Paint It Black

And the wheels are off!!!  Not literally, the bike is fixed but figuratively speaking they are well and truly off.  It's not crisis point but the breaks have been applied before that car crash of a disaster occurs just around the corner.

After weeks of a brave face, appearing calm, spinning the positive vibes and reassuring others the realisation that you are not actually coping sneaks up with venom.  The trouble is it's not putting on a front if you genuinely believe it yourself.

The good thing is when you've suffered anxiety and depression before you know there is an end.  As you unsuccessfully clasp at the sides of the black cauldron and slip back down you know that today may have been a failure but tomorrow will be another chance.

Even so, I should have recognised the symptoms before the wheels came off.  The not wanting to go out, the self loathing, panicking about going places I normally enjoy, the getting hung up on things that shouldn't really matter, the short fuse, feeling like the working day ahead is going to last forever, the lethargy, the shutting yourself away in a safe haven.  But I didn't and here I am pressing the reset button, needing down time and building myself up again.  It takes a bit of selfishness, it takes a bit of help from others and it takes a lot of patience.

Onwards and upwards . . . eventually.

Tomorrow Never Knows

So today was my big trip to Liverpool for my next scan (via an overnight sat near Wigan). There was the element of fantasy that one small catastrophe in the Nuclear Medicine Department could have lead to me forming some forms of superpowers which is quite fitting as my mood the last few days has been something akin to the rages of the Incredible Hulk. I've not been anxious about scans or tests before and this trip was merely going for the actual scan with no probability of getting more updates on my condition and yet I am fully aware that I have been horrendous to live with for the first half of a long week.  I have been irrational and living on a permanently short fuse until I set out for the trip yesterday.  I can only put it down to it becoming a two day trip into the unknown at an unfamiliar location.  Familiarity does not breed contempt, familiarity breeds relaxation and a mind at ease.  Unfamiliarity breeds an anxious monster who unleashes his wrath on any unsuspecting soul!

At the back of my mind there is the acceptance that going through the process of tackling cancer a second time was going to be more challenging.  Yes, I've been through all the processes, tests, scans, drugs, conversations before but sometimes the first battle is easier whereas lifting yourself to repeat it all in Round 2 is a bit weary.  Being in limbo doesn't help either; no follow up appointments the scan have been arranged and the options I have are unclear apart from the ruling out of surgery.

In reality the PET scan was fairly simple.  Lot's of sitting and lying around.  After having the nuclear substance injected into me there was an hours wait before the scan.  Sitting in a quiet room alone with a book, cup of tea and bourbon biscuits (the best kind of biscuits) was relaxing.  Then once the scan began it was actually quite soothing.  Lying on my back moving in and out of the doughnut shaped scanner left me almost dozing off feeling almost like Homer Simpson in some Duff induced snooze dreaming of floating on iced doughnuts.

At with that it was all over and I was on my way.  Off I went into Liverpool searching for food with my beautiful ever present wife and before we knew it we were on with enjoying the remainder of the day before getting back to our lovely boys.

I'm home now, I'm not glowing and I failed to lift the car so it's back to 'normality'.  My mood is back to serene other than the unknown future as I await the next appointment or meeting with my specialist.  Onwards and upwards. 

A Design For Life

Today I took the news that my bike was knackered worse than I took the second diagnosis of cancer. That's perspective for you. I have a rubbish sense of perspective, at the moment that's good.  Seems like an ideal design for life and it helps. 

Sunshine Of Your Love

My last post may have focused on questionable faith but this one features a faith that burns greater.  The faith in my wife, Becky Jane Robinson.  The sunshine of my life that shines amongst the darkness of cancer.

There is no doubt that illness doesn't just cause suffering for those that are diagnosed but also for those around them too.  In the twelve months I could not have asked more of my beautiful wife.  It is more certain than ever that she is the love of my life and I would be lost without her.¹  She has been next to me every step of the way, in good times and dark times.  Each time a gloom has descended on me she has been positive in her outlook.  She has taken on the burden and strain of keeping our family on track and looking after out three wonderful boys.²  She has shown a strength in adversity strong enough to hold up a fort wall let alone me.  Her patience has at times appeared unlimited.³  She has been dealt a cruel hand at times that nobody deserves but has always taken it in her own laid back way.*  

I will forever be indebted to her for all she has done for me.  As she grows more beautiful everyday she discreetly grows stronger everyday and does more for me than ever should be expected of another person.  Despite the strain of the illness we become closer than ever before and I cling to my dream of growing old with the absolute love of my life.

¹This was never in doubt anyway but has just been emphasised int he last year.

² There have been many others that have contributed too.

³  I have at times gone to great lengths to prove that it is limited

* Sometimes talking to her about my illness has been like I merely have a common cold 

God

The church services with school have always been highlight since of the term for me, finishing a busy term with the whole school together under one roof in a classical setting and the children singing beautifully in unison. I normally come away with a feeling of warmth and content, a peaceful way to say goodbye the chaos of a busy term and to usher in the school holidays. The Christmas service in particular is always a particularly special event but the Easter edition is also touching in its own right. 

However, my overriding feeling throughout today's service was one of detachment. 

This was the first time I'd been to a church service since first becoming ill. In all honesty the words of the readings were a blur. I could hear the children were reading strongly and in some cases passionately but the words were lost somewhere between the lectern and my position at the back of the church. Usually I admire the features of the building, the art, the stained glass windows, the artefacts and carvings but today I barely noticed anything from beyond my arms reach. 

Why such detachment? 

At best I have had a casual relationship with God. Faith in the creator, willing to support other's values, teaching of Bible stories and symbols, comfort taken from belief but not a regular church goer or Bible reader. Becoming ill though created many questions and feelings in myself that. Never expected, not least about religion. If thHe ere is a God why would he make people ill and suffer? Was it a God who chose for me to survive and save me before? Bitterness and a feeling of being screwed over. Beliefs and values are pointless. A reluctance to give up and keep faith? The desire for a sign or some from of reassurance  to take comfort from. 

I don't' expect to find the answers and responses, especially when wrapped in a cocoon of bewilderment and confusion during. There might also be a case of not wanting to too. 

Sunday Shining

In the sunshine today, I felt like a could have ridden the width of the country on my bike.  Having Team Robinson behind you does that!

Also, I am fairly sure that all the best triathletes stop for a Mr Whippy in the park!