idiots. Medical science progresses to keep us alive despite our best attempts to go to an early grave.
Delete(And, BTW, no, I have never said anything like "I told you so." That's a ship that long since left port.)
ReplyDelete