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