Visits and Calls

After the visit to Maggie's, and my saying a space seemed to open up for some new conversations to be had, Thursday saw an almost immediate response to that space being created when Caroline, our MacMillan nurse, called for a visit to see how we were all coping with events since the semi-emergency visit to the hospital.

It was so timely for her to call, as both Sarah and I had been thinking and to some extent worrying about what could happen and what the experience of the latter stages of my illness would be like for all of us in the immediate family, and beyond. The conversation with Caroline reassured us both immensely, because it became clear we could choose how to manage my pain, as well as the reactions to it Sarah and Emma might have. What became doubly clear was I didn't want to upset either of them by forcing them to witness any potential decline and loss of dignity, and Sarah was concerned I was able to be cared for in the best possible way, and whether or not she was going to be up to the task. The support available was enough to put both our minds at rest, knowing first of all that any decisions we made (for example, say we chose for me to enter the hospice at the first sign of serious decline) were potentially reversible (so if that had been the case, I could choose to come home to die if that is what we chose to do). Again, I know the topics of conversation do not sound as though they would be a cause of increased levity, but we were both lighter after the visit and relieved to know we would always have the choice available to us, whenever it may come.

The very next day, we had a visit from our G.P., who I believe I've mentioned before, is almost harder to see than the Pope. The fact he was here in our kitchen having a coffee and checking to see we were both OK and well supported was akin to a Royal visit. To have him also check my chest once more, to ensure I had sufficient drugs available over the Christmas period, and to have another home visit arragned for a fortnight's time again left the two of us secure in the fact we were not alone on the medical front. When each day holds the potential for some occurrence which could create a minor panic in me, the knowledge I am supported and Sarah would not be left on her own to cope makes genuine relaxation more achievable, and I felt I'd be able to enjoy the time over Christmas even more.

Then, of course, there is the other kind of essential support which is entirely non medical and at least as important. Our friends locally once again had come up trumps during my hospital stay, both in terms of coming to see me and keep me sane by breaking the dreadful tedium possible in a weekend stay (why is it hospitals at weekends seem to be nothing more than very poor hotels? Nothing medicial seems to happen at the weekends, but you're forced to be there and continue to eat the less than delicious food offerings) and also in terms of making sure Sarah was supported at home by picking up Emma when necessary, and more essential ironing. The calls and checking up on our well being continued through the week, and the feeling of having a safety net provided by them all leaves me once more able to relax, knowing should I be forced into hospital again, Sarah and Emma would always be cared for.

In addition to which, Friday saw a visit from two of my cousins Trevor and Darren, both of whom had jumped on a train at King's Cross to make the round trip in a day. Like all the visits and calls we have had from my vast and wonderful extended family, this one was a source of joy and reassurance for me - any concerns I could ever have had about Sarah disappearing off the "family radar", to be left to live a life of impecunious solitude are always dispelled by these calls and visits. As Sarah said when they'd left, it was like she had discovered two brothers she never knew she had, such was the way the two of them were during their visit. I sometimes suspect our visitors are unaware of the gift they are bringing by merely being there, and if any of you out there are in any doubt about the value of your calls, I want you to know I place great value upon all of them. Yes, there may be little anyone can practically do given the distances between us, but the mere act of calling and letting us know we are in your prayers and thoughts gives me both the sensation of being loved and cared for, and the knowledge that care will continue after my death. Given some of the conversations this week had been about the desire I have for a good death, the reassurance that knowledge gives me I believe is vital to me being able to die without fear for the futures of those I am leaving behind.

For me, then, this Christmas has a very special importance - even more important than knowing it might be my last (because, let's face it, that happens to be true of every one of us) - and it's this: the talk of goodwill and peace and love, which can sometimes ring all too hollow in my ears at this time of year as the country seems to go on a materialist spending fest and a gluttonous booze and food fest, will actually ring true for me with a louder resonance than ever before. I can believe in love and goodwill this year, because it is supremely evident to me from so many sources. I know it may sound trite, and I know it is something I have said before, but that doesn't make it less true or less important for me to say. To all of you: the guys in Australia, the people in Canada, the friends in New Zealand, to HHH in Holland, and all those who are closer to home, thank you for all the love you are giving, and please rest assured it makes a huge difference to my life and to Sarah's and Emma's to experience it in the calls, the visits, and the emails. In case I can't be bothered to get on line again in the days before Christmas, I hope you all have a wonderful time, and may I be bold enough to say if you could think of me Sarah and Emma at the point when you're about to lose the plot over the Christmas dinner, or get annoyed at the member of family who will just not get off their arse to do the washing up, or any other of the normal frustrations associated with Christmas, then may be it won't seem so bad. There will be for me a part of my extended family I will especially be thinking about this Christmas, because although what has been happening to me and my family can be classified as sad, I know I am in fact lucky. Sarah hates it when I say that! But, the harsh truth of the matter is that it is natural for a father to die before his daughter - it would have happened at some point if nature had run its natural course, and I still have the knowledge that both Sarah and Emma will, eventually, be able to go on and live full lives without me. Whenever that natural order is disrupted, true pain results. In fact, there is a Buddhist blessing, which doesn't sound like a blessing at all! It's this: Grandfather dies, Father dies, Son dies. Anything other than that order is a source of true pain. If I get to the stage of wanting to shout at my daughter, or getting annoyed by the fact I can't stand up to eat the next turkey sandwich, I'll be thinking of the people who this year have experienced that true pain, and I'll realise my life isn't so bad at all, and there are still so many things I have to grateful for.

So, I hope you all have a wonderful time this Christmas, and you get the chance to spend it with people you love.