Florence Nightingale couldn't do a better job than me, I reckon. For the last two days I have tended to my family night and day, as they have struggled to deal with a nasty bout of something that makes them sick. I have cleaned floors and provided drinks, toasted bread and boiled kettles, all out of love and devotion. Throughout this time I have not sought payment or indeed any thanks, and have not received any either. To think, had I wanted to do this for a career I would have had to study to degree level. I wonder if someone with a degree would be content with this role for 30+ years, or would they seek a role that would be more commensurate with their qualifications. Being around ill people isn't my idea of fun, and to do it for a job, well I think you have to be pretty special.
Which is why I wonder why some nurses I have been told about continue to do their jobs. Firstly I have to say my experience of nurses has been very good, but then I have mainly been treated at 'centres of excellence'. My nurses are smart, clever and caring. I know that because they have lifted me out of my own body fluid, shouted at doctors to leave me alone when they knew I was frightened by a particular procedure which wasn't being done quickly enough by an inexperienced doctor. They have stood next to me holding my hand when the pain was getting pretty intense, and one even stayed up all night to keep me company when I couldn't sleep despite the morphine drip into my arm. I'm no different to them, I used to go to work and just get on with it. I can deal with blood and guts everywhere, but for some reason I don't like it when it is mine. I have been rude to people, but usually in response to them trying to stab me or punch me or vent their anger on me. And at such times I usually try to make it into a competition to see who can come out with the cleverest insults. I have not considered anyone to have bettered me in this department, so far anyway. I suppose when you look at it, it is a little unfair because they have lost their cool and I am just producing a string of insults that I have spent years honing and moulding into masterful put downs. I have also found that because most of them are humorous, it can often diffuse an otherwise angry situation, and if they are bigger younger and stronger than me then I consider this to be wise on my part. I don't do it any more because it can upset people when you compare them to hamsters in the desert.
But I have been told of a nurse who, when dealing with a physically disabled person, lost their temper when told the medicine they are giving them is not the correct one, after all they know what they should be taking, and have threatened the patient with physical violence. What is going on inside their heads? Is it caused by their feeling that they have not achieved the position they should have, because of raised expectations through having a degree. If all local hospitals were made centres of excellence then maybe the nurses would be proud to work there and the frustration of being unappreciated and undervalued would end.
The big dead cherry tree in my front garden was felled yesterday, by my height fearing gardener, who has made a jolly good fist of it. His chainsaw packed up a few times, and because cherry is a hardwood it meant he had to buy a new chain for the machine halfway through the operation. Rev Will has still to come and take the bits away in his trailer, and I think he might moan that it's not all cut into small log size chunks, but it is recycling on a grand scale and he is getting it for free so he shouldn't. I was going to attempt a smaller tree myself with the help of a neighbour but I might wait to see how Will feels about this load first.Meanwhile I shall soldier on in my own hospital, making sure that the brows are wiped and stomachs remain empty.
Tuesday 27 October 2009
Monday 26 October 2009
Scottish Restaurant & with water or not
It's starting to become a habit this writing a blog. Should it be a capital letter, is Blog a noun? I'm not keen on Facebook as it seems a little trite, talking about popping out to the shops.
I didn't know about these things until I began to read Quick Sketch's 'How to be an Inspiration', and enjoyed his writing. I had wanted to chat to him but found it hard to get over the wheel chair thing. I have a few friends in chairs and it hasn't effected me, but with Quick Sketch it did, however I wanted to know more about him, the man without the chair if you like. So I asked Polly, his wife, and she pointed me in the direction of his Blog. 'It's not about the bike' is a favourite book of mine for many reasons, and it showed me it shouldn't be about the illness.
I only wrote my Blog for my wife, thinking I would do one entry and that would be it, as she knew most of my news anyway. But I found you can put other stuff in there, things you don't really want to talk about, and maybe she can read it and think about it before making a comment. Sometimes it's easier to write things down than to say them, and you can get them in some order so they make sense. I don't always say the right thing, and often get in trouble with my family and friends for being tactless, but I get a chance to push the delete button with this.
Made a big mistake today when a friend from church phoned to ask me what I needed in the way of prayer support. There are people in our church who are going through tough times, a young girl - Gabriella's friend-who nearly died last week and others like me who have problems. So I spoke about the doctor saying the drug I'm on lasting on average six months, and that I was still, three weeks later, upset by this as I was led to believe it would work for longer. I went into an in-depth conversation about my options when this drug stopped working, and how it was getting me down. I asked for people to pray that it would be effective for a lot longer than he had said, for me to regain my positivity and thanked the friend for calling before putting the phone down. I honestly thought I was alone in the room when the call came through, but then I heard my 16 year old daughter Gabriella crying. She was there sitting quietly and overheard the entire conversation, and we hadn't told her what the doctor had said. I felt and still feel awful now many hours later about making her cry. You try to protect your family from the effects of your illness as best you can, try to be upbeat and lighthearted, but I've messed it up today, and I'd like to start today again so I can leave the answer machine on to deal with the calls. See what I mean about the delete button?
Melanie has been particularly unwell today. She was up throughout the night and probably has a virus. I have tried to sort the girls out, but Rosanna managed to disable the newly installed burglar alarm on her one trip to the kitchen. I have told her not to let any burglars know how to do it. I fixed it eventually when I was going round putting all the clocks back one hour. Why do we have to do this every year? It is such a chore when you have long case clocks as they won't wind backwards. So, unable to work the cooker- a personal failing I readily admit- and one which provides my darling wife with all the power in our house- I travelled to the Scottish Restaurant to 'cook' tea for them all. A Big Mac later and they were all happy, except Melanie , a veggie, who is starving her fever and refusing to eat anything I cook other than toast. You have seen Melanie holding Samara in my other post. Samara is the 6 week old baby daughter of our friends Veronica and Christopher. Melanie was desperate to visit her and delighted for our friends, although they were finding it tough when she cried day and night. She has grown up now, 9 weeks old, and has become a joy simply by sleeping through the night. I sleep through the night if not woken by a sick wife, but nobody thinks I am a joy. Anyway, Samara is much prettier than me so I thought I might put her picture here in my Blog.
Thinking ahead to December/January, the whisky will be single malt, at around £60 -£80 a bottle, sourced from a specialist shop on the South Bank near where the illusionist David Blain hung in his glass box ( or did he? ) probably at my house if I am well enough to host, with notes provided by the said shop. Needs a bit more research by me first so that the presentation can be delivered in a semi professional way. Last time the audience was around 20 men- no women invited mainly because we don't want to encourage 'that sort of thing'- and it was an enjoyable evening for those who came. We drank a few bottles and it was a good evening for not a lot of money, tasting different quality drinks that we might not have paid for otherwise individually, being that we are all poor. It is still spoken about as a good night, I thought it was last year, but apparently it wasn't, it was three years ago. Got to line up a presentationalist , someone with recent speaking experience and a sense of humour. Not necessarily a Scotsman either, as they are a bit too serious about the 'with water or ice' thing.
Anyway you will be pleased to read that, yet again, this Blog was created during the early hours without the assistance of pain relief, and that I have enjoyed writing it.
Cathartic- does this mean I have gone from the evangelical church to the Pope's all new Church of England Renegades Accepting Catholic Church?
I didn't know about these things until I began to read Quick Sketch's 'How to be an Inspiration', and enjoyed his writing. I had wanted to chat to him but found it hard to get over the wheel chair thing. I have a few friends in chairs and it hasn't effected me, but with Quick Sketch it did, however I wanted to know more about him, the man without the chair if you like. So I asked Polly, his wife, and she pointed me in the direction of his Blog. 'It's not about the bike' is a favourite book of mine for many reasons, and it showed me it shouldn't be about the illness.
I only wrote my Blog for my wife, thinking I would do one entry and that would be it, as she knew most of my news anyway. But I found you can put other stuff in there, things you don't really want to talk about, and maybe she can read it and think about it before making a comment. Sometimes it's easier to write things down than to say them, and you can get them in some order so they make sense. I don't always say the right thing, and often get in trouble with my family and friends for being tactless, but I get a chance to push the delete button with this.
Made a big mistake today when a friend from church phoned to ask me what I needed in the way of prayer support. There are people in our church who are going through tough times, a young girl - Gabriella's friend-who nearly died last week and others like me who have problems. So I spoke about the doctor saying the drug I'm on lasting on average six months, and that I was still, three weeks later, upset by this as I was led to believe it would work for longer. I went into an in-depth conversation about my options when this drug stopped working, and how it was getting me down. I asked for people to pray that it would be effective for a lot longer than he had said, for me to regain my positivity and thanked the friend for calling before putting the phone down. I honestly thought I was alone in the room when the call came through, but then I heard my 16 year old daughter Gabriella crying. She was there sitting quietly and overheard the entire conversation, and we hadn't told her what the doctor had said. I felt and still feel awful now many hours later about making her cry. You try to protect your family from the effects of your illness as best you can, try to be upbeat and lighthearted, but I've messed it up today, and I'd like to start today again so I can leave the answer machine on to deal with the calls. See what I mean about the delete button?
Melanie has been particularly unwell today. She was up throughout the night and probably has a virus. I have tried to sort the girls out, but Rosanna managed to disable the newly installed burglar alarm on her one trip to the kitchen. I have told her not to let any burglars know how to do it. I fixed it eventually when I was going round putting all the clocks back one hour. Why do we have to do this every year? It is such a chore when you have long case clocks as they won't wind backwards. So, unable to work the cooker- a personal failing I readily admit- and one which provides my darling wife with all the power in our house- I travelled to the Scottish Restaurant to 'cook' tea for them all. A Big Mac later and they were all happy, except Melanie , a veggie, who is starving her fever and refusing to eat anything I cook other than toast. You have seen Melanie holding Samara in my other post. Samara is the 6 week old baby daughter of our friends Veronica and Christopher. Melanie was desperate to visit her and delighted for our friends, although they were finding it tough when she cried day and night. She has grown up now, 9 weeks old, and has become a joy simply by sleeping through the night. I sleep through the night if not woken by a sick wife, but nobody thinks I am a joy. Anyway, Samara is much prettier than me so I thought I might put her picture here in my Blog.
Thinking ahead to December/January, the whisky will be single malt, at around £60 -£80 a bottle, sourced from a specialist shop on the South Bank near where the illusionist David Blain hung in his glass box ( or did he? ) probably at my house if I am well enough to host, with notes provided by the said shop. Needs a bit more research by me first so that the presentation can be delivered in a semi professional way. Last time the audience was around 20 men- no women invited mainly because we don't want to encourage 'that sort of thing'- and it was an enjoyable evening for those who came. We drank a few bottles and it was a good evening for not a lot of money, tasting different quality drinks that we might not have paid for otherwise individually, being that we are all poor. It is still spoken about as a good night, I thought it was last year, but apparently it wasn't, it was three years ago. Got to line up a presentationalist , someone with recent speaking experience and a sense of humour. Not necessarily a Scotsman either, as they are a bit too serious about the 'with water or ice' thing.
Anyway you will be pleased to read that, yet again, this Blog was created during the early hours without the assistance of pain relief, and that I have enjoyed writing it.
Cathartic- does this mean I have gone from the evangelical church to the Pope's all new Church of England Renegades Accepting Catholic Church?
Monday 19 October 2009
The postal strike cometh
New door bell system awoke me, a parcel being delivered. Needed signing for, so Mel did the honours. I struggled down the stairs looking vaguely like George Clooney on a bad day, to find the parcel was for me. I opened it and found it to contain Mel's birthday pressie which I had ordered well in advance to avoid the increase in prices around Xmas, and the possibility of it not being delivered by striking postal workers.
The it was off to jolly old work, with my Gabriella's laptop, in case i bump into the professor who can fix all such things.
Nice journey and a parking space on arrival, whereupon I staggered up the stairs and into the office. Two pc's and three of us in the office means I sat around for an hour chatting about social matters. Karen popped in and wanted to talk about the kidney cancer charity she is supporting with her marathons this year. She is a vertically challenged person who has already raised a large sum of money for charity, and I think she is brilliant. She is on a mission now that she has this link with me, and is really looking forward to running the London Marathon now she got in on the Kidney Cancer charity this year. We will be going up to support her with food and drink. Then another arrived and one left, and I had my pc back to use.
The it was off to jolly old work, with my Gabriella's laptop, in case i bump into the professor who can fix all such things.
Nice journey and a parking space on arrival, whereupon I staggered up the stairs and into the office. Two pc's and three of us in the office means I sat around for an hour chatting about social matters. Karen popped in and wanted to talk about the kidney cancer charity she is supporting with her marathons this year. She is a vertically challenged person who has already raised a large sum of money for charity, and I think she is brilliant. She is on a mission now that she has this link with me, and is really looking forward to running the London Marathon now she got in on the Kidney Cancer charity this year. We will be going up to support her with food and drink. Then another arrived and one left, and I had my pc back to use.
Opened an email, got an invite to the MPH show at earls court, but have to decline anything that involves a bit of walking, even if I was sorely tempted. I enjoy Jeremy Clarkson's sense of humour, and I like looking at exotic cars so it was a bit of a shame as I would have had a good time. Never mind, I am going to watch the England v Australia rugby match at Twickenham next month with my Gabriella, and that should make up for this. Not sure if she is up for a few beers yet. What's the legal age limit for beer? Is it the same as homosexuality?
Popped round to the Prof's house and he took said defective laptop with a view to rebuilding it, and dropped Gary off at the station on way. Arrived home before uni daughter Rosanna who took offence to my description of her attire, objection to bag lady being the crux of the matter. This then involved Mel, as she came down against me on this one. I have been asked not to discuss style again as my comments are not welcome. Not my finest hour, especially as Rosanna has almost finished a painting of a deceased dog as a commission for a kind lady, and I wanted to praise her up right now.
Big tree at front of house is coming down next week. Rev Will Cookson wants the fuel for his fire, so he can collect it when he comes back from Israel the week after it is felled.
All in all, a good day today, concrete lung felt a bit lighter and no pain killers were used in the writing of this blog. The picture is of Mel holding Samara at 6 days old.
Popped round to the Prof's house and he took said defective laptop with a view to rebuilding it, and dropped Gary off at the station on way. Arrived home before uni daughter Rosanna who took offence to my description of her attire, objection to bag lady being the crux of the matter. This then involved Mel, as she came down against me on this one. I have been asked not to discuss style again as my comments are not welcome. Not my finest hour, especially as Rosanna has almost finished a painting of a deceased dog as a commission for a kind lady, and I wanted to praise her up right now.
Big tree at front of house is coming down next week. Rev Will Cookson wants the fuel for his fire, so he can collect it when he comes back from Israel the week after it is felled.
All in all, a good day today, concrete lung felt a bit lighter and no pain killers were used in the writing of this blog. The picture is of Mel holding Samara at 6 days old.
Samara was crying like a banshee at the time.
Friday 9 October 2009
My First,and quite probably my last, blog
I had a good day at hospital today.
Established that the Oncologists doesn't really know what is going on inside my body, and is guessing pretty much at the moment. Anyway, his guess was that things are going well, and if I stay positive then everything will stay good for a lot longer.
Great. I sometimes have trouble staying positive, particularly when he said that the drug can keep the tumours at bay for on average 6 months. That panics me. I get a feeling inside that I want to run away from my body, just leave it there and scoot off for a holiday somewhere, anywhere else, and then pick it up later in a few years time when the cancer has passed by.
"Hey I'm home. How'd it go? Yeah great, had a lovely time, drank too much, eat too much, but nice to see you again. Course I remember you, but you look great now. How are you doing? Brilliant news. Mind if I get back in and get on with my life. No, anyway body thanks for coping without me."
But it isn't like that at all. Have gone through a lonely period where all the people I know who have cancer have died recently and it makes you think about when it is your turn. One had similar cancer to me, the others had various different types, but it can make you feel left out in a strange sort of way. I don't want to die, but it's sort of like being the only man left alive in the world. I wouldn't want that. Anyway, I have to keep going and have to keep looking up and onwards.
I saw lots more people today, and none of them look like they have a troubled life, rushing to and from work in their euroboxes. A man in a van stopped to ask me if he could cut down my trees out front. I said no, I have a gardener. Thought about my gardener as he pulled away. He only cuts grass and doesn't like heights, so my trees are safe for now. I think I heard them sigh.
Had a bit of work done to the house over the summer. Trying to complete my bucket list. Downstairs loo means no struggling to get upstairs, and new front door with video entry phone means can argue with callers without opening up. New alarm means can deafen them if they wont go away from front door. Good security means a lot to my nearest and dearest. Glad to be here to arrange it. Who calls it a bucket list? Strange name. Anyway, I always liked to plan things. Anything really, just as long as it had a plan in it. Stopped for about 18months when I thought there wasn't much point in planning anything other than my funeral. Did that, it was going to be big with lots of gnashing and wailing, and a lovely eulogy spoken by my friends, with all my old school masters listening in, and a full church weeping at my casket. Worked out what they were going to say, and told myself I was going to write it all down when I woke up properly in the morning. But come morning I was so tired from staying awake all night planning my funeral that I went to sleep.
Now 2 years on I will let them who remain write it down and speak as they find. If it happens in the next 14 months then it will all be paid for by my work and I will get a motorcycle escort, Special Escort Group, like a member of royalty or a prime minister, for my final drive.
But it wont happen in the next 14 months if I have my way. I aim to keep positive and staring at the future, planning for adventures and good things for my wife and daughters.
A new set of panels for the fence is next on the agenda. That should take me ages to complete. Last time I kept hammering my thumb.
I'll let you know how I get on.
Established that the Oncologists doesn't really know what is going on inside my body, and is guessing pretty much at the moment. Anyway, his guess was that things are going well, and if I stay positive then everything will stay good for a lot longer.
Great. I sometimes have trouble staying positive, particularly when he said that the drug can keep the tumours at bay for on average 6 months. That panics me. I get a feeling inside that I want to run away from my body, just leave it there and scoot off for a holiday somewhere, anywhere else, and then pick it up later in a few years time when the cancer has passed by.
"Hey I'm home. How'd it go? Yeah great, had a lovely time, drank too much, eat too much, but nice to see you again. Course I remember you, but you look great now. How are you doing? Brilliant news. Mind if I get back in and get on with my life. No, anyway body thanks for coping without me."
But it isn't like that at all. Have gone through a lonely period where all the people I know who have cancer have died recently and it makes you think about when it is your turn. One had similar cancer to me, the others had various different types, but it can make you feel left out in a strange sort of way. I don't want to die, but it's sort of like being the only man left alive in the world. I wouldn't want that. Anyway, I have to keep going and have to keep looking up and onwards.
I saw lots more people today, and none of them look like they have a troubled life, rushing to and from work in their euroboxes. A man in a van stopped to ask me if he could cut down my trees out front. I said no, I have a gardener. Thought about my gardener as he pulled away. He only cuts grass and doesn't like heights, so my trees are safe for now. I think I heard them sigh.
Had a bit of work done to the house over the summer. Trying to complete my bucket list. Downstairs loo means no struggling to get upstairs, and new front door with video entry phone means can argue with callers without opening up. New alarm means can deafen them if they wont go away from front door. Good security means a lot to my nearest and dearest. Glad to be here to arrange it. Who calls it a bucket list? Strange name. Anyway, I always liked to plan things. Anything really, just as long as it had a plan in it. Stopped for about 18months when I thought there wasn't much point in planning anything other than my funeral. Did that, it was going to be big with lots of gnashing and wailing, and a lovely eulogy spoken by my friends, with all my old school masters listening in, and a full church weeping at my casket. Worked out what they were going to say, and told myself I was going to write it all down when I woke up properly in the morning. But come morning I was so tired from staying awake all night planning my funeral that I went to sleep.
Now 2 years on I will let them who remain write it down and speak as they find. If it happens in the next 14 months then it will all be paid for by my work and I will get a motorcycle escort, Special Escort Group, like a member of royalty or a prime minister, for my final drive.
But it wont happen in the next 14 months if I have my way. I aim to keep positive and staring at the future, planning for adventures and good things for my wife and daughters.
A new set of panels for the fence is next on the agenda. That should take me ages to complete. Last time I kept hammering my thumb.
I'll let you know how I get on.
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