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.