Friday, 13 April 2018


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



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