Post 192: Fireside warmth but a chill inside.
At the end of the day there’s nothing better than sitting comfortably by an open fire with a beer and friends or family.
The warmth on a cold day was truly worth the trip out to the middle of nowhere where the “Bells” hides away.
A lunchtime dinner was all we needed, but we got more than that as my Darling, her Sister and I toasted our knees and noses while the logs quietly crackled and glowed in a pub with good cheer.
Jackie had arrived while my Darling and I were at the hospice chatting to a doctor about my rib and other gripes. She had had an early start, and tired as she was, we thought a pub of amazing charm was the right beginning to her weekend break. So after she had a snooze and a few cuddles when she woke, we took her out for lunch — but not before she handed me a huge stack of chocolates and treats. She spoils me rotten, and I love it.
We are truly lucky to have such an array of local hostelries hidden down small lanes in pretty little villages around and about us.
We’d chosen well and had a lovely meal. Afterwards we seized an opportunity and swapped seats to sit beside the open fire. Jack and I are cold creatures and loved the heat, and while we toasted ourselves we chatted and caught up with all the gossip from Ireland. We were so comfortable, we could have stayed there all day.
In the end, we left the fireside chairs for others to enjoy and headed home — by which time my ribs were burning.
Until then I’d had little trouble — not in the doctor’s chairs or at the pub — but the driving might have been the culprit. I try not to moan, but today was different.
The only place to rest was the bed, so I headed off and licked my wounds while my Darling and her sister did what they do best downstairs — a beverage or two, the tv, and a lot of chat. I shut my eyes on the day, way too early.
Earlier, the doctor had taken bloods, which turned out fine — any worry about infection was quashed. The good news continued in the shape of an email from my specialist cancer nurse, answering my question about whether I can fly — and how far. With the necessary caution, she said yes: there’s no limit to flight time as long as I wear flight compression socks and walk around regularly.
That news was amazing — and slightly surprising. It re-opens up the world to me, us. “Your” world is now “my” world. I can go wherever I like, just like any normal person. This is such an uplifting feeling — and it means a snowy break is back on track.
The doctor also advised about the rib and scans. Because I have a bone scan this coming Monday, it’s fair to assume it’ll pick up any issue with the ribs. It’s possible that the alleged break has a cancerous lesion on it — but that’s the worst-case scenario. Time will tell.
The other two scans — CT and MRI — need to be expedited.
The only thing to ease the pain until the results come through is lidocaine patches to locally numb the area.
I consider the pain acute and sporadic, so for now I’ll decline the patches and persist with pain avoidance techniques — trying not to aggravate it in the first place.
On the whole, it’s been a good day. I should be happy — and I’m trying to be.
I worry I won’t be fit enough for the curry night, but I’ll be there come hell or high water. Then there are the two scans to be arranged, which might now spoil the beginning of our break to Cumbria next Wednesday — another postponement or, worse still, cancellation.
Yes, you can feel the disappointment in my tone. And yes, I know that had it not been for my specialist nurse’s illness, these three scan appointments would have been two weeks ago. But due to being forgotten — bla bla bla…
I’m annoyed for my eldest and his wife, our friends up north, and especially my Darling. I’ve possibly caused another wrecked holiday.
You may say it’s not wrecked yet — and it’s not. But what’s the odds of those scans being booked within the next six days? Slim.
I’ve said before how much I get from helping fellow Macmillan forum members. Their questions give me something to lean on, and my replies give me purpose. But inside, I’m struggling.
It’s just not fair that this year has turned out so crappy.
My “Annus horribilis”.
Month by month, the would-be celebratory year of 2025 — with its wedding in Italy, anniversaries in Ireland, birthdays and holidays — has turned into a cancellation catastrophe.
Bugger me sideways — the health app on my iPhone has just told me my resting heart rate has risen from 49 to 58 in the last five days.
It’s a fair reflection of where I am right now: unsettled.
My heart rate’s been under 50 for years — a bit slow maybe, but that’s me. So a bump up to 58 might not seem much to most people, but it’s another marker going in the wrong direction in world of Mr U.
I’m sorry to be so negative today.
My smile will return when I wake.
The appointments will be arranged for early next week, and our trip north will go ahead as planned wednesday.
The scans will show that the Carboplatin has held back the cancer in my bones, and the PSA will be under the 133 it was when chemo started.
Great expectations? Maybe.
I’m not asking for much — just a slight improvement, followed by a gap-year.
I remain positive and confident I’m recovering well.
Love to you all, and be lucky 
