I am writing from sunny London after a weekend of blissful sunshine and genuine heat. According to the experts, we experienced the hottest May Day bank holiday on record. My memories of the May Day long weekend are usually three days of driving rain, howling wind and a general feeling of disapointment, so it was nice to have some sunshine and get outdoors.
Kevin and Leigh, my uncle and aunt, were over from South Africa to see their kids and have a holiday in England and Scotland. We had a family reunion at my local pub in Putney Heath and it certainly proved the old adage that "Hell hath no fury like an Allardyce drinking in the sun".
There were 15 of us and we really took over the pub. What a great day. We enjoyed it so much that we relocated to Hyde Park the next day with the folks in-law too and did exactly the same thing but without the alcohol and in more grandiose surroundings.
I have been teetotal for ages and I miss being the funniest person in the room (according to me) but otherwise there is not much else about drinking that I miss. Chemo and steroids, plus alcohol, results in a rather spectacular gastric apocalypse. The fact a pint is now sometimes £5 is the primary reason I don't miss it too much methinks. I am tighter than a duck's butthole and would never spend £5 on a pint.
I drank a thimbleful of my single malt Scotch with Den, my father-in-law, to celebrate Robert Mugabe giving up and finally deciding to Foxtrot Oscar back in November, but that is it.
My aunt sent over some old photos and it was really amusing to look back at life growing up. They included this one of my uncles and myself at my graduation, looking like the Mafia,. We appear to have taken my mate Ryan hostage.
So how are things? Well, I am now full of empathy and understanding for chronic pain sufferers. My previous attitude was - there is always someone worse off out there. That still rings true but I have decided that I cannot treat things like a competition of sufffering; I always thought well, I'm only a paraplegic, so a quadraplegic is far worse off. Plus I have food, shelter and lots of love in my life, so I have nothing to complain about and feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere. As they say, have a cup of concrete and toughen up. My attitude has changed a little bit now that I am in pain pretty much the whole time.
Last week, I only had one day where the constant pain abated for a few hours. And this is despite taking painkillers regularly. I can see people in the same boat as me when we are out. We have a strange haunted look on our faces, dark rings around our eyes and look slightly Zombie-fied.
When it gets really bad, I cannot concentrate or think straight, and start sweating like a barber giving Kim Jon-Un a new hairstyle. So I really have a lot of empathy for those of you out there who are in a lot of pain, because no matter how you spin it, it really is draining and affects every aspect of your life. Because you are in so much pain, you move less, get progessively stiffer and end up in more pain. I think I'll try meditation next.
Here is my daily drugs menu: Gabapentin, OxyContin, OxyNorm, Abstral, Charlotte's Web Hemp Oil (£300 a bottle), some magical resin from the mountains of Jamaica and of course, good old Paracetamol. Combined with stretching, a hot pack, heating blanket and various other things, I can safely report that nothing works. Unfortunately, going to sleep is the best remedy 'cause when I'm sleeping, I'm not awake to feel any pain. Any advice or tips are welcomed.
Ironically enough, I think I suffer from Allodoxaphobia, which seems to be named after me and is the fear or phobia of other people's opinions. Given that I can argue with my shadow and love to be obtuse, I am slowly learning that there is something to be gained from other people and the advice they proffer. Sometimes. So any ideas about pain, bring it on.
What I don't want or need is advice about the right way to be sick/dying/riddled with cancer. I was cornered by someone who gave me her views on pretty much everything based on the fact she knows someone with cancer - don't we all unfortunately. The last time I looked, there were over 100 types of cancer, all unique and all treated differently. She told me how to cope, how it is worse for friends who can't do anything to help, and how your mind can heal your body. Give me a break. People also die suddenly when hit on the head by falling coconuts, so life really isn't as simple as being able to focus your mind on not dying from cancer or in some random tropical-fruit-based accident. At that moment I wished my mind would discover a worm-hole in space to help me disappear. Anyway that was an hour of my life I'll never get back.
I am trying to rediscover my artist talents by drawing. Apparently art is therapeutic and so far, so good. I went for art lessons as a kid and loved drawing and painting. I find it relaxing, plus it is saving me money on gifts for my lovely wife. This focus on art is a direct replacement for my failed attempt to achieve "wellnesss" by making scale models of cars. This is something I tried once and ended up totally losing my temper, becoming obsessed with completing the bloody thing and racking up a long list of unforseen expenses. I bought the model kit for £20 and thought okay, this will focus my mind on something else and at the end, I'll have a model of a Camaro.
Unfortunately, there were about 200 tiny pieces of plastic to remove, paint and glue. My hands cramp so I'm constantly droppings things; at the time I needed glasses, so couldn't see what I was doing half the time and painting proved logistically challenging because I kept having to touch my wheelchair rims to wheel somewhere to wash my hands. I also lost various tiny car parts down the sink trying to wash off failed painting attempts; I had bought model paint that didn't do what it said on the tin - just be model paint. It instantly bubbled, resulting in me stripping the paint off the whole car and repainting it by hand.
Relaxing? My ar** it was relaxing. Hand painting a plastic valve cover, waiting for it to dry and then gluing it to another tiny piece of plastic when you have no hand dexterity, can't see etc, is the least relaxing thing ever. Hand painting a car at least 5 times is not therapeutic. I even watched a YouTube video where some guy suggested buying a professional model spray gun for £350 in order to get a decent coat of paint on the bloody thing. Seriously? To be fair, the dude in the video had clearly never been anywhere near a real, live, breathing female and had devoted his whole garage to the pursuit of making models. He called it his specialist paint shop. Hell no, that is not me.
My obsessive nature meant I had to finish the car at great mental and financial cost. Every time I see the bloody thing I get a shiver down my spine. Well not literally. So drawing is proving to be more sucessful as a stress relieving exercise.
Jay is well and helping her colleagues with the SATS tests for the kids. Again this year, I tried answering some of the grammar and numeracy questions and inadvertantly answered the question: "Am I smarter than a 10-year old?"
No. It seems, clearly I am not.
Jay suffers from Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) which is apparently some medical mystery where your legs twitch randomly. Usually, when Jay's tired, she can be known to kick like an angry 'orse. Many moons ago, in a doctor's surgery in Gabarone, we thought we had found the answers when we picked up a pamplet called 'So you've got Retless Leg Syndrome' . Unfortunately, it only repeatedly described the symptoms and the parting advice was to consult a medical professional. Thanks. For. That.
It was possibly the most useless pamphlet since 'Paralyzed? You may have Restful Leg Syndrome.' I can say with confidence that I have got Restful Leg Syndrome. Apparently one of the treatments for the real RLS is the wonderfully vague advice to improve your quality of life. Wow, that is a lofty goal. I was hoping for pills or gin or something less esoteric.
So in between the pain, RLS, and endless infections we have had some fun. We went to the West End during a blizzard to watch The Book Of Mormon which was great; we watched a band Gomez (big when we students) at the Royal Albert Hall with our mate Kate and spent 3 days in a countryside cottage amongst the chickens, sheep and piglets of East Sussex.
I am determined to do things. Speaking of which, Kate has also managed to get us tickets to watch Pearl Jam next month in a private booth at the O2 Arena (that is a gift you cannot better). As a grunge child of the nineties, that is a big deal for me as they are one of my favourite bands of all time so I cannot wait.
In the meantime, we went to watch Surrey and Somerset play cricket at The Oval. We arrived 20 minutes late, Surrey lost 3 wickets, got bowled out for 129 and it was over 3 hours earlier than expected. At least we got upgraded to the posh section.
Thanks for all of your messages and love to you all.
