So I didn’t go for a run this morning and I’ve not uploaded any photos for your delectation. The former was due to a disturbed night’s sleep. The latter is due to a surprising number of acceptable photos that I want to tweak a bit first. Stay tuned.
(Seven posts in seven days — mission accomplished, yay!)
Two and a half years ago, I took it on myself to lose weight. In sixth months I managed to lose eleven pounds through fairly tight portion control and some exercise. And by “some” I mean not much. It wasn’t going to get me into to the record books but for someone who’s always been overweight it was very empowering
However, over the last two years I’ve slowly slipped into bad portion habits and the “not much” exercise dropped off to “very little”. In a not entirely unpredictable turn of events, as of this weekend I’m back to where I started. So, yesterday morning I got on my trainers and went for a run. This morning I went for a run again. It hurt but I can live with that. The older I get the more inclined I am to get off my flabby arse and do something about it.
The plan is to go running four times a week, before work when necessary. If you see me, ask me how it’s going. The knowledge that I might have to admit failure is going to help me during the 6am starts…
Patrick Swayze was in the news today after it was announced he is suffering from pancreatic cancer. 10 days ago I would not have known one iota of information about this disease. However, 10 days ago it was confirmed through a biopsy that my dad has pancreatic cancer, and it has spread to his liver. He has not been well for about 6 or 8 weeks, had a burst stomach ulcer, needed a lengthy op and blood transfusion of 9 units to get through it. then had a blood clot on the lung, and several in his feet and legs. As a result of the surgery and transfusion he has also had cellulitis and phlebitis in his legs, so bad that he is still barely able to walk.
It was during an endoscopy to check the ulcer that a doctor noticed irregularities on his liver. They did a full body scan, which didn’t show anything, and then biopsied his pancreas. We have been waiting 10 days for the result and got it confirmed yesterday, although having read all the symptoms of the disease, the confirmation was really just a formality.
I am in shock I suppose. I can’t get over the fact that 2 months ago my dad was fit and well, and now he is in hospital, about 2/3 of his original body weight, depressed, not eating and being sick and with a pretty bleak outlook. He is only 62. He is being generally quite accepting about it, both my grandfather and uncle died of cancer, and dad always said it was just a matter of time before it got him too. I think he thought he would have a bit more time though.
Until the sickness is under control and he has gained some weight, they are not going to start chemo, which I can understand, but I am worried about the possible delay in treatment affecting prognosis. I know he is not going to be cured, but only treated.
Sorry for waffling, I know I am not the first to go through this, but it just feels good to unburden some of my thoughts.
And so, with the arrival of autumn I catch a cold. I’ve spent most of the day with my head wrapped in cotton wool while I attempt to navigate the usual comedy of errors at work. I’m having a wee dram o’ the ol’ 12 year Highland Park for medicinal purposes.
Despite operating with a mental handicap of about 17 today I managed to save the day at least once with a reasonably high level of hackery. I like to think I’ve just about attained the level of tech “hero” at work now, although I’m a little way short of my boss, who is a most persistent and cunning individual.
I think I’ve been fortunate with my bosses over the years because I feel I’ve learned things from each one. Perhaps the most valuable lesson I’ve learned — and continue to learn — is to judge what is worth spending time on and what is not. Tonight, through the mental fog, this finally tuned capability is telling me I should spend more time enjoying my whisky and less time sitting in front of a damn computer. Good night!
Last weekend Louise and I went to Plymouth for a couple of days to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary and see my old friend from university, Michael, who was having a party for his thirtieth birthday. It was great to get away, just the two of us, for a couple of days.
We decided to go to the Eden Project on the Saturday. We visited it for our first wedding anniversary, shortly after it opened. It has certainly improved over the intervening years; it’s far more established now.
Over the weekend Louise developed a bad tooth ache, which we later discovered was a tooth abscess. By the time we had made it home on Sunday the pain was reaching unbearable levels — “worse than childbirth” in Louise’s words. Therein started a marvellous adventure in attempting to find emergency dental care on a Sunday.
Listen up Reading folk, useful information: There are (at least currently) no dentists running emergency sessions at the weekend in this area. Do not go to A&E, they will only refer you to a helpline number. Do not call this helpine number, they will only tell you there are no dentists running emergency sessions and refer you to NHS Direct. Do not call NHS Direct, they will only refer you to the helpline number. What you should do is go to WestCall at the Royal Berks where a nurse will at the very least be able to prescribe you antibiotics and/or painkillers. Moral of the story: If you get a toothache on Friday morning, make an emergency appointment that day.
What followed was a very difficult week all round. Louise was a real trooper through it all and our heartfelt thanks go to her mum who helped look after the children every day. A cocktail of wickedly strong antibiotics and painkillers has done its work and Louise is now on the mend.
At the pub on Saturday evening Tim berated me for not following up on the post about my recent health issues. Well, a week after the onset everything is back to normal. The blood tests I had done came back clear but there was evidence of increased enzyme levels indicating muscle damage. So a bit of mystery. My money’s on a viral infection.
Feed the cat. Open the fridge. Pull up my socks. Tie my shoelaces. Pull out a chair. Open the front door. Scratch my head. Drive my car. On Monday these were just some of things I could no longer do. Yes, for real.
Rewind to Friday. The day before I’d been working from home on our laptop and now my arms ached, I thought, because of the awkwardness of the keyboard. Nothing particularly strange. Come Saturday morning, though, I’d lost a lot of the strength in my hands but not so much that I was alarmed. I went to bed thinking “this’ll be gone in the morning”.
It got worse but it was still just an inconvenience and I didn’t really think about it. Monday morning rolled round and it was the worst yet. I couldn’t close either of my hands into a fist. My grip was lost. A trip to the doctors was disconcerting rather than comforting; I was looking for “yes you have X, take Y and you’ll be better in Z days” but got “you might have a virus, we’ll do a blood test, take these anti-inflamatories and call back immediately if it gets any worse”.
I sat in the town after the appointment and suddenly it was all very real. What if I didn’t recover? How could I keep working? How would I cope with the children? How would Louise cope with me? How would it affect our relationship? I didn’t want to turn into a third child for her to look after. I was on the virge of tears but thankfully Louise was there to give me a hug and some sympathy just when I needed it.
Monday turned into series of reminders as to my new feebleness but just like every other day it came to an end. Tuesday morning… what would that bring?
Relief! My right hand had regained some of its strength! By Wednesday I could close both my hands into a fist again. Today I went back to work; my right hand seems almost entirely back to normal with a bit of weakness in the left.
Scary. Possibly the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.
Ben is suffering from growing pains at the moment, manifesting as pain in his knee joints shortly after he goes to bed. It’s pretty distressing for him and us but he tends to bounce back like only small children can.
I recall very similar experiences when I was a teenager. Louise has done some research and apparently it’s not a recognised medical condition… great. There is a body of knowledge, though. For instance, it’s most likely to occur during growth spurts, one of which occurs between 3 and 5. Let’s hope it doesn’t last to long.
I went for my first run of the year tonight. This probably puts my goal for 2006 at risk and to be honest I was even contemplating not running at all this year. However, I did the longest run that I managed last year first time out this year, so perhaps not all is lost.
On the subject of goals, I could have sworn that somewhere on that list was “loose weight”. Well, I have — eleven pounds and counting — and no one is more surprised than me. The trick will be keeping it off, but it’s been steady so far, so I’m feeling positive.