Yep, that’s right folks. Today’s topic is ‘Facing Death.’
- My private thoughts that might help others in the same boat.
- In 2012 I was diagnosed with bowel cancer. Given the all clear.
- In 2014 I was told it was back and had 6 months to 2 years.
- In 2015 Operation, all clear.
- 2017, back again. nothing can be done
This is a chronological ‘Mind Dump’ of my random thoughts, the majority of which show their faces during the small dark hours when little else is about.
3rd Oct. 2018
A rather cathartic thought just flew into my head,
28th Sept. ’18.
The Wedding – Part 2.
That was an emotional roller-coaster ride with the emphasis squarely focused on the capital ‘Fuck you shit for brains, someone has it in for you and they’re not done with you yet!”
At about 11am, all was well, in fact all was better than well. 2 hours to go, Pearl called, all seems to be going as planned their end and here, as 1pm drew closer, an air of nervous anticipation grew. We planned to watch the ceremony through Whatsapp on my Samsung tablet which was plugged into my Sony film projector onto the lounge wall, nice and fuck-off huge.
Then of course was the obligatory last minute IT fail.
Jon, God love him, spoke to me via Whats-app video earlier in the day and then went over to the area where the service would be to test again. It wasn’t as good so he suggested we use Face time, it would be better.
I have a Galaxy Edge, won’t accommodate Face time apparently? Even if it did, no time to arse about, so we used my wife’s iPhone. Only one problem. Apple and Microsoft are completely fucking shite arse gravy and sod all would display via the projector on any multitude of the settings. So I unplugged the iPhone and was now short on time to get suitable attired myself.
To hear how this little snippet of information just might have saved not only my sanity but might have also quelled an imaginary monster that would be with me 24/7 of what little of my life span remains, see the end of this post and what it may well cost this young fella!
aspect has spurred me onto to giving this man in the photo below the biggest and wettest girlie kiss he’s ever had in his life and no mistake, click here!
We settled down with Marie, my amazing Mother In Law, to watch the ceremony on the iPhones seemingly minute screen compared the Edge’s.
And they’re off…….I had a slight wobble though. Seeing Francesca for the first time is easy to describe. There are no words.
Everything froze. She took my breath away and seeing her Mum as my ‘understudy’ was amazing. I couldn’t have wished for anyone else in the world to take my place. Absolutely no one.
Apart from being hard to hear the ceremony itself, which is to be expected with an outdoor service and no professional recording kit, it was amazing and I was actually feeling as though I was enjoying it and began to feel I was ‘there’.
Then the signing of the Marriage Certificate, the cheers, applause, laughter, handshakes, kisses, a big belly laugh by a fat Uncle maybe and general good natured banter as two families are inextricably linked no matter what for eternity by unbreakable genetic connections.
Yep! Here it comes. A very nasty feeling is emerging from somewhere and its something that life has been unable to prepare you for, to qualify or quantify in any acceptable size, shape, format or dimension that the emotional part or physical part of you (or should I say I) seem to be able to cope with.
Everything seized up, everything froze except body fluids! I was leaking from almost every orifice, tears, snot, all sorts, I couldn’t speak. I was trying to shout at my wife to turn off the sound but all I could see was blurred colors and although I wanted to turn of the sound I could barely hear and I suddenly couldn’t understand a single word being said, there or by my wife or Marie!!
In the last 6 years I’ve been to some pretty fucking amazing and equally amazingly scary places whilst under the NHS’s generous influence of legal opiates but this beats them all. A total and utter head fuck.
All I could hear me saying to ‘Me’ was ‘You cunt, you fucking cunt, what kind of cunt doesnt go to his daughters wedding, what conceivable excuse could justify missing the ONE FUCKING DAY your ONE Oldest daughter has!?!? WHAT A FUCKING CUNT YOU ARE. ‘What kind of a Cunt misses his own daughters wedding!
25th Sept ’18.
Japanese Water Torture Anyone?
Some time ago my wife and I were watching TV. That’s the only thing I disliked about my little 1970’s flat, once my wife moved in there was no bloody room for anything! Ended up we couldn’t swing a cat and found ourselves gradually having our brains sucked out by the TV because there was bugger all else to do!
What a load of arse gravy on TV! On that note, a quick rant…..You, the BBC can fuck RIGHT off!
My Mum was born prematurely and lost all sight in one eye and 75% in the other , so technically she’s blind and officially registered with the RNIB but the robbing bastards at Auntie Beeb have always insisted she pay a TV Licence until she was 75 years old so I have NEVER paid for one in my life and never will. It’s all fucking soaps, cooking show, antique shows (Welcome to today’s episode of – I’ll Sell These Antiques If It FUCKING Kills Me!) and worst of all, these fucking shows about some twat doing up some shit hole that the presenter demanded he be comprehensively inoculated against before entering!
Anyway, on came a show asking people whom had been diagnosed with a terminal illness to describe how it had changed their attitude to life.
It was amazing and I was howling. My wife however was squirming uncomfortably next to me and eventually fell asleep.
At some point I realised I was enjoying the show and felt quite surprised. A lady of about my age appeared and was speaking about her family, all the usual fears, woes and worries. Her children, grandchildren etc. I say usual, by now I realised most of the shit I wrestled with was exactly the same shit as everyone else’s, just my shit, that’s all. In fact it the same as your shit, just amplified by a sense of urgency.
She had got herself into a routine which was so simple but touched me so unexpectedly I couldn’t help but cry.
She was talking about when she goes to bed a night with her husband (I’m choking up now just writing this!), she gives him a kiss, says goodnight and says to herself ‘I’ve stolen another day and all I want is one more.
Well, that finished me off. I was a snotty dribbling lump curled up in a ball on the sofa.
So from that night on I’ve said just that to myself every night after I kiss my wife goodnight. Except for this. I added my own touch. My wife said ‘Goodnight’ back, obviously! Without thinking I piped up, “No, new rule! We’re not allowed to say Goodnight anymore. from now on we say “See you in the morning”. “Done” she said.
To me it’s like Japanese water torture in reverse, PMA version 1.01.
To me it’s better to have a steady stream of small POSITIVE things dripping into my brain all day than one or two large negatives or worse still, lots of little negatives.
So by saying, see you in the morning etc, you almost programming yourself to stay positive. Also, most important of all to me is meeting people, or more accurately, how I greet them.
I don’t want to be that guy the pub who walks in and everyone says “for God’s sake don’t ask him how he is! You’ll get his bloody life story.”
Anyone who knows me will tell you I say pretty much the same thing when someone says ‘How are you?’
I’m DAMN fine thanks! You?
What A Head Fuck!
The bling had to go if he wanted to work for me. Luckily for both of us he did.
We’ve kept in touch, sporadically admittedly over the last 10 years. Now based in Singapore, it’s normally via Whats App or Instagram.
Nigel WhatsApp’d me last night.
10 years ago I owned a Publishing company and Nigel was my National Sales Manager and damn good he was too. Wild enough to do what he thought right but intelligent enough to listen when it counted.
Once I told him how to walk into a clients, ask for a cup of tea and walk out with an order.
He tried it.
He was learning. Good lad.
Back to last night. I just put out my last joint and he got me on Whats app. He said he’d got hold of the boys (his Sales Team) and they all wanted to meet up. Yep, you guessed it. I lost it again and got all choked up. I think this will end up a recurring theme here!
So it looks like I’ll may get to see some old young faces this weekend, fingers crossed.
Too raw to talk about at length, but my oldest daughter is getting married in Pathos, Cyprus on Friday. I’m too sick to travel, in fact i’m now housebound.
It was only some 2 weeks ago I saw my youngest daughter, Billie, properly in about 2 and a half years, amazing!!!
She flew out today with her Mum, Pearl, my ex-wife whom again, I only saw properly again around the same time. Unfortunately I saw her out the kitchen window at the exact same moment she saw me and I saw the look of horror on her face when she saw how much weight I’d lost.
So, so good to she her, made all the better by her saying she’d visit again soon and she cried when she left. However it even sweeter next time my oldest daughter, Francesca, who came with Pearl said she came along to support mum and felt like a spare wheel, sat on her phone being ignored by us! Priceless!!
Today Francesca and I tested WhatsApp on my new tablet. I saw my grandsons jump in the pool to show me how good they were at swimming. I lost it completely and had to hang up. I just fell apart and didnt want the boys to see.
A little later I sent her a text apologisong, she understood thank god.
SHe called me back. After a few seconds I realised she hhad broken up, it was the first time she had lost it on the phone with me so I insyatntly broke down agaij. I managed to splutter out the words “Shit Innit?” and we both hung up. That really hurt.
It’s one thing dying at 53 but to miss out on your duaghters wedding and to feel that everytime for the erst of her life anytime weddings are mentioned, shell get a knot in her stomach instead of buterflies at the toiught of hre specail day. Feels like I ve ruined her day forver and Im helpless to cahnge it. CAnt see for tears!!!
June 25th 2018.
It was my twin grandson’s 3rd birthday. A special day in anyone’s book, but a little bit extra special in my case as I never even thought I get to meet my grandchildren!
They were having the day at Peppa Pig world with their Nan, my ex-wife. Myself and Donna, my new wife, decided to spend the day at the beach.
My daughters fella rang. I jumped, I hate it when people who never phone, phone.
My grandson Jax had been admitted to QA in Portsmouth and there was talk of a rush to Southampton by ambulance to the Children’s Unit for a potential op as they suspected he had a blocked bowel. I got into such a state, I had to come home.
Later that day I started a getting pain in my right side, up my ribs. I phoned my daughter to see if Jax was OK and joked that I must have a sympathetic blocked bowel, ha ha ha.
The bad news, it was!
It went on for a few weeks rumbling up and down my back, it was incredibly painful and I quite literally sounded like the washing machine inside, even to my wife sat across the room!
I thought it was wind!
One Sunday night I was in agony, I had been for about a week but I can’t believe I was that stupid not to realise it was something serious. I dialled 999 and was admitted to QA. My grandson was now safe and sound at home thank god.
I was discharged that evening. 3 days later, I was back in QA again, in for 2 or 3 nights, then discharged.
One week later I was back in QA Hospital again. A surgeon was given a few recent scans to look at and came to see me. In ‘doctor’ speak he said I’m a surgeon, I cut people open, I like cutting people open, but I’m not touching you, I’ll only make it worse.
so that was it really. August 10th 2018, after 6 years and 3 months of fighting, I was being told I’d lost the fight at in medical terms was Terminal. Two to six months tops.
Another punch in the face. For me and my wife.
My wife did what she always does. Got busy.
Within a few hours She’d got a DS1500 form, it’s an official document stating you’re dead meat. You instantly qualify for Personal Independence payments, paid weekly into your bank. she’d also been onto Macmillan, the Doc, Palliative care, you name it.