When you walk into the day unit, of Haematology, you see pink chairs. People who are dying, people fighting. People who just are getting on with it. It hits you as you talk to those both young and middle aged. Mums, dad’s, grans, and granddads, sons, daughters. Even small children. great grans and granddads. That (and this is inspired by a special friend) that cancer does not care. When you were born, how you look. What your status in society is. How many cars you have, or even what they are. Who loves you who loved you? Who your parents are? Where you live, house flat semi, terrace detached. Cancer has no reason to judge. No care what you do for a living. Cancer does not care who sits on those pink seats. It could be anyone of us. Not a lottery in any way, because cancer does not give out numbers. If it did it would never reveal who won, or who lost. It’s up to us to fight or give up to it. It does not care about your football team, your colour or creed. Asian British, Black or white. We are what cancer wants. We are to fight what we cannot see. It attacks any part. It does not care if you are pretty or hansom, intelligent or dyslectic. Stomach, liver, pancreas, spine, bones, eyes, throat, or even our heart. But what we do have is the hope that if and when we die we go to a better place but till then we has to help, listen. Give, encourage and live each day as though it was our last. This is our life. Choose to live it. Love those we feel cannot be loved as well as those we find easy to love. Today I was frustrated I could not have my chemo early so when walking back into the building I saw a man who was not able to talk. He moved his wheel chair slowly and was not getting far quickly or slowly. I asked him where he was going and to my amazement I was able to understand his muffles. I just grabbed that chair knowing he would get where he was going quicker. As we walked well I pushed and he carried on mumbling I realised. I am fortunate. I can walk and talk I am loved by many people and life is what it is. I will beat cancer in this or the next life but for now living with cancer continues to be hard. So what! Love each other and make someone you have never met smile today. It’s a desire of human nature. Tomorrow never actually arrives, because tomorrow is todays blessing that someone missed. Love your wife. Love your husband. Your long life partner. Give your life with no regrets today! If you know someone with cancer, or who you think needs a new perspective. Encourage them with this piece of human reality.
Thursday, 6 October 2011
The house we lived in was a Victorian terrace house, with a cellar. It was my job to go down and collect the coal. There were some very rickety wooden steps that led down to the cellar. It was very scary every time but I never showed that I was scared. Outside there was a nice sized grass area with an outside loo. Gooseberries grew in the garden which I always ate when they were not ripe making you screw up your face as you ate them. I still ate them though.
I remember running away from home, I had saved up my 1 and 2 pennies and told my brother not to say a word as me and my cousin Michael climbed the fence at the bottom of the garden that led to an alley way. Of course my brother Jeremy went straight to my mum and dad and told them. Clutching my bag of £1.03 I made my way to the end of the backs where we found a wheel and tyre that we were sure we would get 50pence for at the garage. I was not allowed to cross the road so we went around the corner, then the next which led us to the front of the houses on our street. We then saw 2 figures walking towards us. Our dads! They saw us and to our surprise they took it as a bit of fun, how dare they I was serious, I was running away did they not know? Looking back that was exactly the right thing to do. It never stopped me planning my next escape though.
My dad had been doing his teaching training in London, when he had finished we left the south to the north. Where he had a job working as a teacher at billange high school. We had to go to church every Sunday both morning and night. Cub’s mid-week then scouts. There was a school near us where I and dad used to go playing cricket with my brother. We soon realised that it wasn’t for our pleasure it was merely batting practice for my dad. As he hit ball after ball for four, me and Jeremy were run ragged and soon got sick of it. No wonder my brother objected so much to playing games with me.
Again in the long garden we would play more adventurous games, like obstacle races. Consisting of ladders and planks supported by objects, see saws and a big bowl of water at the end where we had to bite a bobbing apple. Sure I nearly drowned in that water, such was my competitive spirit.
We had cabbages at the bottom of the garden where we used to get literally hundreds of caterpillars. I used to get 1p for everyone as did my brother. Even that was a race. I just had to win everything. I went to a school called feniscowles in Blackburn. The head master was called Mr sour butts; looking back maybe he had never had a nice sandwich made for him as he never looked happy. I was always in trouble, misunderstood constantly and found myself watching fish as punishment to try to contain me. What was that all about? At that age I did not know how I should conduct myself, I thought I was better than all the other kids at sports, faster, stronger and more competitive. Why I was never picked for any of the teams? I found myself taking pictures of the teams myself which I still have to this day.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Ok here it is.
Let’s go back to my earliest memories, Brighton really. Although my mum and dad would tell of a little manse in Coventry, that had running water inside. Wallpaper coming off the walls and mould. Not a great environment to bring a child into the world. But even so my mum especially liked to make life fun for us.
I especially remember a little blue portable gas stove that seemed to go everywhere with us. My mum (Heather) came into the room where I and my baby brother were at the time, with a sound of excitement in her voice. 5am, I am not a morning person these days but loved adventures as a child. “Come on boys she cried up you get” I must have opened my brown eyes with a look of excitement. Everything was ready the bacon sausages, eggs. She bundled us into the car (given as a gift I believe from their friends Peter and Margret) we were not rich although we had more than most kids because we looked forward to the days our mum would make exciting for us.
We arrived at Brighton’s pebbly beach at around 5.45 am I distantly remember it being quiet apart from the crashing waves. We pitched up near a breaker so the wind would not put out the flames on our little blue busun burner. Mum then cooked breakfast in the beach I can remember eating it, I just remember the smells as it cooked mixed with the salty air. It’s a smell I think everyone should be able to smell but not something that can be sent through paper or a word document.
The carpets were made out of a string type material and really hurt if you fell on them. On the stairs and landing anyway. We had a b&w telly which I remember seeing my dad on which was amazing. My dad was a minister at that time in a place called Southern Cross, in ports lade Brighton. We didn’t spend that much time with my dad unless it involved going to church, visiting people (which was boring) or sitting through a prayer meeting which was worse than boring. What little time we did get was made as fun as possible, running across the park as a 5 year old and beating your dad to the swings made me feel 6 feet tall, when you’re not even 2 feet tall, that’s really really big.
I remember my dad spending days in the study where I was not allowed to go; it was coming up to my 6th birthday. Even so it really got on my wick how the door was always locked to me. Finally the day came and I was allowed in there only to be greeted by a real strong smell of oil based paint. Up on the table that I could just about see up to was a massive yellow car park (set of shelves really with ramps) it even had black lines to simulate a road. I loved it and had hours of fun with it. Its little things like that that you do with very little money that makes life so much fun.
The next house we had was for 1 year in Charlton near Greenwich. We lived about 5 or 6 streets away from the ground. My walk to cherry orchard was a rough one, walking through a council estate with flats either side. Cars on bricks, a friend called Freddy lived there he was an Asian boy and lived up 2 flights of stairs to a poky little flat. I remember how sorry I felt for the lad having to climb those concrete stairs everyday with those cold iron railings painted black and all chipped. I guess I remember his house the most as I passed it every day on the way to school.