Reality hits home

 The "heart" refuses to accept what the head knows

It is interesting this weird journey. On Tuesday I went in to hospital and they pierced my side and took biopsy samples from the outer layer of my lung. On Friday I had the follow up meeting with the specialist. The biopsy confirmed that I have Pleural mesothelioma, a form of lung cancer. I knew that before the biopsy. Scan's, x-rays, blood tests and everything else told me and the medical staff that. But this was the final test. I was taking it in my stride, "there will be nothing new" I told myself. But I discovered that my inner being was still hoping that they got it wrong. I was, I think, hoping they would say something like, "Oh we are sorry, the biopsy showed it wasn't cancer, just something else." As the Doctor told me the results, it hit me, there is no way out, this is really my reality. I was surprised by the level of my disappointment. My head knew, but it seems that my "heart" was still hoping. I'm OK, but I realised by my reaction that subconsciously I had held on to a little bit of hope. 

Today my heart is catching up with the reality. We were skyping with my son and grandchildren in Scotland and I felt quite sad. 

I asked the doctor about the progress of the disease. It is an impossible question to answer. "9 months - 2 years, but do what you want to do soon." was the answer. "We are usually wrong and your cancer has been there for two years." 

So we had another discussion before sleep last night. We'll get there. 

Support everywhere 

I am surprised by the deep level of friendship and support. A firefighter rang up. He said he'd go for walks with me and he could drive me around if I get to the stage I can't drive. An ambulance man offered help and support. There's a lovely woman who drives a forklift at my brewery chaplaincy. She is a lively hard shot and was the first woman president of a rugby club in Dunedin. She clambered off her forklift and hugged me in a long comforting embrace. I am so fortunate to have the life I have and the variety of people around me.

We will be supported on the journey. For that I am thankful. 

A walk up "my mountain".

"My" mountain.

My mountain is Mt Cargill, a long time extinct volcano that is at the northern edge of Dunedin. There is a tall communications tower on top of it. There are incredible views from the top and three different walking tracks go up to the summit. I have often made it my walk of choice. One is from a carpark near the top, called the A H Reed track, named after a book writer and publisher who loved to walk well into his nineties. There is the track from a gulley in North Dunedin called Bethunes Gulley. This is the longest track. Then from a road that goes beside the mountain, the Organ Pipe track. It goes to the top past some very picturesque basalt columns and is the middle sized track in length, but very steep in places. I have most often walked up the Organ Pipe track, but sometimes used the longest track. I have, when I was really fit jogged up most of the way on both tracks. I have not been up there for some time. 

I HAVE to do it!

Since I have been diagnosed with lung cancer I decided that I needed to climb "my mountain" at least one more time before my lungs get really bad. So today after doing my workplace chaplain's visit to a brewery, my wife left for her voluntary work at the Emergency Department at the hospital, and I packed a drink and a jacket and drove up to the parking area by the start of the track. The first 15 minutes (today) is exceptionally steep, and I knew if I could do that I would complete the climb. (I used to do the steep bit in five minutes) So I walked up to the top of Mt Cargill, it took me 1 hour 15 minutes. I used to be able to do it in 35 - 40 minutes. My poor lungs were struggling. My chest was heaving and then there were many times I stopped to catch my breathe. BUT I GOT UP AND DOWN IN TWO HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES with a stop at the top for photos, drink and lolly. I was pleased to do it and hope to try again another day. 

Tomorrow I have a meeting with a specialist and I'll ask if it is OK that I still push myself and stress my lungs. My theory is that what lung volume I have at any stage will be working at best capacity. It will not heal me but might keep my life reasonable for maybe a bit longer?

A fascinating cave part way up.

The "Organ Pipes" large basalt columns. They used to be a lot more impressive but tumbled during an earthquake years ago.

Steps - these got my chest heaving.

The communications tower at the top.

Otago Harbour out to the heads from the top.

Looking down at Port Chalmers and Sawyers Bay where we live.

Looking down on the "Pretty City" Dunedin NZ.

A cairn at the top with a brass plate naming the sights that can be seen in different directions. 

The bad news is...

 Sore back...

Toward the end of last year we were busy. We ended up putting in 80 square metres of vegetable garden, and I was trying to catch up on maintenance work around our acre. Then we also gave a little assistance to our daughter and son-in-law who were busy doing renovations in a room in their house. I ended up with a sore upper back, between my shoulder blades. I went to the doctor who said it was just muscular and prescribed pain killers. When my fingers started going numb he then sent me to a more specialist doctor who sent me for an x-ray. By the time I got back with that doctor my back was virtually healed. He told me that my back "is what it is" there is damage and age is taking its toll, "you'll have to live with it." Then he went on, "But I can see a little of your lungs in the x-ray and you have problems." Long story short I was sent for a chest x-ray and ended up spending a day in hospital getting various tests and scans.

Bad News 

We met with the consultant and in short simple language I have lung cancer brought on by exposure to asbestos when I was plumbing in the the late 1960's. It will be terminal, they cannot do radiotherapy nor surgery. I go into hospital again today and they will explore if chemotherapy will slow the process down. They, of course, do not give a time frame for the disease. I feel OK and not really breathless, though I noticed this morning I felt a little wheezy. As Frank Sinatra used to sing, "my friends, the end is near." 

Another "adventure".

It is an interesting experience, although I am just in the early days of that experience. Who do you tell and when? When he heard about it, a friend came down from 200K north of here, parked his camper van in our drive and worked for four days around our house.  We talked lots. Fire fighters have said, "There's 110 firefighters who would be out to help Dave." Gestures of support have been amazing. People have asked, "What is your bucket list?" - in some ways "To keep doing what I am doing." I have tried to approach it logically and philosophically. "I have been fortunate to have had all the years from 1970 - it could easily have happened earlier." "Well you have to die of something, I am 72 after all."   Then again I have had a weep or two. My wife and I are having extra hugs. At night in the dark with my mind racing I sometimes choke up and wish it was a bad dream. Another man who has battled cancer told me of heaps of "4 a.m. conversations" he and his wife had in bed. The other morning Jean and I were sitting having a Milo and a conversation at 4 a.m.! My friend and I were pulling a gate to bits the other day. "Do you keep the screws?" he asked. "Yes" I said, "I save anything." but then it hit me "Why? I'll be gone soon?" I look at my much loved tools and think they'll be dumped. I see and feel our acre, now bathed in sunshine, I love it, and my eyes fill with tears. I see my grandchildren on skype and again a lump comes to my throat. I am reading a theology book, still growing and being inspired by new thoughts. I bought two new books the other day, and then I ask why? This brain will be dead soon? Life always throws difficulties at you. You think it through and determine action to get through them, then solve the problem. But when I begin to think of this, you suddenly realise, there is no "getting through", there is a solid "brick wall". You have to just face the harsh reality and leave things as best you are able. 

On the other side of the coin I look back and think two thoughts. (a) I have done some useful stuff along the way. I have not been a waste of space in the universe. And (b) I have had a privileged life and shared the journey with some really lovely people. I have so much to give thanks for. Richard Holloway in his book "Waiting for the last bus." suggests that we see the end of life like crossing the line at the end of a race. We have completed the journey, we have finished our race. There is a part of me that senses that. I can see the end in sight, and I can finish with a sense of having run well. ... but ... damn it! Watch this space there will be lessons yet to learn about life.

Grandchildren

 Mokopuna (Maori for "Grandchildren")

Last Friday we left home and travelled part way toward Christchurch, a city way North of Dunedin, where our son, Simon lives with his wife and three children. Google tells me it is 364 Kilometres from our house. We arrived on Saturday morning and spent some time with them. Then on the Sunday we went around to their place and just relaxed with them for the day. 

I enjoyed playing Jenga with my Grandson. I enjoyed sitting in the sun just chatting with him... he turns 8 in a few days time. I enjoyed Jenga with our grand daughter who is 5 years old, and getting to know the youngest in the family. We simply had a good time relaxing on a sunny Sunday with these children. Then on Monday we packed up and drove home, calling at my brother's for lunch at about the half-way mark. 

We had our Grandchildren from Wellington staying over Christmas, and we regularly Skype with three grandchildren in Edinburgh. So in all we have eight grandchildren all living at a distance from us - Christchurch, Wellington and Edinburgh. Because of Covid 19 and the mixed up 2020 year we did not really catch up with them last year as much as we would normally. As I drove home I could not help but think about how very different they are and yet we love and enjoy each one. I get jealous of people we know who have grandchildren living close by, but that is the way it is. I just thought I'd share some photos.

Edinburgh three.  Maori-Samoan/Polish children with a Scottish accent. Full of life!

Wellington  Sister and brother... creative... energetic.... enjoy NZ bush. (With their mother)

Christchurch  three....