Crumble and cracked tyres

I thought I'd take advantage of the steroids again and get another post up while feeling relatively alert (despite the usual three hours of sleep last night!).

I was laughing to myself yesterday at the irony (just call me Alannis Morisette) that steroids are used by athletes to enhance their performance, while I can't take advantage of them by going for a run because I have them at the same time as I'm on my chemo pump. Before I started treatment, the chemo nurse-in-charge warned me that running could see my pump throw a wobbly due to the sudden increase in my heart rate, meaning I should take it easy.

Instead, after a brief walk, I'm sitting here in a Hawaiian shirt as it rains outside with Deacon Blue's 'Dignity' washing through my stereo speakers, another set of ironies I guess. My fortnightly 9am chemo slot (my ninth cycle out of 12) at Burton went well yesterday. We started on time so I was finished by 2.30pm rather than 5pm as last time. For the second session in a row, I sat by advanced bowel cancer comrade P. We've got to know each others’ stories a bit and chatted away for a couple of hours. P was due in Kefalonia for a fortnight with his wife as we spoke, but has had to swap this for a few days in Bournemouth to work around his treatment. I felt his pain as we had the holiday of a lifetime on the Greek island last year to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary (a year late due to lockdown) - spending hours exploring mostly deserted beaches with crystal waters (Fteri Beach pictured below - my perilous Trip Advisor review here). How I'd love to be there now!

P also reported some pretty nasty side affects from his chemo, including the need to switch his PICC line to his other arm due to blood clotting which caused a month's break in treatment. It made me especially thankful for the relatively smooth run I've had over the past month or so. I feel I've got into a decent rhythm with chemo, but I still know the nature of the beast means things could change at any point. I'm also nearly back to my pre-chemo weight which is a relief after losing over a stone initially. My taste also doesn't seem to disappear for so long, although I've been mixing fresh green finger chillis into my food to keep it spicy when needed. I've also found that red wine cuts through most taste loss but I'm trying to limit my intake to a few glasses a fortnight!

It's not just physically that I'm feeling a bit more chipper. In the past couple of weeks I've felt less weighed down emotionally too. It seems that I'm able to dip my toe into the final stage of grief - which is acceptance - from time to time. One sign of this is in my podcast listening habits. Over the summer I was listening mostly to serious shows on faith, philosophy and wellbeing as I tried to find a way through the grief. Now, I'm mixing these with old favourites on music, movies and, even, politics, which suggests a hint of a return to normality.

Of course, the stages of grief aren't linear so a moment of acceptance can easily be punctured by a period of anger, bargaining or depression - typified in the swerving nature of this blog. I experienced a sharp swerve last week when I went on a sunny walk with my Dad around the country lanes of Gentleshaw and Chorley, followed by a hearty pub lunch. We spent hours talking about family, faith and our personal and shared histories in open, and at times, fairly honest and blunt ways. It was satisfying at a deep level. But as I drove the ten minutes home I found myself tearful, angry and sad at the realisation that these precious times with my parents will be finite due to my illness. This would be true whether I was healthy or not, but cancer has a way of ramming home our limited lifespans in a harsh and unfriendly manner.

I've been gently encouraged by Michael Rosen's recent book 'Getting Better: Life Lessons On Going Under, Getting Over It, And Getting Through It.' Rosen, a former Children's Laureate and author of 'We're Going On A Bear Hunt', has lived a prolific life despite some horrendous struggles, including the death of his 19-year-old son Eddie to meningitis and his own near-death experience with Covid in 2020, which saw Rosen in an induced coma for around 40 days with a long period of rehabilitation needed afterwards. He talks about his good fortune at being able to return to work as a writer despite ongoing health issues. Having been myself signed off work sick now for five months, I found his suggestion that we find 'work' in other, everyday tasks really helpful:

“Maybe you can take what I call ‘work’ and apply it to whatever you like doing: cooking, gardening, knitting, swimming, working on your family tree - anything active, productive, enjoyable. Especially helpful, I think, are things where you can see progress, where things develop, get made, or grow, because you can grow alongside them…. Writing which is my job and for many is a hobby, is a great example of this.” Michael Rosen

Of course, writing this blog, as I keep saying, is of great benefit to me - and knowing people read it and send me feedback is the icing on the cake. But let me briefly share two other examples of potential 'work' that also brought me great satisfaction. Last Monday, after picking some blackberries from the lanes near our home and picking some apples from the Co-op, I made my first ever crumble. It nearly ended in disaster as I got my timings wrong and had to do it as the same time as putting tea on for the family, so things got a bit chaotic. The crumble itself wasn't very crumbly as my mixing technique was far from textbook. However, I thoroughly enjoyed demolishing the fruit of my labours over five consecutive evenings (although it was supposed to serve eight people - hence my weight gain), delighted that the rest of my family don't 'do' puddings, so it was all mine.

The second piece of 'work' came on Friday as I went to pick up the weekly family shop from Aldi. As I rolled Rosie's little red Citroen into the designated 'click and collect' parking space it felt like I was driving on crumble. I got out and, yes, the front driver's side tyre was totally flat. Realising I had an hour's slot to pick up our food, I decided to jack the car up, change the tyre and managed to get the spare on before the green compostable bags of groceries were delivered to the boot. Although I can almost make a dessert, I'm no mechanic and this was the first time in my 49 years that I'd changed a tyre without the help of a Responsible Adult. I faintly glowed (not from chemo drugs for a change) with pride as I washed the dirt and grease off my hands upon my triumphant return home, with the spare wheel still, remarkably, attached to the car.

As I've mentioned in this blog before, 'velcro-ing' the small wins is a habit which can greatly help in times of upheaval and trauma. I'll finish with a further quote from Rosen which explains the practical outworkings of this: