It has been an eventful, emotional, blog-inhibiting few weeks.
My fellow kidney cancer sufferer and good friend, Geoff, has died. Three weeks ago he was admitted to Queen Elizabeth Hospital (QEH) following difficulties with what, at the time, was thought to be a stubborn chest infection. When I first visited him on the 6th floor he lay on his bed in his pyjamas hooked up to a network of translucent tubing as though he had recently struggled free from the grasp of some predatory spider and had yet to wipe the strands of web silk from his body.
In his own words, he looked like a recently-released inmate of a WW2 concentration camp. With sunken cheeks, a grey pallor and little bulk to his once burgeoning limbs, he spoke softly and with dwindling energy towards the end of brief phrases. It was distressing to see him in such a weakened condition. At the same time we and his family really were comforted by the knowledge that he was receiving good care, that he was in the right place.
In the following days, it gradually became clear that he would not be coming home. I managed to visit him just once more and he spoke then of his wish 'to go'. In the few minutes we had, even now at the end of his life, he sought reassurance that I and others would continue the fight to save our allotment site (an issue that had first brought us together more than twelve years earlier). I briefly stroked his head and wished him 'safe journey'. We shook hands. His grasp was still firm. Each of us knew what the other wanted to say.
He was transferred to St Mary's Hospice the following day and died peacefully in his sleep two days later with his family around him.
I will be, I am already, missing the 'big man'. In truth, I have been missing him for many months, ever since his illness robbed him of the strength and mobility required to enjoy our old life. Our friendship had been infused with a new and special quality from the time we were both diagnosed with kidney cancer nearly two years ago. We both had the primary tumour removed and the corrupted kidney with it. We were both informed that our cancer had metastasised to the lungs (principally) and were both administered oral chemo medication.
We have shared many conversations laced with black humour about the nature of our parallel lives; both grammar school boys from county towns, teachers, early marriages, divorces, re-marriages, second families, love of open spaces, neighbourhood communities and finally, illness. We have shared journeys to the QEH Cancer Centre and restorative visits to Winterbourne Gardens. We looked to each other for help in knowing how to live with our condition - and now he has gone.
Geoff would not want us to seek his beatification. For all his faults and possibly because of them, he was, he is, loved by many people. His funeral will be a sad, moving and very special event.
I will continue - and a more fortunate person for having known him.
