(This is being re-sent as Substack may have failed to send the first version. If you end up with two, they are identical.)
Half Life - 29.1 - unsung
May 14th , 2021
I’ve been a bit fucked off. Back pains, in multiple places, built up over the weeks following the last radioactive treatment to the point where bed was needed for a couple of days. Morphine combined with wine, beer, and whisky failed to adequately sooth the suffering, making sleep a forty minute at a time event through the nights. Exhausting for me, annoying for The Wife, and deeply worrying for poor JJ the dog as each of the multiple toilet trips made her paranoid the dreaded crutches were going to step on her. To add to the glum mood, the first post-treatment blood test did not show any change in the key measure, increasing concern that it may not be working. Repeating the mantra that it’s too early to tell only helps a little, as staying fully logical when sleep deprived is difficult.
At times like these, perspective is needed. Ever since the appearance of Nobby the Cancer kicked off this bizarre journey, our family has been blessed with help and support from so many people. When the ugly, tumour-faced, homunculus entered our lives, it wasn’t just the doctors, nurses, receptionists, and other professionals who have been gold dust, there are other, unsung, heroes without whom life would have been harder or, sometimes, impossible. Like the friend, as we picked up The Boys from their house following a whole day in hospital, who pressed a still warm oven dish of succulent chicken dinner into our hands for us to have at home. The exhaustion was so deep even boiling water would have been too much, and the stream of NHS sandwiches during the day made our potential meal of bread and cheese unattractive. We have never been more grateful for a hot, home-cooked, meal we didn’t need to heat up. Over the weeks and months others have dropped off dinner, cakes, treats for The Boys, and made sure The Wife was taken out to remember there is life beyond driving to and from cancer facilities.
At other times behind the scenes planning must have taken place. During the safer periods in the middle of chemo, hair gone but enjoying the few days of not feeling like death warmed up, a team of friends organised regular wine tasting (and drinking) events. The connection with normality pushed the toxic vein-filling experiences out of mind for a while, replacing it with laughter and silliness. Saints take The Boys at the drop of a hat, for unspecified and unknown lengths of time, when midweek medical emergencies kick-in, feeding them sausage casseroles, distracting them with video games, and even tucking them up in sleeping bags. Beyond that, friends dropping in for coffee, helping walk JJ the dog, taking Older Boy fishing, whisking Younger Boy away for dinner and movie nights, or pulling me out for a lunchtime pint, have provided much needed distractions. It has been, and still is, the amazing people around us who have helped put the brakes on frustration, countered any self-pity, and banished the bad moods.
Not to be ignored, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, brothers, sisters, parents, and other bits of family stretching from Paris to Staines have found various wheels to put shoulders to. From messages on WhatsApp designed to ensure French remains a living language in our house, to turning up with lunch, or renting a house nearby and having a family barbeque, all of them have added to a scaffolding of love which keeps us going. Even the unintelligible zoom calls, with everyone talking at the same time and The Boys choosing that as the appropriate forty minutes in the day to have a sofa fight, are priceless.
One unsung debt of thanks stands out. It has allowed The Wife to continue to work and, at the same time, juggle the burning torches of chaos that cancer brings. The company she works for has been a shining beacon of how treating people with humanity and kindness is not only possible but is the pinnacle of successful management and leadership. Flexible, comfortable with adapting to situations which change moment to moment, while trusting all that is needed to be done gets done, has meant she has been able to continue work far beyond what might have been expected. The anchor it has provided gives a daily connection with the real world, an opportunity to think about other things, and a continuity which is a core part of coping with circumstances that can easily overwhelm everything else. It’s the highest attainment any company can reach, and is a business with genuine, practical, compassion.
Long before The Village, with all its curious personalities and strange goings-on, showed its ability to care for its neighbours during Covid, those around us had already proved it a hundred times over. Clapping at our door in thank you for all those who have helped us might not get noticed, but the legions of unsung heroes who have been there, and are still there, to push away the despair and the gloom know who they are and the value of what they do. It’s not only cancer patients who risk becoming known for their disease, their identity and life before slipping away into a foggy past. The family can also become the cancer family, as it becomes the first, and sometimes only, thing people know about them. Keeping life as normal as possible fights that. So, thank you, all of you, for giving hope, strength, and comfort to all the family when we are fed up, awake in the night from pain, miserable, and deeply fucked off with Nobby.
Oh Charlie, so much love to you all. ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
your one amazing guy . love xxx