Diary

Life, Death, Life.

The very last place I expected to be on a Tuesday evening was in a tiny room, with an insufficient amount of tissues and, as it turned out, hope. Whilst Nige lay on a hospital bed, Harrison and I set our faces and allowed the words to wash over us. A few phrases seeped through – one in particular rang out,

‘We can’t say for sure but he probably won’t make it through the night…’

Not enough tissues.

Gabriel needed fetching first; everyone in one place, this place. As I made my way back to the van, I returned my brother’s call. It was as incoherent as it gets I’m afraid – poor bugger definitely wasn’t expecting that. After that the ranting continued. It continued as I drove past Victoria Park. consumed me along Julian Road. It took my breathe as I sat at the lights on London Road and it burst out of me as I grabbed Gabe in the doorway of our home. All I remember of the journey back to A & E was Gabe sobbing loudly and rubbing his face, then, as we drove past the hospital entrance I saw Harry, waiting for us, his face still set, his mouth tensing up as he drew on a roll up. When we reached him he offered monosyllabic words of comfort to his brother but his eyes betrayed his inner stillness. As Gabe and I fell apart on the outside, Harry did the same from the inside. In this dangerously damaged state we huddled around Nigel’s bed and started on the final path of our cancer journey.

*

The staff asked about family.

‘Just us really…’


Wednesday

Imagine my surprise when, at 3.30am (Wednesday), his mum turned up with his three sisters. Our eight hour vigil of just us three and Lois was crudely broken up by their arrival. Our dignified grief mocked by the ridiculous bickering of sisters who, until now, had shown absolutely no interest in making amends for the years of wrongs laid by them upon our beloved. I had some sympathy for his mum, of course, as she cut a forlorn figure leaning over Nigel. She’s been poorly herself of late and watching her trying to grab back a long-since gone relationship with her son was heartbreaking. But then she asked a sobbing Gabriel, ‘What’s wrong Gabe?’ The sisters put it down to absent mindedness but for Gabe it was a flash back to those years of torment bestowed upon him by her and for me it was a reminder of how she had disowned Nige in a letter upon the word of a now discredited brother. The words of that letter, in her own hand, burned into my head. As I met Gabe’s gaze I knew they all just had to fuck off.

‘I swear, if you die now, with them clawing at you, I will punch them all in the face.’ 

was my uncharitable and overwhelming thought. Gabe did better though, he asked them to leave. And they did.

*

As calm descended once again and Nige had clearly made it through the night, we made a plan. Neither Harry or Gabe really wanted to leave but both had, by then, been awake for over 24 hours and both needed rest. Gabe chose to sleep for a bit in the van whilst Harry opted for a mind-clearing hour and a half walk home. He’d barely put his head on the pillow before Nick turned up at 10am and Harry came back to the hospital with him. By then Nige was sitting up communicating well. It was just bizarre how the more drained we became, the livelier Nige appeared; as if our love was the ultimate drug. Though I may have to concede much of the credit to steroids. By the time Seb and Anoushka arrived for a visit later that evening Gabe was home in bed, Harry was still hanging in there and Nige was looking much more like himself. Before our visitors left (taking Harry with them) we were moved to ASU. We had another side room which we were told we’d have so we could say our goodbyes privately, and they even brought me in a bed. After a straight forty plus hours awake I finally managed to put my head down.


Thursday

Happy birthday to Gabe! He had a great time, I think. He and Alex called in to see Nige at about midnight and the three of them sat up chatting and scoffing sweets until 2am. I drifted in and out but with a happy heart.

*

A surprise visit from an Oncologist this morning. I registered this, telling him that I was told we wouldn’t be bothered by anyone, that all the nurses had been given permission to prescribe any drugs we may need. He replied,

‘When I read the notes on your husband I didn’t expect to walk in a room and see someone sat up, chatting, smiling and who could move his arms and legs.’

He ordered another MRI scan for a comparison and set about treatment. I mean positive treatment. When I asked about the bleed into the tumour he said there wasn’t one… He went so far as to tell me that the CT Scan was misinterpreted and that there was a good chance he’d be coming home. Later that day another Oncologist visited us and corroborated what her colleague had told me, adding that we may also be able to continue with the PCV Chemotherapy Treatment.

‘Wait… What?? But we were told to say our goodbyes…’

‘No, no. We think there’s more to be done. We’ll move you onto the Oncology Ward and work out the correct dose of steroids. You should be home soon.’

Can you even comprehend that? I mean really?? We spent from 8pm Tuesday until 8pm Thursday coming to terms with this gorgeous man’s imminent death. We endured an incredibly unsettling and awkward ‘final’ visit from his estranged family that, quite frankly, none of us want repeated. Each of us found a space within ourselves to temporarily carry the grief until we had the time to lay it bare and go through it all together. But suddenly we didn’t need that – we were just left with the raw grief within us, with no plan at all on how to offload it. Incredulous, delighted, bewildered, we fragmented. I stayed with Nige whilst the boys went home. Both went on to deal with the colossal weight of emotions in their own way. It’s no surprise at all that the one who had remained as stoic and as in control as humanly possible was the one to crash and burn.


Friday

As Nige continued to defy the odds and regain his former strength, Harry disappeared. Gabe kept in contact with me throughout all this and so between us we managed to resolve the situation. I say ‘resolve’, there’s still much to battle through but suffice to say, by 4am, Saturday morning he was home safe. Sound may take a while but hey, this is not the week to be taken by surprise.


Saturday and Sunday

We have a brand new Harry! One who talks, one who sobs openly and one who suddenly seems to be able to handle our altered situation as well as finding himself newly single. It’s shifted the brotherly relationship somewhat too, which has always been a disjointed one. As a consequence to everything I came off Facebook. Honestly, I was shocked at just how obsessed we all get with other peoples lives; how we offer words of support to relative strangers really and yet, right in front of our eyes our own flesh and blood are struggling to be heard. It’s just so wrong that if Harry had written a status about how he was feeling he’d have had oodles of support. But he didn’t so he was left unheard. I feel utterly shit about that and so yeah. No more Facebook, time to stop looking at the world though laptops and mobiles. Time to put them away and look people in the eye, read between the lines. Less statuses, more words.


Monday

Today Nige started to slur his speech a bit. I think they may have reduced his steroids a bit too quickly. Thankfully we moved to the William Budd Ward, on Oncology, where the Oncologist upped the steroids. Harry and I were with him as they wheeled his bed into ‘Bay 3’ and the distress on his face was plain to see. He wasn’t disappointed but, rather, confused. He had no idea really on what to expect but he just said he thought it would be ‘different’. Sensing his distress, the three other blokes on the ward stepped forward to make him feel better; a wonderfully courageous thing to do given the advanced stage of their own illnesses. Lionel in particular took a shine to Nige, and Nige really liked him. Pete the Pilot too offered many sage words but Rob (or Leslie) looked bewildered and bombarded me with questions about his upcoming chemotherapy treatment. It’s fair to say that some proper bonding happened on that ward over the couple nights Nige was there and I can honestly say I’d never met three braver men.

For the first time in a week I spent the night at home. Comfy, yes, but I’d sooner have been with my man.


Tuesday

Harry continued to improve in spirit. Eating and sleeping still weren’t on the menu but there’s time. The lovely Lionel was off having treatment when we got to the hospital. When he returned he looked like a shell of a man. It reminded me of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. When his son arrived he reached his arms out and just sobbed and sobbed on his chest. The tears just flowed from both mine and Nigel’s eyes. Poor old Lionel, poor, poor lovely Lionel.


Wednesday – Discharge Day

Emotions are very mixed up on discharge day. I know this from experience! This morning Harry and I turned up to a teary Nige. Lovely Lionel had had an awful night, battling the effects of all the radioactive shit coursing through his body. Nige spent a couple of hours holding his hand, giving him something to focus on. It took it’s toll on him though and even after we returned home he talked about how scared he was of Lionel dying.


So there you have it, our fucked up week during which we almost lost one, rescued another and learned more than you can ever know about ourselves. We’re home now, with the promise of Dorothy House support and a far more open approach to each other.

PS Still no Facebook – it feels great 🙂

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Diary

Dear, well, you know who you are…

9

On my walk, on the morning of July the 10th, I spoke to Michelle of my fears for today. I reasoned with her as we trudged along the muddy track along the top of Pussell’s Wood that whatever the result, the only thing that will change is the amount of knowledge we hold. I concluded that I was expecting anything from, ‘You have a week to live…’ to ‘Oh my goodness, you’re a bleeding miracle!’ Though obviously I was hoping for something a little nearer to the latter.

A busy morning with the start of construction of the steps in the back garden and the continuation of the floor preparation in the garage. Then, of course, it was Nigel’s oncology appointment to discuss the MRI findings. Oh, I was not looking forward to this.

Parked quickly and easily, arrived promptly and had bloods taken swiftly. All good so far. Then, at just five minutes after our appointed time, we were summoned. Professor Beresford asked after Nige’s wellbeing,

“I’ve been alright overall. I’m getting these strange nervous attacks which have got more often since the MRI thing but other than that… Actually I do have a headache at the minute.”

Nodding, smiling and with four monitors staring at us from his desk, he replied,

“The headaches do corroborate what’s here on the scan I’m afraid…”

My tummy didn’t lurch like that initial diagnosis back in September, but just fell away a bit. My mouth went dry though. Nige just nodded and said,

“I thought so. Well, I thought something was going on.”

When we visited Dr Barua in Southmead (all of us, en masse), we collectively refused to look at the scan results. Instead, each of us choosing to have a different visual manifestation of the tumour that had, uninvited, attached itself to Nigel’s brain. No such luxury this time with the monitors seemingly encompassing the entire room. Eagerly, Prof Beresford sought to explain the scan. He compared it to the one taken just after the operation last October where we could see just a black chasm. The recent one however had a little extra something next to the same hole. The tumour apparently, back for it’s encore. Odd, I never saw it as a white, fluffy cloud. And where were the teeth? It would appear, and I’m paraphrasing a bit here, that the radiotherapy and chemotherapy thus far has proved fucking useless and the bastard tumour is back. The complete cunt.

*

What next, I hear you cry?

Well, something called PCV chemotherapy. We have a handout offering us a full explanation but the gist is:

There are six courses, each course takes 42 days (6 weeks) and consists of:

A blood test, followed by a trip to the Chemotherapy Day Unit for treatment. This is delivered via a drip, through a cannula. Then we start a 10 day course of procarbazine capsules. Thirty two days off before we begin again. It’s gruelling and a bit of a knock back but, hey, I think we both thought this was what we were getting with the last lot of chemo!

On our return home from this ‘punch in the stomach’ meeting, we were met by Nick, who was levelling the garage floor. I think he could tell by my face that things hadn’t gone to plan.

“It can take years some time to find the right treatment for these things Liz. Hang in there, I mean, so that didn’t work but this might!”

He’s right of course. We always knew that we were facing a full-scale war but we became complacent in the face of his improved health. With everyone commenting on how well Nige looked and how well he’d done, we forgot (briefly) that the problem was still there. As I said earlier, nothing changed except the amount of knowledge we now had. And that’s power.

Whenever Nige went upstairs I cried. Whenever I left the room, I cried. At 8 o’clock I took myself down to the van to apply my long awaited stickers. For a while I stopped crying and started planning. Not anything major, just where the gold stars and the silver stars needed to go…

As I reflected on the day I realised what was bothering me most. It wasn’t the return of the tumour – we half expected that. It wasn’t the thought of 6 months of gruelling chemotherapy – I can support Nige ten-fold with that. It wasn’t even the thought of having to rethink my job situation. No, it was seeing that bloody scan, putting a face to the name (finally) was surprisingly hard. It meant that whenever Nige gets a headache, for all eternity, I’ll see that fucking white cloud buggering up our life. With it’s metaphorical teeth.

 

 

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Diary

Dear, well you know who you are,

5

We’ve just celebrated Nigel’s 54th birthday. The boys really pushed the boat out on this one, knowing that I had to keep my budget low I shouldn’t wonder. Mum opted for a cash gift which will buy an expansion set for one of our favourite boardgames, Tokaido, in the near future. My gift arrived looking like someone had bled all over the packaging – a lot. We all decided it must be red paint and quickly moved on! So what have we been up to since Christmas Eve then?

Christmas was wonderful. Lots of games played, food shared and fun had. New Year was a tricky one – it is every year. Gabe went out but Harry and Ali stayed in. We raised a metaphorical glass at the top of the garden (even Nige managed the hike up there) and watched the numerous fireworks from Bathford to Odd Down. In the dark no one can see you cry, which I did, onto my sleeve. It’s all very well saying farewell to a shit year but when the one you’re welcoming in has such uncertainty attached to it, well, there’s no joy in that. Not one bit.

 

January 2017

We started the year with optimism. A trip to the cinema to watch Rogue One was a definite boost for Nige, who had an upset stomach and was anxious whether he’d get through it without running to the loo. He did but he was slightly overwhelmed at the digitally reproduced Princess Leia that appeared at the end of the film… Carrie Fisher’s death affected him hugely at the end of 2016.

A week after that we met the very delightful Verena. She’s the masseur I mentioned in My Person Advent. A friend of mine had so kindly bought Nige and I a Holistic Massage each. We had to wait at least a fortnight after the last Chemotherapy session (Christmas Day) as those particular toxins need to stay in Nigel’s system and the massage would expel them. It’s fair to say that on meeting Verena I loved her immediately. A genuinely kind soul who just wanted to give a couple she had never met before some much needed respite, a sort of warm, fuzzy hug with essential oils. As Nige waited in the room next door, I gently poured my heart out to her. Not entirely, I think; I automatically hold back but more than I had to anyone else. The massage was wonderful. Silent tears whilst having all the taut muscles in my back, arms and legs manipulated was extremely cathartic. After an hour we swapped. I smiled as I could hear Nige nattering on throughout his hour.

‘All my male clients do that. Well, apart from my boyfriend…’

Before we left, Verena had booked us in for another the following week – no charge. She even offered to visit us to massage Nigel’s legs when they become cramped. You see, Angels do exist but they’re not ethereal, they’re people, they’re in all of us.

On the 25th we started the 6 month Chemotherapy treatment. We were surprised to realise that it would be oral again. I had assumed we’d be coming in everyday for 5 days of the month to receive it through a drip or something. This was quite a nice revelation though. So 400mg for the next 5 days. Nige still has an upset stomach, loose bowels mainly, no vomit. I do too, I hasten to add but as I’m not doing Chemo, I’m coping marginally better with it!

 

February, 2017

Well, what a shitty month – literally. We can get through this one in just one paragraph I think. Nige continues to feel poorly – I’m putting it down to the Norovirus which is absolutely rife at the moment. Even Harry complained of a stomach ache. However, his turned out to be Appendicitis… I took him into hospital on a Saturday, at 2pm. He was having an Appendectomy by 6pm. In between I went back home to see how Nige was doing. He’d been sick a couple of times and hadn’t really eaten anything. Back at the hospital for when Harry came out of recovery at about 10pm. My little soldier, putting on such a brave face. The surgery had gone really well, but his appendix was a mess – gangrenous in fact. The infection had started moving around to his back and if we’d left it any longer we would’ve been dealing with peritonitis, which is a whole different ball game…  At least there’s a bit of luck on our side. By Monday he was back home, along with Ali. Happy days. Amongst all this was our next trip to Oncology and our next dose of Chemo. We asked about Nigel’s fatigue and stomach bug.

‘The fatigue and breathlessness is a side effect of the radiotherapy.’

‘But we finished that in December!’

‘It can take 3 months for the side effects to be felt so it’s perfectly normal for you to feel this way. With the bug you need to drink plenty and rest…’

I am continually reminding Nige of that last quote…

 

 

There, we’re up to speed. Well, almost. I’ll give you March another day. It’s already been up and down so be sure to tune in!

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Diary

My Personal Advent. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Friday, 23rd

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Our final trip to Oncology and Nigel’s final radiotherapy session… Well that was the fastest 6 weeks ever! A later appointment meant we had a half hour lie in although Eccles tried his damnedest to put pay to that. He was so good yesterday, curling up and napping at the bottom of our bed. Not today though, it was the shower room for him! Temozolomide taken at 8am, up and dressed, paperwork sorted and out of the door before 9 in the hope that, as usual, an early arrival means an early finish. We were right too, we were done by 9.30. Well, we would have been. I’d given Nige two questions to ask the team;

‘We have an extra dose of Temozolomide (due to a missed dose), should we tag it on the end?’

‘Despite a recent prescription of Dexamethasone, we still only have enough to get us to the 9th of January. Is that right?’

I also brought in the blood form, not realising that it didn’t need doing again until two days before our January appointment. Anyway, it all worked out for the best. The doctor said ‘No’ to tagging the extra chemo dose onto the end and we were given more Dexamethasone with instructions to wean Nige back down to 2mg. They wanted to do a blood test to check his sugar levels but instead (as I had the form on me) they just ticked the relevant box and it can be done along with the rest in January. We just had a bit of a wait for the prescription. I saw Helen in the main waiting room. I used to work with her in Moorlands and we’ve always been quite close. Initially I didn’t know what to say – ‘How are you?’ always seems a bit pointed, given where we were… so I opted with a hearty, ‘Hello!’ She was surprised and happy to see me,

‘It’s so lovely to see you! Why are you here? Is it you?’ 

‘No, it’s Nige,’ pause,  ‘He has brain cancer… How about you?’

‘Oh I have Lymphoma Leukemia. I’ve had it for a few years and have to get regular check ups. Will Nige survive?’

‘Well, we haven’t been told a death date and, well, he’s pretty positive… But it’s stage 4, aggressive, so…’ Tears again.

‘There’s a chap on the canal who was diagnosed with the same thing, stage 4, and he decided not to give in. Started his own canal boat company and is still with us…’

Hope springs eternal, right? A smile, a nod and I’m bouncing out of the room with Nigel and his many meds.

Instead of going straight home, we called into Morrisons. Vegetables to buy as well as a few other bits and bobs. We started with a coffee and a croissant, not quite the celebration Nige deserved but it was passable. You know, Nige and I are compatible in everything except food shopping. Where I grab, push, pay and go, Nige loves to peruse, purchase, pack and ponder. There’s so much joy on his face as he checks the list and he positively frowns when I purposely ‘go off list’ like a naughty child! I’m amazed he’s never slapped me, to be honest!

As we had the shopping to do, I cancelled my coffee morning with Marianne and the girls at Velo Lounge. Rather splendidly, Marianne came to me later. We exchanged Christmas presents and nattered over tea and coffee. She’s having two Christmases, like us as Adam and Jon are all over the place. We didn’t have long as it turned out as I had to take Ali to work for 3pm. I did know, but I’d forgot… She finished at 5 too.

A chilled out evening then, in our (now) tidy house. There’s a few good things on telly, we are all full up from our perfect fry-up, courtesy of Nige and Eccles is silent, nose up his bum, fast asleep! Aha, what an incredibly uplifting 6 weeks. It’s been tiring, emotional and, at times, a little worrying but we got there, along with all the other wonderful couples we met along the way. Now we can kick back our heels, pour a drink and settle into Christmas.

 

 

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Diary

My Personal Advent. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Thursday, 22nd

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Let’s be clear, I write my advent at the end of the day and today I’ve ended it with a bottle of blackberry vodka. So I sit here now with Alan Partridge bopping away to Roachford and Eccles casting me reproachful glances. Everyone else is in bed.

A far more sedate beginning to the day; Eccles was asleep at the bottom of the bed, happy until 7, which is a reasonable time for his breakfast! Nige took his Temozolomide at half past and we left for Oncology at 10 past 8. All pretty standard. He really is counting down the hours now – last appointment tomorrow. He asked (again) about what happens next. I’m not sure what they say correlates with what he tells me, though I do know we have an appointment to discuss chemotherapy on 25th of January. Nigel’s confusion is that he thought we’d be starting chemotherapy on the 25th, not talking about it. We checked his medications; even with the prescription the other day, we only have enough steroids to take us to January the 9th. I can’t help but think they’re trying to tell us something… I’m also thinking blackberry vodka isn’t my friend…

Today we tackled the bathrooms – Nigel downstairs, me up. Although mine was the grubbiest, Nige did have the shower to do. He also managed to break the toilet cistern… Cue unnecessary anger! Bless him, it could’ve been anyone. Anyway, after an hour sat, calming down he fixed it, easy as pie. The rest of the house is okay really, a bit of tidying up is all it needs and that can be done tomorrow, after his final radiotherapy session.

It was Harry’s last shift before Christmas this evening. Although given that he’s in next Wednesday, that’s no real news I guess. But with Gabe now done too, it means I’ve only got Ali going to work tomorrow and then I’m done driving for a bit. Wonderful. Once he was home, I opened the aforementioned blackberry vodka, homemade by my mum.

‘This is better than last year’s! Not too strong either…’

Well, yes, it is and actually, it’s stronger than I thought too. So I’m signing off, with emotions piqued and hot flushes abound. G’night you lovely lot, until tomorrow.

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Diary

My Personal Advent. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Wednesday, 21st

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Eccles; 6.30. Me; 7 and Nige; 7.30… It’s a pattern of a sort I suppose. Radiotherapy was at 8.48, which is what we’ve been used to and now the schools have finished for Christmas, the traffic is much lighter. Unusually we had to wait for twenty minutes. Apparently LA3 had gone down earlier and was only just back up and running. There was a back log, obviously, to clear, which meant more people in the waiting room. Despite all that and knowing the reason we’re all there, the atmosphere was still as positive as ever. Seriously, there are those on my Facebook page who’d learn a lot by a visit or two to Oncology!

We were home a little later then, but in plenty of time for me to get ready for my coffee with Gem at The Holburne Museum. It was lovely to see her; sat by a purple sculpture of a brain (of course) with a green tea and a smile. I bought a hot chocolate and we exchanged gifts. I had a couple of extra ones, which was truly lovely, from Sue (my head teacher) and from Jayne (my Cedar cohort). All very festive, thank you guys! So Gem and I nattered on about Nige, me, work, life. We laughed, we cried – well Gem cried more than me – and then we wandered around the gift shop. It all felt very normal, although Gem doesn’t usually cry until a couple of bottles of wine have been sunk… We parted with a hug and each others best wishes. Perfect.

As soon as I got home I decided to put up some outdoor lights over the front window. They’re the lanterns from the courtyard and I’d been toying with this for a few days. It took less than half an hour and they look beautiful. I’m so pleased, we were beginning to look a bit lack-lustre up against numbers 5 and 6! Although number 4 still looks like a hovel, with a little pile of black ‘dog poo’ bags next to the dustbin. Yeah, it baffles me too… At some point I fell asleep on the sofa, oh hang on, that would have been about 5.30 because Pointless was on and Nige dozed off next to me for 10 minutes or so. I yawned through a phone call from mum afterwards – that’ll teach me. It was obviously ‘mums night’ as Norah rang Nige too. I love watching his face as he listens, or tries to listen, to what she’s saying. Tonight I listened as he told her exactly how he was feeling, how anxious he felt about what was to happen to him next. Obviously I couldn’t hear her response but the fact that after just a minute or so he asked,

‘What, Gareth? Oh… right…’

told me that the conversation had predictably moved onto Gareth or Millie or Lawrence or ANYONE. Sadly, Nige just accepts this state of affairs, pulling a bored face at me as he tries to process all the unnecessary information she’s giving him. I want to grab the phone and tell her to,

‘Shut up and listen to him!’

After all, she rang him, right? I think I may have to have a chat with her first next time she rings, try to politely explain that her son really needs for her to focus on him when she calls and to make sure she keeps sentences short and relevant.

Everyone finished at different times tonight; Ali at 7.30, Gabe at 9 and Harry at 10. Well, that was the plan. I messaged Gabe at 9 and he replied,

‘I’ll be out at half past :)’

So I headed to the fountain at 20 to 10. I sat and waited and waited, time was ticking by and Harry needed fetching at 10. At 5 to 10 I set off to Morrison’s, keeping an eye out for Gabe en route. Harry was out on time and he tried to ring Gabe – no answer. I retraced the route back to the fountain and there he was, flapping about in the middle of the road! That quirky lad. He’d rung my phone (which I’d left at home) and Nige told him I’d probably gone on to get Harry. What a palaver, eh! Still, all came good in the end and the joy of seeing my new outside lights on our return was, sadly, quite exciting!

 

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My Personal Advent. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Tuesday, 20th

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Despite it being a later appointment, it was a bloody early start. 6am to be precise… Not even Eccles had uttered a word. Because we weren’t in until 10.18, the Temozolomide needed taking at 9, so Nige wanted breakfast at 7, or just before. Otherwise he’d have to wait until 11, hence my early, rude awakening. I kept the cat happy with Dreamies and Nige happy with a couple of Weetabix, then back to bed until 9.

It was strange being in Oncology at that time. The only familiar face we saw was Rose’s husband and he was on his way out. We got in dead on time and also topped up on Dexamethasone, Paracetamol and eye drops at the pharmacy. We went straight to town afterwards, to sort out bank accounts and stuff. Without going into details, it was; park on Walcot Street 🙂 , Waitrose Cafe 😦 , TSB :/ , Nationwide 😐 , HSBC 🙂 , TSB 🙂 , Lush 🙂 , Clarks 🙂 and then home 🙂 . I find the Emojis a far quicker way of conveying the success or failure of our errands.

We were only really home for a couple of hours – not long at all. Then it was my 10 minute yoga whatsit and off to take Ali to work. Nige came with us as we did the – wait for it – Christmas food shopping on our way home… Oh my goodness. I’ve avoided it for years you know. Of all the chores I’ve taken on, this one has to be the worse. The only positive thing was that, due to Nige’s diligent stamp saving and coupon collecting, our £171 bill actually cost us £50 something! Not too shabby eh?

Nick rang this evening. He’s hoping to come round sometime this week to drop off his presents. I love nattering to him, so straight forward and uncomplicated. We also had a small parcel from Norah, Nigel’s mum. At first I thought it was a collection of cards from his family – hoped it was at any rate. No, it was all from Norah; a card for us with some cash in it, vouchers for the boys and a calendar. Very sweet, I’m sure, but I did wish his sisters had bothered… Sending meaningless sentiments on Facebook messenger does not a sister make…

‘Oh, I fear I’m unravelling…’ So for the sake of you all, I’m off to bed.

NB ‘What about the reading?’ I hear you ask. Well, two chapters read last night. Yes indeedy, perhaps there’s hope for me yet!

 

 

 

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