Cancer 29
Posted on March 24, 2023 Leave a Comment
Inevitably through all this I am reflecting on so many aspects of my life, looking back at what I have done, the good things, the mistakes. I make no claims to have lived a perfect life. I know I have upset people badly at times and I am sorry that has happened, but I suppose being someone who has generally been honest in life (again with some serious exceptions) that is going to be the cut and thrust of life itself.
Looking back I inevitably think about some of the people who have influenced me, who have, for some reason, changed my life. I don’t usually mention names in this blog, but I am going to make an exception here. I hope I am not upsetting anyone by doing so.
As an adolescent we are influenced by many people, our parents, other members of the family, friends, workmates, and so on. I was enormously influenced by an individual, and by a family.
The family is the Ferozes. Throughout my adolescence I spent a lot of time being with and living with the Ferozes, mother, father, three girls and grandma. My family was working class. They were middle class. They were middle class in a special way. Looking back they acted more like the upper classes. They behaved in ways they thought was right regardess of what others might think. Their large house always smelled of dogs and horses, everyone was – to my eyes – both posh and very laid back. I didn’t realise that posh people could be so normal. I was a friend of the girls so I was made very welcome by the parents. As I got older I started to have meals there, sleep there, I even had my own key – which I once forgot so I crawled in through the dog flap (dog flap? How posh and not posh is that?) after a few beers, went to the toilet and when I emerged there was a policeman in the hall. The neighbours thought there was a burglar.
It was here that I learned that you coud be well-mannered and keep your elbows on the table. It was more important to have something interesting to say. I secretly admired the Dad. I wanted to be like him – indeed later, after he sadly died of cancer I was given some of his clothes which I wore for years. He was a GP who was (quite rightly) incredibly proud of his daughters. He also sat in a large leather chair. His chair. You could sit in it when he wasn’t there, but not if he was. Then we leaned over his shoulder, helping him with the Telegraph crossword, answering the clues in the wrong order which really annoyed him (not really, he rarely got annoyed. He would just smile indulgently at his beloved daughters whatever they did wrong).
The Mum was a second mum to me. That is not to denigrate my own mum, why shouldn’t I have two? She would fuss around, offering advice, coffee and food, asking me to help out with this or that.
Grandma’s biggest contribution was language. When I decided to leave the building site and move into academia she made it very clear that I could not move into the bigger world with my broad Derbyshire accent, that I had to learn to speak ‘properly’. She was right. I did tone down my accent, and in later years I would test some of my foreign students. When I spoke the new normal they understood me fine, but if I put on my earlier accent they would just look at me in a bewildered fashion. Good old Ivy.
The girls had a huge influence on me. We were never lovers, more like brother and sisters. Why did we never become lovers? I have no idea, perhaps it was because from the start we were friends who drifted towards family and it would be a little odd to go out with your sister. It was probably a good thing. We went out, we shared music, we went to gigs, we did the normal things young folk do.
There is no way I could have achieved any of the things I have in my life without the Ferozes. It is difficult to say exactly what it was, but it was the putting elbows on the table, it was speaking in a way that is intelligible to others, but on the grander scale it showed me how to be middle class in a good way, no posing, no looking down on other people, doing what you want to do within the constraints of not hurting others, trying to do a little good, and definitely not posh. Of course others helped with these things, but the Ferozes are an essential component of what I am today. Their influence is immeasurable and I am so grateful to them.
Cancer 28
Posted on March 23, 2023 1 Comment
I am writing fewer posts at the moment partly because I need something to say and partly because I have been, and still am, fairly ill. A couple of days ago the medical staff were worried about me but large scale projectile vomitting improved things considerably.
While I don’t have a tube to my stomach and can officially eat I don’t feel like eating, which does show I am ill. As a postwar baby with wartime parents I was brought up not to leave anything on my plate, and that food will always make you better. Not now. Part of it is that I dare not eat for fear of throwing up again and being forced to go through things which, to me at this point, are almost Auschwitzian medical procedures, simply because I don’t think I can endure much more.
I can endure the patience required to get my gut working properly. At the moment it seems what I do eat is being blocked somewhere in the small intestine, building up, and then being thrust backwards out of my mouth. But some material is getting through because my stoma does get some action. Sometimes ot is liquid, but there are solids too. My theory is that with patience, little food, and no medical interference, the gut will start working properly.
If there is medical intervention in the form of tubes, operations, etc, then this will set me right back and I may never get home to enjoy home, garden, family and sunshine.
Cancer 27
Posted on March 20, 2023 Leave a Comment
It has been a while since I blogged. This mainly because I have not had a functioning brain for the last few days. This illness has rather taken over in the last few days but I am hoping for a little respite from the worst of it, though I am likely to be here for many days yet. I do feel a spark of strength and positivity at the moment.
I have read nothing, listened to nothing, and my existence consists of myself, this part of the hospital, and those around me, both physically and across the ether. What is important to me now is whether I can make myself more comfortable in bed, whether the new chap across the way snores (he does, very loudly), and how I am going to get through this period of no eating. It is now Monday evening. I have not eaten anything since Thursday evening, and it is likely to be several days at least before I can have this tube out of my stomach and eat something. It is not as though I want a bacon sandwich or a roast dinner, I am looking forward to a simple biscuit – though not too much as I can’t become obsessed with food.
I get to hear the stories of others, whether they mean me to or not. One chap was asking me for advice on his sex life with his wife. Apparently he had slowed a little due to his four heart attacks. No idea why he asked me. Perhaps after his first question he thought I was the fount of wisdom – his first question was how to spell ‘bored’. He then got dressed and ran away. Another chap is telling his health stories continually over the phone. The snorer, when not sleeping, just sits. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t read. He doesn’t play on his phone. The Polish chap could speak little English. He kept getting up and walking away. He kept bottles of pickles on his shelf to improve his hospital diet. On a quiet evening he started playing loud Polish music on his phone. It was quite good really.
It is also difficult having these tubes in various places on and in my body, but there is no point in worrying about it because they are going to be there for days.
Hospitals teach patience in a way it is not learned elsewhere. A prison may be similar. You put up with things because you have to. You become the ultimate stoic.
Cancer 26
Posted on March 18, 2023 Leave a Comment
Well, that didn’t last long. I am now back in hospital with tubes sticking out of me. I am typing with one thumb. I had one good full day at home. The following morning I felt intemse pain coming on and spent the early morning hours struggling through witb Sue and Conor. The pain was unbearable. At one point it was coming through in waves. I just wanted to die. If this all I have to look forward to then it is better to be dead.
In the morning our nurse friend Jude came round and recommended hospital. We phoned the stoma nurse who also recommended hospital. We phoned 999.
The ambulance came quickly. I was reassured by the first chap round the door as he looked tall, strong and fit. I was worried two slight girls would not be able to shift me after my sister had a similar experience, and she was half my size.
They were very efficient, checking my vitals, asking the right questions and, jointly with the stoma nurse, bypassing A & E to get me straight into hospital. At hospital I was in a lot of pain. I went through usual rigmarole, including 4 attempts to get an IV into my arm. I have had 2 CT scans. I had hoped my problem was a blockage of the stoma, which still hasn’t functioned properly, but my abdomen is instead full of a blood-like substance, which may mean another operation. I hope not. The aftermath of this one is bad enough.
I am being fed antibiotics, nourishment and painkillers through my IV. I am drinking water and eating no food since the day before yesterday.
I am here for assessment. I don’t know how long that will take. Then there is treatment. I really hope that is not an operation. I don’t know if I can cope with that. It would be better to die now.
Cancer 25
Posted on March 16, 2023 2 Comments
“Well, I’m going home
Back to the place where I belong
And where your love has always been enough for me”
They are going to set me free, hopefully today. My mood has gone from Despair to hope. I just need to convince all the right people that I am fit enough to be set free.
It is not that I dislike the people. They are (generally) great, but the atmosphere of a hospital is stifling, the noise consistent, the sense of illness overpowering.
Later
They are going to set me free. It is confirmed. For much of the day I have been waiting on the word of the stoma nurse, which I was fairly sure I would get. I had to pass the test of being able to change my stoma bag, which I nervously did. That gave me the go away. Then it was the endless hospital waiting, while they put in my prescriptions, lost them at the pharmacy and chased them up. The consultants were easy to convince. Many were still working as junior doctors because of the strike and so didn’t know what they were doing.
Actually, I spent the day being a good psychologist, putting the idea that they wanted to release me into their heads.
Later
I am free! I am sitting in my chair at 0140, unable to sleep any longer on the horizontal bed. It clogs my chest. The atmosphere at home is impossible to describe in terms of comparison with hospital. While the hospital was necessary the immediate aftermath of the operation, one I was taking all my drugs by mouth and detached from all lines there is no need to be there.
The worst part of the day was when they removed the final drain. This is a substantial tube going into my belly. I had no idea it went 11-12 inches in! When it was first pulled I experienced a painful yank in my groin and let out a yelp. I wanted to faint when I saw the length of it, ok I didn’t. This isn’t a 19th Century novel.
Dr Nigel Hunt 