Like patting your head and rubbing the tummy.
The thought had come after listening to some Beethoven concerto or a vivaldi movement which was as pure as a cloud I walked through one morning in Galicia. I have never seen or heard such a thing. A bit like Edinburgh this morning on the way to the Doc, but back to Vivaldi. Smooth like ice cream and yet folding like the rocks forming after a volcano has finished emptying the last of it's bowels, before nature ravages the setting magma.
Funny how the earth can eat rock and spew it out as liquid. But I guess that's what all the cancer patients in Treatment are actually doing. That's as close as I'll get to describing how the cure works.
My mate Scott Miller, asked me to thank you all as he's been training for the Loch Ness Marathon and he's been very glad to receive any support as he tries to raise money for the McMillan Nurses. I shared this picture of him having a row with Simon at Miller Row but I never explained the significance of his ancestry.
People have heard about speakers corner and the like but in 18th and 19th century Sotland we had places like Miller Row where if you felt your bag of flour was a bit light you could take it to the Miller's ombudsman at Miller Row. You'd explain which miller along the banks of the water of Leith had sold you short and have a row about it. A row seemed so much quicker than an ombudsman, it was certainly easier to type, and many of these cases were resolved very quickly. The weights and measures act came in shortly afterwards which strengthened the will of the adjudicator as both parties had to buy said Ref, a quarter gill before he could determine the winner of the row. Low cost justice solutions are us, thought I.
Scott's training for the marathon is much like this training for the 6 weeks of treatment. It's like Caitlin's years at RADA or for those of us who have ever bought a house, the benefits of time on planning and research produce their rewards. A bit like me asking Jackie to marry me as I lay on the Oxford bar floor gazing into her eyes, well at least one of them. Preparation is everything and I'm feeling pretty good about the time invested on getting as fit as I can for the coming onslaught.
Yesterday, as I had the stitches around the feeding tube removed (I kept as a souvenir one of the buttons holding my stomach to the skin wall), I reflected quite a lot on all the pre season training throughout the planet, not just my wee cancer bubble.
What a lot of work goes in all about us to keep it all going, my personal preparation was a tiny contribution to the whole. To be brutally honest if the rock stars I've seen so far and will see during the rest of this journey deserve anything it's a useful patient. I tell them all the time how in awe I am of what they do. It's phenomenal.
The pitch n putt was soaked in a cloud as auld dreekie looked her best for the lense.
The green keeper was out doing his stuff but there were still a few useless clots smashing balls in all directions having fun on the links.
The haar would eventually lift but replaced by rain not sunshine so that was my walk talk trashed. I was feeling good about no more painkillers but not about staying in all day. It was not a mood enhancer. I did think I still had a bottle of morphine if I felt the need but somehow the return of my wits left me empty. Less drugs meant the pain resurfaced but it's a bearable pain so I think we go from here.
Mouth and leg exercises was the way forward. Knee bends, jaw jutts.
Calf raises, mouth stretches.
Shoulder turns chew to the left.
Yea, this is working well. I need to involve the yoga and pilates practitioners.
Back in the day I quite liked a regimen, now I just like a walk. I've built a few of these into my walking as well.
I've got the sticks for balance so can try and keep my head high and practice a tongue free swallow with my teeth holding my tongue.
After about 4 I power down. I start looking at the view, this one is off the crags from Kings buildings.
In fact it's siesta time, that tired thing just hit me.
And then another day passed and finally we get to Thursday and I've the strength to walk to Portobello.
A fantastic new route and who knew the Figgate park was so big. I had enough strength to try a Guinness. It was good. So was the Greek cafe
I got home and finally the red wine dregs that I'd been sniffing for the last week found their way into a glass. I've not had red wine since the bottle of Mencia in Tapa 2 weeks ago, oh, how I wish it had been more than 25ml.
It was one of Jackie's favourites from the french Holiday days at my folks. I never liked it that much but I'm liking the lighter reds more these days.
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