Man About The House

Greetings Bloggers.

On my return from hospital, I treated myself to the purchase of a book from Amazon, and the tome I opted for was "C: Because Cowards Ge Cancer Too.." by John Diamond. You know me: I like a little bit of light escapism.

Diamond was a journalist and broadcaster, who was diagnosed with throat cancer in 1997, eventually dying from the disease in 2002, at the age of 47. He chronicled his experiences in a weekly column in The Times, and in this book, which ends in 1999, shortly after he has been told that his cancer has spread to too many places around his throat and neck to warrant any more surgery: effectively a death sentence.

I think Catherine considered it a bit of a perverse choice of reading matter for someone in my position, but actually I found the book quite uplifting, and it certainly hasn't made me feel despondent. Whilst I found that Diamond's experiences were similar to mine in a number of respects, there were sufficient differences for me to continue to feel confident about the chances of a happy ending in my own case.

Moving on, may I apologise for my laggardly approach to the blog. It's a week since my last post, partly due to lethargy, and partly due to there being little to report.

Being at home is great. The quality of care in hospital was wonderful, but there's no place like home. It's just Catherine, me and Molly the dog, as Lucy is on holiday and Emma's living and working in Portsmouth.

Catherine has thrown herself into the role of carer, gently attending to my every whim. She's even taken to bathing my feet, which requires not only devotion, but also a strong constitution! We're visisted every day by the District Nurse, and have got into a routine of going to bed by about 9 o'clock every night.

I've been surprised about just how little energy I have, although it's getting better by the day. Walking up the stairs to bed leaves me breathless, and most days I've had to have an afternoon nap.

Under Catherine's cautious gaze, I'm gradually increasing the amount of exercise I take. One of the high points of every day is taking the dog for a walk: on the first day, I could only manage one circuit of the local park, but we're now up to the standard three laps. I've been reacquainted with many of the other local dog walkers, who have kindly tried not to look too horrified by my appearance, and have even pretended to understand what I'm trying to say.

I've been surprised by how self-conscious I am about how I look and how I sound. The right side of my face is still very swollen - making me look like Desperate Dan's ugly brother - and there is a very visible scar from my lower lip, around the chin and down to the neck. My speech has not been rehabilitated, so is largely incomprehensible, and every time I open my mouth I expel a veritable Niagra of saliva. Not a pretty sight. John Diamond described himself as a "honking dribbler", which about sums it up.

But things are progressing. We went to Bart's on Wednesday, for the weekly Ear, Nose & Throat clinic. The general view was that I'm making good progress all round. The hole in my chin is healing nicely, and - fingers crossed - may have sealed by this time next week, which will allow me to finally drink, having been nil-by-mouth for nearly two months.

I have an appointment on Monday to prepare for the radiotherapy treatment. A mask will be constructed around my face, allowing the rays to be directed to the specific areas requiring treatment. I'll have my first dose of chemo on 31 August, and the radiotherapy will start immediaely afterwards. I've been warned about the debilitating effects of radiotherapy, and John Diamond's book is pretty explicit about how profoundly unpleasant he found it, so I know what to expect, and just have to grin and bear it.

I have been booked to attend my first appointment with the Speech and Language Therapists next Friday. They will teach me how to speak and swallow, both of which are pretty crucial if at the end of all this I am to lead a normal life.

While on the subject of the Speech and Language specialists, I've discovered another way they can help me: I've lost the ability to kiss! I can pucker up, but I somehow can't complete the action, so my attempts just make me look like someone doing a poor impersonation of a guppy. I propose that with immediate effect the department should be renamed Speech Language and Snogging Therapy.

And on that subject, here are ten songs about kissing.

1. Kiss - Prince
2. A Kiss With A Fist - Florence & The Machine
3. I Kissed A Girl - Katy Perry
4. Shut Up And Kiss Me - Mary Chapin Carpenter
5. French Kissing In The USA - Deborah Harry
6. It's In His Kiss - Betty Everett
7. Prelude To A Kiss - Duke Ellington
8. The Perfect Kiss - New Order
9. The He Kissed Me - The Crystals
10. Save All Your Kisses For Me - Brotherhood Of Man

Pucker Up!

RP