So I bit my lip and made the biggest u-turn in the history of this blog. There’s not much I can say really, I’ll just do a Jimmy Carr and hold my hands up. I drove across Mossley top yesterday morning, Placebo on the CD player, if ever there was a band synonymous with festivals it’s Placebo, from Summer days to English Summer Rain. The sun was shining, and the perfect panorama of the city of Manchester comes into view (by Hartshead Pike for those of you who know the road). Within a few micro seconds I was thinking (again) of the great music heritage contained in that view, and The Stone Roses are part of that. By the time I got to my destination, I’d decided I wanted to go and see them this weekend. Complete change of heart, but hey, you only live once. https://reflectionsonawastedlife.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/floating-on-the-edge-of-oblivion/ This could be an epic performance and I might have missed it. Within three hours of getting home and getting on Twitter I had secured a ticket for Sunday. Face value too. I’ve been following reviews of their warm up shows, and by all reliable accounts they have proven to be pretty damn good, and getting better every time. It’s even rumoured that Ian Brown is singing in tune (it’s amazing what technology can do). So I could be sitting at home feeling miserable, or bite my lip and go and experience The Stone Roses comeback in Manchester. I won’t be wearing baggy trousers, no floppy hat, no parka or Manc accent, but I’ll be joining all the other Mancs at Heaton Park on Sunday to see what they’re really like. Know what I mean !
It had to be Sunday, I’ll be hooked up to my chemo pump until Saturday evening. It’s a gamble I know, I could be feeling awful on Sunday, I’ve no way of knowing. I go for chemo #2 on Thursday, and so am expecting full-blown side effects for at least Thursday/Friday. After that it’s anyone’s guess. Last time I seemed to have random days of feeling bloody awful, then the next day full recovery to almost normal. Monday morning I woke up feeling a bit groggy, within an hour I was unable to get out of bed. No energy, diarrhoea back again, aching everywhere. Despite having only just woken, I slept and sweated for the next 12 hours. I’ve become paranoid about my temperature, I think all chemo patients do. It’s not only the cancer cells that the chemotherapy is attacking, it’s those white blood cells (great album) too, the one’s that fight off infection. Thankfully no extreme rise in temperature despite all the sweating. In the moments of semi consciousness my mood was at it’s lowest, how could anyone feel so bad and still be alive? And still 5 more to go. Obviously by the next morning my mood had changed. The sun was shining and I was making plans to join 75 000 others at an all day music event. That’s more like the real me, live for today.
There’s no point sitting at home miserable is there? If you don’t fight this bloody disease it’s gonna take over, and at this moment I’m making the decisions. There’s no heroic battle going on here, I’m just doing what I want.
Less than a year to Glastonbury now, makes this fallow year seem a bit more acceptable. I must admit I’d feel a lot more comfortable dealing with chemo at Glastonbury than any other festival. They have the facilities and medical services. I’ve made enquiries about other festivals I’m going to, and neither have the facilities, or the wish, to deal with my hickman line. It needs flushing every week to make sure there are no clots forming. I really didn’t expect them to be able to do so, it’s probably expecting a little too much. Having a Hickman line is less of a problem than I thought it might be. Most of the time I forget it’s there- except when it’s attached to the pump of course. Cleanliness and the risk of infection are the main priorities but other than that it’s hardly noticeable. I’m still having to shower using surgical scrub, I’m longing for a bath already, but it’s not recommended. I don’t realise just how much of a help a hot bath is every morning to get my back moving. The hickman line is the least of my worries when I’m suffering from the side effects of chemo. I had a chat with Lew the other night, or more likely the early hours of the morning. I felt guilty about burdening him with it, but I just needed to tell someone how crap I was feeling. He may be 300 miles away, but he’s there for me when I need him. I know both he and Alana worry, it can’t be easy for them, but I try to reassure them that there’s nothing they could do even if they were closer. Alana has completed her A level exams, and is busy doing nothing for the summer, before going to Sussex University in September. Lew’s band are playing in Gloucester this weekend. A well paid private party. Not the sort of gig they really like doing, but sometimes you just have to bite your lip and take the cash. For Lew, he’s never happier than when he’s playing live, so I’m pleased for him, and oh so proud of them both.