A time of peace.

Dear All,

Everything is going quite well in this interim between treatments. It is just a case of getting strong again for the next operation. In January there will be more scans to determine if the bowel tumor has reacted to the chemo and radiation and to see if anything has spread further. Again my heartfelt thanks to all of you who have helped us so much at this time. The weather is probably the same over the whole of Europe. How pleasant to watch from ones's warm, cosy living room as the little birds starve to death outside. Seriously we are doing all we can. I gave them a peanut yesterday and shall do so again at the end of the week, if I haven't eaten them all by then. We even get seagulls this far inland. A pleasant old-fashioned Sunday. Adam came round for the afternoon and we all played Klaverjas, a dutch card game, and drank port, followed by 3 episodes of The Tudors with Emma and Merel. All a bit decadent, just sitting in front of the TV munching crispy things and quaffing. But nice. Time to be active later. We have all got even closer since my illness and I value the people around me even more than before, especially Merel and Emma. The room lights up when they come into it. We look for each other and are warm together. You don't know which way it can go, so make the best of the time that you have. I wish I had Adam's quiet, inner peace. I have thought about religion but no further than that there may well be something there, but not in any of the forms that vie so cruelly with each other now and in the past. I don't see any of us as important enough to warrant individual treatment from a God, but I do recognise the forces of Good and Evil. And the even more powerful third force, Indifference.

Hoogeweg polled willow

Hoogeweg 34 under snow

Icicles. Hopefully to fall on one

 of those annoying chickens.

Yesterday (Monday) we went to the doctor to have all my metal stitches removed. I was not sure how this would be done. I imagined, since the whole shebang was red raw and very sore that there would be some kind of local anaesthetic such as footballers get when they are writhing around in agony. Then a magic aerosol and they are away again. Forget it. A pair of pliers and a good yank. Some were only mildly excruciating but others sent me almost into squealing stuck-pig mode. The lady didn't give me a lollipop or a balloon because I hadn't been a big boy and almost cried. Whatever happened to that nice embroidery the surgeons used to do that dissolves itself after a few weeks? Anyway, it's done now and presumably it will all heal up nicely. Most disappointed to hear that the greatest danger  to the healing process is a Ricketts Megabath. 3  minutes max, says the doctor, or you could open up like a squashed grape. Not worth  the trouble or the expense of heating up the water. A pleasant evening watching The Charge of The Light Brigade with Emma. Hundreds of men and horses being shredded and disembowelled by shrapnel. Marvellous entertainment. Tuesday, I drove again and enjoyed a pleasant afternoon with Bernadet cruising the re-cycling shops. Not buying much, just looking at old silver pots and stuff. Bought a few more bath books. A have such a pile of cheap thrillers, courtroom drams and detective stories so as to render my eventual access to the bath an official Bath Holiday. I leave you with some modest Art Forms.  

Still life started by Merel,
 finished by Elli

Homework Crejat - Landcape - our garden
 - in pointilism  style of Seurat - Didn't work out

Homework Crejat - Still life

Homework Crejat - Landscape

Our last contribution to the World of Art - This magnificent snow sculpture spotted in Heiloo.






I am now entering a time of rest and recovery before the real operation begins. I feel really good and remain positive that I am going to get out of this trouble. I have too much left to do. Great that I have so many people to look forward to as visitors in January. And again my thanks to all who have helped me through this first phase of my recovery.


Love Spike.

Operational Hazards

Dear Fam and friends,

Firstly, my love and thanks to all of you for your warmth and concern. So many messages, calls and visits, I feel your love from all corners lifting and helping me. It is almost tangible and I am humbled. Thank you.

I am feeling much, much better and sometimes think what a fuss I have been making and maybe it wasn’t so bad looking back. Or maybe it was.

Managed to get my homework done for the Crejat Academie and Merel will take it in while I am indisposed. The task was a landscape using colour perspective in a pointillist style of the post-impressionists. Er…

We decided that as I would be in hospital in a few days, we would have a very quiet Saint Nicolas, with just the four of us. Snow has come upon us, but Bernadet has been keeping our paths free. In deference to my lack of appetite, we decided on a cheese fondue and a little wok for prawns and chinky veggies. It was wonderful. Therafter, we suffered the worlds longest game of Monopoly, about five hours. Bernadet let herself go bankrupt quite quickly, but the stalwarts Merel and Emma would not give in. I had three sides of the board covered in hotels, but still they would negotiate ridiculous deals. It was all great fun, and knowing where I would be in a day or two, very close and emotional.

I have been in the MCA for 6 days, and will try to describe the best moments, but I fear there were few, apart from the visits. My kids know that I always try to dig out the funny side of sober situations for my own amusement, and to give them the stuff by which they measure my state of mind, but without hiding the facts. We arrived on Thursday at 7.am, a hospital being a working factory and operations begin at 8 sharp and there is no need to have someone lying around on holiday for more than an hour before the knives go in. I was actually looking forward to all this as it would give me some respite from the effects of the previous treatments. My irradiated bum was, in places, devoid of skin and could not be sat on, but stuck to my undies and had to be separated from them again with gritted teeth. Worse was the stinging diarrhea. At first I called on the Lord, shouting Jesus Christ over and over again, asking Him to reveal His plan. Later I discovered the technique of counting. All things have a finite time. Only 8 radio sessions to go, only 3 radio sessions to go. The worst acid diarrhea session took a count of 50, so all I had to do was count up to 50 and the burning would be bearable. It works.

Thrust into a room in which a chap of about my age and two women were already established. Things move quickly here as I would find out, and the room would be re-colonised several times before I would leave this place. No time to get acquainted before the curtain is drawn round the bed and a rather stunning Indonesian nurse with a flower in her hair called Eileen (I mean the nurse was called Eileen, not the flower. I was confused as it all went so fast).  She hustled me out of my clothes, dressed me in a little green jacket and asked my birth date. They always ask your birth date to make sure they have the right person. I suggest a photo would be quicker. Then something very odd. Someone loomed over me with a thick green marking pen and said they had to mark an arrow on my belly so that the surgeon would know which kidney to take out. Did I agree that this was the right kidney, as the pen hovered over my right side. I was stunned. I did not know, in all the consultations over the weeks before, which kidney was OK and which had a tumor the size of a grapefruit. I dithered from left to right and the pen dithered with me.  Did he mean right as opposed to wrong, or right as opposed to left, and from my viewpoint the right kidney is on my right, but from his….. Er, I think it’s this one. Well, you have to make a decision don’t you, and time was being wasted looking at valuable watches. It’s a 50/50 thing, and just before I went under from the narcotics, I thought what if they got the wrong one. Er, sorry, we took out the wrong one. But then one doctor says  to another ‘Who made the choice?’ A forest of eyes and a hand with a thick green marker point towards me. Look, I cry, I’m an organ donor, I carry the card. You can give me my own kidney back! It’s a perfect match. Sorry old chap, you’re at the bottom of the list. Could be years…..

And then I woke up. And wished I hadn’t.  This was supposed to be a keyhole operation. Couple of holes and then the tubes with the little chromium robots go in and everybody clusters round the plasma screen while the top cutter shows his skill with the joystick and the offending organ is sucked out through a tube of 4 cm max. Probably done in two hours and you can be back at work after lunch. He explained later that things didn’t go quite as planned because I bled profusely at the first cut, something that could not have been predicted. My blood, my fault. Bernadet had the feeling that there had been a lot of panic in the operation. Anyhoo, I awoke and felt as if I were lying in the desert. My mouth and lips were dry and hard. I could move my arms but when I touched my side, a set of hot needles went through me. I felt a row of fishhooks about 20 or 30 cm long which turned out to be staples, the modern stitch. It all felt like a band-saw blade embedded in me. There were pipes and tubes all over me. One came out of my belly, ‘the drain’,and was leaking unmentionable fluids into my bed and some of it went through the tube into a bag. Two pipes went into my arm, one for sustenance and the other for morphine. The nurse came and said that I could push a button to get a shot of morphine. The button would then be inactive for 5 minutes. Three pipes went into my nose. Two for oxygen, and the third went into my stomach to suck up any fluid. I was not allowed to eat or drink for two days. Another thick rubber tube went over my left thigh, and I lifted it up to see where it went. My willy went up in the air and got longer. Oh god, not that! Not a willy-pipe! Later I would walk around carrying my urine-bag to the wash-room nodding at other patients some of whom were pushing long poles on wheels with multiple bags of fluids going in and out. I lost most of my pipes and bags before I was allowed out of bed. There is a status involved, A one-bag man lowers his eyes and gives way as he defers to a four bag, two pole general strutting past. But that was later. The only comfort for the next day and a half was a little lollipop stick with a small sponge that I could dip into a glass of water to wet my lips which were covered in transparent scales. The male nurse said everything was dry because I was breathing through my mouth and not my nose. I closed my mouth but could not breathe because of all the tubes stuffed up my nostrils. I spent most of my time listening to Talking Books on my I-pod. Particularly Slaughterhouse Five This is the story of Billy Pilgrim, an American soldier in WW2 who is picked up by aliens and then spends the rest of the book going forwards and backwards in time. My I-pod is not working properly, and starts at a different place every time it is re-started. I did not notice as I thought this is just Billy going backwards and forwards in time. When he became the Mayor of Casterbridge I began to suspect. So it goes. I learnt very quickly not to drink any water. I would vomit, and the fishhooks would bite. And the ‘pain-pump’ with its little button that went green when another shot was allowed would be scrabbled for. Actually, the morphine doesn’t stop the pain, it just makes you so stoned that you don’t really care about it. The morphine tube eventually fell out and could not be replaced anyway, by which time I could take normal pain-killers. Washing was a problem when immobile. One stinks of urine and sweat, both with that awful chemo smell, plus all the other stuff that leaks from various pipes. It is not nice to be with oneself, but one is trapped in one's web of tubes. The lovely Eileen asked if I wanted to do my own naughty bits after washing most of me. I told her that I was by this time beyond all embarrassment and what did it matter, as she was watching anyway. Things gradually improved until I could sip water, then soup, yoghurt and finally bread with cheese or meat and, just before I left, full meals. The catering is superb. One just fills up a formula with a wide range of goodies. And it will be wheeled in, hot and delicious. The social life with the other inmates and with ones visitors also improves. I cannot say that all the nursing staff were as nice as Eileen. I complained that the skin was off my bum and one of them put a plastic skin over the area. It was too small, and began to contract inwards and roll up. I told the nurse that it was very painful, so the nurse ripped it off and walked away. I would have hit the roof if I were not tied down with tubes. The old chap next to me was very grateful to borrow my packet of magazines donated by Karolientje and Bauke. Top Gear and Science Magazine on either side of a variety of shady stuff with the accent on scantily clad maidenry. I have had so many visits I cannot thank you all enough for coming to cheer me up, even when it must have been totally boring to just sit there with me zonked out. I jokingly told Adam, who inquired what all the pipes were for, that one was to push extra oxygen up my nose through a little blue sponge. I said that if I put in my ear, I could hear the sea. It kept falling out and needed stuffing up again. Later that night I was rudely awakened and asked to account for the oxygen pipe in my ear. One of the ladies was released, to be replaced by a chap of 95, a lively old boy who looked just like Richard Briars.  He was here for a ‘man’s problem’, the prostate, and was just so full of life. He bellowed against his own willy tube, saying he wanted to pee and would not believe that the bag full of pee was his. He was always hungry, and at the first visit after his op, he ate a hearty meal and then sent his daughter to the snack-bar for meat balls and stuff. Gradually all the pipes disappeared. The last was the willy-pipe, which goes all the way in to the bladder where it is held in place by a little balloon at the end of the pipe. Take a deep breath, count to three and then exhale, said the pretty nurse as she took a firm grip. On 2 she yanked, and my willy went very long and very thin. There was a sound of parting elastic and we were separated. Hoorah!

The morning that I left, a rather frightening near-miss occurred. The doctor had said that I would be prescribed laxative drinks to help me now that I was eating normally but still with a gut tumor causing a partial blockage. My breakfast arrived, and I noticed a plastic bottle on my table where my breakfast tray was placed. That must be the laxative drink. I opened it. It smelled foul. As I went to dink it, I noticed a red square with a round blob with an X under it.  Like a little red pirate flag. I passed the bottle to the girl next to me to read the label as my reading glasses were still in my bag. She said it was a chlorine based cleaning fluid and called the nurse. The nurse said that it was hers and put it back in the chemical cupboard. Silly me, she said and went out again. I dressed very quickly and packed my bag, not without some shaking, and just sat waiting for Bernadet to collect me. Bernadet came with a box of chocolates for the nurses, but there was panic. Someone in the next room needed reviving and everyone was running around. We went to the counter to leave the chocolates for the busy nurses. There a nurse was putting a lot of equipment back into a case. She told another that they had sent to another department for another apparatus, because this one is missing the tube that connects…….. My last impression before leaving was of men and women in white coats looking sheepish and staring at their feet.

Well, I will be back there in a month or so. I will certainly take care, as I hope will the MCA.


One of the weeks highs, a visit by Tony and lovely Elli for a meal and a bit of Ricky Gervais Live. Merel and I had started our homework for the Crejat Academie, a still life. Merel did not get very far, so Elli asked if she could complete it. It is rather good in a pre-raphaelite post-impressionist pointillistic cubist sort of way. I will put a photo here when I get it back from the Crejat. 

Love you all but my fingers are tired. I cannot mention all the many names that have brought me comfort in this time. God bless all of you.


Spike

13-12-2010: He's coming home tomorrow

Hi, I"ve just been told that he's allowed to come home tomorrow. That is if everything goes well coming night.
great, much faster then we expected.
I'' ll collect him at 10 in the morning.
Love Bernadet

12-12-2010 Sunday

I've been to hospital again this morning, together with Emma. Spike is feeling better everyday. They've taken the infusion out and he doesn't need morfine anymore. I'm not sure whether he agrees.
He was sitting in a chair for the first time after the operation.
So he is making good progress. he might be out before next weekend.
Love Bernadet

11-12-'10 saturday

Ít's going well. Spike is feeling a lot better. He is allowed to drink a little bit  and his drain and stomach-tube have been taken out.
He sends his regards to everybody, and is very greatful for all the best wishes etc.
Hopes to be able to write here  himself again soon
Love Bernadet

day after the operation

We've just been to the hospital, and Spike is feeling a bit better. He is making jokes, and asking for his I-pod to listen to e-books, so that is a good sign.
He's getting packed cells (extra blood), because his HB is to low. This will make him probably feel beter as well.
I spoke to the doctor and he says the operation went oke. Only his blood was a bit thin, maybe coursed by the chemo?
Anyway, The kidney-cancer  is gone now. So that is good news.
Love Bernadet

Dear all,

Just a quick note,
The operation was succesfull.
 It toke a bit more time than planned, and was not laparascopic, Spike is just out of the recovery room back to the normal hospital room. Still very sleepy and pale.
I don't know any details yet. Hope to know more after the docter has been, tomorrow morning.
Love Bernadet

Dear all,

And especially the lovely people of Feltham. And in particular my wonderful granddaughter Emmah.

Landscape with 3 inch brush and maximum 10 minutes - actually 8.25

Sorry Emz that I haven't posted anything. I was waiting for some good news, but have little to share. When I started this blog, I told you that I would be honest in how I was doing. I hope one day to be able to look back and say 'Wow, did I actually get through that?' I'm not sure whether I would read it back. It's just a horror story. This week has been the worst of my life. I had hoped that, with the end of the radiation and chemo that things would improve, but I had been warned that they would get worse before they got better. I have until Dec 9 to build up my strength to have a kidney removed. If I am not well enough the operation has less chance of success, or may be postponed. Postponement is not a good choice, as this thing could start to spread itself at any moment. The bowel tumor should be ok for a while with the massive radio and chemo, but neither of these have any effect on kidney cancer which can only be dealt with by tin-opener and reversed-pronged fork. I live now in a very narrow world, somewhere between acute discomfort and real pain. When I started this treatment, I was full of bravado. I can take it, bring it on. Let’s see where the men are! Stiff upper lip, we British chaps, what! Now it is not so easy. I could face the uncertainty and the danger, but it is hard when that is coupled with this appalling nausea and stinging acid diarrhea and the awful pain that brings, sometimes every few minutes. If you’re going to get cancer, and one in three of you will, please don't get this one! At night I think of fields and flowers, trees and mountains. People running and laughing.  All that is now the unreal. What is real is a world of chemicals, embarrassment, nausea and just hanging on. For some reason, the Astronauts Poo now makes me sick, but it is in fact the best thing for me and I can't take the stuff anymore. I went down from 84 to 71 kilos in two or three weeks, surviving on bananas and cornflakes. Thinks are looking a bit better today (Thursday Dec 2). Tuesday was a great day. Merel and I did our homework for the Crejat Academie and these are truly magic moments. I have missed two weeks but Merel faithfully takes notes and does the work. I include a picture of Merel's fish. Task - paint a fish with a big brush and with a minimum of brushstrokes. I also like her 'Apple with minimum brushstrokes but showing the structure in the technique.' These are 3 second paintings and I love them.

The homework project was 'A landscape using a 3 inch brush in 10 minutes max. Mine took just over 8. I quite like it, but I am not sure what it actually is. Blue and green mountains with some fog in between or perhaps the sea is in the sky. With only 10 minutes there is not a lot of thinking. I can't wait to get back to the lessons myself, but that will take a while. We haven't been out with the horse; I'm not really up to that yet. Spent an afternoon of peace and contentment with Irene drinking tea with honey. Just needed oranges that come all the way from china. Fighting her own battle with cancer, but still with so much over to give to others. If I get through this, I will owe much to the inspiration and love that radiates from this courageous lady. 

Back to the morbid, and forgive me if my humour is a bit on the black side at the moment.....I have not thought about death in any sense of fear, but from a practical point of view, one does not want to leave a mess for others, things that should have been signed, won't happen but just case etc. I had a dream about my own funeral and it shocked me, not that I were dead but because of the music they played - 'Country Roads', 'Me and Bobby McGee',  Mr Bo Jangles' and 'Amazing Grace'. In 1975 I met a young lady called Grace in the Leidseplein who was known as Amazing Grace. Enough said. Anyhoo, let it be known that Julie Miller singing 'All my tears' and anything by Kieran Halpin will be grand. It won't happen, but just in case. I remember the funeral of Cliff Jackson, all gospel and nearer my god to thee. Just what he hated. Pink Floyd and Thin Lizzy, was his own choice, but not allowed.

I thought I should make a will, but I have nothing much to leave except my mortgage and there won't be a fight for that. I tried to write a formal stuffy English Last Will and Testament of....but it came out as Last Willy and Testicles of...... 

I have gained weight! I still look like shit in the mirror, but I could get work in the theatre while my appearance is not so hot. John of Gaunt in Richard II perhaps, or a member of Davy Jones crew in Pirates of the Caribbean. The radiation has left a huge dark area around my nether regions which I hope will be gone before next summer when I get out my surfboard and Speedo.  A dark circle over my bum. 'Inspector, there’s a bare-arsed streaker! Shall I arrest him sir?' 'Let him go, sergeant. Looks like he censored himself'.  Unfortunately the dark area extends under and over the last will and testicles. Like a cluster of little aubergines. Good heavens, what a load of crap I do write! I hope not too many people read this outside the fam! Anyway Emmah and Ruth  and all, thanks for all your love and messages on Bookface. And love to Hilde and Michelle. Sorry I can't always get to the phone or stay on it too long. Your love warms me.

Gotta go. See you after the op next week.

Bye 

 XXXXXXXX


Friday Dec 3


This has been a great, great day! I have not had a single bout of dire straights all day, nor have I crept under a blanket. This morning I drove Emma to school in Bernadet's car (she having entrained to Nijmegen for a meeting for Very Important Personell about matters of Great Moment), charged up the battery on my elderly Ford Ka, put a new draught-excluder on the back door, sorted out my Crejat Academie project book, and ATE STUFF.
Did more shoppping, ATE MORE STUFF. Stayed out of bed all day and got on with things. And to crown it all, went to Irene's for dinner and enjoyed a wonderful meal. Rice, Chinese veggies and rakes of enormous prawns. Followed by blackcurrent yoghurt. 2 days ago I could not have looked at a photo of this. Today I was HUNGRY. O joy! I feel a bit gutty at the moment, probably because my entrails are saying 'Whoa, is this what we think it is? Looks and tastes and smells like FOOD. Anyone know how to deal with this stuff; it's been a while.....'
But if I have to take a step back to get another two forward, then thats just fine. I feel GOOD.


PS I do so worry about the five-headed fly back at the MCA. Can't fly anymore, just rolls around on his eyes like a blackberry. 

Dear Reader, wherever you may be. Welcome to my unwholesome and malodorous blog.

The most stunning Tallulah Pixie

It is friday evening November 19 2010. And that, dear reader, means that I have only 5 more sessions of the radiotherapy and the vile chemo pills to go. A bonus is that Dr Proton has allowed me to forego my weekend chemo because of the dastardly effect it has upon me. You have probably got enough for an elephant or two washing around in there, he says. Just one more week and I am free of both these horrors. What happens next, we shall see when it comes, but just to have got through this stage will be marvellous. I like Dr Proton very much, he is a man of humour. He wants to see me again in four weeks. To see if I am still alive? If you fail to turn up we may have to draw some regretable conclusions, he says with a smile. He seems quite pleased with things, but I would say that anyway, wouldn't he. Where have you been I hear you cry out as one man. Probably because you are actually just one man (or woman). This last week or so I have been suffering from the most dreadful Dire Straights. So thin it makes water look like glue. Only it stings like sulphuric acid as it passes the still smouldering tumour and over the effects of the Beam. Dr Proton has pills which nust be used with care. Take one and see what happens. It should coagulate things nicely, else take another after two hours and so on. We are not in a beutiful turd competition he says. Just get a bit of solidity and that will relieve the pain. I took one pill and am totally constipated. Er, Doctor......

While under The Machine I try to read the maker's plate to pass the time while being zapped. Unfortunately, it is all umlaut, so I try to think up my own. How about The Bainbridge Better Bottom Burner. Bi-directional Beams Burn Both Buttocks into a Black, Bitumenous, Blubbery, Blistered Batter.  I pointed out my fear to the Machine Priestess that I had accute dire straits and could not be held responsible for this million euro beamer. She said all risks were covered as they always put a sheet of shiny paper under me, A3 I believe. I said that a kiddies paddling pool or a rubber life-raft might afford better insurance. I could then be carried away by four strong nurses to the showers. Or the car-wash.

Better MCA Changing room mirrors - design submission

Because I have been relatively static, I have few experiences to share that do not involve the MCA or my toilet. But some highlights, mainly so that I can read this all back when this bad dream is over. Tuesday was the start of a series of Bad Bowel Days.We had Boerenkool, a dutch delight made from mashed potato and kale with a chopped smoked sausage thrown in. The price was more than I could bear, and I have resolved to live only on astronauts Poo and bananas.  Not much happened on Thursday. Oh yes, The Blood Donor. Thanks to Stef's Emma I have zillions of episodes of Hancock's Half Hour, and my favorite is The Blood Donor. I had to give blood and sat next to a very nervous old man. (I still don't think of myself as old!). He sat on the edge of his seat and sagged back with relief when his name wasn't called. He shuddered when people came out with patches of gauze with a little drop of blood on their arms. We were called in together. He began to shake and had to be helped in by the nurse. Why they always say 'here it comes' I'll never know. It doesn't hurt at all. But for this poor chap it was all to much. At the third flinch he whirled his arm around and swept test-tubes, plasters, gauzes, pencils, thermometers and all kinds of medical parafinelia onto the floor. I scrunched my way out to the taxi.

Last friday was a great day, I managed to get to the Crejat Acedemie, and with Merel we did some heroic work. Merel is super enthusiastic and shows a lot of talent. And we make a great team. I almost fell off my stool with laughter when the friendly Chinese girl spoke to me. We make jokes about the way they speak and transpose the 'L' and the 'R' (or at least, Sara does- why you no rissen to me. I want flied lice). But I never heard it in life and never in Dutch. She put her hands on my shoulders and said over and over again that I needed lots of lust. I was quite astonished - she is about 25 and very beautiful, and I am an ageing git. What she meant of course was 'rust', the dutch word for rest. 

The weekend was uneventful, apart from the final Formula 1 race of the year. My man Mark Webber did not do well and brat Vettel became World Champion. I am going to follow Curling next year. I did miss out on Irene's Teardrop Cafe, an event where anyone can bring an instrumenet and perform in her house. Many musicians turned up and by all accounts it is all a great success. I have been feeling so queezy of late that I feared I might grab a saxophone to vent my nausea into. Hopefully when the player was blowing and not....When I am better I shall certainly attend.

Jon Strong phoned on wednesday and that cheered me up enormously. There is a good chance that he can arrange a gig in Mulligans or somewhere around the new year. 

Monday I was delivered to the radiation centre by taxi. The driver complained the whole time about what an awful hospital the MCA is. He signed himself out and went to Leiden to get proper treatment. Oh no, those butchers don't get slices of me etc etc. I was already feeling sick, but all the details about his skin cancer ('came off in handfuls like wet, red sponges it did') were really making it worse. I had my hand on the glove compartment handle. Well I had to protect my trousers in the event of.... We pulled up outside the door to Radio Therapy and I fell out of the taxi and heaved up into a pot of geraniums. The driver looked at me crossly as I groaned on all fours because he had to reach over to close my door. He said 'Have a nice day' and zoomed away. 

The rest of Monday and Tuesday I stayed in bed. Apart from the trips to the MCA. Where I got some funny looks from the other people in the waiting room. I am reading a P.D. James Dalgliesh story. A Taste for Death. On Wednesday Stef was due to arrive. I told her to phone me from the station and I would take the risk of driving the short trip. I locked up. The car wouldn't start because the interior light was still on. Never mind, I have a spare battery in the shed. Which is locked. And the key is in the house. Which is locked. I shuffled to the station and Stef and Jasmine assisted me in shuffling back again. We got in by osmosis, or rather by tapping on Opa's window. When the taxi arrived, we all went outside and closed the front door. I asked the driver if it was ok if Stef and Jas came along. It wasn't, so Stef and Jas went back to the house. Which was locked. And Opa had gone out. Stef said never mind, there are lots of shop windows on the other side of the road that we missed on the way upand they could look into them. The keys were, of course, still in the unstartable car. Sorry Stef. I wish that we could have done more if I had not been so unwell. You can't imagine how much strength you give me just by being here.

Today (Friday Nov 19) I couldn't make the Crejat, but Merel went for me and took notes. Now we are on to painting proper. Our homework is a 'landscape' which we shall both attempt. The Urology department says that my kidney removal operation has been pencilled in for Dec 21. Merry Christmas!

Breakfast at Stiffany's

Late news! I have received a personal and intimate letter from TV star Linda de Mol. At the top it says 'Dear Friend, wherever you may be ... and at the bottom there is drawing of a pair of scissors with the words 'Please cut along dotted line'. It seems that I have been selected by the fair Linda as a possible candidate for 'Hunt the Millions' in which, by great skill in opening brief cases held by 25 girls with a combined IQ of 25, one may walk home with 5 million euros. It's just a question of  deciding when to stop. Most candidates walk away with 1 or two hundred thousand. Whatever you get, the confetti and balloons descend and Linda says 'What will you do with all this money? A boat, a house, a world trip?' 'No Linda, I've got my eye on a set of Titanium Entrails'.

Not much else to say, but I have been shuffling around the garden with my tiny camera, so leave you with some pics.

Love from Dad
and the four-headed fly

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Half Way

Dear Diary, or whatever this silly blog is supposed to be....

Lovely to hear you Sara and to know that you are ok. Only I still don't know what the problem was. Do you? I could have asked Joe when I called him. I said that I was your dad. He seemed confused. You know, Sara's dad? He said  - Who? Eventually he sorted out which Sara we both had in common. He assured me that you must be ok because you had just delivered his lunch. That is really romantic! Do you put it in one of those tin containers that look like a little pirate's treasure chest? I can imagine all those other tough firemen gathering round to see if tiny notes tied in ribbons have been inserted. Come on Joe, open up that sandwich! Bet the cheese is trimmed into a heart-shape! Great to know you are well, er, well. Adam, I shall write back as soon as possible, but I need to get my head a bit straight, during that window between one fistful of chemo-pills and the next. Drivel come easy when you are on all this stuff like being chemo-stoned, but I need to think clearly about what you have said.

The taxi service is still not functioning smoothly. Thursday they picked me up two hours late. They had gone to the wrong entrance, whispered my name 3 times, said fuck it and gone home. It was apparently all my fault for not realising that I was supposed to shuffle my way through miles of corridor to the main entrance, instead of waiting by the 'Radiology Taxi Pick-up Point' sign.

Friday.
Merel went with me to the Crejat in case anything nasty should happen to me. My homework earned praise and not one teensy might-have-been-better-if comment. I think the Master has taken a shine to Merel. He said that I had a very special daughter, which I assured him was not news. I asked if it was alright that two of us were in the class for the price of one. He said that Merel was his guest, and her being in the class was nothing to do with me. He then took her away to the wet-room to teach her how to use spray-cans for graffiti. She will be off this weekend with a gang of teenies to help Toni and Elli decorate the school-room. The lesson went well and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, which came as a great surprise to me because I have always spelt it immensly, but F7 never lies.
Afterwards to the hospital for the last burn of the week. 13 down and 15 to go. Almost halfway. All downhill now, or maybe uphill. Anyway, nothing to do about it, just get it over with. Or as they say in the radiology room where there is a special chair to put your underpants, known as the underpants chair - 'Grin and bare it'.  Off to the chemo man for a progress report. He seemed surprised and quite pleased when I sat down. Often they can´t sit down at this stage he told me. That radio treatment combined with the chemo does things to your buttocks that render sitting down an option not for the faint hearted. And sometimes your feet and hands start to go red and you can´t touch anything because it hurts. Not always. But often. Quite often. Mostly though, but not 100%. Possibly.  Thanks Doc. So let me get this straight. You maybe can´t stand and you maybe can´t sit. And maybe you need soft padded gloves in case you touch things. If these things come to pass I shall encase myslf up to the neck in a huge plastic balloon filled with helium. They can take me to the hospital every day floating on the end of a string. Heart shaped would be nice. Did we have any questions? I said that when I lie under the machine, I hear all kinds of zapping noises, like Luke Skywalker shooting down Tie Fighters with laser cannons. Is it making photo scans, and how is everything looking on the inside? No, the Machine does not scan or make photos, it only sends a stream of particles at a quarter light speed. How was my blood, Doc? Down a bit on the krumfkopf scale, but these things can go either way, so it's probably about what we would expect, and if not, we always expect the unexpected, so no surprises there. All in all, he seemed quite happy that I can still sit down and have refused the anti-vomit pills. Without scans and photos, we'll only know at the end of the treatment. Well, none of this is happening yet, and maybe won´t happen at all. I do notice that I can´t play the guitar very well, but some would say that I never could. Not to be able to paint would be a bummer.

Saturday.
Merel, Thijs, Shelley and Marco are off to Tony and Elli to do a bit of graffiti. Feeling hungry, I go to the fridge to select one of the two flavours of astronauts poo. There is a large plastic bag full of little writhing wormlike things. Good heavens, that chemo has other side-effects not warned about. It turns out not to be hallucinations but mosquito larvae, food for Merel's angel fishes. Later I am informed by Merel that there is no way that these things will turn into mosquitos. The fish will hunt them down. To the recycle shop and found great books for just a couple of euros. Dylan Thomas, complete poems. And Leonardo da Vinci's note books on painting. There are six chapters in here just about light and shade, and many on painting the pupil of the eye to get  a proper expression. Good heavens! And Velasquez and Degas to add to my collection. Went shopping with Bernadet, and treated myself to a new watch for my birthday. The last one cost 19.75 from the Hema and disintegrated after only 2 years. Deciding to go up-market, we went to a real watch shop and paid no less than 39.95, but I thought quality is worth paying for, and this one also has 'water resistant' on the face and can tell you which day of the month it is.

Sunday.
Watched the rather exciting F1 race in Brazil. I mean, the race was in Brazil, I just saw it on the telly. Unfortunately my man Mark Webber only came second, the brat Vettel winning it. 'Ah it voz vair nice to has vun dis race. Ah hem vair prode'. However, by winning and not letting his team-mate Webber through, he has almost certainly ensured that neither of them will be world champion in the last race of 2010 next week. That will now go to Alonso of Ferrari, who now only has to come second in the last race. Curses.
Stayed up late to watch the football on BBC2. Got bitten by a mosquito. And then my left foot started to tingle and a burning sensation spread over my sole (but not my soul). Fortunately, my other foot remained quite unaffected and I could hop around the room quite happily. Like the curate's egg, parts of me are excellent. This sensation later went away, but I get the occasional twinge in my hands. Decided to sleep downstairs on the couch as Bernadet needs her sleep and I am restless. She has been working very hard to give a presentation and course that will be attended by Important People. But every time I closed my eyes, a zooming and whining of little wings and a pin-prick on my face or neck. Either the angel fish are not hungry or these bastards managed to hide somewhere and complete their life-cycles.

Monday.
14 out of 28. The halway point and then the operations can begin. I have lost a bit of weight but I was getting a bit podgy of late. I have been running out of trousers that I could safely wear without a popping of buttons and that awful sensation when a zip jumps the rails and you can't get both halves to mesh properly again. I kept all the 34's, then the 36's and when the 38's got a bit tight I was faced with an oncoming 40 waist and no trousers to clothe it with. Thank heavens I didn't dump them. Now I have have a trouser mine in my wardrobe!
Emma is in exam week and doing really well. She has acquired a taste for sociology and is highly inquisitive of all things political and there are lively debates at the dining table. Almost forgot, I must be mad. I went to seek out Merel for our Walk with the Horse, and found her riding in the sand arena behind the stables. Whatever posessed me in my state of health, but I just had to ride. Bit of a struggle getting on, but such a joy to feel this lovely animal under me. We didn't canter or gallop of course, that would really shake things up! I had the feeling that she stepped much more carefully than usual. She really is very sweet. The only problem was that I had a hard job getting her to go the way I wanted her to go, she kept turning her head to see where Merel was and trying to get back to her. Those two are really very close.

Tuesday.
Not much to report, except that for the first time, the Machine is operated not by two girls, but by one girl and a MAN. Or rather a youth. He looked, in his white coat, like a butcher's apprentice. Best end of neck and two lamb chops. Anything else Madam? I found this very intimidating. Especially the painting bit. He was obviously a trainee because the girl kept saying 'No, no not like that, the gizmoid goes down until the sproggle goes left and pushes the pokkeldoggle to green'. I thought 'This oaf is going to fry me by accident'. And I remember once, when I was a little more spry than of late that I had vaulted onto the table of the Machine in only my T-shirt and lain down with my head on the pad, lifted up my T-shirt and crossed my arms over my chest as required (this must distress some people, having to lay on this slab as if you were already in your coffin) when it came to pass that my willy was not pointing south in a horizontal way, but was laying, willy-nilly on my belly like a basking seal, and covering one of the fading lines that needed to be touched up with a silver acetate paint job for the Machine to focus on. A dilemma for all of us. The girls simply combined their brushes like chop-sticks and I was delicately lifted and set down again like a king prawn in a sweet-and-sour stir-fry. How would this lad handle such a delicate situation? A back-hander? Or beat it into place with a knotted towel? The lady of the two said that it would take longer today because the Machine needs to take some scans and photos. But the Doctor said the Machine doesn't do photos or scans, just party things at the speed of light..... Well there's doctors for you, old chap. They don't know it all, do they? See you later. And they run for cover as the warning buzzer sounds that it is not safe to be near me and the bunker door slams. The three-headed fly is just too late again.
Back home and a relaxing bath. But Merel has really loud music on and I can't get into my P.D.James book. Every time I raise my head to remonstrate with her, the music level dies down, and returns as I lie down. I work out that because all the outside walls are at 45 degrees upstairs, the sound is bounced down off the tiles and into the bath where it goes round and round. It's like trying to read a book in a church bell on Sunday morning. I wonder what the time is and look at my new watch on the toilet seat but it's all steamed up under the glass. Even the words 'Water-Resistant' are invisible. Bollocks.

Enough of this nonsense. Blame it on the pills. One very late entry in the worst stoma joke section. From ex-colleague Kathy. Don't worry, she says keep positive and 'Thumbs Up'. And adds 'Up What'.

Bye and Love to you all.

Stef, I am counting the days. Let me know a day or two before so that we can spray some Dettol into a spare room. The holiday house is now closed for the winter.

Dear all,

I had not intended to post again until after the meeting on friday with the chemo man, but the news of Sara really shook me up. As I write she is back home and I have just spoken to her. Couldn't get through for ages until a moment of clarity pierced my fast aproaching senility and I remembered that she lives in Canada rather than London. Was a bit out of touch for half a day as my virus scanner keeps trying to protect me from potentially dangerous software, like Windows, Outlook Express, Bookface, Google, Internet explorer etc. We all take for granted that we are reasonably healthy and that nothing much will change, that we'll just get older (hopefully). Then some heart-rending news about one's child. I was fortunate in that I only came to learn of it when I read the 'Don't panic, I'm out of hospital and feeling a bit better' message. All the same, a dark shadow crossed my soul. Good job I'm on the beta-blockers! On friday we have a meeting with the chemo man. I'm not sure what he will be able to tell us. I can tell him that his medicine is making me feel like throwing up quite often, but that's nothing compared with the treatment meted out by Dr Proton. His Particle Accelerator must attack the tumour at a specific angles, avoiding all kinds of glands, ducts, sacs, bladders, squishy little organs and bits that go yoinngg when you stretch them. There are few perfect paths, and it feels like someone is using my bum to stub out cigars. Anyway, I hope his info will be a little more informative and more positive. But, like Marvin (we all watched Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy last night) I expect more of the same. Can go either way, you lose some and you lose some. For every door that closes to you, somewhere else another door is also closing etc etc. Seriously, I am in good heart, else I wouldn't be wasting my time on this crap. But I was shit scared about you, Sara. I am sure Joe will keep us all up to date. He sounds like a good man to have around, especially now. I also got a bit emotional in the week when I thought, happily wrongly, that another friend and ex-colleague was in trouble. There have been to so many going down from the old firm.

I am wearing my Icebreaker Bodyfit, a fantastic clinging T-shirt thing made of Merino wool. From Carolien for my birthday. It has a 'Baa-code' which you can enter on the internet and see which New Zealand sheep produced the wool. I tried it, but you can only get down to which ranch. One of about 2000000 sheep. A super prezzie though. Another very impressive present came from the very talented Michelle. This is a fish made of clay. It is very light, being a thin layer of clay over a polystyrene ball, hardened and painted. Gorgeous. I shall remember to include a photo. More of Michelle's art at http://www.madebymi.nl. I also show this lovely fish next to a vase of flowers left for us by Irene. I do so love creative people.

Not a bad week. I am now at 11 out of 28, more than a third of the way, although the chem goes on 10 days longer. I got a call from the hospital Urology department. Was I the guy that needed a fifty percent reduction in the kidney department? When was I thinking of having it? Like a month ago perhaps, but now I'm having something else, like chemo and radiation. Oh, really? I'll just make a note of that then. Would you feel up to it, lets say, um, middle of December. It was all like being measured for a new suit. Er, the blue chalk-stripe I think. And an extra pair of trousers. I might throw up on the first pair, or even worse. Good Lord, I don't know what I'll feel up to a month from now.  Bernadet arranged a taxi for me today, paid for by the health insurance. I could drive but the car insurance company would wriggle out if anything happened. Even if I got hit by a drunk. The taxi came an hour early, but fortunately I had a book. This turned out to be a great disappointment. I enjoyed Lord of the Flies, but Golding´s The Spire was most irritating. A Cathedral Dean has a vision around 1150 a.d. of a new spire, 400 feet high. The builder tells him it can´t be done because the foundations are not strong enough. Max 150 feet he says. The Dean says trust in God and The Vision. Up and up goes the spire, each page consisting of the builder warning of disaster and the Dean urging him on. Almost on the last page, the spire reaches 400 feet. And starts to collapse. Does it collapse? What happens next? We'll never know. The End. Well, bollocks I cry, but nobody in the waiting room has heard the word before. And then I am called. Two really pretty ladies today, and, owing to my abandoning of all the rules and having multiple baths since yesterday, my lines must be completely restored in iridium ink. as lovingly as a Rembrandt. Even the embaraasing ones down in the bushy area. I can only see the backs of the blonde heads and feel the brushstrokes. What was it Cris said? Think straight. No, no, think limp. Ah yes cabbages. Think of cabbages. But on a deserted island a lonely man could be attracted to a cabbage. Good Lord, what if you erected into the path of the Particle Beam? A scream and a sizzle. Instead I watch two flies crawling up the wall. Only it isn't two flies but one fly with two heads. Been trapped in here too long. Only 17 more doses! I say goodbye to the ladies and back to the changing room. I always look in the mirror and notice that I look quite well. After that I go to the bogs for a pee, because I have to drink gallons of water to ensure that my bladder is firm and round and not like a flat ballon getting in the way of the beam. In that mirror I look like shit. The one in the changing room is bronzed and the light is golden. I shall suggest that they change it for a grey mirror and a green lamp. That way we will be cheered up and not horrified when we next see ourselves. Tried to call the taxi to get me home, but so was everyone else and the lines were blocked. Called Emma and I rode back behind her on the scooter, leaving millions of people in the waiting room cursing the taxi service.

Another high spot of the day, a walk in the lanes with Merel and Katinka. There is something reassuring about holding her close, even though she farts, smells quite strongly and often shits on the street. Katinka, on the other hand, is always well-behaved.

I sometimes wonder why I do this blog. Once I start it all come flowing out like verbal diarrh.. er.. but its just the effect of the sodding pills.
Stef, I'm overjoyed that you and Jazz are coming.
Sara, get well and stay well. I'll call you on thursday.

Love you all
Dad

Birthday

Hi Kids and family.

Friday: The day starts on a very high note. Emma comes in with a tray of tea, orange juice and two huge slices of cakes that she has baked for my birthday. 

Not a great deal to report really except the weekly report from Dr Proton and the fact that it today is my birthday and I am 68. Good lord, that is really old! Many thanks for all the kind messages on Bookface, cards, prezzies, phone calls etc. At the hospital, they always ask your date of birth, to check that they have the right folder and plastic card. '29/10/1942? What a coincidence, that's today!' Not Happy Birthday or anything. Happy Coincidence to me! I have now had 8 of the 28 doses under the cosmic cannon, which means I am more than 25% through. By monday week I will be half-way. I count down every day. Monday will be 9/28, Tuesday 5/14, etc. Because we had a weekly meeting with Dr Proton after the radiation, I was given a folder to take to the doctor. This is the first time that have been able to do the walk of shame from the Machine to the changing room without my naughty bits on show. Past the windows where the young ladies drink coffee and pretend to shuffle x-ray photos. Damn! He's got a folder, we can't see anything! This doesn't count as a turn, you got to let us back in on Monday or we want our money back! I took a long time changing so that I could look through the folder. I wish I hadn't. It was full of diagrams and cross-sections with lots of arrows and dismal notes in red ink. The treatment is making it's presence felt though, and as Dr Proton points out, it is accumulative, so the effects of yesterday and the day before are still there and the rest gets piled on top. Ouch! Still, it's only four weeks. After that there will be a rest period for me to recover before gut surgery. In that period, they may well remove my kidney, but as Dr. Proton is just a molecule man, he didn't know what was happening over at Urology. I did point out that at the start of all this we heard about teams, common goals and strategies, planning, synchronisation etc etc. He said that everybody had the idea that hospitals run like clockwork, but well, you know, it's actually all a bit, er, ...He offered to ring Urology for us to ask what was happening in their court, or maybe we could perhaps go there ourselves. Bernadet said we would go there ourselves, directly  after this meeting. I asked how he thought things are with me. He said these things can go either way and you can never tell how it will go and everybody is different and we all hope for the best result, but lap of the Gods etc. Straight from the hip, lucid and to the point, no bullshit. Thus reassured and positive, we strode towards Urology. Or rather Bernadet strode and I shuffled, until a severe attack of the squits came upon me and I had to dodge from one toilet to another like a commando advancing towards the target from cover to cover. Every bog in the east wing, and not one window or ventilator between them. We think he went that way, Captain. We won't need the dogs. At Urology it took a while to find my data. 29/10/1942. Just another coincidence. Bernadet told the lady that I needed a kidney operation in the second week of December. She said there was nothing in the planning yet, these things can go either way, but they would let us know within two weeks.

Back home to work on my Crejat homework, the Washing Line and to prepare for a somewhat subdued and restricted-access birthday do. I hope I don't fall asleep during the festivities. Actually it went rather well. In the afternoon Tineke, Wisse and little Julius came by as they could not come in the evening. What a sweet child that is, singing his heart out! The party went much better than expected and I managed to keep awake until the end. Many thanks to Michelle, Ruth, Karollien, Carolien, Desiree and Jan, Emile, Tony, Thijs, Marco and all the Sprenkeling family for a great evening. And for all the prezzies. Things went a bit wrong when poor Tony, a bit skint right now, came with an enormous pan full of boiled rice as a present, probably the last food in his house. Bernadet said the chickens would love it, they are crazy about rice. Tumbleweed moment.

Anyway, no more radio till Monday, and we are now off to an Arty Thingy in Bergen.

The Washing Line - Crejat Homework 1 of 3 Week 7

See you all soon,

Love Dad