Miles to go

Today was another difficult day with Dr McLean. She does not have the easiest of jobs, that's for sure.  She tells me that all the tumours on my lungs have grown since the last scan. The largest now being 14 mm, grown from about 9 mm. The rest have grown proportionately, the next biggest being about 9 mm and on down to about 6 mm. There are no new ones one my lungs and the cancer has not spread to any other organs. Which I suppose is good news of sorts.

She showed me the scans on her computer screen, this being third time I've seen them, and they definitely look bigger. I can see a clear difference from my last scan, they look more threatening some how. It doesn't make for easy viewing. I am very disappointed as I'd been hoping for a no change result, or at least minor insignificant change. No such luck. 

She would now like to start me on chemotherapy with a view to slowing down the growth or maybe even reduce the size. But there is no guarantee that the chemo would have any effect. It's a case of suck it and see, so to speak. Cancer treatment offers nothing but uncertainties as far as I can make out. It seems to be a question of lets try this or that and see where it takes us. But I have to be upbeat and put my faith in the good doctor. 

I had thought about this possibility before I went to see her, so was prepared and in control of things. Better that I decide on these things than to lose all control of my life.  I asked her if we could delay treatment for a couple of months or three, if this wouldn't make too much difference to my treatment. She agreed to my suggestion and I will go back to see her on 17 September. In meantime I can phone her anytime to begin the treatment should I feel it necessary or should I begin to develop symptoms, or more than I already experience. 

So that's where we are now. I need to make some decisions as to how to spend the next couple of months. The first thing I'm planning is a trip up to the lovely Isle of Lewis, to visit my home land for one last time. I'm planning to go week commencing 2 August. 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Dreams

Tomorrow I will see Dr McLean to hear the results of my latest scan. It's four months since last scan when I was told tumours were slowly growing. Let's not worry about infinitives at this time. So let's hope they've not quickened since then. It would be so good to be told that they remain at same size as in March, but I guess that's too much to hope for. But one never knows.

I remain quietly confident but realistic and prepared for whatever she might tell me. Well I think I'm prepared for it. The mind plays tricks on me. I dream every night now, or should I say I am aware of my dreams, sometimes scary dreams, though not nightmares. They frequently take me back to my childhood and youth, and all the places I've lived in over the years, and people I've known. Probably including you.

Sometimes my dreams and real life become entwined when I wake up and I struggle to sort out what's going on. My iPhone alarm goes off on the pillow beside me every day. Today it became part of my dream and it took me ages to work out to turn it off. Quite scary really. I think all the drugs I've been on have upset my psyche and my brain struggles to sort it all out. Maybe I'm dreaming writing this.

I had to spend half a day at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary on Monday to get my diabetes sorted after the steroid effects knocked it out of kilter. I had to start taking insulin, though I've now come off it, I hope for good. As the nurse was showing me how to use the penject I was taken back to days of yore and watching my mother injecting herself with insulin and thinking how I could never manage that.

The doctor I saw was a nice young chap. They're all so young these days, don't you find? It turns out that his father also comes from Isle of Lewis,  from same village as my father. He's going to ask him if he knows my father's family. His father is 62. So you see what I mean about his youth?

I'm now getting calls from Royal Infirmary and Western General hospitals on a daily basis. Can't believe how well looked after I am by health service.

All for now. Celtic have just lost a goal to some Icelandic team, the silly sods.

I will write a post tomorrow to let you all know my scan results.

A Little Wager

For a while back I didn't think I would live long enough see another footie season commence. So I'm delighted to see that I'm still here as another season heaves into view. Incidentally the Guardian was recently taken to task for incorrect use of hoves instead of heaves, so I was particularly keen to impress with my correct usage there.

Yesterday I was feeling more confident about future possibilities than I have for a long time, so thinking about prospects for the new season I popped in to chat with my local bookie and see what he thought the odds were for Man United to win the league. He reckons the odds are 11/2, which seems quite generous, given all the new signings recently. What with Schweinsteiger, Schneiderlin, Depay and Darmian joining us, things are looking very exciting indeed. I will have to teach my Mac Book Pro how to spell all these names for future reference.

I decided that these odds were far too good to miss so I put a small wager on my team to win the league and hope to live to collect my winnings next May 2016. There's confidence for you. Let's hope Dr McLean has good news for me when I see her on Thursday for my scan results. If I win the bet I think I might donate my winnings to young Ben, as he will be getting ready to start secondary school about that time. If I'm not around someone will know what to do with the dosh I'm sure.

Stoke City are 3000/1 to win the league. Seems about right so worth a pound of my hard earned pension. I aim to see both teams in the new season. I feel I'm as well to make plans just like all the rest of you and live as if  I have a long life ahead of me. Though having said that nothing really allows me to forget my cancer.

I was hoping to go to see Amy at the cinema this afternoon, but unfortunately I was not well enough to go out this morning so had to cancel my trip. I hope to go later this week. Will let you know how it goes. I'm off out now and will come home to watch the end of the Open on tele later, and hoping for a Scottish win, so come on Paul Lawrie.

Candy and Ken

Today was my last day in London for now. I'm hoping to come back sometime soon, which is not something I would have said a week ago. Last weekend were the best three days I've had since my first operation and various treatments began in July 2013. I really didn't expect before I left Edinburgh that I would cope so well, in fact I was quite worried about surviving even a couple of days. Seems that my old body has a bit more left to give me. Not a lot, but enough to keep me happy.

The steroids helped for the first four or five days, but they also succeeded in knocking my diabetes out of control, so that the gains from steroids were reversed by my high blood sugar level. I then had to phone Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh for advice from my doctor there. I had to quadruple my intake of diabetes drugs. It's still not back at a good level, so I've been knackered today and yesterday.

I had a quiet day spent partly with the strikers at the National Gallery, who are members of my old Union. I went down to join them on their picket line and to offer some solidarity from Edinburgh. They are on strike against privatisation of their services and also in support of Candy Unwin, one of the shop stewards, who has been victimised and now is fighting to get her job back.

I was very pleased to see that Ken Loach had also turned up today to offer his support. He's obviously a good man, and knows the importance of solidarity. Not wishing to steal his thunder I left my speech in my pocket and let him get on with it. I took his photo instead. He's a short wee fellow. I didn't think the occasion was suitable for an autograph, so I spoke to Candy and wished them success.

I then went for lunch to the Crypt Cafe in St Martin-in-the -Fields church in Trafalgar Square. It was nice and cool, which was just what was required as it was quite humid outside. It was strange having lunch sitting on top of all these tombs. I assume there are bodies still down there, the church having been there since 1726. Quite a wee while. It's a good place for lunch if you're ever passing by and National Gallery is out of bounds through strike action or even if it's not.

Better go to bed now. I wrote this sitting in the Hotel bar, having an orange juice at midnight. Definitely the first time I've been in a bar this late since before my cancer adventure began. So there. That's progress of sorts. Don't you think?

Dusty

I went with John and Lyn to a talk by Allan Gibbons on Dusty Springfield at the Marxism Festival on Sunday night. I'd heard him speak in the past but not for some time so it was good to hear him again. He was very entertaining, informative and hugely funny. A natural performer, who burst into song as the mood took him and as seemed appropriate.

There is a new biography of Dusty just published which inspired him to do the talk. Dusty was one of my favourite singers when I was young. I still remember listening to her in The Springfields when I was but a boy, and then of course she branched out on her own to become one of the greats of her time and since. 

She was a bit of a rebel, a socialist even, who refused to play to segregated audiences when she was sent to South Africa to play, long before anti apartheid movement got under way. When she refused to play she was  deported, but her black South African fans came to the airport and gave her a guard of honour and cheered her to her plane. Cliff Richard, so called christian, had no problems playing out there of course along with many others. Apparently Queen apologised for playing there and were forgiven by Mandela. 

She once knocked Buddy Rich's wig off his head when she slapped him after he punched her. The band awarded her a pair of boxing gloves.

She was once in Post Office Tower restaurant when she saw the manager abuse one of his staff, so she took a jam tart and crushed it into his hand when he came to shake her hand as she was leaving and told him never to treat his staff like that again. Let's hope the waiter didn't get the sack later.

At the end we all sang along with Dusty as she sang "Going Back" by Goffin and King. You can find it on the YouTube thingee. I thought John and Lyn sang mighty lustily. For those of you who are interested there's a BBC4 programme called Definitely Dusty, worth a look.

I'm dedicating this blog posting to my good friend Mo over there in Snohomish. Mo has been a Dusty fan since I've known her. How long now Mo? Any way this ones for you and there's a wee pressie in the post to you from Marxism 2015. Festival. 

London July 2015

This is first time I've updated my blog in London whilst sitting outside in the sunshine. I'm  waiting for JB to finish his breakfast and join me. I'm sitting in Bloomsbury or very close to it and opposite Elizbeth Garrett Anderson Hospital and across from Saint Pancras Parish Church which now seems to have converted into something called The Crypt Gallery. Very spooky. Along the road there's a Sex mAcademy. Wonder what goes on there. No time to find out.

I'm having a very busy time at our Marxism Festival. Some excellent meetings yesterday with great speakers. We had John Rose speaking on Palestine, Richard Bradbury on the Levellers, Diggers and Ranters, our revolutionary history, never taught in schools of course, Alex Callinicos on the Revolutionary Ideas of Karl Marx, an update of book he wrote twenty years go. And in the evening we went to listen to John Molyneux on Rubens & Rembrandt: Art & Revolution, which was a brilliant illustrated talk.

I probably did too much yesterday and was a bit exhausted by time I got to bed, not too late I hasten to add. So will take it easy today, maybe cut back to four talks. We have a big debate at 2 pm between  Stathis Kouvelakis (Syriza Central Committee) and Alex Callinicos, which should be lively after yesterday Greek government decision.

I was in a shop yesterday with John, when one of their staff spoke to me in Spanish so I answered back in Spanish. He was somewhat taken aback as he didn't speak much himself other than Hola amigo qué pasa and obviously didn't expect me to speak any. So he asked me where in South America I was from, was I Argentinian? It's good to know I speak like a South American seeing as I learnt all my Spanish there, or most of it, other than the bits Marian taught me in Edinburgh night classes.  The guy was from Nigeria and a supporter of Scottish independence who wanted to know about the referendum so I left John to explain to him what went wrong.

As I'm writing this outside it's difficult for to see the screen in the sunshine. So no spell check etc. John has just joined me so that's it for now? Shame about our Andy yesterday but the man is just too good for him.
 

Preparing to go to another capital city

Very happy and excited to be getting ready for my London trip tomorrow. Preparations going well so far. My first trip for two years and eight months so much cause for celebrations, especially as doctor at hospital gave me some steroids to take yesterday and I can already feel the benefit, more energy and strength. Keep this up and I might manage another Munro to add to my measly fifteen and brings Peru a bit more into the picture, if Dr McLean brings good news on 23 July. Can you believe we're now deep into July and festival will be almost upon us by time I get back to civilisation. And as my mother used to say not a stroke done yet.

I trust you're all enjoying your summer wherever in the world you happen to be. I think the Edinburgh summer came and went last Wednesday.

I went to the summer exhibition at City Art Centre yesterday, just called Scottish Art, as far as I can remember. It's on all four floors and covers landscape, people, still life and abstraction, with a selection of visitors favourite works in the basement/lower ground floor. It's worth a visit if only to amaze at all the wonderful art produced by Scottish artists over the past hundred or two years. Some very well known paintings , many I've seen before, maybe in other exhibitions or galleries but the kind you can never get tired of seeing. It was very quiet when I went on Tuesday, just a few stragglers  with their weans in tow. I'm sure it will be busy as festival approaches. Give the cafe a miss. It's quite awful, so go across the road to Fruitmarket Gallery instead, which is much cleaner and friendly.

I also went to the Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Portrait Gallery in Queen Street. Some great photos of the man and his entourage caught in very relaxed mode. She seems to have been very close to him and was one of his best friends, enough to photograph him over a thousand times, and he painted her six times, one of which is in the exhibition along with a drawing and many many of her photos. It's wonderful to be able to see so much of their lives so intimately. I will probably have to go back. I'm a member so costs me nothing but is £9.00 if you're not a member so make most of your visit if you decide to go.

I don't get to the cinema as much as in previous lives, but I managed to see Mr Holmes starring the magnificent  Ian McKellen and a young star of the future called Milo Parker, whom I hope to live long enough to see a few more times. Excellent movie, as much about ageing process, friendship and approaching death with dignity as it is about detective story, but that is there to if such is your thing. Go see it for yourselves. I went with my pal Gordon, who told me he was taking me to a 1960 Mexican movie at the Film Festival, but he got his venues mixed up, so we saw Mr Holmes instead and quite frankly between you and me I think it turned out rather well, probably better in fact. But don't mention to Gordon.... I think he's getting older poor thing.

That's all I have time for and I see I've not told you about my art purchase, but remind me and I will do so next time.

The Sudden Wren

Here is a little poem I rather like.

to be a sudden wren

to be the tiny and the fast

to see the endless bounty

within the limitless

and

large

and 

be everything

Billy Childish

Going on

I had my latest scan on Tuesday. Hard to believe that it's four months since my last one. I'm hoping the tumours are still slowly growing. Maybe I shouldn't have split that infinitive, but I'm told people are not so fussy about these things nowadays, and who knows my tumours may take a hint.

I won't know the results until 23rd July as Dr McLean is on holiday part of the time and I myself am going to London on 9th July for eight nights. She offered to see me this week but I decided to stick to original date as don't particularly want to be given a negative result and then travel to London, with it on my mind, bothering me.

This will be my first time away from home since my return from Peru in November 2012. Apart from a couple of nights in Cupar. Which hardly counts as away from home. I'm excitedly looking forward to my trip and hoping my old body doesn't let me down. The signs are currently positive.

It was incredibly difficult coping with my cancer when I thought I was going to be cured. Now that I'm told that a cure is no longer possible I have no idea how I'm able to cope. Some days are hard beyond belief, especially if things are going wrong physically. I tell myself to get on with it and not give up, even when giving up seems the easiest thing to do.

If I have the strength I go for a walk round Morningside or to Blackford Pond, but often I'm only able to cross the road for a coffee in Caffe Nero, or tea and toast in Blackwoods Cafe. I've not been able to visit the swans so often this year, so they've had to look after themselves without my support, though John L keeps me posted on progress. I aim to visit them before I go to London all being well.

I'm lucky to have so many good friends to keep me company and join me for coffee and a natter. There are very few days when I'm not meeting someone or other of my friends. Occasionally I avoid meeting anyone as I need time to myself to reflect quietly and cope with whatever my body is  testing me with at the time.

Thank goodness for Caffe Nero. I do most of my reading there and often chat with my friend John L about various philosophical matters. The staff in the cafe are superb and constantly supportive. Polish, Scottish, Spanish, Italian, Irish, Russian and English. A complete picture as it were.

Speaking of books I'm currently reading Ali Smith's prize winning novel How to be both. Really enjoying it and especially so as she is a Scottish writer, coming from Inverness as she does. Somehow makes the novel even more enjoyable, which is quite silly of course but nevertheless gives me a frisson of extra pleasure, and I need all the frissons I can find. I will try to go to her event at the Book Festival.

I finished reading Colm Tóibín's novel Nora Webster. Also an excellent piece of work, exquisitely heartbreaking. Very moving and typical for those who've read his previous.

All for now. More to follow. I bought an art work the other day.

Blossom

I know there has been an extraordinarily long hiatus in my posts for which you will have to accept my humble apologies. My only excuse is that my feeble, stupid body has been letting me down again and again. The many operations on my bowel are still causing me immense problems even though it's nearly a year since the last one. I have many sleepless nights and hazardous days.

Consequently I am often  afflicted by a terrible tiredness which doesn't just affect me physically but leaves me mentally exhausted so that my brain seems not to function, or functions only very slowly, making everything in life a huge burden, so that sometimes I am hardly able to communicate at all never mind write blog posts,  and  opening emails and my Facebook and Twitter accounts are all I can manage, which is a shame as I've got this brand new MacBook Pro crying out to be put to use.

Some days are worse than others of course. My reading speed was never very fast but has got even slower, so that I'm often still reading The Observer on Wednesday. Mind you I have managed to finish this week's edition this morning, which is good. I am still reading my books but I doubt if I'm going to manage all the ones I've been planning on. There's a pile through there that I'm still hoping to complete before it's too late. I sometimes wonder if having the pile there where I can see them,  a constant reminder, is bad for me. But I can't get rid of them, so will keep telling myself I'm here for a few more years. Let's hope so anyway. Maybe I should stop buying books too. But there again maybe not. Someone will read them I'm sure, if I don't get round to them.

The most difficult part of life right now is the frustration of knowing that the cancer is almost certainly growing, slowly (hopefully), in my lungs but I'm unable to take full advantage of this time, before it all catches up with me, to do some travelling or anything much at all. I'm seeing various different doctors and nurses at the hospital to try to get me sorted but so far without much success. I'm back at the hospital tomorrow for another consultation and more advice and maybe some new ideas. I sure hope so anyway.

I want to go to Stornoway soon, maybe this month and I've eight days booked in London in July. I'm still holding out hope for Peru later this year, I will not decide until after my next scan in a few weeks time, and of course only if my other problem is resolved. I also plan on visits to Stoke, Cheltenham, Manchester, Lake District, Spain, Rome and Glasgow. I should be visiting some of these places as I write, at least that was my original plan for this year, bit I'm still hanging around Morningside. What a blessing that I live in Edinburgh, and Morningside with all its many wonderful  delights. Come and visit and I will show you.

As the late great Dennis Potter said as he approached the end : " I see it is the whitest, frothiest, blossomest, blossom that there ever could be, and I can see it."

Doesn't need explaining really and there's still plenty left for you to go and enjoy and be grateful. I am.

My New Life

I was feeling brave at my last consultation with Dr McLean. We were discussing my scan and having a good look at all the tumours on my lungs, not a lovely experience, and deciding on the best way forward. Which turns out to be a scan in four months time and meantime no treatment.

I asked her how long this could go on for and after some time she said, maybe a year. I think she meant that I could possibly go on like this for a year, but I lost my bottle and didn't ask her to clarify. I guess I was scared she meant I had a year left to live. Having thought about it some more I've decided that she wasn't saying I had a year left to go.

So lets get on with things.

I have decided to start a new life. I think I've probably started a few new lives in the past but none of them consciously or by design. I don't know how long my new life will be. Not as long as my old one, but long enough for me to get some enjoyment out of life. At least it will be once my surgeon sorts out my bowel problems.

The main thing is that I do not intend to let my cancer dominate my new life. Of course that will be difficult at times, especially when I need more treatment, but I'm hoping that is some time in the distant future.

I realise having just said that cancer will not dominate, that its easier said than done.

So I have to have a plan my life a bit more. I will aim to do something interesting or new or exciting everyday.  Sometimes that will be nothing more than meeting a friend for a coffee, going for a meal, maybe a movie, hopefully a few theatre visits, many trips to Edinburgh galleries and museums, and do some travelling. I also plan to complete my family research including my father and his brothers war experiences.

I will of course continue with my blog. I hope that cancer will be less intrusive in my postings for a while at least. I plan to create an iBook. This will be mostly based on my blog postings over the past ten years. And maybe some other  bits and pieces.

When I bought my MacBook Pro I paid for a years one to one training at the Apple shop in Princes Street and I'm really pleased that I did. The young folk who work here are excellent and very helpful and understanding. One of them noticed that my blog would be a year old in August 2016 and told me that we would  celebrate its anniversary. I hope to be here to celebrate with him.

I'm writing this post upstairs in the Apple shop, with views of the Castle behind me and Calton Hill in front. What more could one ask for? This is a good life. Let's hope there's lots more of it to come.

Sequamur

Last week I went to see a Gaelic play called Sequamur which was on here in Edinburgh at the venue called Summerhall, formerly affectionately know as the Dick Vet.

Sequamur is the motto of my old school The Nicolson Institute in Stornoway, where I spent six, mostly happy years, except for the odd moment or two which were not exactly happy. But that's for another time.

Sequamur means Let us follow, though after seeing the play, in many ways, let us not, as the author Donald S Murray, from Ness, also a former pupil, says.

The play was written for the centenary of the First World War as it affected the people of Lewis and especially the pupils of the Nicolson Institute and their headmaster (rector) William Gibson. Those of you who went to the Nicolson Institute, and there are one or two of you reading this, will remember that in the old Francis Street building there was a brass memorial plaque on the upstairs landing commemorating all the school pupils killed in the First World War.

The author was inspired by memories of that plaque and by reading an account of the speech made by William Gibson when he unveiled the plaque and spoke about his former pupils and their sacrifice, wondering if it had been worthwhile. They obviously held him in the highest regard and many of them went on to write to him from the trenches of Europe or from Gallipoli, where so many of them fought and died. Those letters and the speech are now held by Museum nan Eilean in Stornoway amongst all Gibson's papers. Extracts from some of the letters are printed in the programme for the play and were used by Donald in his background research.

I found the experience very moving and emotional and I'm so glad that I was well enough to go. The play ended with the roll of honour for the Newington area of Edinburgh scrolling up on the screen behind the actors, to the sound of the bagpipes playing the last post, which I thought was coming through the speakers, until I saw the piper march through the theatre and stand in front of the stage as the roll scrolled on. Fair took my breath away, as they say. And couldn't help but think about my father and his brother, and their war history and then I remembered my own mortality and had to work hard not to embarrass myself with my tears.

I spoke to the author afterwards in the cafe and told him how much I appreciated his play. He had been to Gillespie School the day before to do a workshop for the students there studying Gaelic and I was very impressed to see so many students watching the play. Well done all concerned for a superb production.

A Bit of a Result

Today I got some reasonably good news from oncology, which is a first for them.

Dr MacLean tells me that the cancer has not spread to any other organs and there are no new tumours on my lungs, which is all good news. However the tumours that are there have all grown in volume since the last scan in November, but the growth is small, none of them having doubled in size. The largest is now just over 8 mm across and the smallest just about 5 mm. I think there are seven or eight of the little devils.

I had hoped for a no change situation, but I guess this is next best thing. At least it's not aggressive so that's a bit of a result.

Dr MacLean is happy with the result and thinks I might go on like this for some months and maybe even longer. But no way of telling. I don't require treatment for the time being, so no chemo for a while. I will return for a scan in four months to see how things are progressing, slowly I hope, and maybe even six months should I decide to do some travelling. This will depend on progress sorting out my residual bowel problems and me getting fitter, which is partly dependent on me getting some complete nights of sleep, bowels permitting.

But enough of that for now. I feel happier than I have for a while, at least as happy as it's possible to be with incurable cancer. So onwards and upwards.

This will be short tonight as I'm awaiting the arrival of my pal John B to watch the big game with me and I've a few calls to make before that.

"The sky seemed to split apart from end to end to pour its fire down upon me."

Meursault just before he pulled the trigger, as reported by A. Camus.

Sometimes I feel the same.

Another Appointment

This is the time of year my late mother liked best, as the days get longer, the dark nights drift away and spring approaches. I like it too, more and more as the years go by. I have to make the most of these little moments of bliss as there may not be too many more left for me. Mind you I'm still hoping for a few more.  I wouldn't like you to think I've given up on the future, short or long as it may be.

I should know more tomorrow about what the future holds for me as it's time for my appointment with my oncologist, Dr Maclean, again. She will be giving me the results of my latest scan which I had ten days ago. The best I can hope for is that the tumours on my lungs have not grown since my last scan in November, or are developing very slowly and that no treatment is required. The alternative outcomes are too grim for me to describe on here. I feel if I write it I might be tempting fate, so best not to. Not that I believe in fate, sounds too Calvinistic.

It's a strange feeling knowing that as I sit here and await the news my doctors already know and have probably discussed my prognosis. It doesn't seem right somehow.

I'm not going to write much more today. I know I've been very lazy recently when it comes to writing, but my excuse is my ill health. I miss a lot of appointments and arrangements with friends because I can't leave my flat and I certainly am not able to concentrate on writing. Even reading gets difficult. Sometimes I'm still reading the Saturday Guardian and the Observer on a Wednesday or Thursday. Mind you it does save money as I don't need to buy a paper during the week.

Having said that I'm still working my way through various books, the latest one I finished was called A book of death and fish by a Lewis writer called Ian Stephen. A bit of a challenge as its well over 500 pages, but well worth the effort. Maybe best suited for folk who love the Island but don't let that put you off. It's highly recommended in a review by Robert Macfarlane whose new book Landmarks I bought for myself today. I hope to get the time to read it and maybe get to meet Robert if he comes to this years book festival. Maybe my friend John L and I will go again and this time get to the front of the queue to speak to him.

I hope someone among you will be reading and recommending Robert Macfarlane long after I'm no longer here. " he has a poet's eye and a prose style that would make many a novelist burn with envy" or so says John Banville,  whose judgement I think we can all trust.

I've bought myself a MacBook Pro and still getting used to it.  I really like it and hope to post lots and lots to my blog now that I've spent all that money . Mind you it's not as if I can't afford it as my plans for  trips to South America begin to look less likely.

Tomorrow I might find out.

Cells

Sometimes as I sit here contemplating my fate and other things such as consciousness and spirituality, I can't help but think how different things might have been.

It's quite possible, indeed almost certain, that as my surgeon, Mr Speake was busily removing my tumour, some infected cells had already made their escape and were lying dormant in my lungs waiting for their moment to start their terminal duty.

And there they lay, hiding, inactive, invisible to the most sophisticated scanner in Edinburgh, dodging gallons of chemo drugs  sent into my body to seek them out. Knowing that as long as they remained quietly, cruelly, carefully inactive, hiding in some corner of my lungs, the chemo drugs would not find them. This they managed to do over a period of six months when I put up with all the miseries that chemo brought into my life, expecting to emerge at the end clear of cancer.

Of course the little bastards had other plans. It's as if they were waiting for their moment in the sun and knew when the chemo drugs had left my body, so out they came dancing round my lungs and multiplying at a furious rate, so much so, that  the radiographer can only tell us that they are there in multiples. I don't think anyone has counted them. Just too many for them to bother, as they know there are enough of them to kill me.

I keep telling myself if only I'd gone to my doctor six months earlier they would not have had time to infect my lymph nodes and blood vessels and would never have found their nasty way round to my lungs. But I try not to dwell on that too much. I can't blame myself for how my life is ending. I can only hope for a little more time to annoy you all with my witterings. Is there such a word? And sorry there have not been many for past few weeks, but I will try to do better.

I will know more on  the 9th  of March when I see my oncologist again and she has the results of my next scan which should be sometime towards the end of February.

That's all for now. It's snowing here in Edinburgh, but I'm hoping to make my way down to the National Gallery to see the Turner watercolours, before they are put away for another year. I missed them last year, due to chemo diversions and this year may be my last chance to see them, so I think I should brave the snow and get on with it. Bye folks, more soon, maybe on films or something. Tonight is Wolff Hall night.

Happy New Year (belatedly)

Nobody said it would be easy, but I didn't realise it would be this hard (as the man didn't quite say). I haven't written anything since Xmas day so I guess it must be time I put pen to paper, or at least hand to keyboard.

It's two months ago today I was told that I had metastases on both lungs, and I'm still adjusting to the news. I can sometimes forget about the cancer for an hour or two, if I'm watching a good movie or chatting to good friends or sleeping, but mostly it hangs over me, like the worst enemy imaginable, always nagging and reminding me it's still there waiting for me, knowing only too well that some day it will get me.

I'm walking down the street minding my own business, living my life, quietly nowadays, when the voice comes in to remind me I've got cancer and I know nothing will ever be the same, and I wonder why all these blameless people I see around me don't realise what my life has become. How can they behave as if nothing has changed when I'm feeling so bad?

I read the paper and a young woman of 35 has died of colorectal cancer, leaving behind twin boys five years of age and I know her situation was much more difficult than mine. Then I read that the NHS is cutting funds for some cancer treatments as we can't afford the cost of some new drugs which may prove useful. Where's the justice in that?

I discovered from a BBC radio programme about a new type of radiotherapy called stereotactic ablative radiotherapy which, according to the programme has proved effective in the treatment of some cancers, as it can be more accurately and effectively targeted, and especially effective in secondary bowel cancer on the lung. In some cases 100% effective. So I asked my oncologist about it and she agreed to see me yesterday to talk about it.

NHS in England has told it's hospitals to stop using it. It is more expensive in the short term but less expensive long term as patients require only 4 or 5 treatments as compared to 20 using normal treatment. It was provided in Scotland by the Beatson in Glasgow, but they no longer use it, for some reason which I've yet to fathom. My oncologist insists it was a clinically based decision. There are still a few hospitals in England using it as they were able to make a clinically based case for it. Scottish patients would need to be referred for it by the oncologist and the authority would have to agree the funding.

My oncologist will not refer me or recommend me for it. This is because I have too many lesions (tumours), multiple small ones, though exact number is unknown. She says there are 6 or 7, but no one seems to have counted. There are too many lesions for surgery to be safe, and they use the same criteria for stereotactic therapy decisions. So I have too many for surgery and/or radiotherapy and if I had only a few they would operate, as this is most effective treatment. Which seems to suggest there are no situations where stereotactic therapy would be appropriate. Heads I lose and tails too.

If this is confusing for you, don't blame me. Imagine how it feels for me. What a bugger!!!! to say the least.

A Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for your cards and messages and visits. I plan to see more of you all this year. Tomorrow I'm back at the hospital to see my surgeon Mr Speake.

Merry Xmas 2014

Happy Xmas to you all out there and thank you for keeping on reading my blog.

Another Christmas day upon us and I can't help but wonder how many more I have ahead of me. Let's hope lots but also be prepared for a different outcome. Today I'm feeling positive and looking forward to a bit of travelling in 2015, even if only in the UK.

Last night I had dinner with Neil and his family and got to spend some time with Keith who is home from Kentucky with Trish, who had a slight accident just before they were due to fly out. However no harm done and all well. It was great to see you Keith and I was pleased that you still remember my friend Iain McDonald and his songs, especially Santiago, which is a favourite of mine too. I'm not sure if Iain still sings it as he has so many new songs to sing, but I'm hoping to hear him next year and will ask him to do it one more time.

That you remember Blair Peach gives me much satisfaction and I'm pleased to know that he will continue to remembered by someone in my family. I don't think I still have that "Who killed Blair Peach poster?" It was seen by many people in my flat and became a bit torn in the end, but I will have a good look for it before I see you on Sunday. Anybody who doesn't know who Blair was I recommend that you read about him as he was an inspiration to many, and continues to be for some at least.

Thank you to all those who have sent me cards and messages and all those of you who have been to see me or are planning to do so. Don't worry I plan to be around for a long time to come so will be seeing lots more of you if we haven't managed to meet up to now.

I don't like to single out any cards or messages but there is one card |I received which was both a surprise and a pleasure. It was from someone called Rosemary and I hope you don't mind me mentioning you on here. Rosemary says on her card that we only met once at a class in Riddles Court, (a beautiful building incidentally), in the autumn of 2013, where we spoke and I passed on my blog details. I was unable to continue with the class because of the chemo and radiotherapy. Rosemary says she has been reading and following my blog ever since and decided to send me a Xmas card and to wish we all the best with things. So thank you Rosemary and everyone else who's sent me a card or a message.

I'm off now for Xmas dinner with my niece Anna and all her family, i.e. my brother Coinneach and the rest.

Emer Harkin

BI've not written anything on here for a while, as you may have noticed, as I've been struggling to adjust to my new situation with the cancer having taken off up to my lungs. I think I'm getting to some kind of settlement with myself and can see a kind of future however long or brief that may be. 

But I don't want to talk about that today but instead tell you about my friend Emer Harkin. I won't tell you how long Emer and I have been friends, but it's been quite a while and she has always been there for me, even when I've been a very stupid boy indeed. Emer is also one of my cinema going friends, when her work shifts permit. We have seen many movies together and not a few concerts. I particularly remember a Waterboys concert and a Sinead one, not to forget many times to see my friend Iain McDonald singing and playing his guitar. And Christy Moore of course and Jools when he was still in the band whose name escapes me, but you will know who I mean. 

Needless to say Emer has been a constant support over the past eighteen months. A few weeks ago she told me she was planning to do a Marcathon, which involves running three miles or 25 minutes every day for a month and asked me to choose which charity she should be supporting. It was not difficult for me to choose Maggie's Centre, Edinburgh which has provided me with much care and support since my cancer diagnoses last year and continues to do so. In fact I'm just back from our Christmas party. Sober. 

There are of course many other cancer charities which are worthy of support but Maggie's is the one that has meant so much to me, where I have made many new friends and worked with some superb support workers and volunteers. I have done writing classes, relaxation classes, meditation classes and go to a weekly support group there. And much else besides. I did bookbinding there last week and have produced a little booklet which I plan to give to a very special person in my life. I could go on about all the brilliant things that Maggie's Centres do all over the country but all I want to say is that it's helped me maintain my sanity in the most difficult of times. 

So to get back to Emer and her efforts on behalf of Maggie's, she  is now half way through her fundraiser and has raised over £700 and I'm hoping she will be well over the thousand mark by the time she finishes. I can't praise you highly enough Emer, you are one of the best if not the blessed. 

I'm asking everyone who reads my blog to support Emer and Maggie's by making a donation however small, as I know this is an expensive time of year, but I'm sure a little bit can go towards this good cause. Remember that Emer has to go out every day, whatever the weather, including Xmas and Boxing days and do her bit. She will of course be super fit after all this running so we can get her to do more sponsored runs next year. Don't you think Emer? 

Here is the link to her Virgin Money Giving page and if you do decide to support her maybe you could mention that you found out from my blog so that Emer knows where her support is coming from. Thank you all in advance. If link doesn't work go direct to Virgin Money Giving and enter her name.

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=EmerHarkin&faId=521928&isTeam=false

Oncology report

I saw my oncologist, Dr McLean, on Thursday. Coinneach came with me. She confirmed that a cure is no longer possible and that any treatment will be palliative, which was just a tad devastating, even though I knew it already. I hoped that something might turn up, so to speak, but no such luck. 

She showed us my lungs on her screen and pointed out some of the infected dell clusters. There are a lot of them, though nobody seems to have been counting. The radiologist report talks about multiple nodules, so I don't suppose an exact count is going to change anything. The biggest cluster was 7 mm in diameter and the smallest was 2 mm. She expects these to grow and eventually be the end of me.

As she has nothing to compare them with, there having been no sign of cancer in my last scan in November 2013, she has decided to hold off on treatment for three months then do another CT scan towards the end of February so she can measure the progress. I will see her in March to decide whether treatment would be appropriate then, or to wait a bit longer to see how it develops. More waiting. More patience required. Not my finest attribute. 

It's very strange seeing my lungs on screen like that, and watching her zoom in and out and picking things out, and casually measuring them. I couldn't get my head round the idea that what was on the screen was also inside my chest, and slowly killing me. Or maybe it won't. 

Dr Mclean was her usual impressive self. Different to Mr Speake in many ways but makes me feel confident in her decisions. Coinneach was impressed with them both, though surprised at Mr Speake's youthfulness.

I will stop now and pop out for a little latte. I've been to see The Imitation Game this week. Excellent movie. Four star at least and Cumberbatch is worthy of an oscar. Defintitely worth a few hours of your time. I don't know if I mentioned Mr Turner in previous posts. Also an excellent movie and another oscar performance from Timothy Spall. Hard to choose between the two but maybe Cumberbatch by a nose. 

Hotter new shoes and Mr Speake (no connection)

For the past eighteen months that I've been living with cancer I always thought I would survive it and come out the other end of treatment cancer free. The operations and treatment have been incredibly hard to live with but were tolerated with good grace in order to be cancer free. Now things have changed utterly, though no terrible beauty is born, and it looks as if I'm not going to survive it after all. Though one never knows and hope must remain, even if vanishingly small.

The only way I can describe the way I feel is that there's a deep sadness, an incredible loss and much confusion. Loss of my life, loss of love, loss of friendships. Not knowing how it all turns out for the world and all the things that mean so much to me. It doesn't look as if I'm going to see the revolution, but I thought we might have got closer than this. So come on folks get a grip and get on with it.

I don't feel anger or despair or depression, though it does hover about somewhere and I know I must do my best to fight it off. I have no intention of spending the rest of my days being depressed and sorry. Having said that it's still a constant struggle and I have to argue with myself constantly to keep going and to live for the future, however brief it may be. Concentration is frequently a problem and persuading myself that something is still worth doing even if it might be for the last time.

I took a wander down Princes Street yesterday and after visiting the Apple shop and not buying myself a MacBook Air or Pro ( which should I buy) I decided to buy a new pair of shoes from Hotter, who make very nice lightweight shoes, ideal for me. I'm sitting there being served and waiting for the guy to come back with my size and it's impossible not to think what's the point and then having persuaded myself that there was a point, a voice began to tell me that this could be the last pair of shoes I will ever buy. Terrible. So one has to pull oneself together and just pretend nothing has changed.

Sorry if I repeat myself in these posts but my memory plays tricks on me too.

Coinneach and I met Mr Speake, my consultant and main man on Wednesday. The team have reviewed my case and all agree with his diagnosis. Surgery of any sort is not possible or likely to be worthwhile. I will now see the consultant oncologist next Thursday to discuss possible treatment and prognosis. Sometimes I think I would like to know how long I've got and other times I wonder if that would be of any help. If she tells me I've got six months for example, is that good or bad? Would I be better not to know? I will play it by ear once I'm with her. I've definitely decided I want to see my scan on her PC, as I want to know for myself what my lungs looks like now, and how far the cancer has got, and just see for myself  this thing that wants to take my life.

Mr Speake spent nearly an hour with us and would have spent more if I hadn't made a move. I asked him about travelling long distance to Peru. He knew my desire to return there and had told me before that I would be able to return. Given my new circumstances he now advises me against long haul flights, on medical grounds, but says he would understand on a personal level if I decided to ignore his advice. I won't make a decision for a week or two, but Peru now looks unlikely. Which causes me more sadness, more loss.

Mr Speake has promised me that he will take his son Isaac to Peru some day, and go with him to Cusco and Machu Picchu, and he will think of me when they get there. I know that he will do that for me.

I want to thank you Mr Speake for all that you have done for me, for looking after me so well, for successfully removing my tumour from a very difficult location, and for making me cancer free in my colon. We were not to know that it would travel from my bowel and settle in my lungs. I feel that you have become my friend now and not just a surgeon treating me. I was very lucky indeed to have you as my consultant. I think that was just meant to be. Someone was looking out for me when they put me on your list of patients. So thanks again and you will love Peru for sure.