My Dad was 92 on July 23rd and we had a party the sunday before. Scroll down for results and timetable.
I say party but it was more a small gathering in the clubhouse of a couple of his pals and some offspring. I had 10 pints, one for every time I went to the bar for a new arrival. Great fun had by all.
Enough to generate an atmosphere but not so loud that his ears didn't allow the opportunity to listen. To be fair, listening's not his thing, but if it is too loud he cant think so clearly what he wants to say, so it can be a bit frustrating for him.
On this occassion he was able to turn back the clock with bourboun on the rocks with ginger beer in a pint glass following his orthodox pint of best. Yes, I come from a family fully fond of the drink. This fondness has always been conveyed as a weakness, but it is our strong suit. In my aunties and uncles I saw only alcoholics and in my siblings and pals, I could see a few more. I of course have been a self confessed, absolutely ambitious alcoholic from an early age. With Stu's Mum Marie, I would sip the outstanding home made wine, while with Fergie's mum, who encouraged him to have parties where we could all drink under her watchful gaze, I would have my 6 tins and ensure the kitchen was tidy and an invite next weekend was assured.
The boy baby boomer generation was fuelled by the antics of rockstars, George Best or even Brian Barnes, famously marking his golf ball with a tin. Aspiring alcoholics was our game growing up. It made us even more mercurial. Or possibly more irritating than words, but thats another story.
The 1970's was the start of the great marketing media experiment. Like China's long march, this was our attempt to compete. Get everyone to buy a TV and then place lifestyle products in front of them, call it democracy as they get to choose from the two products.
So I chose vodka, galliano, guinness, lager, wine and yes untold alcopop cocktails of my quickly inebriated heid.
Fast forward 50 years to Dad's birthday and its all over.
Like my smoking days, my piss head days may be sliding behind me, maybe the next generation can pick up the pieces, ha ha. I know I'm having surgery and 120 units a week wont cut it. So I go cold turkey and start my camino abstentia. I'd have the odd half for methadone puposes and here we are 3 weeks later and i've had 17 units in 21 days, and the odd grumpy withdrawal moment.
On Friday I tried a teaspoon of red wine. It would prove to evaporate the alcohol on my tongue and then slide over not too shabbily. Being greedy I then opened a bottle last night.
Tuesday 13th will mark 2 weeks sine the op and the start of the next phase, radiotherapy I presume. A bit grisly but very popular. Cancer treatment has probably overtaken sun beds now in the UK, although it still has a bit of catching up to do with the fillers and trout pouts.
My version of the self imposed trout pout is my drinking. On the plus side I'm now down a stone from not eating or drinking. I've started running again as its a lot easier without the excess weight.
As I told the aenesthetist going into remission as a 100 a day smoker was not without benefits and I will clutch the sobriety this cancer camino brings like the great gift it is, the gift of life changing. When you get older and duller, a wee change is as good as a rest and perhaps this is what provides the perfect punch to get me to start doing those 40 years on interviews with the stars of 1980's Deadbeat.
So today is Sunday, 7am like the Aldi weetabix, has been and gone. How mch will you drink today, ha ha.
Well after watching Hibs capitulation to Celtic, I would think loads. I took an ibuprofen after breakfast and woke up in time for the kick off.
After the game my mouth felt up to try bread. First time since they offered me a tuna sandwich at St John's when I came too, after the op. Oh how I've missed bread but only now does it seem to make sense to try to move towards solids.
Home grown cucumber works for me.
There's a quiet celebration that my first few post op milestones are being passed. I feel like the Camino Frances opening stages are over.
The first stage from st gien pied du Porte to Roncesvalles is a brute but it's also a wake up call to the journey you're about to embark on.
Tonsils, biopsies, wisdoms and a few other teeth, might seem like a fair bit but compared to a couple of months of radiotherapy and chemo, they'll feel more like an appetiser, or possibly an apperitif.
I'll look forward to writing my Camino norte diary in November assuming treatment is successful and I'm free to go. Last year we did Almeria to Almenucar, Málaga and beyond. Nothing lifts the spirits in January like the tapa and toes in the sea.
Ideally I'd like to catch the team in Burgos in October so Tuesday should be illuminating.
I think my mouth might be ready for a curry. I'll certainly be trying to cram a few in before too long.
And with a wave of the wand magic Tuesday is here.
Yes I had the curry and yes 3 pints at the pitch n putt followed by another 2 walking home. I was reeking drunk as I tucked into my curry. It all went very well and I fell into bed to watch the Luton Town v Burnley. I woke about 11pm then wisely took straight back to bed. What a brilliant session. Simon looked like a normal person on 5 pints, I on the other hand was slaughtered when I left him and I knew it.
The one thing alcoholics often forget is the value of withdrawal. Most normal drinkers have decent gaps between celebrations which maximises their relationship with drink. It gets a bit of harmful press, receiving binge drinking headlines, but the impact physically is far more pronounced. Non alcoholics get more bang for their buck, determinedly more drunk per dinero than the alcoholic who is merely topping up.
A bit like walkers at the weekend. They climb a hill and feel great to have dusted themselves down but can't fathom why they don't do this midweek too. My mum used to say everything in moderation and I preferred everything to extremes. Whether it was my work or domestic life habits, I've definitely few gears.
Today is the trip down to the hospital so I'll go via lauriston and get my hearing aids some more batteries. It's a lovely walk through the meadows past Jess Rogan's bench.
Into lauriston building for the batteries then out past the wee red bar and the tap of lauriston.
Then down to grindlay street, past legendary old dole office and castle.
Lothian road and over to the bus stops for Inverness, Aberdeen and Fife in Queensferry St.
Then down the brae to the water of Leith.
Down the water to Stockbridge then over into inverleith park and up to the hospital.
I'll leave gaps and put some pictures in.
When you write for yourself it's such a pleasure. If anyone reads it I hope they enjoy it, but as my daughter told me, the freedom you get when you just write for yourself not an audience is .... I forget the word, which is why I'm not a writer and she is. Vocabulary dear boy, isn't a strong suit. Articulation is even worse.
So counting back I need to be at oncology for 2, so Stockbridge about 1, lauriston building 11.30 and meadows 11.
It's 10am, when will I move. Hmmmm.
Luckily I made it in time to get a coffee and ice cream from cafe Gallo. Many thanks to Deli and Oscar.
I headed into the park and found a bench.
Ice cream with George in the park.
Or is it coffee with George in the park.
Well I sat on their bench and it made me smile.
When I finished I headed up and thought, I remember the pitch n putt here.
The greens are still there for all to see.
So I arrived at the hospital and got seen very quickly by the weight man.
106kgs with my boots on. Down 7 kgs from last weighing 2-3 weeks ago.
It's a while since someone said to me we don't want you to lose anymore weight. How I did chuckle when the good Doctor started to go through the stuff. She apologised in case of repetition but I was delighted to hear it all again for my own good.
The biopsies and analysis of the tonsils suggested no spread so I saved any joking about, "so I could've kept them" for later.
The upshot was chemo and radiotherapy. 6 weeks of radiotherapy topped up with week 1 and 5 chemo. Including an overnight stay at chez oest.
Keep healthy, maintenance of abstinence would be appreciated and walking to and from hospital for radiation fine. It's a 30,000 round trip so it'll feel very Camino like.
Next steps suggest a roughly 10 week cycle.
Week 1. Bloods, ECG, dental double check
Week 2. Mask fitting or
Week 3. Mask fitting
Week 4. Feeding tube fitting
Week 5. Chemo overnight and daily radiotherapy dosage 55.
Week 6. Radiotherapy (2)
Week7. R (3)
Week 8. R (4)
Week 9. Chemo and R (5)
Week 10. R(6)
The daily radiotherapy sessions will be under an hour and the actual zapping may be as short as 2-3 minutes but the set up will be 15-20 mins.
The dosage is 55, so below 60 which is why they have decided to leave my lower molars.
I don't know if this means my post treatment performance will be quicker rehabilitation or not as I am not really comparing it to anything. The main thing is we have a realistic timetable and if the mask fitting is in week 2 then I'll be finished at week 9.
Weeks 10-12 are usually the worst I'm reliably informed as you stop the treatment but you're just destroyed. The rebuilding is largely on your own but you get as much support as you need.
I took that thought away with me as I went through to see the nurse who explained the mask fitting and other fun prep stuff. Pam was superb putting up with my chaotic approach to "and another thing", or "just wondering". How patient all these professionals are. I also got to ask how to square the alcoholic circle.
"So you explained I'm not to lose weight but also I'm to continue not drinking. As you know I'm a 40-60 pint a week kinda guy so that's a lot of sugar I'm cutting out. Most of this first 7kgs is just drink." How we laughed. "When I stopped in 2004, I lost 5" and 14kgs from not drinking, could we not reset the losing weight clock please, ha ha"
I asked "could I take my mask home as a souvenir of the journey?" I just thought it would be great if I got the band back together, or better still get Stu to join the band on marraccas and do a cover of sisters, brothers... Whatever. I've been writing a few songs as I walk and I can sense I'll send myself to sleep with some of them during treatment.
I'm looking forward to taking my mask home with me. When I told Jackie later she was in agreement. Spraying it gold and putting it on the wall really felt natural. I'll have got quite attached to it after 30 days. Like one of my hats on the Camino.
Next up I saw the bloods guy. Phlebotomist I think he was. I said help yourself to the vein, he tapped the arm and up it popped. I told him about my surfeit of platelets so I'll probably not need a plaster. Having taken his bloods he asked me to hold the cotton wool. I took it away and get! Presto! It had stopped. I said he was expert at needling and so the love in continued.
Another superb professional I was on my way to the dentist.
She's brilliant, along with her colleague from the last time, their assistants and reception, what a team. She looked at the healing and was delighted.
She looked at the embroidery and wondered if they'd had a lot of sucker left in the roll. They've even sown your tongue where the biopsy was. I tried to say I normally stop bleeding quickly but clearly my mouth was still a bit tied in knots.
She looked at the teeth and told me the prognosis for the ones I had left. She explained radiation above 60 means they have to go but below that and with the superb job done on the root canal, it's probably best to leave alone. It's a patient call and I said I was chilled either way. I suggested she buy some time and cut back the hedge of stitching and so we moved on to cutting my tongue loose. The wisdoms had been beautifully stitched and with about 20 snips of the scissors the last of the stitches came loose. Likewise the tongue and suddenly I felt I could talk again. Bad news for the pals but a great feeling for me.
I thanked them again for my appointment for the Thursday for hygienist and said see you soon.
I wondered what way to go home and eventually chose back to cafe Gallo in case it was still open.
I saw a charity shop and heard the rezillos. I walked in, saw a record player and bought it. £25 what a bargain.
I got it home and laughed. I'll always remember the day I had my plan presented to me.
Deli and Oscar were closing up so I said see you soon and wandered onto a bus. I was home in no time and admiring my new purchase.
Wednesday morning arrived and time to get my ECG. A mix of bus and walking as I sat transfixed eating my Weetabix. Eventually I moved and after going to the cancer centre I got directed up to the ann Ferguson building because everyone knows that's where ECGs are done.
It was not before I met some fellow Prestonfield members where the expression what are you doing here, well of course your here for that, one was getting treatment another their feeding tube, I was a few weeks behind.
I think the ECG was ok. I wanted a picture for my wall but the crime scene stuff can wait. I took myself off on the walk back down to Leith.
I knew cafe truva was a good coffee and baclava place so I thought get a few steps in.
Through inverleith park again and down around the back of the ground.
Then along to the water of Leith.
Then walk walk walk.
Over at canonmills I took a detour via a charity shop. I bought Daniel Kahneman's book and would have a good laugh reading it later.
On and on past and under Newhaven road.
Ah, the port of Leith, the shore.
After cafe truva I'd planned to buy boots but I looked at Tapa and saw the seats deserted outside.
I stuck my head inside
I got a menu.
I ordered
I ate.
And then I bought my new boots.
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