Every Cloud

 

Shopping for the "Big C"

Having been diagnosed with head and neck cancer and with radiotherapy about to blast my hubby’s throat we embarked on our first supermarket shop knowing that he was eventually going to lose his taste, find it hard to swallow and on top of all that, the medication he would be taking would affect his regular visits to the loo.

We knew it would be a couple of weeks before all that kicked in, so we were also taking the advice of our dietician. She advised us that he needed to eat like it was Christmas every day and enjoy best butter, sweet treats, sugary drinks and as many fatty foods as he liked!

So off we went to discover aisles we had not ventured down since we joined slimming world nearly 10 years ago! Our trolley is usually full of fat free yogurts, semi skimmed milk and wholemeal breads. 

So, we strolled down the dairy aisle and added full fat milk, yogurt and best butter to our trolley. Then came the biscuits and cakes, the sweets and the snacks, the frozen ice creams, the ready meals and the pastries. Not forgetting the need to get those taste buds going and foods that would be easy to swallow, we added tangy haribo’s and tins of macaroni cheese and spaghetti, Oh and some prunes figs and dates to help with that “medication.”

With a trolley full of provisions that we had not bought for over 10 years we headed for the checkout, we smiled at each other and simply said “Every cloud….”

 

A Bit of Spit!

 

Big Cs and Little Cs

So, who remembers falling down as a kid and running to your grandma hoping for some TLC, only to watch her spit into a handkerchief and then apply the aforementioned spit onto your grazed knee or elbow stating, “that will cure you, now go on and play!”

When I was a kid that bit of “spit” was a cure for everything and trips to the GP were saved for bouts of appendicitis and broken bones! This has clearly carried through to my adult years. I rarely visit my GP, and my kids will confirm that they were sent to school no matter how much they protested to be ill!

Fast forward fifty years and I find myself sitting in a room with a consultant who calmy explained to my hubby that a recent biopsy showed signs of a secondary cancer in his lymph node and that he would have to undergo a series of tests and scans to find the primary source of the cancer. Once found then the treatment
would be invasive and brutal!

It was obvious that it was going to take more than a “bit of spit” to fix this one!

The consultant had used the word cancer. I looked towards my hubby, and I knew he had been overcome by that very loaded word. He had stopped taking things in as soon as the word came out of the consultant’s mouth. That’s the affect such a small word has on you. Once it is uttered nothing else is heard. Maybe that’s the reason it’s called the Big C.

The consultant calmly took us through the next stages and left us in the care of a little nurse who had sat quietly in the room with us, and I had hardly noticed her. She had been taking notes and I was to discover that this little nurse would be instrumental in our journey over the next few months.

The consultant had given us lots of information none of which had gone in. This was clearly a scenario that was played out every day in this consulting room but for us it was a first and the little nurse knew this. When my hubby asked

“What’s the prognosis? What happens now? Am I going to be, OK?”

It was the little nurse who answered, and it is her words that have stuck with me.

“You are absolutely going to be OK! You are in the best hands. The next 12 months are going to be tough, but we will get through this together!”

Now I am known for being a glass half full type of person and from that moment, I was positive. Even though he’d been told he could lose his tonsils and several teeth before the treatment started. Even though that he’d need a feeding tube fitted because he would find it difficult to swallow. Even though the consultant had painted a pretty dire picture of the next 12 months, I was positive!  

The only other time cancer had touched my life the prognosis was not so good. Mum was diagnosed with stage 4 terminal lung cancer yet even then I remember being positive. I spent many an hour with mum making light of the Big C. We compiled a list of all the little c’s that would kick the big c into touch.

 In mum’s case it was the cupboard full of creams to apply to parts of her body I’d never seen before, the chocolate and the crisps that she was now able to enjoy as putting on weight was no longer a problem, as well the commode and incontinence pads that now took pride of place in her bedroom. Of course, we also included the carers and the constant stream of visitors. Any mention of anything beginning with the letter c just made us smile.

 
So here I am again trying to make light of what I know is going to be a tough 12 months. I have started my list of little c’s that, when put together, will make that Big C small and surmountable.

As yet I haven’t shared this with my hubby as I know him well enough to realise that he’s not quite ready to make light of this, but it is helping me cope and keeping me smiling.

I started with a few positives as I remembered the day we cleared our calendars of work commitments, how I tried to be positive about the cooking that he wouldn’t have to do and cash we would save from his lack of drinking at the local tap! I used my old teacher skills to make a colour coded spreadsheet
to help us count down the days.

 As the weeks went on I added to my list the army of consultants and clinicians. The oncologists who all seem to be called Claire.

Claire the Dietician, Claire the Chemo Nurse and Claire the Dentist They just keep you positive without giving any false hope.  

Then there is the whole cancer community both online and in person who are there to offer a place to

chat and a place to cry. My list of little cs just kept growing.

Once his treatment started, we discovered the charity Firefly with their cheery cab drivers who pick you up and drop you off after your treatment

We have received cards from friends and daily text messages from people who just want to check in.   Family and friends made casseroles and cakes because they know that my hubby is the cook and that I prefer to enjoy coffee and a catch up with friends
Only last week my hubby was presented with a pair of crocs and a can of 0% Guinness.

Probably the most memorable little c was our Christmas party in October complete with Christmas tree, Christmas music, Christmas games and a cracking Christmas dinner because Christmas will definitely be different this year.

I smiled as I added cannulas, constipation and the constant CT scans 

We are 15 days into treatment and 5 months since we began our journey. Thanks to all the little c’s that surround us we are staying positive

I’m not sure I’ll ever get an award for carer of the year, but my cooking has improved and I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I haven’t once spit into a handkerchief and uttered the words

 “That will cure you!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lifetime Love of Little Boxes

Making Memories in a Box 

My family know that I never throw away a shoe box.  I use them to wrap up those difficult shaped gifts at birthdays and Christmas.  I keep all those tiny Sylvanian Family pieces in them, and I challenge any parent to deny that they have never needed a shoe box to complete that school project during half term holiday. 

Evidence of my shoe box collection can be found when you open the cupboard door of my craft room. There you will find floor to ceiling shoe boxes or similar shaped cardboard boxes full of keepsakes and photographs. Each box is carefully labelled and if I ever want a photograph to embarrass any family member then I know exactly where to find it.

Our loft is also full of boxes. These are mainly the square plastic type but they too all have a label, and they are all carefully organised. There’s one for Easter, One for Halloween, and several for Christmas! There’s a dressing up box, a box for all my hats and memory boxes for all my children. I’m sure you are getting the picture.

Just to be clear I don’t consider myself a hoarder just a keeper of the family memories that just happen to be in boxes!  Every so often I do go through the contents of the boxes and convince myself that there is no reason to keep every single birthday card I received when I was 16 or that painting that I did at school when I was 5 years old.  

I hope my children forgive me when the time comes for them to empty my loft because… guess what? Mum loved boxes too and there are no prizes for guessing where they are all kept now.

So, what is it about boxes? There’s something about a box that fascinates me. I see a box and I either want to buy it, paint it, play with it, or fill it full of stuff that apparently was special to me at some point in my life.

 A box just sets my imagination alight and for some reason fills me with joy and brings back lovely memories. We’ve all made a den from that big cardboard box and used a shoe box as a bed for a Barbie or an action man!

It seems that playing with a box is timeless. My dad used his dinky toy boxes to create a street when he was playing with his cars and just recently a huge box that once contained a fridge was a spaceship on Monday a boat on Tuesday and a place to hide the remote control on Wednesday!!

This week I have been looking through some of my boxes and I realised that once again fate has played its part in my life. If you've read any of my other blogs you will know that I am a big believer in fate or in coincidence, call it what you like.

On the morning that Harry was born, still and asleep, nearly 10 years ago my daughter Lauren was presented with a Memory Box from a charity we had never heard of called 4Louis. She has inherited my love of boxes  and she couldn’t wait to share her joy with me! Yes, the 4Louis box brought her joy at a time when her plans for the future had been shattered.

We opened the box together and we shared the love and attention that had gone into creating a box to make memories. Someone had been through a similar experience, and they had sent this box to help Lauren and her family get through the next few weeks.

She had something in which to keep her memories of Harry.  Although he never took a breath his box is full of memories of the day we met him and of the people he never got the chance to meet. There are photographs of his family. There are birthday cards, postcards, and poems. There are tiny baby clothes, wooden toys, and lots of stars. It’s not a sad box but a joyful box. A memory box for a little boy whom we only held for a moment but who changed our lives forever.

 
So, how apt is it that I am now a trustee of that charity. A charity that provides memory boxes for hospitals throughout the country to give to parents who have lost a child. A child whose memories will be days rather than years. I've been collecting boxes most of my life and I've always used them to store my memories. Now here I am working with a charity whose boxes give joy at a time when there is immeasurable sorrow. My love of boxes suddenly made sense.

Harry’s box sits with all the other boxes in my cupboard and a couple of times a year I get it out. October is Baby Loss Awareness Month so I will get out his box and remember the day he was born and the joy he brought to us all. I shall light a candle on 15^th October to remember Harry and all the other babies born still and asleep. I will be smiling and thanking him for introducing me to the 4Louis family and for confirming how a simple box can bring such joy.

 

Pebbles Pictures and Personal Messages

 

When Grief Returns

This week has been Mental Health Awareness Week so social media has been full of ways to manage our mental health. Now I have taken a step back from social media but someone sent me a personal message with a link to an interesting little article about grief.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/stories-43227108

It explained how in the beginning, grief takes over your life and fills every part of it. The loss you have suffered is there when you wake up and is still there when you go to bed.  Then as time passes it may seem that the grief has gone away. You don’t cry as much you start to make plans you start to think that that you have gotten over your loss. Then a song is played, a memory appears on your social media account or you visit a place with special memories and there it is, all that grief comes flooding back. It may be years down the line. The grief hasn’t gone away its always there, but our life has expanded around it.   

Harry was born on 15th May, but it is 12th May that hits Lauren every year. That is the day she discovered that Harry had no heartbeat. Every year that is when the grief hits her. As a mum I know that, and I too remember that day in every detail as if I am watching it back on an old video tape. That is the day she needs more support or to left alone with her grief.

Today is that Day

A private message from Lauren simply says

 “I’m OK. I’ll let you know if I need you. Love you.” Followed by a blue heart and a blue car. I burst into tears and for a moment all my grief comes flooding back.

For me it’s the memory of that day and how helpless I felt as a mother watching her daughter suffer such distress. It’s the unanswered questions and the agonising realisation that my grandson was not going home to his nursery but Lauren was. How does she cope with that? Moreover, how does she manage for 2 whole days knowing that when she returns to the delivery suite it will be to deliver a little boy who will not fulfil any of the plans they had made as a family.

I deal with my grief by putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

Every year I imagine Harry as a young lad and share all the experiences that we have enjoyed, and I imagine him being a part of it.

This year he would hit 9. He has 4 siblings and one cousin. We often wonder if any of those little people would be here if Harry had lived. Maybe that’s his legacy.

Harry is talked about. His picture is present in every family home, and he will always be Laurens eldest son. The next few days will be filled with grief and memories but there will also be family gathering balloons and quiet reflection.

I have just returned from a lovely couple of days with my sisters in a cabin on the Norfolk Broads. There was no TV and limited internet just a blue tooth speaker and good company. We played the songs of our childhood and danced like no one was looking! How appropriate that we should choose the first few days of Mental Health Awareness Week to be together and count our blessings. We have all suffered loss recently and we talked about our parents our pets and our friends. We remembered them all as we walked on the beach and made pictures from pebbles and seaweed!

 I’m pretty sure our kids think we are all a bit mad at the moment but one day I hope they too will enjoy the simple pleasures of a walk on the beach making pictures from rocks and spotting images in the sky when they are in their 60s!

    

Wheelchairs and Water Tablets

Tips for Travelling with an Ageing Parent

When I first suggested to my hubby that it would be nice to take Dad to Fuertaventura I’m not sure I was really thinking about the practicalities of getting him here. I was more focussed on the holiday rather than the journey. So for any of you thinking of venturing on an aeroplane with your ageing father  here are a few of the things I have learned.
First of all if your elderly father  is on water tablets it’s best not to take one on the morning of your journey. We travelled about an hour to East Midlands airport and stopped at every service station on the way. I had no idea there were 4 services stations and I also had no idea that nearly every disabled toilet needed a Radar key! In fact I had no idea what a Radar key was until this journey!

Apparently it’s a key you can buy that will unlock most disabled toilets. Well, being new to this disabled toilet stuff we don’t have a key. I soon discovered that the keys are kept at the coffee shop that you hurtle past on your rush to find the loo and that that coffee shop happens to be furthest away from the aforementioned toilet.

It is advisable to take your own wheelchair, you know the one that folds flat and fits in the boot.
Just be aware that that folding wheelchair takes up all the space in the boot and so you have to travel in the back seat with every other piece of luggage you are taking whilst your ageing father stretches out to enjoy the journey

                                                                                     ( in between toilet stops)
It’s also worth saying that after the third toilet stop and a father with a weak bladder the wheelchair needs to be sturdy enough to be thrown back in the boot with a certain amount of force as your patience may start wearing a bit thin!

Some of you may remember dad’s jacket. You know the one with the inside pocket that sticks every time he tries to unzip it! Well that jacket pocket now houses his money, his lip balm, his tooth picks and his handkerchief. Despite having several pockets he still uses the one that sticks and all of the above items are stored in that one pocket. 
Having used the facilities Dad needs to check he has all his belongings and refuses to sit in his wheelchair until he has checked that all of the aforementioned are safe in the pocket.
Imagine doing this 5 times after every toilet stop knowing that check in is getting very close to closing!

Talking of check in do not be fooled into thinking that priority check in and special assistance make checking in any easier or faster with Ryanair! Apart from rushing him to the loo half way through check in he was given a full body search as we passed through security and his wheelchair was scanned twice! 

I’m not sure his comment to the security guard assuring them he wasn’t carrying anything illegal helped!
Dad also carries a stick so I would recommend having some kind of attachment to the wrist for a stick as we had to go back to 3 toilets to retrieve his stick as he was too busy checking his bloody pocket!

Once through security you will have no time to browse the duty free or enjoy a beer as you will have to race to the gate so that you can be first on and last off a plane which may be delayed if your dad decides to use the on board facilities just before the plane is about to take off.

Whilst on the flight it may be worth quietly reminding your ageing father that you are travelling Ryanair economy so the wine will be warm and cheap and gently whisper in his ear that the young hostess is not fluent in the Barnsley accent and doesn’t understand his attempt at a chat up line.
“ Thas got a luvly pair o' legs lass”

You may need to practice that apologetic smile to the lady in front every time your father swings on her seat to help him get up out of his seat to use the facilities and 
 remind him to be patient as you wait for assistance to help us off the plane to a waiting wheelchair.
To say the journey was stressful would be an understatement. To say I have been on a huge learning curve is the most positive way I can describe getting here. 
I have a week to prepare for the journey home. I predict a couple more blogs and lots of alcohol along the way.
Wish me luck!

Old Friends and Photographs

Missing the Man in the Mirror 

My sister shared a photo of Dad recently and just commented, "Missing this man"

I smiled at the image and replied "Me too"

Its been a few weeks since we said our final goodbyes to Dad and although I have not shed tears every day I have missed him every day. 

When I retired 6 years ago, Dad became a huge part of my weekly routine. Monday we did his shopping and collected his prescription. Tuesday we organised a visit to the pub. Wednesday was cleaning and foot soaking day and Thursday was the sing a long at the local pub.. Friday he went for a pint with Uncle Colin and I ordered his taxi and Saturday was a day off with Sunday being a carvery or a meal out at another local pub.

In between there were hospital visits, chiropodist appointments and visits to the local barbers! I have a file full of Dad’s hospital appointments and another one full of his chequebooks. 

On Tuesday 24th August 2021 at 12.05am all that stopped!  

My routine would no longer include Dad and I hadn’t realised in that moment how much I was going to miss him.

We are all guilty of getting annoyed and frustrated at our elderly parents and I am no exception. Ironically it is those annoying little habits that I am now missing the most.

The way he tested the door 4 times after it was locked. The way he picked out the bits of strawberry in his strawberry trifle, the little whistle he made when he was getting bored with your conversation. His insistence on having Gammon Steak for a meal then spending the next 20 minutes using a toothpick to dislodge all those bits stuck in the gaps of his teeth! The way he washed his fingers rather than his hands and his fascination with the words on the beer mat. 

I miss the guy that placed beer mats over his pint pot, smiled at his reflection in the mirror and never went anywhere without lip balm and a toothpick. I miss the guy who never carried a wallet or paid for anything with loose change, instead he saved all his copper and silver coins in a box for when the grandkids went on holiday!

I miss the man who was always cold and hated flies. I miss cups of tea and crossword puzzles and reading the obituary page in the Barnsley Chronicle. 
I miss his selective hearing and his chat up lines. I miss his continual desire to get on an aeroplane and travel somewhere hot, not forgetting his need for the toilet just before getting on a plane, train or automobile.
I miss the guy who always stayed in the background supporting those he loved and cared about. I miss the guy who was a man of principle and strong opinions. This no doubt lost him some friends and most certainly lost him access to a few pubs in the village but it most definitely gained him respect amongst his work colleagues and his friends.

On the day of his funeral the church was full. This was an indication to me of how much he was loved and respected and how many other people were going to miss him.

 I had the privilege of  being  able to stand at the front of the church with my two sisters and read his eulogy. I called it Dad’s Dash or The Measure of the Man. The dash referred to the small dash on the headstone between birth and death. Although the dash is small it represents a whole life. As I was reading the eulogy I tried to take a mental picture of all those who had taken the time to come to church to remember Dad. 

There were old friends, relatives, carers, neighbours and drinking pals. 
But there were two guys sitting near the front of the church that I couldn't quite place. They followed us to the graveside and took one of the roses we offered and smiled as they placed the rose into the ground. I heard one of them say,
“There you go Gebber! See you on the other side!”
Later at the pub they came to find us holding three photographs of Dad as a young man. They were keen to add to Dad’s Dash! 

They introduced themselves as old friends and talked fondly of the young man they knew as “Gebber” A school friend and a work colleague. A guy who gave most of his wage to his mother but who saved up for a car and then took all his mates to the seaside for a day trip. They said he always said he wanted a big car and they were pleased to learn that he treated himself to a Bentley. They didn't realise he became a councillor or a JP but remarked that he was always someone who spoke his mind so it didn't surprise them.

They picked him out in the old photographs and they remembered the young man who played football for the youth club and who played the bugle in the boys brigade. 
They lost touch with him when he married mum. Apparently word on the street was that he’d met quite a catch with a ready-made family and they were sorry that they never met mum. Ironically they read the Barnsley Chronicle and that's how they had learned that he had died! They had come to the church together to remember their friend 50 yrs. after losing touch! 

That was the measure of the man. 
Once met…. always remembered and missed by many for lots of different reasons. 

We celebrated Dad’s birthday recently. He would have been 82. He wasn't with us in person but he was certainly with us in spirit. We went to his local pub. Drank his favourite beer and talked about him all night. We even read beer mats and took toothpicks!

Dad will be missed and I have no doubt that there will be many moments of sadness as we come to terms with our loss. However I also know that there will memories that make us laugh and most of those will include his quirky ways and his annoying little habits.
If you have an elderly relative or friend who is driving you mad with their quirky little ways, rest assured that in time those odd little habits will be the things that make you smile so treasure them and remember them and add them to your "Dash." 

Our Missing Piece

Seeing the Space or Appreciating the Picture

I once hid a small piece of my hubby’s jigsaw and watched for weeks as he put the pieces together. With just a few pieces left he slowly realised there was a piece missing. All that planning and sorting to create the perfect picture was ruined because of that one missing piece. 

He was annoyed, angry, upset, frustrated. All of those emotions, all at the same time. So I encouraged him to go to make a drink and to come back to the jigsaw later. Meanwhile I placed my hidden piece where it belonged. 

When he returned and the jigsaw was complete all those emotions were replaced with a feeling of fulfilment, pride and relief. His picture was complete and he felt good. Of course he wasn't best pleased with me but that soon passed!

Imagine if that missing piece was a family member who was always going to be missing. I don't think you ever stop looking for the missing piece because the picture just isn’t the same without it.

It got me thinking that maybe, how you view a jigsaw with a missing piece, is a bit like how you cope with loss. At first that missing piece is so huge and so noticeable that the picture becomes a blur and all you see is the gap. Over time that piece may not be as noticeable and you begin to look at the picture you have created despite there being a gap and you begin to appreciate its beauty.

This is how I see grief. Some days it seems that the picture you have created without the piece is ok but then other days the space in the picture is so noticeable and so huge that you can see nothing but the void. 

Our grandson Harry is our missing jigsaw piece. 8 years ago he was born still and asleep and this weekend we will be celebrating his birthday. At this time of year the missing piece in our family jigsaw is much more apparent.

There I am, living my life enjoying the small pleasures and feeling blessed then, WHAM, that missing piece just stares me in the face and my anger and frustration at losing that important part of my jigsaw rise to the surface again.

As we approach Harry’s birthday I find myself distracted as I entertain my grandkids at the local park. For some reason the park seemed full of young lads who could have been Harry’s age. Which one would Harry choose as a friend? 

Would it be the young lad playing football or the one on the zip wire? Would he be happy to build sandcastles in the sandpit with his younger siblings or would he be hooked up on some electronic game on his mobile phone?

Or is he still that little lad I met 8 years ago snuggled up in the pushchair wearing his stripey blue hat with his blue kangaroo?

Harry changed the way our family jigsaw looked. One of my hobbies is creating collages from photographs. Sometimes when I am putting together a collection of family photographs there is a space that just needs filling but none of my photographs fit. That's where I place an image of a robin or a rainbow and hey presto the picture looks complete. It’s my attempt to fill the gap and complete the jigsaw and include all of my grandchildren.

A very dear friend recently painted me a picture from a photograph I had taken of my grandchildren. She knows from experience that no matter how beautiful and well composed the image there is always a gap where your loved one should be.  She managed to fill that gap in my photograph by including Harry’s little blue car tucked inside his cousin’s pocket. Only someone who has a missing piece of his or her family Jigsaw could do something so special. 

4Louis have taken the idea of a jigsaw and created a corridor full of jigsaw pieces Every piece on their wall is a missing piece in someone’s family and those families are all connected by 4Louis. We are all connected by love and loss. Harry is up there and I thank 4Louis for finding a place for our missing piece on their wall of remembrance. He fits in perfectly.

So the next time you are doing a jigsaw and you find there is a piece missing try to focus on the big picture rather than the space. Be assured that the missing piece is somewhere close and you will find it in a place you never expect at a time you weren’t expecting. The feather that falls, the song that plays, the bird that sings. Gentle reminders that its ok to notice the space and be sad but also a little signal to appreciate the other 999 pieces of your jigsaw which in fact have created a beautiful image.

Happy Birthday Harry. 

15 05 2013