One of our close greyhound friends and neighbours has been ill for a while and has been waiting for investigations to take place. Her GP surgery didn't send on the original hospital referral, delaying her investigation, but eventually she did go and we learned that she had bowel cancer. Initially, her doctors were cautiously optimistic and we were too, but she then went for further scans including an MRI and a CT scan (memories came flooding back when she was describing these to me), and these have shown the cancer has spread and is inoperable. Her medical team are still going ahead with radiotherapy to shrink the tumour but this is miserable news. At this stage, we are all feeling pretty flattened - she herself is admirably calm at the moment and focusing on the smaller practical sides of things. We are on standby to help with dog walking and shopping and so on - but inside I am grieving for the imminent loss of someone who has become very dear - always cheerful, very talented and someone who takes a great interest in the world and loves life. She is a talented quilter and is also a skilled beader and maker of jewellery. I don't really want to say too much more at this stage as anyone reading who's been through it knows there is not a lot to say.
Similarly, another dear friend (in Plymouth) is looking after her mother who has recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. In this case, I am much more concerned with my friend and so am at one step removed from the illness itself but it's miserable seeing its effects on family members and loved ones.
There, that's the big stuff - the emotional turmoil of the past couple of weeks of finding out the awful news is going to move into the next phase of action - physical support for our friend here and love and support down the phone for my friend in Plymouth. I don't really know if all this happening is made worse or better by being someone on close terms with cancer myself. Bits of both, really. At least I have a familiarity with hospitals, and the terms used - but also that awful nagging question about the peculiar randomness of survival - why me and why not my friend? The one lesson that does emerge is to be the patient from hell with your GP and CHECK they send letters, nag, be a pain, but do it, and not to ignore any odd symptoms - if you'll pardon the dreadful pun, go with your gut and stamp your foot. Initially my friend thought that her symptoms might be due to a food allergy but that didn't stand up to logical analysis for a second.
As well as all that happening, there's been quite a bit going on in our little world. I have now completed and passed six out of seven modules on my ECDL - great news. All being well, I am going to try my hardest to complete the course by the end of term thus saving the cost of enrolling for another term after the Christmas break.
Boola our foster dog has continued his stay with us. He is now fully vaccinated and we had rather a traumatic time when he went into the vet for a GA to allow for a dental to be done (very common with greyhounds)and a biopsy. Unfortunately he did not do very well when he came home from the vets and we had two sleepless nights and were both like zombies until he finally turned the corner. Since then, he's back to his usual loveable ways and is a delightful addition to the household. We had another emotional hiccup when as instructed I rang the vets to pick up the results of his blood tests and biopsy. The vet nurse wouldn't tell me the results over the phone and simply insisted the vet would ring me the next day to discuss them. Of course, you can immediately imagine what I was thinking and I spent a pretty miserable night with not much sleep and considering the worst. To my immense relief the vet phoned and all was well - I still have no idea why the nurse couldn't tell me that. Grrrr. Now that Boola has completed his vaccinations and health checks I have written up some notes about him for the charity website and enclosed some photos, so he should be up on the site very soon. Although he is a handsome boy, who is very well behaved, his age is against him (he's nine) so I doubt if a new home will come along quickly. However, we'll keep our fingers crossed, and while he's waiting, he's enjoying himself immensely with us and our two hounds. We expect that he will be certainly be here over the Christmas period.
Yesterday was the Swansea Charities Christmas Fair and I have been immersed in a sea of glue, paper and card upstairs for the past couple of weeks making a mountain of lovely Christmas cards to sell on our stall. This year, the event was held in the Leisure Centre, my first visit to it since it has been re-opened and refurbished. It makes me feel very old to admit it, but I can remember the original Leisure Centre opening on the site in 1977, opened by the Queen as it was her Silver Jubilee year. The new centre seems very whizzy and attractive. As usual the fair was very well organised, and three of us were on the stall, myself, Penny and Margaret, who I was meeting for the first time, and liked immediately - turns out she is a fellow quilter!
One of the lovely things about these sorts of events is that you realise that the UK is full to bursting of people who like to bake, knit, embroider, craft, and do all these things we are always being told are dying out. Far from it. There were stalls selling home made jam and marmalade, lots of handmade cards, handmade jewellery, beautiful knitted goods, painted glass items, and so many gorgeous home baked goodies! Scones, pies, pasties, cakes, buns, mince pies - everywhere you looked, iced fairy cakes of every hue. There were tombolas and raffles and I ended up coming home with a peculiar stuffed robin (I still don't really know what it is) which was quickly snaffled by Andy as a new toy. I also came home with a beautifully embroidered miniature cross, barely an inch high, and of exquisite needlework, and a knitted woollen small stripey blanket, suitable for pets, knees or any personal need, plus a bag of home-made brownies and some chocolate fairy cakes. Andrew ate most of the brownies last night and declared them to be delicious.
Now that this big push for the cards is done, I just have to make the cards for our own Christmas card list and have already cross stitched an assortment, with more being completed. We are also starting the countdown to our German adventure - very exciting. I am hoping for snow - it will make such a wonderful change from the miserable never ending rain we've been having here and the constant battering gales. Today we walked the woofs via Hamadrayad park and the wetlands behind St Davids Hotel before making a quick trip to Ikea. It was very busy there and we stocked up on tealights, some sheets, paper napkins, some preserving jars and wrapping paper. We have already made a foray to a Yankee Candle shop in Cardiff to stock up on some larger scented candles for the festive season, but I love burning tealights with their beautiful romantic glow. Whenever I have visited Norway or Sweden, you always see these little candles lit in cafes, shops and so on - such a welcoming sight.
When we came home, we listened to the radio adaptation of "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" by John le Carre, starring Simon Rusell Beale, who does George Smiley so wonderfully. I love this book, and loved the original TV adaptation with Alec Guinness, but this radio version is doing it justice and is part of a bigger George Smiley season that Radio 4 are doing, and what a treat it has been.
I am going to finish this marathon blog post with one of my favourite poems.
The Cultivation of Christmas Trees
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish -- which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to the children
(And here I remember also with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire)
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By 'eightieth' meaning whichever is the last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
T.S. Eliot (1954)
