Tuesday Sept 28


How do you like my new 16x16 off-roader?

Today I learned that I had cancer. I knew it already, and accepted it with calm resignation. ‘Disappointed’ I thought to myself, but for Bernadette it was a tragic blow. I had been losing blood for a long time and had visited my doctor several times. She assured me that it was haemorrhoids, which I had also had, and this was an example of an ‘inside’ version of the complaint. Not being able to pee, a most uncomfortable condition eventually brought her to actually have a rummage in there with her latex glove. She did not feel, or mention, the swelling that I knew was there. Blood tests proved, she said, that I had no trace of cancer. Unless the test for that of the prostate is exclusive to the prostate. Things got worse and she had another go, saying that the swelling was not there before but was now, but cancer, no way, but to be on the safe side she would send me to the hospital for a check. The pain was now persistent, like walking around with a pineapple or a cactus up the jacksy and the whole business was taking over my life, and disturbing further my erratic sleep pattern.

At the hospital, a beautiful blonde girl of about 22 asked embarrassing questions, then to my horror, got out the latex gloves and demanded my underwear and a submissive posture. Not again! And please not her! She should be out working as an actress or a photographic model, not sticking her finger up old men’s bottoms! Our relationship died before it had a chance to blossom. She agreed that it was probably nothing, but that endoscopy would be needed to confirm. Being an educated person, I worked out that an endoscope was a microscope for the end. Sent home with a large packet of diabolical laxative. Two litres of this evil mixture to be drunk within 6 hours together with another two litres of water. And no food or drink other than tea for around 48 hours. And wait for the ‘Great Deluge’.

With Bernadette the following day for the business. Bit disappointed to see that we were sent to Oncology, but probably just because they had the right equipment for Rectal Research. Popped into bed with just a t-shirt and wheeled into a room full of equipment, a towel over the naughty bits. A long black eel-like thing lay coiled up in a washing-up bowl full of liquid with rising bubbles, and the TV screens all around the table showed bubbles rising as in an aquarium. And bits of a long black eel thingy. The doctor arrived and apologised for being late. I turned towards him and my towel fell over the side, beyond reach.   I said that he had nothing to apologise for as I hadn’t got much on today. Not even a towel. A needle was pressed into my arm which they said would send me to sleep. I had read in the leaflet that the not-so-flexible eel had to make two right-hand turns, and this could be ‘uncomfortable’.  The nurse applied a handful of freezing cold gel to my exposed bottom and picked up the eel. The televisions came to life and the image of the room whirled around. I got up onto one elbow to show that I was wide awake and that the anaesthetic had not kicked in, and maybe it was too soon for ... on the screen a pair of buttocks raced towards me like that bit in 2001 ‘through the light years to infinity’ as the spaceship flashes into hyper drive. Or the scene in War of the Worlds when the Martian’s long searching camera probes for humans amongst the ruined buildings. The thought changed abruptly to recollections of the mighty piston of the 1712 Thomas Newcomen Steam engine in the Science Museum, and we were in. The last thing I remember was that the camera stopped at an unpleasant looking primitive cave-painting on the tunnel wall, the doctor muttered something like ‘Merciful Heavens’ and I was asleep. Bernadette woke me up and a nurse brought a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, which was devoured in milliseconds. Food again!

Back to the doctor who was not encouraging. He said that he would normally wait for tests on the tissue. I did not know that the camera had teeth, and was glad that I zonked out rather quickly. In this case it was certain, he said, what the results would be and that we must pass directly to the next phase, an MRI scan tomorrow and a CT scan on Friday to ‘see what there was to see’.

Bernadette says how can I be so cheerful in the face of all this, consoling crying kids and making jokes about it all being a ‘pain in the arse’ etc. Possibly because in my heart I knew it was there and because there is no point in getting down about it. Make the most of everyday now and hope that it can be solved, but don’t let it spoil things today both for myself and my family. Play the ball as it lies, say the Rules of Golf. Play the cards you are dealt, says Poker-Online.

My real fear is that things will be harder for Bernadette, with her father getting older and with perhaps myself and Irene being unwell. I have been thinking about two people this evening. Irene is walking again, albeit with a crutch. A lady of immense strength and courage. Everybody gave up on her. Except Irene. She got out of her bed and into a wheelchair, and from that to a walker, and now she is taking long trips on crutches, even standing for a time without them. She never had a doubt about getting herself out of her problem. Her progress is called miraculous, but miracle or not, it comes from within. The other is poor Koen Bezemer, a colleague at Otra who sadly did not survive, but whose humour stayed with him to the end. I wrote to him and said that should anything like this ever happen to me, I hoped that I would show the same bravery in the face of dire misfortune, but would probably not be half the man that he was. I hope not to have to put it to the test. I have been to so many funerals and cremations of friends and colleagues lately, all for cancer. At the last funeral there was a muttering of “who’s next?” “Me probably”, I joked. A word of advice. Never make jokes at funerals.  

Tomorrow I shall return for the MRI scan, and have been a tube of something to squirt up my bum. It translates as ‘Instant Enema’ or ‘Power Poo’ or something. I shall certainly look forward to that!

Wednesday Sept 29 

I am writing this while waiting for the useless Instant Enema do its work, but nothing is happening. I offered to cut the grass, but Bernadette said it might be an idea to keep close to the toilet as it could makes itself felt at any moment. Well, it doesn’t seem to be doing anyth….er, sorry, I gotta run.

Off to the hospital again. Getting to know my way around here. Taken into a cubicle where I am thankfully asked to part only with my trousers and anything metal. Apart from the wedding ring, which is not affected by the magnetic waves. I hope we weren’t sold cheap rings with an iron core; else my finger is going to cook quite easily. Onto the stretcher where a pair of headphones are offered, and would I like Radio 538 or perhaps some Beatles? Apparently the device makes a lot of noise. A panic button is placed in my hand and I am drawn head first into the biggest microwave oven in the world. Lie still for half an hour. Press the button if ‘anything happens’. What could possibly happen in here? Music not to my taste? Oven too hot? I settled down to listen to the music, but an enormous foghorn sound emanated from the bowels of the machine, and continued to wail up and down the low octaves until the sound mercifully stopped and  my half-hour was up.

Tomorrow our house will be invaded by millions of relatives for Opa’s 84th birthday. I don’t think I could face all the aunts and uncles and hangers-on with all the details. I shall wish him a happy birthday and depart for the golf course with old colleague Maarten, hopefully recovered from his back problems. I am a bit worried about my left leg and how it will affect my swing. As the club moves from the back to the down stroke, there is a loud click, but other than that it’s fine. There is no greater feeling in the world than to arrive at the first tee with your clubs, contemplating the green fairway, the trees and the lakes. And another few hours of glorious pleasure to come. And Friday is the art class, the high spot of the week, and that fits just nicely before the CT scan. Once more into the microwave, this time with X-rays. I saw this one on Discovery Channel when an Egyptian mummy was sent through fully clothed while a computer model of the entire body, cross-sectioned into slices came on the screen. Hello, poor chap had arthritis. And only one ball.

Thursday Sept 30 

Today is Opa's birthday, and seven sisters will arrive with husbands and the house will be full. It is not that I am unsociable, but this really is a do for Opa and a chance to have a stiff drink and a cake and yatter about the old days. Aye, them were the days. Catering is in the capable hands of Jan, Jeanette, Ans and Kees. I have not yet finished my homework for tomorrow's art class so I sneak off to our little holiday bungalow to make my drawings, delighting in the quietness. This little place has more to offer than just somewhere to put up relatives. Back to the party. Merel arrives with her large and impressive looking camera to record the occasion, and I prepare for a round of golf. At the last minute Merel asks if she can come along. Off to the course for a great afternoon with Maarten and my new caddy. Merel has never shown any interest in golf and I am feeling her warmth and love as Maarten and I play the crappiest round we have ever played, but such fun. Everything went wrong, 3 balls in the water, 4 in the trees, fairways soggy, and bunkers flooded. And Merel breaking every rule in the book. Golf trolley on the green and on the tee, phone going off in mid-swing, yapping non-stop in moments of deadly concentration, and generally being wonderfully Merel. How we laughed. Emma asks if I will tell her a story tonight when she goes to bed, just as we used to when she was small. 

Life is good.

Catch you Friday. 

Friday Oct 1 

Emma is so excited. Up at the crack of dawn to collect her scooter driving license, transfer ownership from mum to herself at the post-office, get the insurance sorted out, and off to school on her shiny new scooter. I followed her on the way to the art-class. She was being very careful, at about 8 mph. I knew Emma was up ahead when I saw a huge queue of bicycles, franticly ringing their bells and trying to get past on the narrow cycle path. It looked like the Tour-de-France. 

It is 11 a.m. and I am pissed off because I have had to give up half my art class to prepare for the CT scan. This art course is just fabulous. I am learning so much so quickly because of the teacher, a skinny old man with pebble glasses, a walrus moustache and long grey hair halfway down his back. If John Lennon were alive, this is just how he would look. The man is a bundle of electricity, sweeping us all along in his enthusiasm. We have to pin our homework on the wall and wait for it to be praised or pilloried by the mob. The standard is very high. But then it is time to go before I can complete my next task, that of covering a sheet of paper with charcoal and making a 3d portrait by rubbing the stuff away, painting with light. Fascinating!

 I now have to drink a liter of white fluid to bounce the x-rays off the bowels so that they are opaque on the computer model. You would think that these highly trained specialists would know where the bowels were, especially after having sent the Black Eel in two days ago through the Bitter End. Hello, looks like we've got some bowels in here. Well done, the very thing we're looking for. We'd better have them painted in case we forget where they are.

It tastes awful. Like Dulux super latex emulsion wall paint (off-white, washable). Good, that's down. But what’s this plastic pot from the hospital that appears to be full of a white mixture? What's this I've been drinking? O no! It says Dulux super latex emulsion wall paint (off-white, washable). Bugger. Waiting for Merel who is coming with me to the hospital, God bless her. See you in a bit.

2.30 pm.

Back again! Well that was an experience. Off to the hospital with Merel and eventually found Radiology, despite arrows pointing in both directions. Full of people looking as if they had been drinking paint. Had to fill up a form about allergies and stuff, this time with a sensible person. My first questionnaire, before the MRI scan, was with a young male doctor who had a set list of questions which began with 'had I ever had problems during pregnancy'. No, I am not a woman so why the question. 'I have to ask all of these questions in this order, to ensure that you are not in danger from our equipment and that we are not liable through mistake. Please bear with me. Now, are you still menstruating?' Probably not. 'Do you suffer from, or have you ever noticed vaginal secretions of an unpronounceable moogalism? Er, not that I recall. Oh please, do you have any questions for men? 

This list was a little easier. After which I was given more paint to drink, and she then slipped a note across the counter, and went back to her computer. The note informed me that the gallons of white goo which I already ingested were not enough, not seeping down to reach 'the end' as it were. A Tube would therefore be inserted 'by a doctor'- (phew! it could have been the car-park attendant) to 'fill the lower regions'. Merel was not allowed in because of all the radiation and even the operators had to leave during the scan. What about me? The two nurses were really great, and we had fun. She said it was nice 'to have a happy one for a change'. She led me to a cubicle with two doors, one to escape back to the waiting room, the other to The Unknown. She told me to remove my lower garments and to come back through the other door to a room full of monstrous pieces of Startrek, trying to cover myself with a towel the size of a dish cloth. I lay on the bed protruding from the machine while the nurses hung up an ominously large bag of fluid with The Tube hanging off it. The other fixed up the needle that would inject iodine into my body. She apologized because I probably felt a prick. I assured her that this was nothing new. The doctor came in and said he would be inserting his finger into my jacksy to see if The Tube would fit. The Tube was about as thick as a drinking straw, his finger like one of those knobbly dried up spicy sausages on strings in the deli. Since 'my problem' was close to 'the opening' as he called it, I should mention if there was any pain, and he would stop. Ok, I understand. The world went white and purple and I sucked in air, but could not breath, speak or cry out. Paralised. "Well, I'm glad that didn't hurt. I'll say goodbye then" said the doctor. ''Don't shake hands'', I said, but he just rolled his eyes, and gave a sickly smile, as if to say haven't heard that one before. The Tube went in without touching the sides, until my elasticity returned. Pumped full of paint and iodine, I was fed into the maw of the giant. Communication was now through a speaker over my head, the doctor and nurses having fled to a safe distance from the cosmic hailstorm. Breathe in, and...Hold. A giant wheel revolved around me, full of cameras and x-ray generators, making a ring of red light around my tummy that moved down. It was over in no time, and the needle was removed. The iodine, by the way, makes your body feel very hot. At least I hope it was the iodine and not the neutron particles. The Tube was more difficult. Nurse B said there was still quite a bit of fluid in me, and that I should clench my buttocks while she pulled the tube out, and go as quickly as possible to the toilet in the cubicle. We both had a good grip and a tug-of-war ensued which I eventually lost. On my feet again, still clenching for all I was worth, I minced my way to the cubicle and the welcome toilet, and let go with much noisy satisfaction. I got dressed and went to open the door marked 'waiting room', but it was already half open. Old ladies with pots of paint before them pretended to study the ceiling tiles.

Away home with Merel and there to share a giant omelet. Well, next trip is on Tuesday, so see you all then.

Love you all. Dad

Saturday Oct 2


Yesterday I had a long session with Irene. This came about when Irene, who knew nothing of my possible problem (having spent the weekdays as usual in the Heliomare revalidation centre), got to hear about it at the common dinner table. I immediately killed the discussion and promised I would come to Irene after dinner, and tell her in my own way. No, I do not have 'difficulty talking about it' as was implied (this blog proves that I have difficult in not talking about it!) I simply do not see the need to do so outside the immediate circle of my own family, and that includes the four of you outside this house and one or two people close to me. I do not mean to be unkind, I know people are concerned, but we are a small family living inside a larger one and sharing a common centre, and I naturally want us to be a part of the whole (after all Bernadet is a Sprenkeling and I am an in-law) but at the same time we should be intact, and not be absorbed. We share the good things. The bad things are ours, and while I accept the sympathy on behalf of my family, I am not news to be discussed and analysed. I will tell what needs to be told. I have chosen this blog (which cannot be found by search-engines) to give us, my family, a little privacy, to bring you up to date quickly, and to let you know that I can see the humour in any situation and share it with my fun-loving offspring. Thankyou for the comments, Saj and Stef. It shows I am on the right track. All credit to Irene who turned down offers to be 'filled in' with all the details, prefering to wait until I came to her and could tell her what was really going on in my head and how I planned to deal with this, simply to live for today and let tomorrow look after itself. (Adam will know all about that text - take no thought for the morrow, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof). I cannot change the future, but the present is all in my hands to be relished or to be fucked up. It was warm and instructive experience to sit with Irene. And she fixed my elbow (scooter accident) just by holding my arm. I wish I had spent more time with her in the past, and feel guilt that I was one who joined discussions in past group sessions, And more guilt for writing her off along with others. I have ordered humble pie all round, which Irene can bring over on a tray, since the crutches have gone the same way as the walker and the wheelchair to be replaced by a walking stick. But I do not expect that to be needed for much longer. It is great to be with another who has been down the road and can still smile and make jokes about it. The whole village knows now, (forest fires have nothing on the way news spreads around here!) and as Irene says, people look at you differently, mostly when they think you don't know they are. Probably to see if anything has fallen off. 


Sorry about this serious insertion, but I did say I would be be honest, and I needed this off my chest. Now for the better part of the saturday. I have for some time had problems with Thijs, Merel's boyfriend. After the golf debacle of Wednesday, Merel said we should do this again, maybe with Thijs along. What a chance to build bridges! Thijs has changed, and the balance of thier relationship is moving rapidly towards eqilibrium. He is her choice and they are inseparable. Why am I so hostile to him for the past? We played a round of golf of a sort that was so hilarious and so enjoyable that we plan to do it again with the three of us. I have not spoken to Thijs for weeks, apart from an unfriendly grunting. Looking back, I don't know why I found so much fault in him the last months. Well it's over. It was a spontaneous afternoon of fun. Suddenly I found myself clapping him on the back when he did well, shaking his hand at the end, and asking him along for a beer. Why do I take so long to get out of my own pitfalls? O what a tangled web we weave when first ourselves we do deceive. Emma has just arrived home after her work as a waitress. In the dark on her scooter for the first time. She got flagged down to be breathalized but did not stop. She said she thought that a madman had jumped out of the bushes waving a red and white Starwars light sabre, blowing a whistle and shouting 'Stop! Police!' Er, maybe I should turn round. Anyone found drinking is in deep trouble. For 16 year olds on scooters, the level is zero. On the other hand, if you have not drunk anything at all, you get a 'good sober driver' key-ring present. Emz is off to bed, as am I. It is 1 am. Emz will join us on our next golf trip.


Nice day.

Sunday Oct 3

Opa's birthday for the general public but not the sisters. House full of relatives and lots of cakes and drinking, great urns of soup and chocolates. Lovely to see Caro, Ruth, Tony, Bauke etc. I have no pictures of the grand occasion because Merel was appointed photographer with her shiny new and exhorbitantly priced camera. A photo book for Opa will be made as a present.


A spontaneous and warm visit from Jan Groot. Thanks Jan. I wasn't feeling very festive because I did not sleep well  last night, so after a while I slipped away to do things for Heiloo-Online, and to install myself in my little round workshop to do bits of arty stuff. Just room for a chair and an easel.

 Folk music from four speakers. Paradise! I promised Stef some pictures. Its just old windows from the house before the double glazing, two glass doors that had neen abondoned 40 years ago, and a home-made thatch roof. The thatching isn't great but I am proud of this place, where I can sit an draw and listen to music with a great view of the garden.

Wonders never cease. Irene came by to drop something off. 'Where is your walking stick?' 'Oh, I left it at home! Silly me'.

Hilarious comment of the day - 'Don't let it worry you, you'll just make yourself ill'. Off for a shower (horizontal) and 3 hours of Ryder Cup golf on the telly. Bye all. 

Just had to include this picture of Bernadet which I chose for the portrait lesson in the Art Class. The portrait is crap, but I love the photo. And her of course!




Monday Oct 4


It is beautiful sunny day, although it looks like it may rain later. I am feeling very tired. Somehow I am not sleeping well and cannot find the reason. Yesterday, during the festivities I felt a hot wave spreading over my chest and I felt dizzy. I thought I was going to faint. It passed quite quickly and I ignored it, but it happened again today, but not as pronounced. Perhaps I am not eating enough. I have to take laxatives else a tail-back forms. This stuff tastes foul. Why can´t they  combine the laxative and the food. Not only tastes great but moves the herd along like a chemical cowboy. I am laughing to myself thinking about the advertistments on the moving stairs on the Metro in London from the sixties. Blocked drains? Call Dyno-rod - 'Satisfaction or your blockage back'. And the adverts for sexy undies. As one descended the moving stairs you could see the Triumph Bra logo coming up to meet you, and some gorgeous young lady in the picture  smiled at you as she passed upwards. You looked down the stairs, and yes, here comes another. There she is again, in a frilly string, Oh my goodness!. The last one, just before the bottom of the stairs had the logo, but only the words 'Everybody is looking at YOU now' on a mirror background, and sure enough they all were. And the unforgettable message to those standing and hanging on the overhead straps in the underground train. "Hands down all those not using Rexona' or whatever the deo was. I digress. I have spent the day trying to recover Ruth's precious photos. Her computer crashed, but I managed to get her stuff onto Merel's computer by attaching Ruth's dodgy disk as a slave. It worked just long enought to get the stuff over before it went down like a wounded bomber. Yesterday at the Birthday, I tried to get the stuff off, but Merel's computer crashed as well. All efforts, even with the assistence of young Tony, failed. In desperation, I put both hard disks in the freezer overnight, a trick that works for dud USB sticks. Merel's disk was too far gone, but I got just enough life out of Ruth's original disk to get it all up onto Emma's computer. I thought there was an air-raid siren ,but it was just the disk in it's death throes. I think there is a computer killer in that data and I am getting it all onto DVD's before Emma's computer joins the debri. Freezing USB sticks and Hard Drives is a trick I learned at the Nova College, and it works, but only for a limited time, but enough to recover the data.


I sometimes go the pub in Amsterdam on Monday, to sit with a group of old colleagues, one of whom, Robbie, is now vegetating in a wheelchair as a result of cancer.  I visit him in the care centre but the others share the load of looking after him every week. One of the group died recently - of cancer. I had intended to go this evening to offer more of my time and to replace Cor as carer. That was before Black Tuesday. I don't think I can go into the pub and face this sad and declining company and have someone say 'how are you doing?'. 


All will be revealed tomorrow at 9 am when we get the results of all the tests. I am scared. I am  scared that it may turn out to be the world's biggest Giant Haemorrhoid, and I will have to face people with a bowed head and apologise for wasting their sympathy. 
Might make the Guinness Book of records though!


Great news - Europe is winning the Ryder Cup in golf.
Bad news   - They are not showing it on the telly.


Until the morrow, then!