Apparently there is no set pattern for grief and mourning.
That's good. Because I can't see any pattern to mine either.

Either I'm totally matter of fact, stating the BALDLY that W is DEAD. Or well, the strangest things set me off.

When Edinburgh's finest Care Equipment Services came to collect the equipment yesterday for some reason they were un-informed as to why they were collecting the bed etc. One of them cheerfully asked me "Wull he be wantin' his walking stick?"
"No" I said deadpan, "he's dead".
The look on their faces was good.

Stopped for a street survey, and asked how many adults were resident chez Macy, I was quite calm replying "Well, one as of last Wednesday. My partner died on Tuesday night".
And I was sorry for the researcher immediately I remembered my manners.

But asked today, at Scotmid's newsagent counter of all places, "How are we today?" I lost it.
"Well.. one of us is ....sob....DEAD...." Tears, oceans of tears. In SCOTMID.

Going to take a long time before they stop looking embarassed around me in Scotmid. That's for sure.

The Jock Dog Rehoming Project Continues

Posted on 16:19 In: ,

1. Because it's always nice to end the week on a happy note.
2. Because Jock doesn't have his own blog (although at this rate he might need it)
And 3. because I like this photo of him....

Let's all cheer for Kirsti and her offering to home JOCK!!!! Yes Jock Dog is now off to live with Kirsti in her Cat Free Home.

And, despite all previous predictions, Jock Dog is Refusing to Pine. Being 15 years old and senile has apparently helped him forget already....

Things to do today

Posted on 06:12 In:
  • Walk dog
  • Hand over honorarium to minister for W's funeral service
  • Meet with cherub's teachers before he goes back to school
  • Update CV
  • Return library books
  • Start thank you letters
  • Get urn for the ashes
  • Sort out carers allowance
  • Take donations and gifts to hospice
  • Blog

Well that's one of them done then.

They want their stuff back

Posted on 09:16 In:

Edinburgh Equipment Services that is. W is dead - and so he no longer needs the hospital bed, the bedside table, all the other EQUIPMENT, kindly given - and hardly used, he went so fast!!!

The medical equipment, diffusers, oxygen tanks, sharps boxes, suction tanks, all went earlier. Now it's the turn of the homecare equipment. Not wanting to think too hard about this Other People now need it just as much as he did... So EES is coming today at 10am to collect it all.

I'm not going to miss the frame around the toilet (don't ask, if you don't know already, you won't want to know). The bedside table was never that practical, and the hospital bed is a terrible, terrible reminder of the last days, so they can go too.

Luckily (?) W died before they got round to more structural alterations around bannisters and handrails in the ensuite.

But the cherub and I are going to miss that three-way faux leather recliner. It was supplied so that W could find some comfortable position with his back pain, and get out of the chair more easily. Without wanting to be too maudlin, there's a terrible metaphor in here - with us re-arranging the living room to accommodate this chair, and missing it terribly now it's going after too short a time.

Plus, um, well it's comfy.

And on the Third Day He was Back!!

Posted on 10:06 In: ,

No really - JOCK DOG that is. (Sorry, who'd you think???? Bad joke.. I just liked the title...)

Deep sigh...

SO to re-cap, Jock had been re-homed with the nurse who looked after W during his last days. This was perfect; he couldn't stay here, where despite looking small cute and adorable, he was taking CHUNKS out of Ned. Nurse Laura and her family LOVED Jock to bits, there was a connection with W, and Jock would still be in Cheesetown, so we could keep in touch...


Nurse Laura's cat was having none of it.

After three days of dirty protest from the cat, which was going mental Jock was returned, along with his bed, his meds, and tears from his new family. Who are going to miss him.

Cheeses. Let's make up a sentence with the words "rains", "pours" and "never" in it why don't we..?

So, in a new twist to the funeral yesterday, I managed to slip in a few pleas for a billet for Jock Dog, with W's workmates, the minister, friends.....a disturbing number of whom have developed Allergies to Dogs.

To Be Continued.

Start with the Clothes

Posted on 10:26 In:

Because you have to Start Somewhere. And the collection bag from Save the Children has just arrived through the letterbox.

You can do this Macy.

The t-shirts drying on the radiator since Sunday? the clothes he unpacked into the spare drawer? They can all go into the bag. All of them. Don't think about it.
His socks and jeans - still on the chair? Going.

This is easy if you do it quick.

The pyjamas drying on the rack? Going. Bet Save the Children get a lot of stripey pyjamas passed they don't get the Fiji '97 or Vietnam t-shirts though...
Will anyone understand that this is the sweatshirt he wore on his last trip to France with the Cherub? No one will recognise the old blue sweatshirt he's worn for the past 10 years, will they?

Stop it.

The black jumper I bought him three weeks ago, despite him saying he didn't need it? He said it was a great sweater. He wore it constantly. I'm keeping it.
Because if I bury my head in it, it still smells of him; soap, and aloe- vera heat treatment, and W.....

Enough already.

Dogs have feelings too

Posted on 10:38 In:

A while back I started reading "Psychology for Dummies" by the no doubt excellent (as a psychologist**), Adam Cash PsyD.

I had to give up when he dismissed out of hand that pets as having feelings too. Apparently we merely attribute these.

Look Dr Cash, we'll accept that Jock Dog is senile. That he wouldn't leave W, but lay on or under his bed as he died is a purely random set of events. OK. OK OK
But look at Ned last night. He started sniffing W's walking stick for a good couple of minutes before whimpering, looking at me for a long time, then coming over for a cuddle.

Being a border collie, Ned does not usually react to walking sticks at all. He does know the difference between a random stick for throwing and a human tool. Can we not just agree that his reaction is due to the same root cause as my distress? The absence of the owner of the stick?

**Constant readers may have noticed a slight distrust of psychologists since my leaving Dr Dybbuk...

This is a public service ANNOUNCEMENT

Posted on 10:31 In:
Yes. Sorry, but this really does apply to all of us...

Unless your heart is truly set on the standard package offered by your undertaker (pine box, 20 mins at the crematorium, flowers and transport from home EXTRA) Leave Very Specific Instructions.
Go to this excellent site and make all your wishes clear.

And even if you have no clear wishes please let us know - so we will know for sure that we haven't short changed or mis-led you in any way at all.


Today we shall not rant

Posted on 08:45 In:
Today we shall not rant about funeral undertakers. I appreciate I have stamped my little foot enough, and ranted, and they ARE doing a necessary job, and IT IS all about the people who will be there.... not the service itself.

I still don't understand why it costs more to stay at the morgue in Leith than it does to stay in the Malmaison hotel down the road (£682 per week if you're interested).
I still think Edinburgh District Council are taking the mick when they want £780 to DIG a grave. Not buy the plot, just DIG it!
I have NO IDEA why on earth it would cost the undertaker £100 just to bring a cardboard coffin 30 miles down the road from Perth.
And I am truly dumbfounded that DOCTORS are so hard up they need to charge £150 a pop to sign the CREMATION Form.

Enough. Enough already. At least the MUSIC will be good. W always said he wanted BB King's "Moving on" played. And he will have.
Love you Wayne

And on the First Day there was some good news

Posted on 10:03 In:

Throughout W's last day, his dog, old Jock Dog was becoming more and more of a problem. When he wasn't allowed to shiver at the end of W's bed, he was skulking underneath it. Never mind that we had our very own heartbreaking illustration of Greyfriars Bobby, he was in the way of oxygen tanks, and nurses trying to change syringe drivers.

Jock was always going to be a problem - the sort of very old, senile, deaf, un dog like problem we were always putting off facing. After his last attack on Ned (yeah really... told you he is SENILE) he couldn't continue to stay here. But who else would want such an old dog with medical problems? The sensible course advocated long and loud by my mother To Put Him Out His Misery was of course unthinkable....

And then on the day after death, Laura the district nurse who had nursed W from his first discharge from the hospice, asked, very timidly, if we had thought of what would happen to Jock...and if ... well you know... if we were thinking of re-homing.....well... could she be considered....because she was strangely fond of that wee dog.

YES! Jock re-homed with someone who wants him, who only lives up the road, with someone who cared for W ...this is my definition of Good News indeedy.

Now if that senile, smelly old dog can just SETTLE in a new home with a big garden and no other scary dogs, we can Be Happy.


Posted on 09:41 In:

Too early to write this post I know, because the list of names below is only going to grow in the next couple of days.

Big thanks to Margaret, the Marie Curie nurse who sat with W through his last two nights. Who READ aloud to him during the night, who helped lay out the body and who was so supportive to me and cherub.

Big thanks to the Queensferry rent a mob, who are currently organising the funeral, and doing the dirty work like registering the death and meeting with the undertakers for me. Paul, Linda, Sarah, John, Nigel you know who you all are.

Huge thanks to PETAL who insists on continuing to walk Ned twice a day to give me more time. She's a national treasure.

SPARKLE has built a cairn at the spot on the beach where we last took W, and SENT ME A VIDEO. Which is an amazing leap forward for the un techy Sparkle. And is strangely comforting.

The Cheesetown Church Group have materialised from nowhere to send flowers, home baking, and the minister. In that order.

And the messages continue to roll in, from W's home town in NZ, Spain, Eire, from all over Scotland. The pressure is on to fix the funeral date to let so many people arrange travel.

Thanks too for all the supportive comments from my favourite bloggers.

Tuesday 20th

Posted on 02:25 In: ,
W died at 10:20pm on the 20th of the 10th.

Which is incredibly tidy for W.

How's the Cherub Doing?

Posted on 08:39 In: ,
My house has been sporadically filled with people, care assistants, friends to see W, the hospice doctor, W's GP, my friends, neighbours, district nurses (yes, they always travel in pairs...). Last night, for the first time I met the Church of Scotland Minister..... They want to care for, talk to, assess, pray for, administer to. Oh I don't know, for all I know they might just be here for the TEA and SHERRY.
W continues to breathe heavily and raspily through an oxygen mask. Sometimes he moans.

All the time, in the background, upstairs, or in the living room there has been The Cherub. The kid is 13 for heavens sake, and his daddy is dying.

He's been so good there in the background. Life continues to give this kid No Breaks. Typically for Cherub, at a time when he would be Let Off School, school is on half term break. So he doesn't even get bonus holidays.
Luckily the hospice sent out its best doctor, Dr K, to visit us. Dr K made sure that the Cherub understood that his daddy would be in no pain as he was under a lot of drugs which would make sure he would never wake up. The noises that we would hear were normal and didn't mean that W was in distress.
Dr K stressed to the Cherub that if he found it frightening or upsetting at all, he could let us know, and his daddy would go back to the hospice instead of staying here at home.
The Cherub was reassured that his dad would be having well freaky dreams, but could definitely still hear anyone talking to him.
Without wanting to sound too much like a New Age hippy here, I've made sure the Cherub got Priority Access through to his dad's room, where he has returned a couple of times now to spend some time with his dad talking and just holding his hand. I was re-assured last night when he told me he'd found it comforting being with him.

Apparently W has squeezed the cherub's hand in return.

Urm, title says it all I think. We've had a long night what with needing to call out district nurses three times in one night, get oxygen into the house, and Administer some Big Bang Drugs.

Currently W is semi conscious. The daytime nurses are here to insert a catheter, clear his throat, and monitor his breathing. Nurse Linda is fielding phone calls and updating the GP....And me? I am continuing to believe that a cure for cancer is approx 4 hours away; either that or W will have a miraculous recovery as we find he was misdiagnosed....Big Mistake..what do you know antibiotics will work after all.

Well everyone does what they can. And frankly without a cure or re-diagnosis I'm resigned to never hearing W speak again.

This much I know

Posted on 10:24 In:

Each Sunday the Observer runs a feature where a celebrity shares with us shreds of wisdom they have accumulated.

So far no nuggets of wisdom have included the following:-

When you get discharged from a Marie Curie hospice they give you a goodie bag to take away. Seriously. Containing cushion, a boxed set of west end musicals, a massage kit, a puzzle book. The large bag of controlled drugs is more useful, but hey...the thought is a good one. With a bit of luck you'll never learn this first hand.

On your final discharge they also give you drugs which are to be used only by the doctor on the final visit....these are the big guns. Nurse Linda and I are very interested, but have so far failed to find time to investigate further on t' Internet.

Cheesetown's district nurses seem to be a whole lot more useful than Queensferry's. They have shown definite signs of initiative, understanding and control...So I take back everything I've said about DN's to date. It relates only to Queensferry's.

Some personal care assistants are very young and pretty. Again, with any luck you'll never need to know this, but then again, if you are diagnosed with a degenerative disease it might be some consolation.

Drawing up syringes of controlled drugs is a doddle. In fact drawing up a couple of syringes in advance each evening is deeply therapeutic. So far only Nurse Linda has joined me in this zen like activity.

States of cancer patient is like the weather. Just because death was imminent on Thursday night, doesn't mean that he won't be having a Big Mac for lunch on Friday.

When some people say they will do anything to help, they really do mean anything; leaving their own business to train in drug administration at the hospice; coming round at 4am to give me a break (thank YOU Linda!); staying sober enough on night out in case they are needed; driving across Scotland to deliver Cherub home after night out; walking NED morning and night (PETAL!); offering to mow my lawn, do my shopping, delivering home made cakes and dinners. I could go on. You all know who you are.

Daytimes and evenings your house will be full of visitors. I have never made so many cups of tea in my life.

The sleepless nights are a damn sight easier if you share a bed. I haven't learned how to administer diamorphine in my sleep yet. but watch this space.

Your mother will not necessarily be convinced that you are doing the right thing. She never was.

Yeah I know this blog continues to go where it shouldn't....

Truly Madly Deeply

Posted on 10:02 In: ,

On Thursday W was discharged from the hospice. He's changed his stated preference of place of death from hospice to "home"; by which we mean my home in Cheesetown.

Suddenly there are A LOT of parallels with the film "Truly Madly Deeply" (and apologies for anyone who hasn't seen it, but bear with me anyway). The downside of the return of the "dead" hero to our heroine's flat entails a lot of re-arranging of furniture, rooms crowded with HIS friends, watching of HIS videos and old arguments. All to pretty good comic effect.

With the film being made in the 1980's of course, what it doesn't show is the effect on HER blogging habit.

So, sigh, Desk re-set up in living room....check
PC re-connected to internet...check
Patient sleeping, breathing and in no pain...check
10 minutes before morning drugs needed....check
Dogs walked and fed....check
No visitors, nurses, drug deliveries expected...check


Got Them Fooled

Posted on 06:53 In: ,
To re-cap, (and bear with me if there is getting to be a bit of a theme on this blog), myself and other helpers are having to be trained to administer diamorphine because the district nurses can't.

The doses that W is getting for ad hoc pain relief are off the medical scale; the DNs can only draw these syringes if there are more than two of them in the room - because half this dose (now increased to 200ml....) would kill the average by-stander.

I'm explaining the irony of this to Sarah "So, basically, it's not OK for the health professionals to administer, but his ex can!"

Sounds of cackling and snickering from Cheesetown area.....

Sarah (wiping tears of laughter from her eyes): "Yeah! You got them fooled alright Macy!"

A short clarification

Posted on 18:40 In:

Imaginary Reader: Look Macy person, what's going on here? this W who's dying, what's with him and you?
Macy: Well we were together for 12 years or so, had the cherub child, and split up. It was a Big Mistake and I'm Sorry Now.
And what's W dying of?
Who are you?, someone on NHS 24???? Cancer for heavens sake. It's an angiosarcoma, which has led to tumours in chest and bone.
And what's the states of W?
He's currently in a hospice, but gets out on weekend passes.
To your place?
Yeah - to my place. He has his own flat, and me and half of Queensferry were looking after him there for awhiles, but my place is better now that he needs more care. He gets to see the cherub and his dog here too.
Could he not see dog and cherub at his own place?
Not really now that there's a danger of him suddenly dying. The Cherub's a wee star, but I think he'd get a bit spooked if his dad keeled over dribbling blood.

OK...and what about this Dybbuk person? Did you leave W for him?
No no no no, that was Another Big Mistake and I'm Sorry Now.
Yeah..can't say anymore, because he's threatened to go to the police if I write anything about him....
Yeah shouldn't be writing anything now...
You have a death wish or something??
Urm well maybe more sense than I did three years ago!

OK but are you and W back together again?
No, no no no, just friends who sleep together. As in sleep. For company.

Thanks Macy. All a lot clearer now.

Hello NHS 24. Can I have your name please?
Hi. This is Macy M...I'm phoning on behalf of W McH..he has terminal cancer of bone and lung, is in terrible pain, and we need someone to prescribe 150mg of diamorphine as soon as possible please.
I see. Can you give me W's full name?
And his address?
xxxxx Queensferry, EH30 xxx but he's not there he's here at x xxxxx Cheesetown
And his date of birth please?
y July xxmm
Ah yes I'm looking at his records. Can you confirm his doctor?
He's registered at xxxx Queensferry, but his current medication is prescribed by the Marie Curie Hospice at Frogston Road.
Now I have to ask you some questions. Has he been in pain for long?
About 6 months. He's got cancer.
And is the pain worsening?
Yes because we have no DIAMORPHINE. We need 150mg asap
Right. Can I confirm your phone number?
0131 xxx ssss
And can I call you back on this number if we get cut off?
Yes yes yes
I'm going to put you through to the duty nurse. Hold on.

Hello this is the duty nurse. Can I confirm that I am talking to Macy M....?
And your phone no is.....
Can you confirm that you are calling on behalf of .....
Can you confirm W's date of birth?
Now I need to ask you some questions.

Where is the pain he's feeling?
It's in his back. Where the bone cancer is.
And how long has he been in pain?
Since the current meds wore off...
And is the pain worsening?
Yes. He's almost crying. Can you please send a doctor?
Does he have difficulty breathing?
Yes. He has lung cancer
Is his breathing worse than normal?
As in normal for a man with one lung?
Has he changed colour?
Are there any signs of swelling?
Only hands and feet due to Gabapentin. That's not new. He's had swollen feet since the intrathecal.
Can I talk to W?
Um, I'll see if he's able {W, can you talk?}
W - nnnn...yeah.....yeah...

W has authorised you to speak on his behalf.

OK good. What he's having trouble saying, is we desperately need a doctor please.

Can you confirm if W is taking any medication?
HE'S GOT TERMINAL CANCER!!!! {Deep breath. Settle Macy}. OK. He's on 4 Prednisolone, 1 Omeprazole, 12 paracetemol, 12 Gabapentin, per day. This is in addition to the 45 Diamorphine, 35 Levobupivicain and 15 Clonidine in the intrathecal, and Diclofenac and Medazolam on demand. But he's in desperate pain and needs DIAMORPHINE

Sorry, can you repeat that slowly...Pretis??
....Sigh....Prednisolone...Omeprazole, that's O-M-E-P-R-A-Z-O-L-E

10 minutes later. After a wee spelling bee.

Right. I confirm that you are phoning on behalf of W McH, who has been diagnosed with cancer of lung and bone, he is on the following medication (blah blah blah blah...), despite this he is in some degree of pain. I will request that a doctor be despatched to xxxxxx Cheesetown.


I cannot guarantee the time a doctor will be with you. It may be upwards of an hour. If you have any further problems please contact us again.

I know. I know, I know, I know, if anyone phones up a central helpline asking for enough controlled drugs to kill the average human, you would ask questions wouldn't you?

I just hate seeing him in pain.

The habit of gradual disclosure

Posted on 13:48 In: ,
I do understand that medical practitioners need to be careful not to be unnecessarily dramatic, I really do. I mean on walking into a doctor's surgery with a bad cough, you don't need to be told immediately "Oh my god, this could be lung cancer! It might have spread through the chest cavity already! Or even be a SECONDARY site! Cheeses! Get the CAT scan! Alert Oncologists and palliative team! Who is your next of kin??

Yep. Because that would be alarmist.

And I mean likewise, when they need to open you up to remove any tumour, and then, em don't. Well there's no point admitting that this is conclusively bad news. Better you tell the relatives "We need to wait on the biopsy", than admitting "Christ on a bike! the tumour's HUGE. You're going to need as much strength as possible for the chemo! And even then there's no hope"

And even if your consultant does find that a rare form of cancer has arisen in the lining of your blood vessesls, affecting soft tissues throughout your bones and chest cavity, the news is still tempered. Oh yes, they say it can be treated. Yep, as Nurse Linda pointed out to us later, treated, not cured..

Tumours will be treated aggressively with chemotherapy: tumours in the lung they mean. They can't do that with the ones in the bone.

Pain relief can be given. We get an intrathecal - this will cure pain. And we were told that "some people can experience some loss of mobility". Some people... not "you will loose all sensation in your legs, crash to floor and need to be hoisted"

Having had enough of the softly softly gradual disclosure approach, Nurse Linda and I did ask point blank as to how W will die of this cancer and had an almost beautiful death described. W will float out of life, having become more and more fatigued. You know, I really did have a picture of Millais' Ophelia! HA!

Yeah right. Last week W's consultant, who obviously hasn't been advised of the tiptoe around the bad news approach, asked him how he would cope with the loss of mobility. Understandably, this got W really scared; and we were scared, and at this point I tried to make it as clear as possible to the hospice that, stuff the gradual-disclosure-on-a-need-to-know basis, we really need to know the worst now.

So a meeting was called with the palliative care team, and a list of questions sent in advance, including "what does loss of mobility mean?", and "what did the scan show?"

Nurse Linda and I left a meeting with the palliative care team shaken, but reassured.

In an old person they said, they would guess that W had a couple of weeks, but with young, otherwise strong people the route of the disease is less certain. W has had major rallies already. And you know there is no clot on his lung. Oh yes, the scan showed some spread of the disease, but entirely as to be expected. For the tumour on his lung, Midazalan will ease the breathing, and he will be in no fear, pain or panic. No he won't need oxygen.

Um....Yes, OK, he will become immobile, and yes we are close to that point, but again, the fatigue will mean that he doesn't resent or even notice this.


Yeah, well it looks like every carer needs an informant. So big thanks to Steve who phoned on Sunday. W has been having bad nights (nobody at the meeting told us about these! He can't remember when he comes round), oxygen has been administered, Steve is worried how we will cope with this at home. Especially as W is now functioning on what's left of one lung.

One damaged lung?? Nobody told us about one damaged lung. And the pooling....

And this Midazalan? it takes awhile to kick in. So yes he is having very bad nights indeed.

And I'm pretty sure we have not been fully informed.

So the scan showed no clot on W's lung - it's just continued deterioration of lung and chest cavity...Okaa-a-ay someone somewhere will know if this is good or bad news. All I know is that ordinarily no one would hear they had deterioration of lung and chest cavity and go "Yippee!" So, you know, we'll just move along for now.

And on Thursday, God did his best to make amends. The sun was splitting through a clear blue sky and Sparkle has arranged a day out at the beach. As well as collecting W plus wheelchair from the hospice she has laid on sticky toffee cake, and cucumber sandwiches - with no crusts. Because, bless her, Sparkle really can do posh.
We have three dogs, a picnic, a deserted beach on the edge of Dalmeny estate and three ostensible adults pretending they are on an Enid Blyton field trip.

On Friday I have a meeting with W's palliative care team, doctors, OT, pharmacists and social workers; it won't be fun. So I'm enjoying the sun while it lasts.


Posted on 06:57 In: ,
Yesterday I got a text from W
"Going 4 ct scan 2mw at royal. Im scared - give my love 2 cherub and 2 yrself. xx"

W's scared???
Last time W was scared he was being washed out on a rip tide in Thailand 1990.

CT scan is because they believe there is a clot in his lung. The night before the (healthier looking) 70 year old in the next bed died due to breathing difficulties.

Now we're all scared.

I hate hospices.

Saturday Night

Posted on 09:29 In: ,

Since last Wednesday W has been back in the hospice. The idea being that under close supervision they can ratchet the pain control up to the max, then bring it down to try and even out the side effects like, er an inability to walk or think clearly.

Weekends, though there are no doctors to experiment further with pain relief, so given my new expertise in administering drugs intravenously and otherwise, there's now reason why W can't get a 24 hour pass out the hospice to have a Saturday night out in Cheesetown... yay we are stoked! We like Saturday nights, and we have loads of stuff we need to cram into the one night.

Man wants a roast dinner. ..As a recovering vegetarian I've never done a roast in my life, however I will throw myself on the mercy of the butcher at Morrisons, who explains how it all works, and where the ready made yorkshire puddings are. My roast is brilliant - I know, I know, but don't take my word for it, ask W or the dogs....

Getting carried away now, I've also done a peach and almond crumble. It's brill, with double cream and everything.

We have the closing episodes of The Wire series one to get through. This is crucial because, as every fule kno, series 4 is the best, so we need to get working through all the episodes before that. Tonight's episodes are cracking stuff - the wipe out of Wallace and arrest of D'Angelo.

Other Saturday night attractions include:-
  • Aloe Vera heat lotion for back massages
  • Cherub on hand to display latest x box game
  • Plenty TEA and BISCUITS for chats into the wee small hours

See, it's not exactly furthest edges of rock and roll or anything, but we can do good times now and again in Cheesetown.

And if party boy can't last all the way through, but needs rushed back to the hospice on Sunday, at least Saturday night was a break.

Bruce and the Badlands

Posted on 09:14 In: ,
So having convinced the hospice that W's pain really does need sorting out, it was arranged that
he would be re-admitted to the hospice later in the week.
W is ahead of the game though. Yesterday morning saw him translucent, shaking and in more pain that ever before. He had finished his 24 hour allotment of diamorphine in 12 hours. A series of calls to the hospice, and our excellent GP meant that he was re-admitted to the hospice with immediate effect.

The trouble is W doesn't want to go to the hospice; since getting his intrathecal he has the notion that his next re-admission will be his last one. He's in no rush to get to the hospice thanks.
I have the opposite notion. With him folded into the front seat of the Mazda, I'm breaking all speed limits to get him to the hospice before the painkillers wear off completely; before he does that scary shaking and hallucinating thing.

W is insistent that there is no rush to get to the hospice. He says we should be slowing down to listen better to the CD he's started playing.

I'm arguing that you can't slow down to listen to Bruce Springsteen - dammit, we're "...Sprung from cages out on highway 9, Chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line..
..tramps like us, baby we were born to ru-u-un..."

I can't do Bruce at speeds appropriate to road conditions...
And anyhoots, why the sudden liking for Bruce Springsteen now? He always hated him.

No, there's one good song Bruce did, but he can't remember what it was...

So we slow down on the way to the hospice, and W put on Darkness on the Edge of Town, and for some reason, even at sedate speeds, it worked to lift the mood. Because Bruce is cheese. Pure cheese and ham sliced thick.

Three hours later though, when I got back to the car to go home alone, it was just Bruce and me....and it's not funny, it's not funny at all howling your eyes out to a song as tacky as "Badlands"

Welcome to the car crash...

I have a complicated bereavement. I was only reconciled with my ex, W, months before he died of cancer. Luckily (for him) I was made redundant and able to care for him while he died here at home - October 20th.
Currently getting through it with our son, aka the Cherub, dog Ned, and friends here in CHEESETOWN.

Who Needs a Booker Prize?

Who Needs a Booker Prize?
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Wylye Hearted This Blog

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