you know you got it...

I see that Theresa May has been talking about the role her faith plays in her life in an interview in the Radio Times (even though this is the extra primo big edition of RT, I still won't be buying it. I still haven't really recovered from the irritation I felt as a teenager when my elder brother felt he would go through the Christmas listings with a pen and circle the things HE wanted to watch.  Imagine!  I read about this in the Guardian, which also loops in a handy summary of things she said in an interview with the Sunday Times).  I expect that the average RT / Sunday Times reader rather likes that nice Theresa May).

I imagine you're expecting me to drop into a rant about May's politics or about her belief in God.  Sorry, to disappoint, but what caught my eye was this bit:

"As the only child of a vicar, Theresa May’s early Christmases inevitably revolved around the parish church. She attended midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and was back in church the following morning, with her mother playing the organ and her father preaching the sermon.... After church, her father often had pastoral visits to make to lonely or bereaved parishioners. Little Theresa – and her presents – had to wait...The religious meaning of Christmas was important to her, she said, adding that she would attend church twice in 24 hours, as well as spending part of Christmas Day at a social event hosted by churches in her constituency. Speaking to the Sunday Times a week earlier, May recalled one Christmas when her father spent most of the day visiting parishioners who had been recently bereaved by a car crash. The faith instilled in her so early on had guided her life, helping her to understand “the right thing” to do. She said: “I suppose there is something in terms of faith, I am a practising member of the Church of England and so forth, that lies behind what I do.”"

My dad is a doctor, and for most of my childhood, he was a GP in a fairly rural practice on the Buckinghamshire/Northamptonshire border.   Reading about how a young Theresa May would have to wait to open her presents as her father visited his parishioners really struck a chord with me.  My dad was the father to three young children, but he was also someone who was selfless enough to always put their hand up to be the on-call doctor in the area so that everyone else could have Christmas off.  This typically meant that, as a family, although we would do all the normal stuff like opening stockings as soon as we woke up on Christmas morning, we wouldn't sit down to open our presents until my dad had finished his rounds... usually around lunchtime.

My friends at school often talked about how they opened all of their presents as soon as they woke up, but funnily enough I don't think I ever really minded having to wait and to open our presents as a family when my father was back.  I probably didn't really appreciate at the time how generous a gesture it was of my dad to put his patients before his family, but it was just the way things were.  My dad was (and is) the kind of person who won't travel anywhere by car without his medical kit and some portable defibrillators.  Why? Because he used to be the doctor responsible for covering that stretch of the M1, and he always says that it was no good having the skills to help someone if you didn't also have the equipment.  He's retired now, but as far as I know, he still carries that stuff around with him.

As it happens, he is religious (more now than he was when I was growing up and living at home, although I think that's purely a coincidence and not entirely down to my modifying influence), but I don't think it was his faith that was driving him to do the right thing... it just was the right thing to do.
If I have a strong moral compass today, then it's not entirely a coincidence and it's nothing to do with God.

...although don't tell him I said that because he's a cantankerous old sod at the best of times*.

*not a hereditary trait, before you ask.

(the big payback)

I received a phone call from my older brother on Sunday afternoon.
"Don't worry, everyone's okay.... but I've just been in a car accident with Mum and Dad"
As conversational openings go, that certainly got my attention.

My parents have been visiting my brother and his family to celebrate Mothers Day.  They had been travelling for a walk before lunch with my brother driving when they collided with another car.  Given that the roof and all the supporting struts had to be cut from the car by the fire brigade before they could be taken to hospital, it's remarkable that no one was more seriously hurt.  My brother walked away with only the bruises from his seat belt and my mum was released from hospital on Monday with bruises and some "minor" cracks in her spine that may actually have been there already. Sounds pretty horrible, but apparently it's a lot less painful than when she slipped a disc.  My dad is still in hospital.  He's been on blood thinning drugs and the collision saw an artery in his chest rupture and lots of blood leaking into his chest cavity.  Apparently, so he proudly told me whilst high as a kite on morphine, it have him a D-cup on one side of his chest.  He's okay, I'm told, but just waiting to see what needs to happen to secure the artery and make sure everything is okay.  He was most perturbed to have lost his ridiculously large "phablet" smartphone to be honest, and since he got that back he's been busy chatting to all his church pals on Facebook.

My dad is a doctor, so he tends to make a terrible patient: always full of comment and criticism of his treatment and what he would be doing instead.  He's always been pretty unsympathetic with his family too.  If he's concerned about you, you know you must be ill, and I can only really remember that three times in my life: when I had measles and pneumonia together when I was about thirteen, when I had glandular fever and when I started exhibiting the symptoms of what was later diagnosed as MS (he initially thought I could have broken my neck).

My mum told me an interesting story when I spoke to her on Monday though.  Apparently, she was stuck in the car waiting to be cut out for around an hour.  My father, who for the last twenty years of his career worked in Occupational Medecine, joked that as he'd worked with the Cambridgeshire fire brigade, he might well know some of the firemen they were waiting for and how terribly embarrassing that would be.  When the firemen arrived, as my dad was bleeding, they focused on getting him out first.  As my mum was waiting, in pain and getting cold, she was comforted by one of the firemen who kept her warm and held her hand.

"I'm only here because of your husband, you know"
Apparently, a few years before, this guy had been through a really messy break-up and had really hit the rails.  The brigade had wanted to get rid of him as too much trouble, but my father played a critical role in convincing them that he was worth the trouble and that he could be helped. He then provided some of that practical help.
"I haven't had a drink in three years and gave up smoking a year ago.  I owe your husband my career"

I don't see that side of my dad very often, but it's nice to hear a story like that and good to know that his care and compassion was repaid a little further down the line.

he's making a list and checking it twice....

I received my father's Christmas list via email the other day.  He usually makes a point of saying every year how he's not a big fan of lists like this, but he didn't bother this year.  Maybe he's tired of receiving socks.

I think I actually started the trend in our family for writing Christmas lists.  I pride myself a bit on putting a bit of thought into the presents I get for people, but I'd simply had enough of receiving poorly thought out tat in return.  Clearly, what you get isn't as important as the thought, and I know that I'm a difficult person to buy for, but the year that one of my brothers gave me a giant plastic budweiser money bottle was the final straw.  After that, I just made lists.  You know: a few CDs, a few DVDs, a few books.  That kind of thing.  Nothing too fancy or expensive, but things that I actually want and would otherwise buy for myself.

Of course, once I'd started doing it, everyone else felt that they needed to follow suit.  It makes shopping a lot easier, for sure, and you can guarantee that you are at least getting people something that they want, but it does take some of the fun out it.

Anyway.  My dad's list turned up.  High up on the list (second only after "shirts") was this: "Long scarf, nice bright colours I can loop double around my neck in modern way. My current scarves are not long enough to do this."

Um.  What?  Loop double around your neck in the modern way?  What on earth is that?  I presume he means that thing where you fold the scarf in half and pull one end through the other in a sort of slip knot.  Is that an especially modern way to wear a scarf?  Have people not been doing that since there have been scarfs?  What a peculiar way of describing it.  Strange man.

Well.  We popped to Paul Smith anyway.  A nice scarf in the classic Paul Smith stripe should fit the bill.  Obviously, he'll only wear it with his hideous, huge high viz jacket with the velcro fastenings that will pull it to pieces, but that's up to him....

Anyway, other options on his list included things like "The People's Bible Commentary – Isaiah - A devotional commentary for study and preaching" (or, alternatively, the editions covering Job and Jeremiah).... and obviously I'm not going there.

your house is waiting, your house is waiting for you to walk in, for you to walk in...

Are you ready for this?

I know this doesn't happen every day, and in fact probably doesn't happen anywhere near as much as it ought to..... but I'm about to eat my words and admit that I was totally wrong about something:

That family wedding I was obliged to attend on Friday?

That day off work that I was a little resentful to be taking?

That wing of the family that I was somewhat disparaging about?

The wedding list I was somewhat snooty about?

None of it was justified. I had a lovely time and actually found myself a touch moved at times.

Sure, some of the guests all too obviously came from the "Heat" and "Hello" school of celebrity style and had absolutely no idea of the distinction between attending a wedding ceremony in a church and going clubbing (one pair of yellow and black plastic platform shoes with six inch heels in particular had to be seen to be believed: the girl in question could barely walk, and they managed the not inconsiderable feat of drawing attention away from what looked like an attempt at a french maid costume)... but they seemed nice enough.

As usual, I also struggled a bit with the church ceremony itself. Although I chose to have a civil ceremony, I do understand why people like to get married in a church. In this case it seemed especially apt as the wedding service took place in the church of the little village near Bath where the Bride had grown up and where the bride's mother and her wider family had been active members of the congregation for many years. I also understand that lots of people derive a lot of comfort from their faith. Naturally, I respect that and I respect that people have the right to believe in what they want. I just find it all ridiculous. Even if I could accept the presence of a higher power who created the Universe and all that jazz, I fundamentally struggle to understand why we seem to think that this higher power wants all its worshippers to be in a state of perpetual grovelling. All the hymns and prayers seem to involve throwing ourselves at God's feet and generally sucking up to Him in the hope that He will see us right on Judgement Day. I don't really want to use the word "credulous" as that seems unduly harsh, but I simply cannot bring myself to see it all as anything other than a peculiar set of rituals. Still, that's the whole point of Faith, isn't it? I don't believe in God, so I suppose I'm always going to find the whole thing hard to understand, aren't I?

Putting all that aside though, watching the bride being walked down the aisle by her two brothers was still quite an emotional moment. Although I haven't spent much time with any of them in years, I've known the three of them since we were all very small and at one time (when we were both about 6) I was close enough to the bride that our families used to joke that we were a lovely little couple. Their father died about 12 years ago from an especially nasty and difficult to diagnose tumour in his digestive tract, and it was actually profoundly moving to witness how the remaining family honoured his presence during the day his only daughter got married. Her two brothers shared the role of giving away their sister, and just seeing them walking down the aisle with her emphasised the gaping hole that the death of their father had created in the day. The elder brother also did the first reading from Corinthians. He stumbled a little and got a few bits wrong, but he has some learning difficulties, so this was perfectly understandable, and far more important was the fact that he was standing in for his dad. In the post-Diana world in which we British are apparently incontinent with our emotions, it was moving to be hit by this very understated, but nonetheless very real emotion. Although he was technically only my dad's cousin's husband, I called this man "uncle", and I thought he was a lovely man. It was lovely to see him remembered like this.

We had the usual hanging around after the ceremony when we all transfer to the venue for the reception and get bossed around by the photographer for what seems like hours, but it was a lovely day and it was great to spend some time with my delightful 18 month old niece. My heart sank a bit when I saw the seating plan and realised we were all on the same table as the vicar and his wife, but I needn't have worried as they both turned out to be excellent company - the vicar was actually an interesting guy who had started out his career as a lawyer and had retrained only seven years before. They were also about to take a sabbatical to New Zealand and were very pleased to hear our hearty recommendation of the Quechua 2 second tent and our testimony as to how well it stood up to the torrential rains of the last few Glastonbury Festivals. The meal was also very nice, but it was the speeches that really blew me away: again, the father of the bride's absence was honoured, but in a very understated way. There was a small picture frame containing a montage of images of him with his family placed on the top table, and without any great ceremony, the family also lit a candle for him. Again, I felt his absence keenly during the speeches, with both brothers again standing in for their dad, and I got a real sense of how the family had been pulled closer together since his death, and a sense of how much they felt his absence on his only daughter's special day. I'm not ashamed to say that I was moved. The speeches from the groom's side didn't let anyone down either, and the meal was concluded by the groom producing a guitar and singing a song he had written for his new wife. This could have been cringeworthy, but in this setting and with emotions already running high, it pretty much brought the house down, and absolutely everyone on the top table was wiping away the tears. Yes, it's easy to laugh at things like this, and you might well be smirking reading this now, but the sincerity of the emotion on display was really very touching.

I didn't spend a great deal of time at the disco, but I did spend the rest of the evening sitting in front of an open fire with my wife and my parents, sharing a couple of bottles of Rioja with my dad. We don't really talk all that much, and when we do we often don't see eye to eye, so it was just nice to spend some quality time with him. Since his cancer and the removal of one of his kidneys, he doesn't really drink any more, but this was a special occasion, so it was nice to be able to raise a glass or two with him.

Cynicism be damned, it was a really lovely day and I wish them all the best. Hell, I even hope they get some proper mileage out of that stupid meat tray.

We stayed in Bath for the rest of the weekend, but I'll save that particular write-up for another day.... so stay tuned for the next exciting installment of my weekend:

> monumental architecture!
> butlers!
> spa treatments!
> squiffy shop owners!
> Bath's unexpected Alpine links!
> proper rugby shorts!
> mulberry factory outlets!
> moaning minnies!
> fudge!
> tone deaf posh buskers murdering "Hey There Delilah"!
> &c.

don't miss it.

nothin' but a hound dog.....

That strangely brown creature next to my dad is Sadie.

Sadie was found wandering around the streets of Northampton when she was a puppy, some 13 years ago, and not long after that she was adopted by my mum and dad. She's something of an anxious little bean, but she's a sweet and attentive little dog and she has loads of personality. She's getting on a bit now, and is starting to get a bit stiff around her hind legs, so she certainly doesn't bounce around like a flea as much as she used to do, but I reckon there's some life in the old dog yet.

My dad absolutely adores this dog. He does insist on talking to her in a ridiculous baby voice, but he lavishes this dog with affection, and since his operation last year, she's been an excellent reason for him to get out of the house and take some exercise by taking her for walks in the forest.

A while ago, I decided it would be nice to get my dad a picture of his dog. Who better to ask to produce something like this than that wonderfully talented artist / photographer, Suburban Hen.



She's done a pretty good job, eh? I think my dad is going to be delighted.

Thank you Hen!

For all your artistic / photographic needs.

he said that we would thank him later....

My mum and dad came up to visit over the weekend, and it was nice to take them out to dinner, introduce them to the cat (who soon enough added another couple of adoring fans to her already sizeable list) and to cook them a Sunday lunch. It was Mother's Day this Sunday, of course, so I was also able to hand over my card personally for the first time in many years, and my mum was on pretty good form. My dad's a different matter though. Since I hit adolescence, I have never really seen eye-to-eye with my father, and I'm not really sure why. In some ways we're very similar (we're both grumpy, for starters), but in other ways we're really different. My father is a doctor and he tends think like a scientist. In his world there are theories and laws that govern almost everything and the world can thus be boiled down into truth and untruth. I am not a scientist, and I do not operate in a world with such stark blacks and whites. For me, there is no such thing as a fact, and I have an unshakeable urge to probe why people think and say the things that they do. To me it almost doesn't matter who is right and who is wrong; I want to understand how someone got to their opinion in the first place. If you have an opinion or say something that you can't really back up, don't be surprised if I probe you on it... even if it's a subject I might know very little about. I work on the theory that even the most confident person is probably only about 85% sure of what they're saying. Conversation, therefore, does not depend on how much more they know than me, but how much I can probe into that 15%. I'm not doing this to flex any kind of intellectual muscles, I'm genuinely interested in that gap, that final 15%. My dad's often not really interested in having this kind of discussion and so naturally sees this as my determination to question everything, to be a smart-arse and to always have the last word. Perhaps he's right.

Anyway. I didn't exactly clash with my father this weekend as find myself becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his presence over the course of the 24 hours or so that they were with us. He's grumpy, for starters, and has a tendency to bark and snap at people, particularly my mother. I probably shouldn't criticise this too much as I know it is something I know that I am prone to myself, but it makes me wary of him. On top of that, and far more annoyingly, he has a tendency to interrupt you in the middle of a conversation with a total non-sequiter that indicates that he hasn't been listening to the conversation thus far (even if he initiated it) and that he considers his question to be of far greater importance. He moaned about having indigestion, and yet he ate a 3-course meal in a french restaurant including a creme-brulee for dessert and then moaned about all the rich food we'd forced him to eat. He grumbled during our 60 minute walk about his back, his feet, the lack of toilets on the route, about needing to buy a pint of milk before they went home... you name it, he grumped about it. When I offered him a drink, he asked for bitter lemon.

"We don't have any bitter lemon", I said.
"Yes you do", he replied, "you certainly do as you gave me some yesterday".
I checked. We have no bitter lemon.
"Well I definitely had some yesterday".
"OK. If you say so. I can do you an orange juice or something?"
"What can I have with it?"
"How about fizzy water? I could mix it with some fizzy water for you."
"Have you not got any lemonade?"
"No, no lemonade I'm afraid".
"I'll just have some water then".
"Flat or fizzy?"
"Fizzy".
"Right".
"Oh hang on, why can I not have orange juice with fizzy water?"

Sigh.

He also walked dirt onto the carpet, nothing dramatic, but when my mum pointed this out to him and started picking up the debris he was leaving about the place, he left his shoes on and continued to tramp it in. In fact, about the only time he really perked up was when he was getting ready to go home. Yes, I know a lot of this sounds petty when written down, but it's the kind of stuff that really gets on your nerves after a while.

The funny thing is that in some ways I can actually relate to him. He's in his sixties now and in the last twelve months has survived a cancer that necessitated the removal of one of his kidneys. Perhaps related to that, his liver function tests are now revealing that he probably won't be able to drink alcohol again for the rest of his life. Who needs that? When he feels an ache or a pain, even though he's a doctor, he probably has no real idea if this is because he's 61 years old and is just feeling a bit under the weather, or if it's a sign that there's something a whole lot more serious wrong. How are you supposed to cope with that? It's not quite the same, I know, but I think I know how that feels. I turn 34 later this week, and I'm increasingly feeling the symptoms of wear-and-tear: a torn ligament in my ankle, sore knees, a stiff neck, a bad back, a general but persistent feeling of fatigue that is starting to make exercise harder. This is probably all just because I'm getting older but there's a little worry in the back of my head that some of this could be the WTs stirring into life inside my brain and nervous system. I already have a persistent and generalised feeling of numbness and loss of sensation across my body and a loss of power in my shoulders and down my arms. These symptoms are never going to go away and there remains the possibility that this will develop from Transverse Myelitis into something else, like Multiple Sclerosis. For obvious reasons, I try not to dwell on this, not least because there's bugger all I can do about it.... but sometimes it's hard not to wonder if what I'm feeling is the next step in that direction.

I'm a different person to my father, but I'm sure that thought makes me grumpy and hard to live with sometimes too.

alright...

A few people have been very kindly asking me how my dad has been getting on since his diagnosis with cancer and his subsequent surgery... and indeed, it's now been six months since the operation that removed one of his kidneys and a chunk of the surrounding tissue. Well, Dad recovered from that operation well and is now back at work and as grumpy as ever. At the time, the surgeon had said how the tumour looked as though it came out in one piece and that the surrounding tissue had tested clean. That was all good news, of course, but as with most cancers, it then became a waiting game to see if the cancer had spread and if it had got a foothold somewhere else in his body.

A couple of weeks ago, Dad went back into hospital for his six month check, and the good news is that all of the tests came back negative..... so although he's got to go back in another six months and then in another six months after that and so on.... so far so good.

You can't really ask for any more than that.

And then I’ll tell you some more about me...

Because blogging is an inherently narcissistic activity, I realise that what follows is a slightly ridiculous statement.... but I do feel as though this blog has been a bit self-indulgent over the last few days. Although I write here mostly for my own entertainment, I do always try to bear a potential audience in mind. I deliberately do not blog about everything that happens in my life. Not all of it is very interesting, for starters: my job takes up 40-odd hours of my life every week, but I choose not to write about it very much here because it's basically dull.... it's dull for me to write about, and it would certainly be dull to read.

There are also some things I don't blog about because I don't really want to talk about them here. Some of these things are personal things: about my relationship with C, about my family, about my friends.... Perhaps this means that I come across as something of a closed book. I hope not. I try to be as open as possible and I like to think that reading this blog gives you a decent insight into the kind of person that I am. If you were to meet me, I hope that you'd feel that what you see here is what you get.

With that in mind, it's been a slightly strange experience for me to be writing up and publishing all those long posts about our trip to Ecuador. It's not that I think that it's not interesting per se, it's just that I can't help but feel that it's probably just a bit much for the passing reader. Too. Much. Detail. A summary post and a link to the photos would probably have been more than enough.

Well, I thought about it. In the end, I decided that I wanted a record of the things that we did and the places that we visited. I hope that it's interesting for you to read, but it's there because it gives me pleasure to write about the things that we did... it's helping to soften the blow of being back at work.

---



And if that isn't enough about me already.... I went back to hospital this afternoon for another MRI scan of my brain and cervical spinal cord. My last scan was in August 2005, so it's probably long overdue we had another look inside Brian to see what he's been up to - especially as I have possibly been experiencing some new symptoms. Last time, I got to take a CD with me (and duly took a specially made -- and extremely mournful -- compilation). This time around, although I was armed with a homemade Smiths compilation and "Central Reservation" by Beth Orton, I didn't get asked if I had brought a CD with me. I was, however, offered a choice of:
"Classical, Pop, Norah Jones"
What a choice. Like any sane person, I opted for the latter. It seemed the safest choice under the circumstances as most classical music makes me break out in a sweat, and "pop" is so wide a category as to run a dreadful risk of being trapped listening to some awful shite for an hour. So I picked Norah Jones, and very soothing it was too. Music for dinner parties? Pah! Music for MRI scans, I say.

I'll probably get the results in the next couple of weeks. I have to keep reminding myself that a good result for me would be for the neurologist to tell me that nothing much has changed since 2005.... it would be good, but it would also be slightly depressing. It's the not knowing that is the hardest about the WTs. It's the not knowing what they are, if they will get any better or if I am on the long, slow slide into something else. A positive diagnosis would put my mind to rest in some ways, but it's not something I should be in any hurry for.

I tried fishing with the ladies who were operating the machinery to see if they could give me a heads-up on whether or not things had changed in there (they had my old scans as a reference).... but I got nothing out of them at all. Annoyingly, when I was in the tube, they left the little microphone they use to check that you are okay switched on and I heard a tantalising snippet of a conversation about "white spots", which is exactly what we do don't want to see lots of in the scan. But that was all I heard! Were there lots of them on the screen or were they just looking at the one that we know is already there? I suppose I'll find out in a couple of weeks.

---

In other medical news, my dad was taken back into hospital with severe abdominal pain on Sunday morning. As we were supposed to be having Sunday lunch with my parents on the way back from Oxford, we were able to pop into the hospital and say hello. Hospitals aren't happy places in general, and it's really not very nice seeing your father on morphine, lying on a trolley and attached to a drip in a side room in accident & emergency.

The good news is that he was discharged from hospital on Monday and is now back at home and feeling fine. They think that the pain was caused by a twisted gut that has managed to unravel itself. Apparently rummaging around in your alimentary canal and surgically removing a major organ can cause all kinds of disruption down there.

Let's hope that's all it was and that it never comes back, eh?

---

So. A nice long post that isn't about Ecuador at all but is still basically all about me.

I'm sure you've got problems too.

Ever thought of starting a blog?

papa's in the swing....

Just a quick one.

Several of you have been kind enough to ask me how my dad is getting on after his operation. The answer is that he seems to be doing fine.

I saw him in hospital on the Thursday before we went away (he had the operation on the Monday). He was still pretty poorly and had apparently had a rough night, but he basically seemed alright and was complaining about how crap Windows Vista was on his new laptop and was looking forward to having his tube taken out and to being able to eat solid food again. I left feeling much relieved and ready to go on holiday. I checked back in with my mum on the Sunday and heard that he had been able to go home which was great. By the time I spoke to him once we had finished our first trek the following Friday, he was more interested in talking to me about the proposed management takeover of my company than he was in discussing his health. I took this as a good sign.

I'm popping in to see my folks on the way back from Oxford this weekend, so I'll be able to see him for myself, but in the meantime it looks pretty good. I don't think he's had the results of his biopsy yet, but he's doing as well under the circumstances as could possibly be hoped. He's a tough old bird.

Thanks for your concern guys... it's really much appreciated.

Just sit down, take it slowly...

My dad had his operation today.

At around 2pm, he was wheeled into an operating theatre in Milton Keynes and had one of his kidneys removed, along with some of the surrounding tissue. I don't know if the removal of an organ can ever entirely be described as routine, but apparently it's an involved but relatively straightforward job.

I spoke to the old man last night to wish him luck. He seemed fairly cheerful and reasonably relaxed. He's been a doctor in that neck of the woods for much of the last 30 years and I think he knew that he was in good hands. He didn't actually know his surgeon personally, but he had heard good things about him and he knew that he was the only booking in the theatre that afternoon and that there was going to be no rush. I also spoke to my mum, and she was laughing about how daft my dad is. He'd been told that he could have some tea and toast for breakfast as long as he had them before 7am this morning. Rather than risk that, my father in his wisdom had decided that he was going to have his breakfast cereal before he went to bed. Makes perfect sense, right?

I was nervous this afternoon. I knew I wasn't going to hear anything until at least six, but even though I was relatively busy at work, I couldn't stop my mind chewing over the "what ifs".

I got the call from my mum at about 7pm this evening. Apparently he's being wheeled onto the ward and is moaning about how he feels a bit sore. No shit! Who knew that having an organ surgically removed from your body would hurt?

Mum's gone to visit him now and I should know more later on. There are more hurdles that will need to be jumped before this is all over, but the main thing for now is that he's up and awake.

Phew.

a most peculiar man...

I received an email from my dad today. It arrived just as I was dashing out of the office to go and play football, but I saw the sender's name, and as today was the day when my dad finally had his consultation with the specialist, I thought it was worth pausing for a moment to see what he had to say.

The subject header confused me for a moment -- "Fwd: Your Austrian booking confirmation" -- but then I remembered that when we were down there at the weekend, C. had taken the opportunity to book the some flights for our wedding in Vienna for them. Perhaps this wasn't medical news after all....

I opened up the email:

"Very many thanks C.

Had a good meeting with the surgeon. I have a large cancer of the kidney confined to the organ (Stage 2). A total radical nephrectomy is recommended (removal of kidney plus surrounding tissues). He hopes to have me in hospital within 3 weeks. Week in hospital off work around 4 weeks. Regular follow ups to check for recurrence. Cheque payable to you? Prognosis depends on the histology."

Somehow the email is typical of the man: it was a "good meeting" but he has a "large cancer". He needs a "radical nephrectomy"; he will be having surgery within the next three weeks.

This is big news.

Hell, even Raymond Terrific might agree that this is not just big news, it is massive news. ("Don't desert me boffins!"). And then, on the back of this, and without leaving enough of a gap for anyone to draw breath, nevermind for the ramifications of this news to sink in, he is asking who he should make the cheques for the flights to Vienna payable to.

What?

But wait! We're back onto the cancer again.... his prognosis depends upon the tumour's histology.

Ridiculous, amazing, frustrating man.

Anyway, I spoke this evening. It is cancer, and because it is the size of a mandarin orange, it is classed at stage 2. It is operable - which is good - and in the next few weeks they will admit him and remove his kidney and all of the surrounding tissue. They will then examine the cancer to see how malignant it was. If it is the worst case, then the survival rate after 5 years (if they've got it all) is about 75%. If it's the best case, then the survival rate is over 90%. It's definitely cancer then, but apparently as cancers go, this is about the best news he could have got.

Again, I find it almost impossible to react emotionally to this news because of the calmness with which it was delivered by my father, and because I could hear my mum in the background talking to the dog and seemingly without a care in the world..... This is my dad we're talking about here, and yet I find myself being as rational and matter-of-fact about his health as I am about almost everything else.

It's good news though. Really. It is.

Well, it's as good as it could have been, and that will do for now.

---

In other news, and in a sudden change of subject material, I just wanted to announce that you are now able to subscribe to the Earworms of the Week podcast through iTunes.... (just click on the iTunes logo on the right hand side). That way all of the new podcasts uploaded will be whizzed automatically onto your computer). That struck me as kind of cool.

Out of interest, have any of you been downloading any of these?

I ask partly so that Erika - who has been putting an awful lot of work into this - can get some feedback, but also because she is going to have to delete some of the older ones to make way for the latest batch and wanted me to let you know so you have a chance to download them if you want them.

Get'em whilst you still can, ladies and gentleworms.

oh no, I see a darkness

"You'll be glad when we've all gone so that the two of you can have the house to yourselves"

My uncle addressed my mum as she was preparing Sunday lunch. It was around about noon, and C. and I were just getting ready to head back up to Nottingham; my elder brother and his pregnant wife had already gone back to Cambridge; my younger brother and his wife were in their little house up the road and my aunt and uncle would be heading back to Herefordshire straight after lunch. The family had gathered to take my dad out for a meal on Saturday to mark his sixtieth birthday. The food had perhaps been a bit iffy, but it had been great fun and the company had been excellent - I hadn't really appreciated when I was fourteen what a nice, interesting man my uncle is.

My mum laughed.

"Actually, John's going out to a rehearsal after lunch, so I'll have the whole house to myself." She stretched out at the thought. "Bliss!"
My uncle smiled.
"Yes, sometimes it's nice to just be alone with your thoughts, isn't it?"
Mum nodded.
"Yes, I do like company, but it is nice to be all on your own from time to time. I wouldn't want to be on my own all the time, mind you." She paused for a heartbeat before continuing - only a heartbeat - but the silence reverberated around the room as the three of us let that thought and its possible implications to sink in. My mum looked up and smiled gently at us. "Of course, you should be careful what you wish for."

The moment passed and the conversation continued.