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

Dear Diary. One week into the treatment and no real problems. Feeling very tired most of the time, a bit like I want to throw up now and again and the sunburn treatment is beginning to bite a little, but 5 down already and only 23 to go. My weight goes up and down. I get a lot heavier after taking all the pills. They seem to be quite heavy and I hope they are not all fighting each other. Still no news of my kidney-snatch.

Checkpoint Chernobyl

I didn't feel up to the Crejat on friday morning, so Merel took my place. As usual, homework is pinned to the wall and every one stands back in trepidation as The Master strides in and advances towards the exhibition with an expression of shock or dismay. It's always best to be at one end or the other. The first one he always deals with rather quickly, knowing that there is a lot to get through. By the last, he may well be so fed with it all that that he may just shake his head sadly and get on with phase two of the lesson. We all have to explain what on earth we were trying to say, and what we found good or bad in our own work. He is always fair, but it is made quite clear that we are not in  a housewives/mans watercolour club, and much is expected of us. Merel took my part bravely, and indicated my drawing Pots in Shadow. He said I was ill, so he would not be too hard on me for that one. Then we came to my portrait of Merel and Emma. Merel told him that I was not altogether happy with it. He said that he could well understand why. I had created this painting from photos, measuring distances between all the features of the face with a slide-rule to the half millimeter. The painting was as precise as if I had traced the photo. To Merel's dismay, Venerable Master said her head was misformed and her nose quite distorted. My opinion of him is, nevertheless, as high as ever, I just need a new camera. The friendly Chinese girl who usually sits next to me offered herbal remedies for cancer. Tiger-Testicle Tea or something. Another offered a website for natural homeopathic chemotherapy. Merel enjoyed herself immensely and made some good stuff in the lesson. The theme for homework is 'Washing Line'. Good heavens! What am I supposed to do creatively with that? Perhaps a lot of little paintings on a piece of string.
A cheering phone call from the God Halpin, on tour in Germany. Many thanks Kieran, and I must +
confess that I have neglected to cram my iPod with your music. A sin.

Off to the AMC for a roasting. This time there were three white-coated priestesses to attend the sacrifice on the slab. Word is getting around. 'No, you 've seen him twice already! Let someone else have a go.' 'No, we'll all go. He won't notice one extra'. On friday afternoon Michelle came round and cooked masses of food to last for days. Friday night we made a candlelight dinner of it with Bernadet, Merel, Emma, myself and Michelle. Marvellous, although I may well pay the price later. A pleasant evening outdoing each other cheering for our favorites in the Voice of Holland. Slept very well for once.

Tony´s front garden 

Note handy toilet windows

Tony's Tiny Toilet

Saturday. Off to  grandson Tony and the lovely, funny Elly, to see if there is anything to fix. They now live in an anti-kraak scool. Two rooms and a shared kitchen. No gas and not all of the electric sockets are working. Probably because, there being no gas, millions of electric fires have been plugged in. Electricty comes out of the fuse-box but gets lost in the wall somewhere in a sooty tunnel where a wire used to be. The living room is a huge classroom with glass walls and a high ceiling. Freezing cold. The fridge doesn't work, but as Tony pointed out, that doesn't really matter because the room is colder than the inside of a fridge so there is no need to put stuff inside it. These two young people  are tough. I am not sure if my two youngest could survive this. Hardship for them might be spending a weekend all alone in a hotel and having to order all their own food. Just joking. They might read this. The toilet is hilarious. Through the little saloon doors with the picture of Eeyore, to the tiny pot. I had to use the thing and sat admiring the long mirrors on the walls, until I realised that they were windows and one was in public scrutiny from both inside and outside the house. Move along please, haven't you seen someone on a toilet before? Anyway, we took them both back with us for a couple of days to warm them up and to avail ourselves of Tony´s cooking. Again, I shall pay for it later. If Elly and Tony were not an item, I think I would apply to adopt her.
Sunday. A lazy day, spent the afternoon watching the rainy Korean Grand Prix. Great despair when my hero Mark Webber unheroicly dumped his car into a wall. Very depressed to watch spiteful brat Vettel cruising to victory. Stood on my chair and cheered my head off when his engine blew up just before the end. I love sport.
Monday. Off to the AMC after a weekend free of the Machine. Back home to find that Stef and Cris have arrived. O joy! What a fantastic gesture to drive up from Aldershot to Heiloo. For just one night, and then back again and to work the next day. And then Adam arriving in the afternoon, back from Sweden after delivering the Happy Hippie and her Bus. Just what I need right now!  Long (for me!) walk and an evening of babble and Flight of the Conchords. Sara, if you don't have them in Canada, I will send some. Hilarious and brilliant. Adam off to the priests thing in Stutgart and the rest of us to bed.

Not a halo,  just a lamp from Ikea (6.99)

Tuesday 9 a.m. call to the AMC. Normally the girls are friendly and put one at one at one's ease. Shake hands and 'This way Mr Ricketts, you can use changing room 'A' and just knock on the door when you're ready, OK?' Today was different. An older, more solid woman appeared, did not offer her hand but bellowed the single letter 'B' and turned round and went back into the chrome and glass jungle like a white rhino. After I undressed she came to collect me and asked if it was too early in the morning for me because I looked a bit dishevelled. I almost said that she would be if she had to face someone like herself before breakfast. Tropical fruit flavoured poo. She wasn't exactly shevelled herself. Fortunately it was the nice onces who did the painting today. Lovely job they did. Probably learned it at the Crejat Academie. Then for a very long walk with Cris and Stef, just talking, talking and talking. Until it was time for them to head off to Calais and the Tunnel.


Stef, Adam, Cris - it has been wonderful having you here, even if only for a few hours. You don't know how much you have helped us both. I miss you all, but we will see each other in a month or two. Sara is coming in the New Year. And Anne. By then I will be on the way to being out of this. Already I am counting down the days of zapping and Jeyes Fluid pills. Each day is a step nearer the end. Er, of the treatment, I mean.



Love you all, Dad

PS Lovely to hear you Sara, can't wait to see you. Skype, Skype, Skype!

PS Have to thank Big Emma for the downloading. Looking at facebook I am not sure whether my grandaughter and I still share the same language. Not good on gangsta. So:

Ah was a marinatin' widja muthah an' da posse anna came te membrance dat dah CD wid de eppies of dah Hancock's Half a Hours is from ma main grandbee-atch wot is well handsome wid de bitch-torrent onna computah. Well, yer ole Grandaddy fines it well tonk, and this ole wankstah is highly unmiffed.  Love you Big Emz, and many thanks

Radio 2

Today I had my second radiation treatment and am cooking along quite nicely. Only 26 to go. Most embarrassing again, as it was now two new ladies whom I had never seen before and thus who had never seen me. Into the cubicle and off with everything except the t-shirt. Then the door opens and there they are, all blonde hair, white coats and dazzling hollywood smiles. We shake hands, all trying to pretend that I am not standing in my T-shirt with my cluster dangling in the breeze. I actually had tears in my eyes, not through embarassment but because I had just finished reading a story that brought back my childhood in the waiting room. I mean I was reading a book in the waiting room, I didnt spend my childhood in one. I first heard the story nearly sixty years ago at school, told by Father Trevor Huddleston, the  anti-apartheid fighter who became an archbishop and honoured by the ANC. Nelson Mandela said that no white man had done more for SA. I had no idea that Oscar Wilde was the author and the image of this incredible priest and his moving story was too much at that moment. I half expected the ladies to say it wouldn't hurt and pat me on the head and promise me a toffee when it was all over, just be a big boy. The worst part of it all is that they have to touch up the network of lines on my belly with their day-glo paint-pots, bending over me with blonde hair brushing my nuptials. Why on earth do I need to take my undies off? Its my innards they're after. Are they afraid they will spontaneously combust? Only cotton undies for me, none of your polyester pyro fire hazards. "Nurse, why did you tell the English Patient to take his underpants off when you are are fully aware that it is not necessary?" "Sorry, Doctor, I couldn't help myself. When I saw that magnificient, bronzed, greek god torso, I just had to know...."

I came to hospital by bike today and thought I might take the pretty route through the Heiloo Woods. Big mistake. Narrow path with tree roots and its up in the air and a hard landing every few meters. The way back on the main road, coughing up the traffic fumes. To the supermarket to get stuff for the evening meal. To my horror, I found I had left my wallet at home. I had to back up my trolley at the check-out past a highly irritated old man in a green jacket. Apologising smarmily in John Cleese mode - "Sorry to bother you, old chap, left my sodding money in the jolly old car. Tish! Tish!" Managed to return all my shopping, most of it into the brocolli tray and went to  retrieve my bike. Bugger, the old man in the green jacket is in front of me and going my way. I hold station behind him but  he is going so slow it is a wonder that we don't both fall off. I set my electrical velocipede to maximum surge and swish past him, too fast to be recognised. "Nice car" he says. At home, a big bunch of flowers from the The Company. Thanks Hannie.
Anna burst in just before I had to get on my bike for the AMC and she to Sweden, so there was not much time to say goodbye. Have a lovely time in your Hippie Bus and come back safely for Christmas.

Michelle is coming tomorrow to cook for us as Bernadet and I will be in the AMC for the final roasting of the week and a hows-it-going chat with Dr Proton. And I will then be free of the giant AMC cooker until monday. Off to Tony and Elly on saturday to see if we can fix things up that are not already fixed up. And then, O joy, Stef, Cris and Adam arrive. Even though it is only for one night. It works out very well as the bungalow park is open for a week and you can all stay there. Only problem is that there are only two beds, but one is double so you can work it all out. Five out of six children all together in one house. And Sara coming in January. Just brilliant.

Thanks Big Emmar for keeping Stef updated. And Thanks Jazz. I hear that my Membership Card for the One Kidney Club is imminent, although I don't qualify just yet.

Love you all
Dad



The AMC hospital guide continued

Chemocal Ali

Hello All!

Stef, this is just brilliant news. But to come over for just one night! I am really am impressed, and to drive all the way, I am truly grateful. I hope your thought processes were not led by a sense of  'better get there quick before he shrivels up'. I bet young Cris has some awful new jokes. Lots of calls from the concerned. Nice to talk to Hilde, and Michelle will be up on friday to help with the cooking. By the way Michelle, here as promised is my homework for the Crejat. Ok, it's not a masterpiece but it is my first painting and the girls like it. I don't like this acryl paint, it doesn't cover and it dries too quickly and it doesn't mix on the canvas.

















Merel will be taking over my classes for at least the first week of the Martian Ray gun and will be presenting my homework. If Venerable Mentor likes it, she can claim the credit, if not she can just say her dad did it and isn't it crap. Death Ray and Chemo starts tomorrow. There is still no word about the removal of my kidney, apparently the man who plans the operations only works part time and isn't in today. When he is in, the doctors are probably free. Chemocal Ali and Doctor Proton have decided to go ahead with their end of things as it were and we all hope that the kidney will stay calm and not explode for a month or two. It seems that it no longer has the pressing urgency it once had. Bernadet has bought a wonderful little present for me. Probably from the late night shopping channel between the kitchen knives and those people developing fantastic bodies by attaching an AA battery powered sticking plaster. Are you careless with your chemicals? Punctual with your pills? Not managing your meds? You need a CHEMO-CHEST. Just remove the bottom tray and swallow the contents. All washed down with Astronoauts Poo.

Anyway, Dr Ali promised that since I was undergoing nuclear attack and chemical warfare every day for six weeks, the doses were reduced. He promised that my hair would not fall out, well, not all of it. My balls may well fall off though.

Not much else to report until tomorrow.





Bye all, love you lots.

Stef and Cris, you have made me so happy!


Later that day. Went for a walk with Merel and The Horse. The lovely Katinka is wise and knows many things that are closed to the hearts of men. Horse sense. I her asked what is happiness. She whispered that happiness would be to paint pictures like Leonardo and Cezanne, to write poems like Auden and Donne, to dance like that great russian dancer whose name escapes her at the moment. But above all, happiness is to have a patch of grass that isn't full of prickles and stinging nettles so could we please cut the philosophy and move a bit further up the road where it is at least partially edible?

Mentioned in despatches. Emma collected her diploma for the Anglia Project last night. This is a european initiative to encourage students towards better English through school trips, exams etc. So that when they go to England they will be able to fully understand why they are being beaten up, hassled, ripped off, insulted and discriminated against. Emma did very well indeed. She reads and writes mostly in English now. Wish I could say the same about my Dutch.
Another noteworthy achievement. Teenagers usually mark their progress through the house with a trail of discarded clothing, and conversations often start with an outheld hand and the dismal feeling that one's wallet may be about to lose volume and weight. Bernadet has been taking time off work for me, and then catching up at night. I am not the houseman I once was and the housework is an added burden. Hire a cleaner I hear you all cry out as one man. At the moment our pensions, salaries and stipends are all pouring into the meters at the hospital car park. Then comes Merel. She will change the sheets, clean the bathroom, learn how to use the vacuum cleaner and the washing machine. And all for FREE.  The Dunkirk Spirit indeed!

A Scary Weekend

Well, dear children, by now you will know what happened on friday, I myself being the object of all the kerfuffle and thus unable to bring you my usual report. I do make light of my problem to keep up all our spirits, but at the same time promised Stef to tell all. Thanks to Merel everything turned out OK and I am back once more in the bosom of my family. It all began at the Crejat Acedemie, for me the high-spot of the week. I felt unwell and crept away to the bog during a masterful lecture on the treatment of shadows in practical portrait painting. I lost quite a bit of blood, but this has happened before. The second attack came fortunately just before the coffee break, when most people were out of the room and I thought I could risk a quick WC visit without my fellow students noticing my love for the place. This time it was more severe and unstoppable and I was dismayed to find that my trousers looked like a crime-scene on CSI. '50 calibre, Captain. Right in the jacksy. Forensics are on the way'. Since the toilet was in the storeroom, I could have just opened a tin and shouted 'what a stupid place to leave red paint'. But I didn't think of it, and it would not have convinced anyone because there was only Chrome Yellow and Neon Green. I explained to my venerated mentor that I felt unwell and would have to leave. I still had to run the gauntlet of a lot of stairs and through workshops where people where hacking away at bits of rock and stuff. All with the worlds fastest nonchalent walk with my bag and my sketchbook covering my wet, red bum, and eventually reached the safety of my car. I never really liked those seat covers anyway. At home, the same thing happened again and again, until the washing machine was full of clothes, towels, bathmats etc. I should have rescued the trousers!

Andy Warhol would have dried them out, framed them and put them in a New York gallery for a few million.

 I had already phoned the doctor for advice but got the assistant who said the doctor would call me back. I then somehow left the phone off the hook, making sure that she would not be able to do so. The last attack I cannot make light of. I found found myself on the floor unable to see  or hear properly. I heard Merel's aquarium making that slurping noise it always makes when the water level is too low to reach the pump. Merel, bless her, knew what to do and called the doc, who called the ambulance. It was all a bit of a dream about martians in flourescent green clothes taking pictures off the wall and hanging up bags of fluid on the hooks and sticking pipes in me and strangling my arm with a velcro band and shouting '40/80'  until I found myself on a stretcher being propelled into the ambulance. Somerone was hitting me and shouting 'stay awake'. Merel sat in the front, Bernadet following in the car having just raced from work. Halfway to the MCA I recovered quite well and began to enjoy the ride. Sirens and screaming tyres, until a paramedic stuffed his hand down my trowsers in a most intimate manner. 'What the....' 'Just checking to see if you are still bleeding'. 'Oh, alright then.' At the MCA we crashed though doors like a scene from ER. Huge paramedics pushing the bed and holding up bags of stuff and shouting 'Denderol, 50 mils' etc, hauling people out of lifts and manhandling old ladies with rollators out of their path. I was by now fully conscious and having fun in all the excitement, especially as I managed to get Merel and Mama laughing again.  

I was now in my element. Grasping my imaginary steering wheel, I was Mark Webber, drifting round corners and getting past Vettel with daring out-braking manoevres. Eventually to a place where lots of measurements were made and it was decided that my blood pressure was getting back to normal. However, a very long piece of paper (which at first I was afraid might be the bill) said that my heart was perhaps not in order. Not that as well! I need a kidney removal that is now delayed for Dr Proton and his radiology elves, then Chemocal Ali with his concoctions, and all may now have to wait for a dodgy heart. To check if the heart problem was caused by low blood pressure, just like Merel's aquarium pump slurping, I would be attached by sensors to a machine for the night. Crisis over, it was great to see the shock on everyone's face replaced by smiles of relief. Including mine. It hit Emma the hardest because she was away with Eva for the weekend. Mama and Merel had had time to digest it all a bit. Er, digestion might be the wrong word. I dream of digestion. Anyway, I was popped into bed with masses of electrodes and wires which made it difficult to turn around, so I gave up. Bernadet came again later which was great. Then Tineke. But I was so tired by then I could not get my eyes open. Thanks to Stef I had millions of episodes of the Masterson Inheritance on my iPod to get me through the night. Which was difficult. Despite the sleeping pill, I had to contend with the fact that my door would not stay closed and my room was directly behind the nurses sitting area. It was like Central Station out there, people shouting and laughing, announcements over speakers and machines going 'ping' all night. Another problem was the toilet. I had two choices. I could go to the WC with the nurse, but she would be with me to push my trolley-load of hi-fi equipment and to make sure I did not pass out again. The alternative was the po-chair and the pee-bottle, but in private. I chose the latter. The only problem was that half the room had to go with me wherever I went. The wash bowl and the bottle were always just out of reach and I had to walk around with armfulls of spaghetti dragging the cabinet with me.




















Next morning I felt fine, but Doctor Heartperson said I would have to ride a few kilometres on the training bike to see if all was in order. Bernadet and I (now detached from the web of wires) off for another cardio, a mountain stage of the Tour de France and then home. My thanks to all the lovely caring people at the MCA. And to Merel. I owe you one. Or maybe quite a few.

Love you all
Dad.

Later: I am allowed quick showers! Heaven! First have to remove all the overlooked bits of sticky tape with metal connectors for the heart-monitor. Absolute heaven!

Wednesday Oct 13 2010

Many thanks for the phone call Stef. Lovely to hear your cheerful humour. Hope you got that from me! I still laugh about little Jasmin's radioactive pee! Anyhoo, I promised I would tell you everything and hide nothing, although I may well present it in the manner of Monty Python rather than Mervyn Peake. I did decline an invitation from someone to visit the Teardrop Cafe on Facebook. It's OK to cry, but virtual tears? Yesterday I went with Irene to the Kringloop recycling shop in Beverwijk. It is not just because of my meagre pension and dwindling resources that we go to the kringloop. It is also great fun looking for stuff, and at the moment I am devouring books about painting and painters. There is a risk involved, as such books are popular with other old men who come in out of the rain to salivate over pictures of fat female bodies. There we all are with volumes of  Titian, Rubens, Renoir and  Rembrandt spread over the table. Mountains of heaving bosoms, buttocks, bellies and thighs all trying to hide behind gauzy chiffon and strategic foliage. There is a sharp cough as the fierce Kringloop Lady glares at us through her pointy spectacles, and a fluttering and shuffling of pages until windmills, sunflowers and bowls of fruit surface. Not I, for I am the genuine one, the searcher of form and beauty. Hoping to gain an advantage over my fellow Crejat Academie students.  Rude Nude Lady week is stampeding towards us. We eyeball each other. She looks at 'The Naked Maja' in front of me. I mumble 'Francisco Jose De Goya, 1797. Magnificent  brushwork', but she has already machine-gunned our whole platoon with a withering 'dirty old men' look and muttered her way back to her little office. Not much else to find except a crap novel to read in the bath. This turns out to be a mistake, for as we shall see later, I am not allowed in the bath for months to come. Irene did find a lot of useful things. Suddenly I had the most awful stabbing pain, and went to the furniture section of the kringloop and chose a sofa, a compromise between being clean and being comfortable, and curled up holding my belly. People passing by looked at me as if to say 'They really should do something for these poor, homeless old men'.

Fortunately that eased off, but it returned later and it was a bad night. I took a second sleeping pill but that had no effect at all. When all else fails, have a hot bath! And that I did at 3 am. Wonderful! I'm sorry Stef, but you did say yesterday to be honest and not just be funny for the family. I can't be funny if  I don't feel good, and I will tell you if it gets bad.

Up at the crack of mid-morning for a horizontal shower and a bottle of Astronauts Poo (Tropical Fruit colour) and then off to the hospital to talk to Doctor Proton, the radiology man. There is something scary about radiology, mainly because I don't know anything about it and refuse to look up any of the treatment. I remember a joke from a russian author about sailors in nuclear submarines, whose reactors are not up to the same safety standards as our own dear Tridents. The russian military police were patrolling the pubs for stragglers who had not reported back to their ships. "Anyone from the Northern Fleet here?" There being no reply, the sergeant switches off the lights, and four men glowing in the dark are immediately arrested. Anyway, I will know soon enough, and knowing won't change anything. I liked this man very much. He was direct and honest, not like some of the others who are mentally reading from a prepared script and not looking one in the eye. He was annoyed that the most urgent kidney removal job was apparently planned for mid November. He tore up the letter saying we'll soon see about that! He said he would have to do a rubber glove job, just to get the feel of things as it were. God knows why, there are now masses of scans, photos, maps, cross sections, diagrams, routeplanners and videos of my entrails. Star on YouTube.They have to see if anything can get past in both directions. I'm not sure why anything would want to try. By the way, I hope those miners in Chile are getting out OK. My thoughts are with them. Anyway, it hurts like hell every time. I asked if Bernadet should perhaps leave the room as I found it embarassing. No, because the bed was behind a screen. The screen looked like one side of  a childs cot. I recommend that they put some chicken-wire over the outside to increase the privacy aspect. He said radiation would begin next Wednesday, and would go on 5 days a week for 6 weeks. Will it relieve the pain?. No, it will get worse before it gets better. Some take it better than others. The skin will go red and may 'break'. Oh well, I won't be watching the documentary on Hiroshima on BBC2 tonight.
The next step is to be photographed and marked like a piece of meat so that the martian ray-gun can hit the same spot every day. This means drawing lines on my belly and having four target spots tattoed onto me. And something else. The worse news since this whole thing began on Black Tuesday. NO MORE BATHS. The ink might wear off. The greatest pleasure of my life is snatched from me! There is nothing finer than a good book, a radio, a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies, and Badedas pine-scented steam wafting through the bathroom and turning all the mirrors off. We are sent off to the restaurant to await the artwork. The chairs are knobbly wickerwork and I can feel Doctor Proton's handiwork at every squirm. We will be called if the whole thing can begin earlier. We sit with our lunch (very thin goulash soup for me) waiting for the important announcement. "Bing Bong - two hamburgers with chips - ready!". Eventually to the Art Deco and body-painting. Two nurses await by a large black slab sticking out of a giant round magnet thingy. The tell me to remove everything except my tee-shirt and lie on the cold slab. No, Sir, on your back please. But, they will see, Oh my God, I am totally as it were, hanging in the wind. I am fed into the machine which takes more scans. This is apparently a dummy run. When all the drawing and marking has been done, a real machine will fire up and bombard my nether regions with astro-physics. I emerge from the magnet thing and the two young ladies  position themselves either side of me, magic markers at the ready. They start to draw lines on my belly, getting closer and closer to the public areas. My God, what if I have an erection! I grit my teeth and think of England, and Admiral Lord Nelson. Do your duty, man, and stand firm. Er no, not that. Any erotic fires are quickly put out when the tattoo needles went in to mark the 'reference points'. I should mention that the ladies who divided my belly up into choice cuts with felt tip pens also took a photograph of my face. Why I asked. To make sure you are who you say you are! My God, do they think I will be selling my turns under the Martian Death Ray for a few fivers to freaky thrill seekers?

Back home, where I escape directly through the back door to Irene's little house and leave Bernadet to handle the press conference, as the well-meaning folk of the Hoogeweg burst in for a statement. I know they care, but it would be nice to get one's jacket off and come to terms with things on our own first. I notice that my supply of the laxative Molaxhole has run out. Literally. Fortunately Irene has a vast store of redundant meds which she no long uses.



 Laxatives? Sure, I have Movicolon (how do they think up these names!)  and Grunwalder Nr 1 (Should that not be Nr2) which consists of  the dreaded senna pod which we were given as children every now and again to 'clean us out'.

Anyway, Stef, I hope you won't mind me sharing what you told me last night. Little Jasmin, one and a half years old, is given something to drink and put under a scanner to investigate kidney function. After which she runs around in excitement before her nappy is put back on. A short play.

Stef:   - I'm sorry nurse, my baby has peed on the floor
Nurse - Then you can wipe it up.
Stef    - No, that's your job
Nurse - No way! That's radioactive!

Nothing much until next wednesday, when I shall bring you all up to date on the the Martian Death Ray. Sure to be hot news!

I've just had a brilliant idea! Fill the bath and get in, up to the neck in a giant black bin-bag! Tied up under the arms so I can still get to the taps and the plug, hold the book manipulate the radio, coffee cup and cookies!

Love you all

Bye for now, Dad

Monday Oct 11 2010

Hi kids and family,

Many thanks for the DVD's Stef. Great stuff, especially Kenneth Horne and Amateur Transplants. Together with the complete 'I'm sorry I havn't a clue' and 'I'm sorry I'll read that again' from Adam (all 30 years of them!) I'm set up in comedy for the rest.. er, for quite a long time. Brilliant!. I did persevere with Oscar Wilde 'Lord Arthur Saville's crime' but could not really get into it. I have read and enjoyed most of Wilde but have never read the short stories. The Canterville Ghost, well too much sugar for me. I am well into Peter Knight's  series about the King's Coroner turned detective based in 1121. He probably pinched the idea from Umberto Ecco, 'The name of the Rose'. Oh, and thanks for including the Mastersons - very funny and I am cramming it all into my iPod at this moment. I am a great fan of Paul Merton.
I have heard nothing from the hospital, so cannot make plans at the moment. They say 3 days for a kidney removal, so I want it today or tomorrow or my Art Class is at risk on Friday. I will keep you informed.
Karolien, sorry to miss your birthday, and thanks for your message.
Good weekend not doing very much. Bernadet has been busy making a digital photo-book for Opa's 84th birthday, and we can hopefully make it it available as there are photos of all the family, not just the seven sisters. Sunday, a lazy day watching the formula one race, waiting for the pit-stops so you can see people running around and changing the tyres. The rest is not very interesting. There are two men with things to lift the front and the back of the car up so that others can get the tires off and on. They do this once every race, about 18 times per year. Fabulous salary, best hotels, travel all over the world. And probably have masses of those belly-button girls falling all over them after the race, the ones who hold the parasols over the drivers with bovine smiles. Jobs of glamour and life-style and no brain required. I bet the the guys in Praxis moving boxes around imagine themselves at Monaco. Up - and down. Right, thats work over for a week or two, I'm off to the Marriot for a crate of Bollinger and a couple of Ferrari girls.  Pure jealousy. And my man Webber didn't win again, but spoiled brat Vettel did.
Adam I have sent you some text. But you would't know that of course at the Priests College where the worldly internet is forbidden temptation. By the way, did you know that priests are not allowed to change all of their underwear in the same room? That is why churches have both a Vestry and a Pantry.

Then to the golf course with Thijs, Merel and Emma. We debated, since Emma has never played and the other two only once, whether we should go on a 'real' course or stick to the mini-holes where the fairways are no more than 50 meters long and there is a flag at the end, but where the green starts is a mystery, it is all one morass. We opted for the real course, Emma indignant that she should have the chance. My father played the saxophone, but there were saxophone players in abundance. 'Can you play the violin?' they asked him? 'I don't know, I've never tried' he replied.

We set of at 5.30 pm from the first tee of the 9 hole short course. Mighty swings and great clods of earth arced through the air as the balls rolled relentlessy forward, sometimes meters at a time. Progress was a little slower than last week's Ryder Cup, but I bet we had more fun. 

Thijs shows how

 The elegant one-handed swing











Merel shows the importance of keeping your eye on the ball....

until after it has gone ...er..

Emma goes for the green

FORE!

Still waiting

 The third hole - and the night is closing in












Could someone shine a torch on the hole please

Off to the 4th tee

It must be round here somewhere

The match was abandoned as a draw after 2 hours and 3  holes. All agreed that it was a most agreeable afternoon and we shall do it again soon..

Later that same day after. Anna is off to Sweden to continue her course. She will return in two weeks to collect her driving license and the Wheely Happy Hippie Bus and return over the glaciers with it to school. 

Merel takes her to the station with her Hippy Bag full of Happy Hippy things. 

Gotta run, as it were. This stuff  should be marketed as a drain cleaner. It works much better than Mr Muscle.

Love you all

Dad

PS Now I know I am definitely not going to heaven. Our tasks this week for the Crejat Academie included 'An abstractified line drawing including recognisable human forms in the style of Henri Matisse'

That's my mentor on the left, which may get me a point or two.  I could not scan A3 so you have to imagine the gap is not there, or perhaps it is meant to be part of the experience.  It is by no means a last supper, just any old supper with sateh, beer and ciggies.

Finished two or three of these and went for a walk with Irene round the Green Lane after dinner. I must be doing alright because I could keep up with her. I managed to last all day without painkillers until the doctor phoned through that I could collect the correct 'zuur-remmers' of a dosage that matched my total quantity of functioning kidneys. Although it was a relief to take a pill, I also notice that without these things one is more awake. I got much more done today, and certainly with more enthusiasm because I didn't feel that haze that all this stuff brings.I shall try to do without it, but it will probably mean doing it all standing up!.

Thanks for the call, Lisa. Will look forward to seeing you in January.

Friday Oct 8 2010

The meal was grand that Irene, Anna and Emma had prepared. Beef with rice and a taste of ginger and coconut. Really tasty, but just before the meal something sent a slight twinge through my belly as if to say don't be tempted - stick to the Astronauts food, more of which later. It was not like a really sharp pain, more like a ball of rather dull razor-blades that had been used too long and had lost their edge, thank goodness. Tempted I was though, and it was delicious. Regular and perceptive readers will notice that I have removed the C-word from the titles in this blog. I find it out of place here and rather off-putting, and now I prefer this just to be a continuation of the original Spike and Bernadet blog, albeit with some temporary inconvenience. Anyway, back to the story. A lovely meal it was, but the problem with eating is that, well, what goes in must come out. In my case, that means I have to take very strong laxatives to reduce everything to give myself diah... dhia... dhaer..the squits. But now, dear readers, my sample package of Space Food has arrived. My brilliant doctor managed to authorise a sample for selection and a vast follow-up quantity of Astronauts Drink, total nutrition in a plastic bottle, straw attached. I sit with my space drink in front of the giant TV screen on white noise, phasers ready, ordering an extra look-out for Klingons, beaming myself hither and thither. I am Buck Rogers. I am Captain Scarlett. I am Major Tom. I am pathetic. Astronauts drinks have an enormous amount of energy in a very small space. One fell out of the fridge and I just managed to catch it with a diving save before it hit the floor and took the neighbourhood with it. Nitro has nothing on this stuff. Men in space must not waste their energy, a lot of which is spent breaking down food and turning it into poo, especially liquid poo. Much better that the body has as little to do as possible. This stuff therefore already tastes, smells and runs like liquid poo. The only thing the body has to do is to change the colour, and that costs almost no energy at all.  Brilliant! I have Astronauts  poo in colours of strawberry, vanille, orange, plum, apple etc. The chocolate is particularly uninviting, so don't mind if I don't.

Off to another super hour at the Art Class. I explained my circumstances to Ruud (pronounced 'Rude'), my brilliant aging hippy teacher. To get a diploma, all classes must be attended, all mid-week assignments complete. He told me not to worry. Any lessons that I missed he would give again personally. God bless the man!

Opa and Bernadet are off to 'Oude Heiloo', the local history society. They have made a film about the Second World War in Heiloo. Opa was one of those interviewed and is invited to the premiere. Red carpet and cameras flashing. Look, there's Brad Pitt.

Lovely to talk to Adam from Stuttgart. His course starts at 6 am and we broke off at 9 pm because another session was starting. He cannot get to the phone or have access to the internet so is a bit behind with the news. O to be a priest. Gives us all the time to think up some priestly jokes. He doesn't mind. God invented humour says Adam. Can't altar that.  I think I'll put my money into some new clothes for Adam. Looks good in vestments, bless hymn. Pew, thats a bad one.Right, lets have some more.

Merel dropped by and says maybe I am taking this all too lightly, and worse times are coming and am I not deceiving myself with all this jollity, and putting it off and not thinking about it? Bless you, my lovely child, but that is exactly what I am doing, and it is working just fine, and hopefully for Merel too. Hands up anyone who who wants to switch into despair mode? Hmm, I thought so. No hands. Merel says my jokes about Stoma Bags are all wrong. Her dance teacher has one and it is flat and about the size of 3 packets of cigs and she will bring one home for me to look at. Er, perhaps another time. She says she will wash it. Oh, alright then, but I can't edit the drawings now. I had no idea what stoma bags looked like, because that is for tomorrow and I have today. And tomorrow is another today, but a bit later on. I like todays, they suit me just fine.

The doctor just called and said that the sixty 8-packs of Astronauts Poo has arrived at the chemists, along with something to protect my stomach from the painkillers. A steel lining perhaps? Must go now, I am going shopping with Irene. We are both going to buy new undies. I want to look good in the hospital and have seen some really flashy speedos in shimmering lurex. Better not, don't want to blind the man with the scalpel at a critical point!

Bye all. Catch you later, and thank you all for this warm glow that I feel wafting over me from different parts of the world.
Just time for a swig of Astronauts Poo


Later that same day.
An afternoon shopping with Irene in Shopping Center 'Het Loo', which of course in english means 'The Toilet'. With an uncertain future, one must conserve one's wealth and eek out one's pension frugally. I normally go to Hij for my Pierre Cardin undies, but at today's prices... We went to Zeeman, a shop which makes Woolworths look like Harrods. Men's undies, 10 boxer shorts. Six euros please! But what about the quality? Will they last a long time? O yes Sir, they will last for years. Provided you don't wash them. Then they dissolve. So thats me set up in undies for a few decades. Here's how they look. Note I am proudly wearing my Superman T-shirt from Ruth with the note 'For a Super Opa'.


And here's another happy bunny. Anna, The Wheely Happy Hippie has passed her driving test.

WELL DONE ANNA!















I have just taken a pill to protect my stomach from painkillers. They are 40 Mg each. Idly glancing through the leaflet I read "maximum dose 20 mg per day. Under exceptional circumstances your doctor may prescribe 40 mg per day. But NEVER when there is any kind of kidney failure". Er, does failure include, um, having a 50% deficiency in the expected number of kidneys. I trust my doctor.

Bye all. I have had a good week.
Love you
Dad.

Thursday Oct 7 2010

We are proud to announce that the winner in the category of the most offensively sickening bowel cancer/ stoma bag joke is Cris Ricketts for -

'My favorite punctuation mark - The SEMI-COLON'.

Lots of belly laughs for that one, well, for some of us. Well done Cris. Sorry Sara, 'stick some pipes in it and play something that smells Scottish' was a very close second. Keep them coming, with humour we can together beat the shit out of.... er, we can overcome this thing. A quiet day just hanging around the phone waiting for the kidney man to find a spare slot in his diary. With Irene to the charity shop to look for a few items. Practicing shuffling, but I am not very convincing. There are many high spots of the day, most of which are 'it is now time to have another painkiller', and congratulate myself for not jumping the gun. Irene is now discharged from the Heliomare revalidation home. She says she will miss the creativity centre workshops. I asked why could she not do something locally in a community centre. It's too expensive. But there are subsidies, surely. She says she won't qualify because she is not sick enough. How positive is that! She walks around her home putting things in order and looking just great. I can't put it into words, but somehow she glows from within.

I plan to get acting lessons while they are free, and put on a convincing display of illness when I improve and they are not free. Then I shall misappropriate every subsidy that's going.

Not much else going on, so time to make a few drawings before dinner. And my drawing tablet is working again. Just needed a new battery in the electric pen, and I can do a bit of colouring like a two year-old.

Life with a stoma....continued

Emma and Anna are off to Irene to help cook the meal. Caro will be arriving later and I will put up some photos. This blog needs some cheery illustration.

Bye all. Tomorrow, my fabulous art class. I hope that the treatment gets going because we are moving rapidly towards 'How To Draw A Real Rude Nude Lady' week, and there must be no conflict of interrest.

Lessons in photography - how not to make a photo of a fish using flash

A crowded kitchen at Irene's

Love you all.

Dad

More people to see

Wednesday Oct 6 2010

Sorry I got the day wrong yesterday. It was of course a Tuesday and not a Monday as first told. Many thanks for all the kind words, jokes whatever from our readers. And Doug and Irene. Stef, please tell young Jasmin that I am thrilled to be a candidate for her "Nephrectomy One Kidney Club". If my granddaughter can get by from birth with only one kidney, then I can certainly manage it. Jazz, it is the right kidney, hope that wont disqualify me! I love the stoma jokes, especially sticking pipes in it and playing 'something that smells Scottish' from Sara! I nearly died laughing at that one. I would love to have said I shit myself laughing, but .... Anyway Sara, it is kind of you to go out looking for shoes to match my bag, but I have no idea what colours they come in. I'll be happy with anything except one of those cheap transparent ones! It is also fantastic that people are filling USB sticks with music and humour to help pass the time in hospital. What a warm gesture! 

Anyway, not much to report. We were due to see the urologist today about the removal of my kidney. We came in separate cars as Bernadet was at work this morning. I was bored in the waiting room, and leafed through some women's magazines. There were lots of recipes, but it all looked like steak-and-kidney pie. We went to see the kidney man and his young assistant. Why do all these specialists have young blond females as assistants? Status? Anyway, he said he would not be doing the operation himself, but another doctor. The other doctor, he said, has a diploma. In case the thought that he might be a plumber earning some extra cash in his spare time might cross my mind. He described, enthusiastically and in Technicolor detail, what would happen to me, Several holes will be made in my belly, one for the camera, some for the 'tools' and one, disturbingly, for the air pump. Air pump? Oh, yes, we need space to work, so you will be 'inflated'. He demonstrated with his arm how that would be. Michelin man, make way, you're history. Everything will be performed by things that can pass through one centimeter holes, while the surgeon controls it all on a computer screen, like those robot car factories on Discovery Channel. The kidney, once separated, wilI fall into the abyss. A larger hole will then be made to retreive it. If you have ever tried to win a watch or a teddy-bear at the fairground with one of those little cranes, then what chance one may ask with a slippery wet kidney. They'll probably give up and roll me over and shake it out.  l hope his version of Windows is in a better state than that on Ruth's computer. He then gave us a leaflet, which outlined everything he had just told us, enthusiastically and in Technicolor detail. Bernadet and I stood up to leave and we all shook hands. Then he said 'There is one more thing' in a very serious tone. The blond assistant turned away in embarrassment. Bernadet and I both paused, not daring to breathe. Here it comes I thought. OK, tell me the worst, doc, I can take it. He leaned forward and whispered 'Your flies are undone'. 

I was laughing so much people must have thought I had just heard that it was all a mistake as we made our way to the next call, the anesthetist. First on to the bed for a cardiogram (no, Sara, not a woolly jacket for an ancient record-player) and then to meet the man himself. He was alone, not far enough up the food chain to warrant a blond assistant. He explained a lot of stuff which really did not sink in, and then gave us a leaflet that said word for what he had just said. Last call to a frosty woman who needed details for the operation. Without a hello or introduction she began her prepared speech and verbal questionnaire. She nearly bit Bernadet‘s head off when she wanted to know about times to phone....'Perhaps if you listen instead of interrupting....' We left without getting a handshake or goodbye or even the information Bernie wanted. This is the first time I have come across a miserable person amongst these hardworking, dedicated people in the hospital.

I have just been called to say that: 

- 13 October - Radiation begins

- 19 October - Chemo begins

What with the kidney-ectomy due at any moment, I am getting quite popular at the MCA. I can foresee an embarrassing scene as my bed is fought over by competing teams. "No! we saw him first". 

Heart-warming moments to share with older brothers and sisters: 

- Merel says she will take my art Class on Friday if I can't make it. She knows how much it means to me and offered to sit in and take notes, and to deliver my homework and collect next week's.  

- Emma, beavering away at her homework and earning praise for her industry - "I want to do well for you". 

I seem to have something in my eye. Pass me a tissue, would you?

Off to do the shopping and get the dinner started. 

Love you all, and I feel your love. 

PS Prizes are on offer for the best stoma joke! 






Living with a stoma . . . . . . . . .