Not all cyclists need testosterone patches

Well, it's the weekend, and I've drifted home. All in all, the past week was ok in terms of side effects and feeling rough. Admittedly once or twice I felt a bit grotty, but it wasn't too bad and soon passed. Apparently the effects are cumulative, though, so it's quite likely I'll feel a bit worse as the doses continue.

It's nice to be home and to relax; at the moment it's just me and my dad, but I think Fred's coming back this evening. I won't see too much of him, though, as I'm planning to head along to the traditional OMV end-of-pilgrimage farewell at a pub in London tomorrow, so will be leaving at about lunchtime. Apart from the joy of seeing lots of friends and hearing all about how it went this year, it'll be lovely that I probably won't look any more ill and tired than they do!

Talking about tired, now is an opportune moment to remind you that the Old Gregorian team of Will Edwards, Henry Trowbridge and James and Ollie Lombard are cycling the Camino de Santiago de Compostela very soon indeed. Now they'll probably be tired, too, by the end, particularly as the weather forecast is "hot" and "damn hot". If you haven't sponsored them yet, please consider doing so at their fundraising site, and if you're not sure why you should, the first post of their blog explains in very good detail, as well as being very complimentary to me! Therefore, of course, I highly recommend you read it, and follow it avidly as they roll their sweaty way across the north of Spain.

In short
Give them money: here!
Follow their progress: here!

I think it's also probably time I told you all what that disgusting-looking concoction I posted the other day was meant to be. According to the menu, it was... chicken soup! A couple of people got it or were close enough, but I'm afraid I'm short of prizes to dish out. What actually went into it is beyond even my realm of knowledge, but I'm sure some others among you may have been pretty close...

A little girl who doesn't wash her face

These were the stages of my day:

1. Get to Sutton
2. Have cranial radiotherapy
3. Get to Tooting
4. Have intrathecal chemotherapy
5. Return to Epsom

Success was variable.
1. No problem at all: a lovely neighbour took me in and got me there early.
2. Smooth as a baby's bottom: Absolutely fine, and the radiographer was gorgeous.
3. Oh. To cut a very long story short, I waited 3 hours for transport to come from St George's, and ended up getting a taxi instead.
4. Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy: very little pain and the supervised registrar took one step closer to being on the register at St George's (and thus able to do it unsupervised).
5. Oh. No transport seemed to be turning up, so the wonderful Gobby checked what was happening, discovered that as it was pretty late by now (see point 3), another hospital was now looking after St George's transport. And they had no record of me. Once again, a taxi to the rescue!

So there we have it...
Medically complicated, technologically advanced treatment: fine, easy.
Simple logistics of getting from A to B: quasi-impossible.

Hmph!

There was also a bit of a mix-up with drugs, basically because the Day Care staff were there before my intrathecal chemotherapy (and ordered the drugs), but had gone home by the time it finished (and so nobody still there knew where they'd got to), and I think we ended up having to reorder from the Pharmacy.

Repeat after me:

Patience is a Virtue;

Virtue is a Grace;

Grace is a little girl

who doesn't wash her face.

Fortunately, if there's one thing I've learnt since being ill, it's patience. And I've always been a patient man anyway. Even before being a patient. Perhaps that's why we're called patients... Patients... Patience...

This might be what hospital transport looks like, though I can't be sure. I know what taxis look like, though.

Zap! Pow!

This post comes to you from leafy Epsom, where I am staying with some lovely family friends. In fact, my hostess was at school with my mother! It's very peaceful, and I have a very comfy bed, and am being exceedingly well fed, so all is great. I am staying here while I undergo treatment at the Royal Marsden in Sutton, as this phase involves me going into hospital every weekday for two and a half weeks, so it just wouldn't be possible to whizz up and down from home every day.

My cranial radiotherapy has begun:

Having had my mask fitted quite some time ago, I was worried that it wouldn't be the right shape for my slightly thinner face, but it seemed to be fine as it pinned my head in place. My eyes were shut by the mask, so I didn't see what happened then, but the bed whirred around a bit, and then I could sense a blue-ish light moving over my head (the irradiation) and smelt ozone. The actual zapping only took a few seconds, though today the whole appointment took a bit longer because it was the first dose.

My hostess also works at Sutton on Mondays, so she helped whisk me through to the right places, and has done a wonderful job in enlisting her friends to get me to and from the hospital each day. I also met the senior nurse who is in overall charge of me (I think) during my treatment, and he explained that hopefully side effects shouldn't be too bad.

I was, however, pretty sleepy when I got back, so after lunch I had a good snooze. I've also had a slight headache, which could be because of the radiotherapy, but could well also be because I hadn't slept as much as I'd have wanted; was still tired from the last chemo; was suffering in the heat; etc. Anyway, I'm going to tackle the Telegraph Prize Crossword to see whether my brain still works.

The course is of 12 doses, so two weeks and then Monday and Tuesday, and I'll be here for those weekdays. At the weekends I'll probably head home, though we're yet to work out the best way to get there and back. On the two Wednesdays I'll also be popping into St George's for some intrathecal chemo to back up the radiotherapy, but hopefully that won't be too bad (ie the doctor will find the right spot the first time...).

Incidentally, the OMV is now in Lourdes, but I don't want to talk about it because I'm very sad that I'm not...

Crash!

Sorry to anybody who came on here yesterday or today and found just a page of source code... I've no idea what happened, but am certain it was nothing I did. Unfortunately the template became mostly deleted, so I've spent the past half an hour putting it back together... I haven't bothered with the mini-lnks I had up there in the header, but otherwise it should be exactly as it was.

This time I'm saving the template elsewhere, in case of further error!

Hurrah for a social life

What lovely weather! I'm so glad to have made it out for some of the summer, particularly as I was worried at one point that I was going to be an inpatient, stuck within the hospital four walls for the entire sunny season. Thus I cannot really complain about it being TOO hot, though I have to be careful in the sun. Well, everybody has to be careful in the sun, but I think I should be even more careful, particularly with my unprotected head. It's all about the bandanna.

On Sunday I was back in London, and went along to Alison's barbecue, nominally to celebrate her and her housemates' new garden, which for the record was very pretty. I didn't know anybody apart from Ali before I turned up, but was so glad I could make it, not just because it's always delightful to see my ex-wife but also because, erm, I don't get out much these days. It was a lovely afternoon/evening and Ali's friends were lovely, even though some were civil servants.

It was then great to get to Clive's and Dom's (they'd very kindly agreed to put me up) and find not just those two, but also Cosmo, and Tori, and a couple of people I didn't know. So hurrah for socialising! In case that wasn't enough, I met up with all sorts of lovely friends on Monday evening, who generously didn't let me pay for my pizza... So thank you all, and it was brilliant to see you. I should have taken some photos, but forgot.

The routine blood tests on Monday at St George's were fine, and though I ended up having to wait quite a while, I was quite happy to to do my waiting outside (in the shade!) with a good book (currently 'The Virgin Suicides' by Jeffrey Eugenides) and an ice-lolly (I think it was a Calippo). I haven't the dates of my intrathecal chemotherapy yet (I need it a couple of times during my cranial radiotherapy), but should find out tomorrow at the latest.

The next plan is to go to Epsom, where I shall be staying during my outpatient course of radiotherapy at the Royal Marsden, Sutton. I'm yet to know how much it'll knock me out, but if I'm lucky and don't have too bad side effects I'll hopefully be able to pop into London and see people during that time. Getting to the Scarsdale for the traditional helpers' end of Lourdes farewell would be particularly good, so I can at least see the people who are going this year...

In case anyone's ever doubted my dislike of hospital food, here's an informative picture. Any guesses as to what it is...?

Sunday and Monday evenings!

I'm at the Home! I mean, I'm home! Which isn't the same thing. They let me out yesterday, which fills me with joy. After a few jokes about needing a delivery van to take my stuff, and a liberal sprinkling of Heroes around the staff, Sue appeared, followed shortly (but unrelatedly) by my drugs, and we tootled back to sunny Southbourne. One way in which you (yes you, dear reader!) will benefit is that you will be able to see photos as I can post properly, not just from a mobile phone. Don't get me started on internet in hospitals. Anyway, here's a picture of my Scalextric, before I had to take it down. Cool.

So, the plan. My cranial radiotherapy has been postponed by a week, so won't be starting until Monday 24th July (when many of my friends will be in Lourdes - boohoo!), so I'll be staying in Epsom for about two and a half weeks from then. London will be very close, and hopefully the side effects won't be too nasty and I will be able to see a few people in a non-hospital environment...

First, however, I'm going to a barbecue in London E1 tomorrow afternoon, prior to an appointment in the Day Unit at St George's to check my blood on Monday. I thought that, as I'm feeling healthy at the moment and am not neutropaenic, it would be a great chance to catch up with anybody who is around, particularly before lots of you disappear with the OMV. I haven't sorted out anywhere to stay, so if anybody can offer a bed on Sunday (tomorrow) night or Monday night, I'd be very grateful. I've no idea when the BBQ will wind up, so it might be that I'm able to meet up with people tomorrow evening, but I'll definitely be hoping to see people on Monday evening. Perhaps I'll choose a pub, sit in it and hope that somebody turns up. Can anybody suggest a suitable pub? I just don't know London well enough yet... Anyway, the important thing is that I'd love to make the most of my time fuori ospedale to see people, as I don't get out much these days. So if you're free on Monday evening, or Sunday evening, then keep checking here for more details of where I'll be, or text me. And if anybody wants to put me up for either night, I promise not to snore. Please let me know!

And here is a picture of an egg.

Sonnet I

I know it's been a while since my last post,
On which you've all suggested great ideas
To pass the time when ill (it feels like years);
I've pondered which suggestion I like most.
So thank you all: there's much I may well try,
From learning something new to writing stuff -
The latter, though, is likely to be tough
(I'm writing this in iambs, by the by).

In other news, there's little to report
Except my neutrophils, which have arrived!
The count is 0.6: enough indeed
To see me home anon - a lovely thought.
Since Monday, when they reappeared, they've thrived:
Perhaps I'll get the time out that I need.

Who interviews the interviewers?

Q. So, still in the hermitage?
A. Indeed.
Q. How long has it been?
A. Forever, approximately.
Q. When will you be allowed out?
A. With a bit of luck, some time in the next decade.
Q. Do I detect a little impatience?
A. I prefer 'frustration'.
Q. Any new accessories to help pass the time?
A. Oh yes. Scalextric! Everybody's favourite trigger-controlled racing toy. A joy and a delight. It is truly wonderful.
Q. Having such little space, where do you put it?
A. The track leads under the armchair, past the scales, under the end of the bed, past the bathroom door, under the head of the bed and narrowly skirts the bedside table. Think Micro Machines...
Q. Is it a danger to people entering the hermitage?
A. Certainly not, as nobody ever comes in in the dark, and some of the track is currently removed to make it even harder to pretend it is in the way.
Q. Does it not prevent the cleaners from giving the floor a good wipe?
A. Apparently so. This is difficult to argue against. Unfortunately it ought to be packed up at the end of each day.
Q. Is that a problem?
A. Well, it takes a while to put it together or take it apart, particularly as the course weaves around the furniture. I guess I'll have to try, though...
Q. How else are you filling your hours?
A. By watching season 3 of '24' with Harriet, and by reading my book ('The Accidental' by Ali Smith, though I've just finished that).
Q. So life is full?
A. In a sense, yes, as I have plenty to do. I cannot complain of boredom, as I have more books, films and toys than I could ever tire of. And there are so many other ways to fill my time: by writing letters, for example.
Q. But...?
A. It's all a little shapeless. I have many ways to kill time (though of course reading, writing etc are certainly not a waste of time), but at the moment that's all I seem able to do. It feels very unproductive. It doesn't lead anywhere. When I finish a book, I start another. But nothing has really been achieved. And that's frustrating.
Q. But presumably it's only like that until you go home?
A. As much as I'm looking forward to going home, it is still likely to be the same story, as I will not be there for long enough to get my teeth into anything.
Q. What sort of thing do you mean?
A. I really want to take up my position as Secretary of the OMV again, for example. In that position, I would have lots to focus on, to work towards and to achieve.
Q. So why don't you do it?
A. A major part of the role is communication, which is also vital to enable the other parts of the job to be done. Without the internet, I am powerless to communicate in the ways necessary.
Q. What about when you're at home?
A. Then I have the internet, but I would need to have regular online access, to send emails to volunteers when needed, for example. Not being able to do so for several weeks when in hospital makes the job of Secretary currently impossible.
Q. So you wish you had some sort of project?
A. I suppose so. Something to give my days a focus. At the moment the only thing I'm working towards is the end of treatment, which is not only a fair way off, but is also passive.
Q. Passive?
A. I don't do anything in my treatment. I get given drugs in a variety of ways, but there's nothing I can actively do (except make sure I drink enough) to help.Q. Have you had any other ideas for what you could do?
A. The problem with finding some kind of useful project is that most ideas I've had are impossible for someone unable to leave their room and/or lacking an internet connection.
Q. But isn't it all about making sure you're happy each individual day?
A. Yes, I still believe that. But that doesn't exclude the possibility of taking other days into consideration. Having something to do with purpose makes each day better, and that purpose will often be in the future. It also helps to have something to look forward to.
Q. Like your birthday?
A. Indeed. But now that's passed, there's nothing of similar excitement in the near-ish future. There are a few little exciting things, such as seeing certain people, and getting home to a bacon sandwich, but the calendar currently looks like a long phase of treatment punctuated by occasional brief periods out.
Q. Is there anything to do about that?
A. Unfortunately I don't think so. Because of low blood counts, the importance of getting on with treatment and the unpredictability of when it will occur, it's nigh-on impossible to organise anything at all.
Q. So how will you shake off this frustration?
A. The best way would be if the hospital would allow the internet on the ward, and I could do things like the OMV Secretaryship.
Q. Any chance?
A. We're working on it.
Q. And if not?
A. I'll have to stop being silly, remember how good it is just to be alive, get back to appreciating small pleasures, learn a bit more patience and be grateful for everyone's generosity and support.
Q. Isn't that what you've been trying to do all along?
A. Yes. I guess that in the past I've often not felt up to much more than lying in bed, whereas this time particularly I've felt physically and mentally fine and alert, so not being able to do anything worthwhile has been frustrating. Especially as since my ITU trip I've been keen to make the most of every day.
Q. Any other problems?
A. My self-motivation's not great. Maybe that's why the OMV thing is a good idea - I'm motivated by many others.
Q. Why are you talking to yourself?
A. I've no idea. But I blame Ali Smith.

This is after having moved the balloons into George's room. You can only actually see half of them in this photo..

Party-tastic

Someone said to me the day before yesterday, "Sorry your birthday is going to be so uninteresting", in reference to me being stuck in hospital. But I pointed out that often the occasions that threaten to be the least interesting often end up being the best...

Yep, I had a WONDERFUL birthday! After a visit from the father figure and his lady friend on Saturday, with not one but two cakes, Sunday began quite slowly, but immediately became special when Gobby offered scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast... Egg-tastic! I then had plenty of time to open my cards: thank you to all those who sent them. Card-tastic. The next excitement was the appearance of Tomandalice, en route to a wedding, and then my cousin Lucy and her parents. It was great to see them, and not only did Lucy complete her 10k run in the sweltering heat, but she even gave me a dartboard for my birthday. What larks! I fully intend to practise intensively so that I can build up a beer belly and compete professionally when I get out. Literary journalism? Literary shmournalism.

Competition arrived in the varying shapes of harriet and freddie, and we began a darts game wherein I was soundly thrashing them (historians always tell the truth ;-)). But then Gobby appeared with news that she had a cake for me, which was in another room because the candles would have set the fire alarm off in my room. Being the observant and intelligent Oxford graduate you know me to be, it didn't even cross my mind that there are smoke detectors in all the rooms... I'd even believed Gobby earlier when she'd said that they could video the candles being lit, as I was neutropaenic and confined to my room. When it came to it, I was allowed to head down the corridor to the Clean Room (usually used for things like putting lines in), where I expected to find just a cake.

So I was a little surprised to find assorted friends, staff and even another patient, in a room decorated with about 50 balloons, and tables laid out with sandwiches, crisps, nuts, drinks, sweets, party poppers and hooters. Talking of hooters, the cake then appeared, bra and all... Cake-tastic! A bottle of bubbly also materialised, and we tucked in. The balloons, I should add, had been decorated before I had got there. It was great! And the main person to thank is the brilliant Gobby. Hurrah for Gobby!

The balloons could not stay in the Not-so-Clean Room, so they came with me back to the hermitage... How best to describe it? An explosion of colour, perhaps, particularly as they periodically pop - about five have gone already and I'm still not used to it! I was lucky that none woke me up with a bang last night, but I fear I won't be so lucky tonight... Pop-tastic! I'll try to get Fred to put a picture up, to give you an idea of just how funky my room now is. Back in the hermitage, I had a lovely time with Harriet, Freddie and Jo until they had to go and I collapsed exhausted into bed. Collapsed exhausted in the best possible way, not in a help-call-the-doctors way.

So all was enormous fun. And the joy continued today when not only did I get some quality 24 merchandise from Holly, but an enormous box arrived with my name on it... Inside was a Harrods hamper with all sorts of bits and bobs inside! Now that really was hamper-tastic. I'm not usually in the habit of receiving Harrods hampers, so I don't know whether it's normal practice, but there was even a note from the packer, with a quotation, a book recommendation and a CD recommendation, as well as 'KEEP FIGHTING!!!' (I guess I'll put my plans to retire from boxing on hold) written thereon. It was such a generous gift, and thoughtful too, as the bits had clearly been chosen especially for me. There was even a cake, bringing my total cake count to four!

There's even something to look forward to in the medium term - Harriet's present is a trip to Rome with her to visit Fred when he's out there next academic year!

Rome-tastic!

Happy birthday to...

...Jerry Hall, Peter Kay, Kenneth Clarke, Paul Dowbekin...

...et cetera ;-)