It’s strange, this cancer business.
I look and feel absolutely fine. In fact the next person who says I’ve never looked better is going to get a thick ear. But there’s no denying it. I do look pretty good. Even if I say so myself.
When I came out of hospital after The Britomart Incident, three weeks ago I looked and felt like death warmed up. My island friends did there best to hide it, but I could tell they were a little shocked by my appearance when they came to visit.
I’d lost a fair bit of blood, and I was pale and shaky, my skin looked waxy and translucent, and my arms were marbled with blue and ivory bruises from I.V. drips and endless blood tests. (The ladies who come around to take your “bloods” every morning approach the task of finding a suitable vein as a kind of sport. Like Eric Bristow playing Killer, if they don’t manage to hit the bulls-eye first time, they just keep stabbing you randomly untill till they score. “Oooh, sorry dear. Is that a bit sore?”)
It took a week or ten days to get my strength back after getting home. Taking it slowly at first, I slept a good deal, ate tentatively – fearful of over taxing my battered digestive system and starting the bleeding again – and tried to walk a little further each day. For the first week, I’d get a hundred yards up the road, fell exhausted and scuttle back to the house for a lie down. Now, two weeks later I’m getting up and walking seven or eight kilometers every morning without breaking a sweat.
Jo’s got me on a terrifyingly healthy diet regime of fresh fruit, vegetables, chicken and fish, augmented by every kind of nut, grain, seed and pulse known to man. A little often is the mantra. My insides have been flushed, scrubbed and scoured by more roughage and dietary fiber than even the most die-hard organic, hand knitted Waiheke tree-huger. Every day starts with a musli and natural yoghurt enema, and a handful of assorted vitamin supplements, colorful capsules and mysterious items of dried vegetation. Goaji berries anyone?
Oh, and obviously I’m off the booze. Well mostly. I’m not allowed by beloved Pinot Noir any more, and the 50/50 Gin & Tonics are but a distant memory. Even carbonated drinks are a libatious no-no. I am however permitted the odd pint of island brewer Alan’s excellent hand pumped real-ale, which makes life just about tolerable. (I don’t think it’s entirely out of the question, that Hanwell’s Green Bullet bitter might turn out to be a cure for cancer. This is an area in which I intend to do further personal research.)
And another thing. After a few long, dark-nights-of-the-soul after my diagnosis, I’m now sleeping like a baby. Eight or ten hours of dreamless slumber every night – a novel and welcome experience, having been an intermittent insomniac for years. Consequently the dark bags under my eyes have almost disappeared, my nervous eczema has cleared up, and it could be my imagination but I even fancy a few wrinkles might have gone.
Any way. The upshot of all this clean living is that apart from the small matter of the you-know-what, I’m in ridiculously good shape. I’ve shed ten kilos, lost my double chin, got a sun-tan, and my jobbies are bobbing around in the toilet bowl like happy little corks. Sorry. Too much information?
As I said. Funny business cancer.
If I’d known you could write like this in the old Campaign Palace days I could have fired Sion. Imagine all that extra dosh we would have had for long lunches. More funds, perhaps but less fun without Sion being there.
Ha! Coming from you John, that’s a real complement. Thanks.
The world is over run with sensible people and the dreamers are on the endangered species list. We simply can’t afford to lose you. Hang in there Linds.
You have probably forgotten who I am. (Jo’s cousin).
Anyway, am following your blog & am in contact with Jo.
So sorry you have to eschew the 50/50 G&Ts, my favourite also. Am much older than you, suppose something grim will happen to me ere long. What can I say…
Jenny
PS on hols in Brighton at the mo. All v pleasantly laid back & chilled. Seaside – yes!
Hi Jenny,
of course I remember you (and your barking mad sister:). Great to hear from you and delighted to hear you are all well.. Give my regards to Brighton, haven’t been there since my student days. Were off on hols for a few days too, down to Queenstown on the South Island. Got to make hay while the sun shines…
Hope the haymaking results in a good harvest.
We are up the quieter, “posh” end of Brighton – Hove, actually. In days gone by, we would never have crossed the border at the Peace Statue, but now we are older…
NZ is the land of the Long White Cloud. Brighton/Hove is the land of the Fucking Big Black Cloud, well today, anyway.
JLP
PS please don’t diss my sister – Cheers X
Moi? Barking mad – eccentricity is a family trait and I’m proud of it
)
I don’t think I’ve got the words to express how sorry I am to hear about your illness. I’m more of a red wine person than the G & T, but I’m glad you can have a decent beer or two.
While Jenny is in Brighton, I’m house / cat sitting for them.
Best wishes to all
Liz x
Hey Linds, its little Jo your cousin, hope youve not been sending too many silly valentine cards or silly cotton wool santa cards over the years. sorry, had to bring that up. Just read your journal and it had us crying and laughing all in one go. Cant wish harder that i could give you. Jo and Becca the biggest hug ever. Sorry my typing is shit, can ice a cake and serve people at a table but thats the limit. Lots of love Jo, Dave , emma and Lewis XXXXX
Hi Jo! It’s so great to hear from you. It’s been a very long time, I’m surprised you can even remember who we are. All hugs gratefully accepted. Love to you and David and the children. Also Say hi to your Mum and Dan when you next see them. Linds.
I think i need to take a leaf out of your book Linds and do something about my eating habits, walk a bit more and drink more of Alan’s beer. Mind you, now we have Bilbo the Border Collie i will be doing much more walking again, once he’s big enough that is.
Some enlightening blog..