A lot more down (I hope this is the bottom)

Sunday came and went, the old boys on the ward were a good laugh the banter floed freely and my spirits rose although my energy levels were still in my boots.

Wendy and the girls came to visit as did mum and dad, as the person being visited it's lovely to see these people and obviously seeing Wend and the girls is magic but it's also hard. It reminds you of what you're missing and of a place you'd rather be, that's not to say I didn't want visitors it was just where my head was.

I was confident that I'd be going home that evening, how wrong could you be. Three day's later I was leaving, it had taken that long to get my blood well enough for me to fight infections as and when they came along. The neutropenic situation basically means that part of my white blood cells, the neutrofil, were at a critically low level. This meant fighting something as simple as a common cold could have become life threatening! That'd be rubbish wouldn't it, at the funeral, "well he beat cancer but a cold got him!"

I came out of hospital feeling lucky, two of the guy's on the ward had terminal lung cancer, a woman I got chatting to had two tumors removed from her brain but they'd come back and so it went on. As far as I can see I have a damn good chance of beating this and getting back to being as normal as I ever am, so I'm lucky.

I should have been having chemo the next day but they didn't think I'd be up to it so it got put back to Friday. I rested and rested and rested and waited for my next dose of poison. Chemo is one of those things you go through, you exist through it, my existence on that friday was pitiful. I hadn't got much left energy wise or emotionally and it showed. Usually I can chat to the nurses or other patients but this time I chatted a little and buried myself in my magazines and books. A friend, unlucky Steve (long story) who had visited me while in hospital, had leant me the second of Lance Armstrong's books. Both are worth a read even if you don't like cycling they're well written and show humour and humility along with the desire to win at everything be it cycling or cancer he wants to win everything he does. Every now and again a line of the book would provoke the odd tear, it'd be a shared experience. Some famous bloke in Texas with some big bloke in Sheffield, sharing fears, highs lows sentiments, a love of bikes through the pages of a book. The second book talks about being a survivor and how hard it is, how getting the balance of living life like you've been giving a second chance but also being the person you were before cancer. It's fascinating from a people watching point of view but scary from where I was.

I sobbed, behind my hands, in an empty room. Watching the drugs go in and feeling like they were doing me harm not good, got me. It got me so that I couldn't think clearly, I hurt, my head hurt from all the thoughts and my chest hurt from sobbing. Sally was brilliant, there were only two nurses left on as I was the only patient and she just sat and listened and gave me a hug and was just a sympathetic human being. I guess it's part of the job but it's not something you can train for.

My drugs finished and mum and dad arrived to take me home. I think i've looked rubbish after chemo before but not as bad as that, it ended up with my crying, Kaz (the other nurse) crying and Sally wiping her eyes. I gave them both a hug and thanked them, the staff at Weston Park do an amazing job and do it in such a way that you never feel foolish or pitied just cared for.

The only thing I wanted that night was a chip butty with curry sauce and my family. Food first as I had an inkling that my lousy mood was partly fueled by a lack of food and then hopefully I'd feel better when I was with my family.

I don't remember much about that weekend, I can't imagine I was much fun to be around. I wasn't crying as much but I didn't have much to give anyone, the combination of steroids, oral anti biotics and a fresh dose of chemo probably proved to be quite a cocktail for my body to take.

The roller coaster the start of down.

I apologise for not having posted over the last couple of weeks but it's been a little bit busy in the world of Nick.

Having the girls home was fab, made the house sound right again, laughter and song and just general busy-ness. The focus would be Geogia's birthday, eight, where the flipping heck did the time go? Now it's awkward having a birthday in August when you're school age, all the people you want to invite end up going on holiday so parties aren't particularly overcrowded!

George loves pizza and so, as it was her party, pizza it would be. But not any old pizza, homemade pizza dough and homemade pizza sauce and toppings designed by George. Wendy made the dough and the sauce (complete with hidden vegetables for my benefit) and George did the toppings. It's safe to say come my birthday I'd like Wend to make more pizza's, they were fantastic and there was only a couple of pieces left over for lunch the next day.

I made it through the family party on the Friday, I'd felt better but I just put it down to being tired and having done too much.

Saturday came and George was going bowling with her friends that were not holidaying, Carys and us. That soon turned into just Wendy taking the girls down to the bowling and mum and Wend's friend Shelley meeting them there. I was in pieces, Georgie had a friend staying and what she must have thought of this big bloke sobbing into a pillow I don't know. Carys being Carys just asked straight out 'Why's daddy crying?'. I had nothing left, no energy, my get up and go had effed off!

By the evening I'd got worse and my temperature finally hit the 37.5 degree mark that constitutes a phone call, whatever time of day or night, to Weston Park. We both knew what was going to happen so Wendy phoned Mark and I got my overnight bag together, well I picked it up, as Wendy keeps it pretty sorted for times likes this.

You know you're bad when one of your best mates picks you up, looks at you and says "Yep you look shit". Not one for mincing his words Mark says it as he sees it and it's one of the reasons I love him as a friend, you know exactly where you are with him. He stayed with me for the best part of two hours while they tooks some observations and got me to swab for MRSA (one up the nose, one round the groin). It was a support that I didn't know I needed but it kept me together for the time being.

Being admitted was no hardship, I knew in my head and my heart it was the best place to be. Being jabbed several times for blood samples is also par for the course. Being woken up at half one in the morning by a very nice but very quietly spoken doctor and being told you're neutropenic was weird. Now I'm not the best at being woken up and being woken up by someone other than Wendy or mum puts me into an automatic who, what, where spin which was only stopped by the very patient sister. She was great, considering she'd stopped me spinning she allowed me to come round a bit before she put a cannular into my arm for the litre of saline and the intravenous anti-biotics that I had been prescribed.

Sleeping in hospital on a ward is weird as I have mentioned before. You have to get used to four other blokes snoring, farting, belching and the noise of sleeping on a plastic coated mattress always takes soem getting used to. Add to that a drip in your arm which you really don't want to lay on or pull out and it makes for a less than restful night. Having said that the old boys on the ward did tell me of a previous patient who woke them up one night shouting and screaming, they awoke to find this bloke knelt on the floor with his head under a chair bum in the air with no pyjama bottoms on............

An update. Our girls are home!

As anyone who knows us will attest our family is everything. We work as a four, no more, no less so it was a hard week for Wend and I when the girls went to Wales. They went to stop with Aunty Noo and Uncle Jase and the girls favourite playthings, Ryan, Jacob and Stella the bonkers springer. Their home for the week is a little slice of heaven in wet Welsh Wales.

Shakes and cakes

Sheffield's temporary big wheel

Well they had a whale of a time, riding bikes and body boards. Running round the huge graden chasing and being chased, hide and seek and being kids. Happy and active kids.

Wend and I survived, we spoke to each other, we laughed and held hands and were a couple. A couple that continually talked about their kids, wonder what they're doing now, can we talk to them yet, will they be awake, hope they're going to the toilet regularly. But we were a couple and being just us some of the conversations were freer and more open, not snatching time when the girls were outside, nor listening for when they were on the stairs.

Anyhow Wendy's dad, Bill and his partner Bron, brought the girls home about a week after my fourth chemo. I felt good, really good. Active and alert and although I got tired I felt genuinely good for the first time in ages. Perhaps it was a sign..... Anyhow we took the girls into town and to East One for tea as a welcome home and also for Georigas birthday, a bit early but it allowed her to celebrate with Bill. Blow me down she ate most of her meal with chopsticks. Going to Wales always brings her confidence on, physically and emotionally she'd changed. I don't think it's the water but maybe.....

We then walked down into town and went on Sheffield's temporary answer to the London eye. Half the size but what an amazing view, even more amazing when Bill paid, cheers Bill. Now I'm not one for heights but since having kids I've decided they're not going to inherit my fears. So on we get, repeating the mantra "don't be sick, don't be sick, don't look down, oh fourpence halpenny, don't look down" round in my head. It'd have been a waste of a great meal.

Anyway I wasn't sick, no-one was, and we had a great time just being normal. For me being normal is where I need to be, it's a long term target, how normal well that's open to discussion but as normal as I ever get.

For a week and a half I was normal, the hair on my chin started growing back with some consistency. I was driving my car regularly, not something I do when my concentration isn't there, we were going to the shops. Not big shopping trips or anything but more than just me being ferried there and back. We even went to the pictures, twice, the second time was for Georgia's birthday proper Ice Age 3 in 3d. It was great really funny and the 3d stuff worked really well with the weird glasses on.

That evening we had Ma n Pa round and aunty Shelly called too for homemade pizza's. Wendy made the bases and everything and they were superb, way better than the supermarket ones, even the good ones.

Then I started feeling a bit pants, but it's my first borns birthday so we're going to get on with it.

Friends and Family

They're what get you through, they're the ones that keep you going when it's pants. Mark seems to cop it when I need to go to hospital, both times I've been kept in he's taken me up and both times he's been shocked at how sh*t I look. But he comes and he sits and waits with me, averts his eyes as I swab my groin for MRSA and generally talks b*ll*cks with me while they sort a bed for me.

Mum and Dad have been amazing. Without their help with the girls this summer would have been awful. They've been supportive without being intrusive which is a hard thing to do.

The Neutropeonic thing that Wend posted about was basically my blood didn't have enough soldiers in it to fight out of a wet paper bag let alone a cold. I felt cr*p, just laid on the bed Saturday before my temperature spiked forcing me to ring the hospital again.

It's still a humbling experience going to one of the wards and listening to other peoples tales. Seeing people with terminal lung cancer hacking up every five minutes and spending three hours a day on a nebuliser but still being cheerful and laughing a joking is inspirational but emotionally draining too.

So I'm home, knackered but home. Humbled by positive attitudes and just getting on with it.

he's coming home he's coming home fatboy's coming home!

Well I'm home.

Will post more about the experience later.

(oops sorry about the earlier title!)

The things Nick will do to avoid a sleep over!. Nick is currently an inpatient on ward 3 at Western Park Hospital. Since mid week we have known he was brewing something! By Thursday he was very ropey, but determined not to be admitted as it was Georgia's 8th birthday on Friday, he was a trooper all day , didn't make it to Georgia's bowling party and by Saturday night looked awful, had a temperature and had to go in. Georgia had a friend staying for a sleepover and I think all the giggling and pop music finished him off! So basically his blood count is out and he is neutropenic he will be having Intravenous antibiotics and daily blood tests and once they are happy with them he should be let out! As for his planned chemo session on Wednesday we don't know yet, his consultant will decide that over then next few days. Sorry it's a short post I don't have quite as much time as Nick!
Wend x

Can I ask you a really personal question.....?

Debbie

Debbies old steed

It was the third Christmas do since I started at Winterhill that I first really spoke to Debbie. I was wandering around being a nosey git and talking to people that you don't usually get time to talk to at work. It's interesting talking to different people, finding out their interests and hobbies and about their families and just getting to know a bit more about someone who you pass in the corridor most days. Sometimes it leads to a similar interest (motorbikes in this case) or sometimes it allows a link between departments that you hadn't seen or been able to use before.

Anyhow I'd plonked myself down at Debbies table and was chatting and watching the world go by. We'd talked before but not at length, Debbie is a teaching assistant who accompanies some of the more difficult students, an incredible assett to my lessons. She's one of those very patient people but unlike some she won't be messed about and you'll know very clearly when she's not happy! Debbie also works closely with the students in the centre, who are on modified timetables or go out to do more practical learning, so you often see her out in rigger boots and a Hi Viz jacket taking a group of lads out to build a wall or a path or something.

All I knew was that her son and daughter were at the school and she had a flair for art and design, I'd seen her sketching in some of my lessons. Anyway late in the evening I find she has a passion for motorbikes and travel and for workign hard as the teaching assistant job wasn't her only one.

We had a great chat and laughed at people embarrasing themselves and getting drunk and that was that. We finished for Christmas and she went and did family things in Rotherham and I did family things in Sheffield and Wales.

So the first Monday back, hmm don't like mondays but they happen every week and this year I had a couple of free periods first thing so it softened the blow considerably. Sat there working on my computer and the door opens, "Oh hello, have a nice christmas?" without looking up it was going to be the right question whoever was there......

Debbie seemed distracted but said she'd had a good one but "Can I ask you a really personal question?"...... Now it's not the usual monday morning greeting and if I wasn't happily married and had been drunk at the Christmas do then I'd be worried!

How personal could it be? It can't be that bad can it? "Yes if you want to, I may not answer it though!"

"Are you Derek Hart's son?" Now unfortunately I heard Eric Hart, so after a little clarification we came to Derek. "No, not me, why?"

"Oh I just wondered, having talked to you at Christmas I was just wondering." Debbie looked disappointed at this but not worried.

"Was his brother Roger and did he live on ******* Lane in Sheffield?"

"How did you know that?"

"He was my uncle."

"What do you mean he WAS your uncle." Debbie hadn't said why the question but now picked up and the terminology I used.

"Oh he died a couple of years ago. Why do you ask about Derek?"

"He was me dad!" Came the showbiz bombshell! Not what I was expecting in any shape or form.

It turns out uncle Derek had been a little, busy, in his past and had been sharing the love with Debbies mum. Once Debbie was more than a twinkle in an eye Derek upped and offed and went back to being less generous with his love, as far as we know!

So I started the day having three cousins on my dad's side and was to end it with four. On the phone to mum at break time, "just been talking to a cousin of ours" "Which one, Alison?" "Nope" "Paul" "Nope" "Joanne" "Nope" "Well we haven't got any more cousins." "Well we have now!"