Lost

Warning: this blog may feel a little confrontational. Don't take it personally, it was bound to happen eventually.

I'll cut to the chase and inform you that the CT scan Keith had yesterday showed no change in the size of the tumours in his liver. I'm not going to speculate if this is good news or bad news, I don't want to hear analysis either way. He still has terminal cancer. What it does allow is some breathing space for the next month and that has made him feel a little better. 

How is he otherwise? Well, pretty shit. Lost. Lonely. Missing his friends. Desperately sad a lot of the time. New Year was very hard. Every day is very hard. I can't really dress this up this time...like I said: it's confrontational.

Our meeting with our Professor today made me think about how important language is throughout all of this. He has talked several times over the last seven months about odds; about how there is never a clear predictable outcome, we must just bet on the most favourable course of action and even then there is always the probability the odds may turn against us. It is fascinating listening to the words he uses and also recognising those he chooses not to. Interestingly it is only recently I have used the word 'cancer' in front of the kids, and even then that is only because my genius daughter read it out loud in hospital. In no way did I want them to hear negative connotations surrounding the word cancer (and this coming from a mother who regularly exclaims obscenities in direct earshot when they haven't put their shoes on after the seventh time of being told). But we have never used it. I won't go into the list of words and phrases around Keith's illness that make me angry because there is never any sense in getting angry at words. I'm not actually angry at the words anyway, I'm really only angry at the whole fucking cancer shit. NB swearing makes me feel better therefore is always fine. 

I have started using the word 'saved' a lot recently which is interesting. I find myself having moments where I feel I am saved by music/kids/work. Saved is the right word here rather than 'comforted' or 'consoled'. What is key is what I am being saved from, because really it is rarely anything scary or serious: it may be a moment of sadness, anger at a below average coffee or the intense desire to throw my Wacom pen at my computer screen - it's rarely anything really awful. I do feel it though, mostly with music. Meat Loaf saved me the other night, and I'm sure I'm not the first to say that.

So yeah, anyway, rant over. We continue to seek solace in each other and our kids and soft rock (that is mostly me) and we try to not lose our heads. It's really really really fucking hard. Thanks for reading, I feel better for saying it all. Sorry for swearing (well, half sorry). Peace out friends xxx

Today we lost the Ashes 5-0 after a truly awful England performance. However I am so very glad I got to spend the last day of this Ashes series at the SCG with this boy, Mr Bunker.

The Ashes has been very much about the two of us since the year we were married (and named our tables after the Ashes winning team of 2005. (Oh glory days: England how I loved you then!)) and despite the fact we were completely spanked off the field in every test this series today was brilliant. 

Keith has been chemo free for three weeks now which has been great as he has felt much less ill. Very sleepy and generally knackered but well enough to sit in a box at the SCG which is something he couldn't have done a month ago. More chemo from Weds: feels like a bit of a prison sentence, but them's the rules, sadly. Following that possibly scans, we'll have to wait and see.

I took the above picture when we were waiting for the bus home at the very moment it occurred to me that Keith and I are unlikely to share an Ashes series again. That makes me feel very sad. Being with Keith at an occasion like this merely cements in my mind the nature of his person, and it is really a privilege to witness. As a fan he is passionate and knowledgeable; as an Englander he is critical yet gracious. A man respected by those in the field of sports journalism for his knowledge, nouse and enthusiasm, and I am still to this very day blown away by his sporting intelligence. I had one of those glimpses today of the man that is sadly mostly lost now, and although I am very sad writing this it was a wonderful thing to behold.

So anyway, thanks for NOTHING England, literally, you were an absolutely pile of shite. Five bloody nil! Awful. But real thanks the SCG (and those who got us there) for today. It was brilliant. X