Cancer 121

Tomorrow we will be home from our latest holiday. I wonder why I haven’t lived in Scotland. The scenery is spectacular, the food is British untainted by the Mediterranean influence so common in the south, the cost of living is lower and the people are friendly and generous. There are downsides of course, tartan, kilts, and bagpipes must ruin the ears and eyes of many people. Nevertheless, if I wasn’t in constant need of the health service I would like to spend a significant part of my retirement in Scotland. I might even learn to sail a boat in the lochs.

The first part of the holiday was tainted a little by illness. Not only was I tired from the long (in modern terms) drive, but the toothache was, literally, a pain. It still is, but I am managing now without painkillers. I just need to avoid cold drinks and ice cream. While here I have been asking for warm – ie not fridge cold) lemonade. I am seen as a bit of an oddity wanting a warm drink. I use the toothache excuse but in reality I rarely enjoy fridge cold drinks. The chill takes the taste away, which is presumably why some people can consume lager and not roll around on the floor in agony. The temperature of white wine, though I don’t drink it now, is a constant refrain. A certain someone thinks that all white wine should be chilled within an inch of its life, whereas the best serving temperature depends on the wine. Cheap wine needs to be chilled – again it is to remove the taste – but something like a Chablis should be served relatively warm. I think I will add the temperature of drinks to my portfolio of annoying cafe, restaurant and pub owners, along with the desire to eat off plates not slates, and for the banning of sticky toffee pudding – among other things, but this is not the place to whinge.

Not only have I cut out painkillers, at least for the moment, I am using less cream on my arms. My skin is managing to repair itself. Instead of the rhinoceros skin I had on both my upper arms due to the dodgy PICC lines, I now have a slightly softer version, albeit pockmarked from over-scratching, which is also true not just for my arms but for most of my body. I try to stop scratching but you know how it is.

Tomorrow we get home from Scotland and then it is almost immediately down to the other end of the country to see family, and then down to Cornwall – yet more long drives, I will probably need a long rest after that, but immediately on returning home I will be having my Hickman Line inserted, ie the line which enters my chest and terminates just outside my heart. Hopefully, it will be more effective than the PICC lines but we will see. I am not looking forward to returning to treatment after a) the disasters of the last few rounds, and b) getting away from it all for a few weeks. Getting away from it all means that in some ways I start to think like a normal person again – until I remember.

My other problems at the moment are aches all over my body. I can find it difficult to get up from a sitting position. It is painful to move my arm backwards. My walking is more restricted that it was even fairly recently. It feels like a decline, a slow breaking down of my body I know, but I can’t help thinking these thoughts. After all, it is happening!