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My knotted rope

As many of you now are aware, I am surprised and delighted to still be here. For example, I never expected to be sufficiently fit or mobile to attend our annual Lab reunion just two weeks ago.

So I am now daring to imagine dates in the more distant future, as targets in my survival plan (Lavinias birthday 12/12/44, Christmas, New Year, the annual Christmas Curry event later in January, and some interesting Cambridge event during the first week in February).

I visualise each as knots on my rope, focusing on the next one alone, but hoping for more. One step at at a time!

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Been reflecting on so much recently. Prompted by Lavinia asking me what I want to fill me remaining time with, I now realise that so much of the passion in my life has been about trying to impress (Dead mother? school, peers, who knows?). My comprehensive website devoted to publicising the story of the Birth of Optical Fibre Communication was a consequence of my feeling of obligation to the community who made it all happen. As “last man standing” or one who was involved at the start (and until the end of 2014), I felt I had to do a good job, as an act of service.

A similar situation surrounds my Family History website and another site devoted to my Epworth Cutlery (my ancestors were Sheffield cutlers). All acts of service I believed.

Now so many of the past drivers in my life until seem of little interest to me. For example, photography was a passion, now holds little interest. With hindsight, so much of what I have previously filled my life with, seemed to have been targeted at getting approval from those around me, wanting to be seen as a nice or clever guy, or more fundamentally, just to be loved.

It seems that I can now give up trying to be someone worthy of being loved (above others?), and just be present. Funny how it took a whole lifetime for me to understand where my competitive side came from.

My hair loss (due to radiotherapy) seems to have stopped (mostly on my Right side for no obvious reason, as the radiotherapy was equal strength beams from each side). I can now see what shape my head is for the first time. Not a bad discovery for a 72 year old bloke!

The good news is that my condition seems to have plateaud (probably due to the radiotherapy), with little deterioration in my impaired balance. And I am gradually learning new ways of dealing with it all. Long may it continue.

My lovely younger sister and husband Frank called in on Friday on their return from a holiday, brought nice lunch to share. good to see them again.

Wonderful evening meal last night with some very dear friends, with whom I have shared some very emotional poetry with in the past. Reflecting with gratitude on the “beauty of the days gone by”.

Today I have picnic planned at the bottom of my garden down by the river, surrounded by nature. It will be good.

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Acceptance of Mortality

My disease is mutifocal glioblastoma, a terminal condition. Instead of localised (and isolatable tumours), this is a distibuted tumour, making it more difficult treat using focussed radiation. The median life expectancy is 6 months with radiotherapy.

When people hear the news, their reactions fall into one of two categories:

  1. Denial, because they have yet to encounter the truth of their own mortality. They need to do something to fix me, to stop me dying. This is understandable in their context.
  2. Acceptance of death and birth as the two ends of the same journey, to be celebrated equally. The recognition that I am going to die, and that the quality of my remaining time is what is most important to me.

Continue reading “Acceptance of Mortality”

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A couple of folk have suggested that I’m being courageous. However my current lack of fear means that I haven’t had to find out yet.

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Appointments at Addenbrooke’s Hospital Cambridge today for high resolution MRI scan, and for pre-op tests. What a wonderful professional hospital and staff. NHS crisis? What crisis!

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Awaking today exactly a week to go before my brain surgery at Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge, I found myself reflecting on my calmness when my tumours were revealed in my cranial MRI Scan just a few week’s ago.

While awaiting the scan results, I sat and re-read the last chapter of “Don’t Sleep, There are Snakes: Life and Language in the Amazonian Jungle” by Daniel Everett, in which he describes his journey into the Amazon as an evangelistic missionary to translate the Bible into the language of the Pirahã tribe, and ultimately lost his religion.

He found “the happiest tribe on Earth” who had no interest in things outside their immediate experience, so had no need of Dan’s Evangelism. According to Pirahã, if you or at least people close to you haven’t experienced something, it is simply not relevant. The Pirahã show that happiness lies in small, daily activities, that the more we try to complicate the worse our lives become.

This idea was still in my mind, when minutes later I was gazing at an image of a “walnut sized” tumour on the Doctor’s monitor. The clarity and immediacy of my new situation induced a surprising peace, and even a profound happiness which has stayed with me. This feeling may go, but for now it is my new friend, enriching the present, the only moment in which I actually am living.

 

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One again I awoke early to the energetic tunes of Ed Sheeran’s album “Divide” playing in my head. It must be the tempo, plus my love of his reflective lyrics, all good food for my journey.

Physio recommends a pair of Nordic poles to help me walk symmetrically.

Another beautiful morning.