"Is it worth it. " What an opening line to a dreary tale of Hobson's choice....or as some said Hobson never had it so good.
It was 1982 and that indeed is how the country was for many.
It's 2024 and I had to decide if I wanted treatment. The answer was always yes but the questions remained.
As I talked last time about my Mum's left handed early onset so I wondered if chemo going through the blood vessels would kill the few valuable brain cells I had left or would it zap different traits I hadn't even noticed.
Would it fix my eczema?
Would radiotherapy put an end to my last unfilled tooth?
Could I navigate the many hospital appointments and subsequent tasks set for exercises and oral hygiene?
Could I remember after coming out the lift on the 3rd floor to turn right and then left?
I clearly need more than just hearing aids. One could argue I don't need them when I walk into the shower. Yet again I learned how to take them out and dry them.
For creams, for sickness, for pre and post food mouthwashes. How long is this list?
I'm a list writer, I'm not a reader of lists?
Readers will know, I go on and then just when you think I've paused, another random sentence appears to brighten a dreary passage like dog poo on a shoe lights up a living room carpet.
Was I ready for 4 months of abstinence and another life changing event like Jackie and Caitlin, this seemed like a decision should I be working, not working?
Smoking not smoking?
singing not singing?
Self Deception or realisation?
Well to be fair, few people ever said I sang and the single only sold 600 copies.
Would I get into Marian house after discharge?
Should I be sent to a hospice to increase my understanding and do something a bit more useful?
As the list grew longer I realised it was an emphatic yes, get on with it and deal with the new you. There was no way I would read the list again and analyse the answers. I've seen the look on people's faces when I lose the audience. It's painful, and it's them in pain that gets me. There are many forms of torture and me wittering can be one.
I guess it's the closest I'll get to a dock where when, occasionally, one is sent down, it could be life changing. Well at least the first time, I doubt it has any impact thereafter but a justice rant is for another day. Or is it?
My claustrophobia and vertigo have a high correlation with my alcoholism. I don't need a court of law to explain that.
One could argue I'm always a bit more dizzy after 3 bottles of Mencia. This may exacerbate my perception that my balance might go and walking over a bridge is foolhardy. This happens regularly in Spain when walking, particularly in and around Bierzo.
Could it be that chemo will identify some of those learned memories and deal with them so they are no longer learned?
Is that why my headache has not gone away 20 hours after the chemo and subsequent 12 hours of flushing.
I was 16/2 when I went in Monday morning and I was 17/3 when I got home at 6pm. It's 8am and 16/9. So 7lbs of fluid still in me.
Could it be that Camino 27 is my last as I fall down the slope on the way to O'Cebriero?
Yes, you can see why I couldn't examine the evidence for and against treatment so plumping for yes was easy.
I could've gone mainstream and asked what if I wait a year. See how my body fights it with 4 pints and a bottle of red a day instead of radiotherapy. Maybe gargle a dram of Aquavite.
Staring down an Oncologist with an alcoholic's armoury suggested I'd turned up in a pram waving my rattle for a lasergun fight.
Yes the toys were soon out the pram. Abstinence it was. Mixing alcohol with withdrawal is one of the most creative times I have in life.
Throw in climbing and strolling and the mind just goes places it's never been.
I'm very stimulated by environmental situations. A change of problems, people, perceptions it works well for my creativity which in turn makes me feel alive and that is, finally, my tiny wee point.
Feeling alive is being alive. How we perceive being alive not how others look at us and say, it wouldn't be for me.
I became fascinated by end of life care when I retired. Particularly my friends who were dying at home, at work or in hospices. I tried to learn from them. I tried to see the humour in their last days and realised, it was in front of my face, if only I could see them.
The most famous of them came from Walid Khalid Ali. He was probably 2-3 days from dying. Harry and I had gone up to visit and we were chatting when the phone rings. Walid sympathetically explained to Dougie he was "too tired for visitors, the end was nigh and sorry mate, I'll say my bye byes".
Harry and I squirmed in our seats and thought we better run off and scalded ourselves for turning up unannounced.
Walid put the phone down, saw our faces and said, "coffee guys, that was Dougie, I'm fucked if I'm having him spoil any minutes of my last few days, you're good for half an hour" he laughed as he went to make us coffee.
He taught us a valuable lesson. People can be very clear and concise when the clock is ticking.
I'm a complete novice, but even I've witnessed a lot of organisational stuff that people feel the need to go through. They need the humour and they need the music, feel the dance and vibrancy of life.
What is important comes out really quickly. There's no time to sit and watch tipping point or countdown.
No space for the latest food or celebrity TV show.
Life is for taking part it's not a spectator sport.
I'm lying in my bed yesterday after the 12 hours overnight flushing of the chemo. I think it's the first time I'd been hooked up to a drip for 24 hours and it was bizarre.
During the night I was in the toilet hourly but it was in the morning that my Epiphany came. This wasn't about me it was about my cell mate in the albergue Western.
He had obviously been sent down for a life diagnosis and it was clearly not a good one. What's worse was he had a self obsessed roomie like me.
I always get it afterwards but I'm so slow on the uptake. At least I didn't shout is that a hedge hog stuck up there as he toiled to make a movement matter.
I had the toilet to myself which in albergue terms is the best.
My hand wasn't the only thing that was swollen as a result of all the flushing so timing it to the toilet was important. I've never had Viagra before but it must be irritating if you've taken one and you need the toilet - in my case I was having to wait 30 minutes before I could go. This was not a side effect I'd read about and one I was ill equipped to deal with tied up to the drip as I was. I certainly knew enough about my place on the autism spectrum not to be asking the nurse for a hand.
It seemed like a long night of toilet breaks punctuated by sleep and erections. A strange night indeed.
Stranger still said the nurse waving me bye bye. See you in 5 weeks the nurse said with a smile. I took that to mean they thought I was a model patient. As I have said so many times the staff here are phenomenal. I just can't thank them all enough. They strike such a good balance and whether you're an overnight former drunk or carry a longer sentence you get treated so well.
I was ready for my burning cheeks and have creamed them liberally but keep forgetting the teeth need help too. I wasn't prepared for some of the side effects. Hiccups being the one that occupied me for ages. That dislodged sitting with my toothpaste filled gum shields. I've got to do better tomorrow or even today.
I start at 2.15 so I guess I'll close this with a little bit more of Robert Wyatt and Shipbuilding. Listen to it on your platform of choice. It's lovely.
... And a bicycle on the boy's birthday...
...it's just rumour that was spread around town
Right now it's time I got on my bike
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