The slippery slope...

6 minute read time.

 

Well. It’s started. The slope downwards. Dad is now in hospital after his legs gave out on Saturday. Swiftly followed by the rest of his body from the neck down. Mum couldn't wake him up on Saturday, and called me in a panic. So I suggested whacking him round the head with a pillow. (Can't do any more damage than the tumours..... I said) 

 

  • I can't do THAT 
  • Yeah you can. It’s either that or a sledge hammer.
  • Katie, I can't whack your father about the head with a pillow. He's got brain cancer.
  • EXACTLY! You can't do any more damage can you. And besides. He's being stubborn. Just call it a love tap......

 

And with that, I hear a 'tut', followed by, 'Hang on then' and then in the background a muffled 'Thump' followed by, 'JESUS! What did you do that for!!!'

 

  • Katie - He's not happy.....
  • Ah but he's awake now isn't he.....

 

You see, humour has been the carrying force that has gotten us through this far. And although we are waiting for an MRI today, it appears that one of 3 things has happened.

 

  • Cancer spread to lower part of Spine....
  • Cancer in the thoracic cavity compressing the spinal chord
  • OR Dad can no longer support his own body weight and his body is shutting down.

 

Now, obviously being in Scotland I end up arranging most things over the phone, and luckily because the GF is a paramedic I at least have a head start on the healthcare side of things and who I need to kick when. On top of all this I've been away on training for the last week and I am shortly heading to Reading today for 4 more days of hotels and hotel food. So I will share a story with you from my time in the Travelodge in Edinburgh West. Dad found it funny and yet again I was told off for making him laugh too much. Apparently advanced lung cancer and laughing do not the best bed mates maketh....... *grins*

Wow. Wow and Wow.

Let me set the scene for you. It’s about 6:30pmish on a Thursday I’m in a travel lodge in west Edinburgh. I've been here for the last few days and I’ve seen a fair few things in this bar/lobby/restaurant/cafe.

 

  • Screaming children - (Ta for that)
  • Hushed arguments between couples. (do speak up, I want to know why he’s never getting any again)
  • And a couple of what I am sure were illicit meetings between people.......(fevered glances, and jumping when your phone goes off is a giveaway mate....)

 

What you don’t expect to see is what appears to be Victoria Beckham’s Mum sitting punch drunk at the bar in 6 inch stiletto’s with shopping bags from Harvey Nicks and AKA scattered round her, wailing and sobbing with large dark shades on. In fact, as I rounded the corner to plop myself onto my bar stool, the barman almost threw himself bodily across said bar in a vain, and unsuccessful attempt to extract himself from her.

  • ‘Can I take your order pal?!’ The barman hurls at me.
  • ‘Can I look at the menu first?’ Raised eyebrow in return, bum not even lowered onto seat.
  • ‘errrrrrr......ok.’

And with that he skulks off looking so affronted I wonder if I'm after stealing his last rolo.

Still quizzical, I took a moment to take in the woman sat two down from me. Long greying thin hair, LARGE beckham shades, tears plopping of the bottom of her very thin face. She looks like a stick. SERIOUSLY she needed at least half of Cadbury’s world inside her to put meat on them there bones........Honest to god, if you went to bed with her, you’d end up with paper cuts from just touching her.

Still. I busy myself in the menu avoiding eye contact completely and muttering repeatedly in my head, ‘Don’t engage, Don’t make eye contact.’

‘Hi, I'm Gail’

*balls*

I slowly turn my head to the left and with a swift. ‘Hi’ dip my eyes back down to the menu. The barman and I exchange eye contact and we chew the fat (he’s seen me here all week) and I let him know it’s my last night here and that tomorrow I go home.

‘Oh aren't you lucky!’

I hear from punchdrunkvictoriabeckham’s mum. With a tad too much trace of venom in her voice for my liking. I clamp my back teeth violently together and a little sing song voice in my head pipes up ‘For crying out loud, Don’t poke the jelly fish. Just go eat your nachos and sod off Ya big giraffe.’ And for once, I listen. So off I trot and sit down WELL AWAY from cryingmentalwailing woman.

After about  5 minutes, she then demands that the Barman order her a taxi soon. So in between the odd sniffing hiccup and sobbing moan from the woman I carry on eating. We hear her saying again and again, ‘She’s going to die. I know she’s going to die.’ Worrying. Anyway. Punch drunk lady get’s her taxi and after finishing what I'VE seen to be her fourth glass of wine (I’ve been here for ¾ of an hour now mind) she attempts to stand up. And here is where it all goes a bit wrong. To be fair, with heels on that are the size of the twin towers I'm not surprised she totters as unsteadily as Bambi on ice. ESPECIALLY on the twigs she calls legs. My tooth brush is jealous. She takes one step. Then another, balanced by shopping bags, and then............. tilts dramatically, sending them crashing to the floor, along with a stool, menus and the sign by reception. Pawing desperately at the wall to remain upright, she spins slowly, and declares in a very dramatic posh voice, ‘Someone to help me please.’ And then stands there, hand extended, waiting. I stopped mid chew......

A very brave man (from Aberdeen) darted forwards and helps twig face out of the bar and into the taxi where she then proceeds to empty the entire contents of her bag onto the back seat to find her keys......... We all wait with baited breath to see if the lovely man from Aberdeen will ever return. 5 minutes........ 10 minutes passes, and his wife is by now starting to look a tad concerned. Suddenly he appears looking a bit harassed and walks into a round of applause from the restaurant.... Nice! We then set upon him to find out what the crack was.

Turns out the woman had visited her Mother in hospice. (I can hear the collective ‘Ahhhhh’ from here). She then had gone out shopping and bought lots of expensive things to cheer herself up, and it hadn't worked so she’d gotten banistered in a travel lodge bar.

Now. I am too looking down the barrel of the same gun at some point in the very very near future. And let me tell you. There is NO way you would find me badger faced, in any bar.

  • Punchdrunk at home? Possibly.
  • Punching a wall? Very possibly.
  • Venting it by shooting my bow? A definite.
  • Sobbing on my own until it’s out my system? – More than likely........

We all have ways of dealing with things. And we are all built very very differently. The lady’s story is a sad one. But one ultimately repeated out over the passage of time in different countries to many many different people. She has money, there was no doubt about that. But this proves that you can be rich, but be a lonely as hell, drinking on your own in a travel lodge pub, with a barman being your only saviour. She clearly had no other avenue to turn to. Which is sad. I am very lucky to have people who give more than two craps about what happens to me and mine. That love me. I know it’s a soppy thing to say, but I’m pretty rich myself.

Hopefully the muse and the funnies have started to return. I will admit that I have found this weekend difficult and it DOESN'T help that I am still getting the guilt trip ROYALLY. However brother has suddenly put in an appearance and suddenly he is the golden one. (muffled grunt under breath) Dad called me though from the hospital and declared that everyone sucked, the hospital sucked and that I was crap. He then started laughing, muttered something unintelligible about frogs and hung up. Turns out he was off his face on morphine! 

I will catch you all later. BIG HUGS to you all. xoxox

 

Anonymous
  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    I will admit that after my dad died I got hopelessly plastered at my best mate's house with her and another friend and by the time the lads got back from the pub we were involved in a smashed round of 'We'll always be bestest mates and be there for each other because I love you, no, I REALLY love you, lovely bestest mates'. The lads just stood there, shaking their heads and pretending we weren't a trio of plastered ambarrassments. Nice. Managed not to do it in an actual public place though. Good call on the smacking with a pillow, it seemed to work a treat. My dad's legs gave out about 3 weeks before he died, as the tumour on the base of the spine started compressing the spinal column. To be honest, had it not, we might not have discovered the unstable pelvic fracture so perhaps it wasn't sucha  bad thing. If it's any consolation, my brother is always the golden one to my mum (wasn't to my dad), despite the fact that I'm the one who helped nurse him, who was there every evening after he died and have been the one to take the brunt of mum's anger at the world. And I don't mind admitting it can get right on my wick. Don't feel guilty, your dad wouldn't want you to stop your life entirely and you're doing what you can. Take care and be kind to yourself, Vikki x

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    Thanks Vikki. It helps. xxxxxxx