I was well wrapped up so I wandered to the seas edge. It was wrapped in sunshine and looked warmer than the prom which was so sporadically shady.
The water's edge was superb. The tide was ensuring the sea was sliding further out and soon I'd be able to walk to Fife.
The snow on the Lomond peaks ensured such madness never came to pass and instead I sought sustenance and sanctuary in the Greek cafe.
These treats are delicious and after walking a bit I had the hunger.
My steps hadn't been over 12000 since before Christmas so it was no surprise that I've been effortlessly sliding into ill health. Whether it's my high BP or just lethargy, I find quickly lack of activity leads to a lack of interest in anything. Running out of vitamin D put the tin lid on it as I started properly going out of my mind for about 24 hours.
This time of year it's traditional to be stuck indoors and find a lack of resource to get moving. The weather can restrain you or a belief that lying in bed thinking a duvet day will be beneficial. I'm absolutely useless if I don't move, I really do sieze up. I know this but I have to work hard at it. It's like eating or drinking too much used to be but they've both gone.
I was also beating myself up over another foolish mistake with my meds. I misunderstood 'changing' as 'stopping' the mouthwashes. It was actually 'supplementing', if only my ears or eyes worked better. I only discovered this when I was looking through my paperwork and read the instructional advice again. I had only been using the green juice occasionally.
I was supposed to carry on using them all. I stopped before week 8 and was only really using the last one they prescribed. I restarted the bicarbonate of soda on Jan 3rd having not had any since October. My mouth is tingling now not stinging. I've been blaming the toothpaste, looking in the wrong direction at 'what provoked it', not what meds I was taking, or had stopped taking, to keep my mouth clean and aid it's recovery.
In my head I was trying to tidy up all the meds so we could get back to normal and all I've done is to create a new normal by delaying my recovery. Clearly another shambles from just assuming or guessing. It must be so hard for the staff to have to deal with patients who forget or ignore the advice.
With my mouth feeling better and exercise restored, I ate like a horse today. I even had mackerel and finished the pack. I say, "even", because I'd already had my stew leftovers, a huge plate which I most assuredly didn't offer to share.
This is huge progress and a welcome return to the reiki/reflexology table had me bursting full of positivity all day today.
So a good day all round as Stu received his 9th radiotherapy session for the brain cancer. It's a tough gig after he has guided me through since May when I was starting out on my Camino Can'cerre.
When I go in for my scan on Monday 13th he'll probably be on the recieving end of some painful cure as his treatment carries on.
It's the ingenious ways of keeping us alive which in the middle ages were probably used for torture, although I've yet to be offered the burning at a stake cure.
So this week I see the dentist with my crumbling ivories and next week it's the scan we hope that will say it looks to have gone. They'll never be able to say it won't come back and the nature of the beastly blighters is they like to party. I think I mentioned a few months ago how much cancer enjoys making a pest of itself so I don't think I'll have seen the last of it for sure. What I do hope for is that this will be the last of this particular visit. I need to keep my immune system in good order to keep the body fighting any unwelcome party goers and that's where my new found capacity for abstinence comes in really useful.
As a lifelong alcoholic I've dedicated myself to ensuring I can continue to drink. I've often been quite devious in ensuring I maximise the efficiency of my body to process as much drink, not least when I gave up spirits in my 20's. I knew I'd be dead before I was 30 so I figured I would be missing out on a lot of wine and beer in later life.
It's true as I probably drank about 30,000 pints in my 30's so giving up bottles of Pastis proved a wise thing to do.
It was like the retreat from smoking in my 40's. Clearly I couldn't continue going through 50g of tobacco a day. 100 roll ups was the wrong number, but when I started getting the lift from the first to the second floor I knew the game was up.
Stopping drinking to ensure the NHS staff had a reasonable chance of curing me seemed the only response when I got my diagnosis. Like all elderly people I probably was going to slow down my drinking anyway so to stop for treatment meant they could pump as much chemo or zap as much radiation as they felt. My liver and kidneys were largely thinking, you think this is bad, you want to see how we feel after 6 pints and 2 bottles of red. Worse still, I heard them shout, when he gets a box set and had to watch the next one, and the next one until it was 5am and he's downed 3 bottles of red, 2 jars of olives and a big block of cheese.
Yes, I think it's why everyone thought I looked good on the treatment as I looked so shit when I was a fat smiling drunky monkey.
Either way, we are where we are and my relationship with drink has now changed. I'll continue drinking but I'm on the lookout for a past time that satisfies my thirst and doesn't involve just water. I did think about whisky or wine buff but not too sure it's my style. My palate isn't sophisticated enough for craft beers so I doubt it'll merit tasting sessions.
When we were last in Spain, half pints became the preferred option. We also ventured down the 0.5° beers as well. Some of the draft lose alcohol options worked really well but I think 12 half pints will be the new all day session. It's an old man thing and at 62 I'm going to play that card. My alcoholic 'old' uncles never made it to 60 so I think I'm definitely an old man. I've made old bones as they say, although in this day and age 90 seems to be the new 60.
The problem is the natural order does still seem to will put. Whether you believe in the nature nurture debate, think we are all conditioned by our upbringing, our exposure to sensationalist advertising or have always been left handed, age does will out as those things you thought you'd conquered or managed to ameliorate return. I was always good at leaving a job unfinished, unless it was food or a pint. I'm preoccupied with emptying my plate or a pint glass, even the hoover. I can't abide doing those jobs and leaving a bit. So it's strange when I find out what jobs are perfectly reasonable not to finish, like a golf swing.
Enough of this nonsense. I think I'm only trying to capture my mood and contrast it to 36 hours ago. I am in such a good place and so grateful as the next steps grow closer.
I can feel the hosepipe, aka feeding tube, finally leaving my stomach.
The requirements of flushing daily finally finishing.
The long promised holiday, finally materialising.
The next portion of living finally arriving.
Yes the tide is finally retreating and with any luck there will be a decent period of respite before it returns.
