Alien, the image.

Things have been quite eventful over the last two days. I'll work backwards. This afternoon (Thursday) we had an appointment with the consultant surgeon at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. I was keen to hear what he had to say about the second MRI the ROH had requested; the one that identified the 'renal mass' and led to the subsequent dramatic changes in my world. I was particularly interested to know whether he thought the nephrectomy (removal of the affected kidney) would help me with the continuing discomfort experienced in the back and leg.

He said he thought it would and showed us some of the MRI images on his computer.

I now think I understand the core psychology - the zeitgeist - that lies at the heart of the Alien movies. (If only John Hurt's character had been given an early MRI things may have turned out differently.) The consultant showed us a large interior mass which almost obliterated my left kidney - the chances were that it was no longer functioning and had not been doing so for a long time. A distinct bright circular area towards the base of the mass was also evident. This he said was a fluid-filled cyst and would also be removed.

Seeing these awful and striking images was somehow, strangely, reassuring. Removing this invading 'organism' now made urgent sense and brought with it the prospect of some easing of the discomfiture in my leg which has been worsening.

He also pointed out (and showed us further images to illustrate) that easing the neurological symptoms in my leg was unlikely to affect a chronic degeneration in my spine, involving scoliosis and the erosion of several discs in the lumbar region. He estimated that I was probably a good 2 - 3 inches shorter than would have been the case if my back was in a state of good repair. The arthritic condition in my lower back meant that I was 'fully entitled' to experienced some pain!

I have to go to bed - I'll write about the 24 hours that preceded these events tomorrow! This involves an encounter that was more 'ally' than 'alien'.

The eye has it.

Monday morning and I'm into the first of a series of hospital and clinic appointments. Be warned, the next few days could be seriously tedious.

So, I'm at the Eye Hospital in Selly Oak because our friend Rustom, the optometrist, had taken us, several weeks earlier, through a series of tests, as per usual, because we had one of our regular, if infrequent, sessions with him. I was in a sorry state that day and he left me feeling even 'sorrier'. He discovered a 'cotton wool spot' and a small haemorrhage in my right eye, a probable indication of hypertension. He wrote a report for the GP surgery and forwarded a copy to the consultant at the Eye Hospital. An appointment duly arrived for a Monday morning, first by SMS and then by post.

After a brief wait a nurse took a couple of blood pressure readings which were higher than either us would have liked and then a  registrar confirmed the 'cotton wool spot' and haemorrhage. He also found a small clot in the eye. The consultant was called in, examined the eye and agreed that the course of action would be to monitor the condition in view of everything else that was taking place (i.e. upcoming surgery), the fact that my sight was currently unaffected and that the condition may have arisen naturally from the ageing process.

I was impressed with the staff and the service in a hospital that was obviously hard-pressed and busy; less than impressed with the outcome.

You may wish to overlook the following, plaintive, declaration; leg, back, kidney, lung, now eye - what other parts of me are going into decline?

Then today, Tuesday, some good news - a visit to the GPs to have my bp monitored produced three readings in the high normal range and feedback on my bloods (from three weeks previously) that were good for general health, liver and kidney function. Maybe............ just maybe............

Hope for the best.......

I do hope for the best. I see myself somewhere far out on that rat-tail of a graph surviving beyond the median, beyond 3 years, 5 years, perhaps 10 years. I am so keen to see the members of my family grow in all senses of the word and have more children, my grandchildren, my great nieces, great nephews. I am not ready to leave because there is still much to say, to taste, to see, to hear, to feel.
But I also have to give some time to prepare for the worst. There are things that have to be 'put in order' even if I don't feel like doing them. And there are 'I love yous' to be said and written.

I started the above some days ago - then got stuck. The only way to unstick is post and be damned. Then I can move on....

Having considered the matter

I have spoken to a few people about this blog idea and sent some of them the url and now reached what I think is a considered opinion - I will continue - at least for the time being and if I should change my mind - then I guess I'll just stop.

Today, or at least the first part of the day,  has been one of 'hovering on the edge of the abyss'. I still ask the same crazy question, 'How can this be happening to me?' Just a short time ago I was in the club that assumed I could go on indefinitely. Sure, I knew that the No. 50 bus could upset my plans but I thought like that only to ensure that it didn't happen; operating on the principle that the future is unpredictable, so anything I could imagine happening, wouldn't happen.

Now I'm in a different group, one that I didn't ask, didn't want, to join. I imagine that people must already be looking and thinking about me in the same way that I had thought about cancer sufferers - 'otherly', deserving of sympathy but different to me.

I am still the same person - only more so, is what I want to say to people who think like me, or thought like me. 

The kind words, the care and concern, the hugs - they do help - but the abyss is still there. I think I'm adjusting - I know I'm adjusting - but is the adjustment simply a filmy covering? I have yet to face surgery - that is real. There are no uncertainties, no alternatives about that.

Today we drove to Heathrow to collect Joe following his premature departure from a voluntary teaching placement in China. I am so proud of him for taking on such a huge challenge. We have yet to discuss the one that we face together and separately. He will need time to adjust. I will tell him; I am still me - only more so.

A new day

Perhaps it's time to return to the first of my reasons for writing a blog - updating people on what is happening.

Well, not a great deal, at the moment. I, we, are in this phase of knowing that an event (operation) is coming (15th July) but still living the 'old life' with many of its normal routines and patterns. I know that some people think that I have a tendency to favour a melodramatic turn of phrase (!) but I do think of this time as being similar to one of those sci-fi airlocks that space travellers enter when moving from one atmosphere into another. I will soon live in a new body - one that has been opened up and relieved of some of its content, shortly then to be subjected to a noxious cocktail of chemicals that will wreak yet further change.

My GP advised me to shave my beard off; that way it will be less of a shock for others when my hair falls out.

There are of course other appointments before the op. I have appointments with the Eye Hospital (Selly Oak) (following Rustom's discovery that there is a small haemorrhage in my right eye - perhaps related to hypertension), the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital (still working on the backpain/sciatica problem) and of course a pre-admission assessment at the QE.

And so the days fill. If we are to get away for a few days there are, even now, very few 'windows'.

Yesterday was good. I abandoned members of my family to visit school to help with the relocation of 'stuff' used at last week's incredible Reunion attended by 6 - 700 people (another Moseleians Association success).

Within minutes of arriving I found myself hugging and talking to a succession of women! I finally made it to the rendezvous point - only to discover the 'stuff' had been moved to the vehicles and would need to be unloaded at the other block.

Then more tactile women appeared and I was further delayed. By the time I got back to the old building they had emptied the cars. They left me, with my bicycle, to watch a staff cricket match (I declined a shouted invitation to 'get your pads on, you're needed') because another woman was approaching, arms extended.

Sometimes I see silvery linings within this airlock....................

Second thoughts about a blog

Di is not so sure that the idea of a blog is a good one. I'm not sure either. I think we both doubt the wisdom of putting information into cyberspace, an impersonal void into which anyone may stumble. I think that Di feels this is also somehow presumptuous and I understand that.... but there is a new urgency in my life and I feel entitled to make mistakes.

This sense of urgency can be frightening.

I went to Moseley village with Claire yesterday. She wanted to take a yoga class at the Buddhist Centre and I wanted to talk to Prabakara about the reasons for my failure to appear in his class in recent weeks. While Claire was busy I shopped for 'anti-cancer' foodstuffs in Nima's and the Co-operative supermarket.

Then I went for a coffee at the Java Lounge and talked with Akram, the owner and a former pupil of mine. I was unsure about telling him the details of my illness but he asked me, 'How are you?' and I decided to give him a full answer to that simple question.

I'm glad I did. He told me how he and others always considered me to be a positive person, a teacher who took an interest in them and gave them encouragement. Given his faith perspective, he wanted me to be positive now, to see my circumstance as a condition that was in some way a source of learning. I'm paraphrasing our exchange of course but I was impressed - he is only 28  and I'm not sure that I could have such a sense of equanimity at his age. I took his ideas and re-cast them in a 'humanistic', more secular, mould,

I felt better for that conversation. I have felt better on a number of occasions after talking to others. I need time alone and especially time with Diana but others are able to bring me comfort, care, love and calm.

I hope this doesn't sound too presumptuous, too self-indulgent. If I 'keep it real' it can't be, can it?

Let's get the hang of this............

So why am I writing a blog?

Reason no.1; to keep people informed about my condition without their having to resort to ringing/texting/emailing. I understand that it's not always easy to do so, perhaps because of concerns about being intrusive and of course there are times when we are both overwhelmed or in 'another place' - though I wouldn't want to deter efforts at staying in touch because these personal messsages of support and concern are important to us.

Reason no.2; this is more to do with me. It's to do with the idea that by writing about my situation I might just be able to understand it and myself a little better - that it might be, in some way, therapeutic.

So - let's start with the facts. This way everyone gets to a baseline. I have been told that I have cancer in or on my left kidney, a tumour 12 cms in diameter. I have known this for about three weeks following an appointment at the haematuria clinic at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. I had been referred after a second MRI scan had located something on my left kidney, a 'cyst' said the GP trying to let me down slowly, but I'll admit to being concerned when he repeated the words, 'I'm sorry'.

Why had I gone for an MRI? Because the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital was trying to establish the reasons for my lower back pain and sciatica-like discomfort/pain in my left leg. The first MRI, in their own 'tunnel model' had given me an unpleasant claustrophobic experience but I'd stuck with it just long enough for the images to confirm a diagnosis of a protruding disc.

So, I told the ROH that I'd like to try and manage the condition 'conservatively' - yoga, chiropractic, osteopathy, physio - in order to ensure that if I had to go for surgery it would only be as a last resort. Four months later I went back and asked for further help. This time I was referred to a private clinic for an MRI in a newer 'open model'. This time there was no claustrophobia but some days later the GP rang.

After the shocking news from the specialist nurse in the urology department (haematuria clinic) I collected just about every scan there is, ultrasound, bone, CT, before returning for the meeting with the consultant to learn the outcome and the treatment programme.

We were last in and perhaps that should have been a clue. When he said 'it's not good news' I felt a strange sense of no longer being within my own body. Not only did I have kidney cancer but it has spread - two small lesions in my right lung. The prognosis - with a kidney removal followed by chemotherapy the mean survival stats gave me just over two years.

That's the baseline. I need to pause because my leg is still playing up when I sit for any length of time. I'll be back.