Like a spaniel on heat

D-Day has arrived. It’s 7.30 am and I’m sat at the Airport looking forward to meeting my companions for our latest adventure.

The day did not start well. A jobs worth at the airport wanted to charge me £65 for my bike bag being overweight. He gave me the option of repacking and sharing some of the load to my other bag. I never understand what difference it makes as to how the weight is distributed but anyway to save the money I went about the arduous task of shifting items from one bag to the other.

On returning to the scales the bike bag was still overweight and to my despair I was asked if I could transfer more stuff.

At this point I thought I needed to think out side of the box. Clearly my usual boyish charm was just not working on the gentleman in front of me. I considered breaking down in tears and saying how I am going to visit an ageing relative who is on their last legs but I felt the bicycle would show that story for what it was.  

So in a stoke of genius I decide that flirtation was the way to go. So holding his stare and without blinking I smiled and asked “Chris that’s a nice watch you’ve got on , is it a Garmin” to which he confirms that it was indeed a Garmin. “What exercise do you use it for, you look like you keep yourself pretty fit”. 

The flirtation continue to the point where I thought if he didn’t drop the charge soon, I was going to have to start dry humping his leg like a spaniel on heat. Thankfully that was not necessary and Chris saw sense and to escape from my merciless teasing he waived the charge.

Great result ! 

The Man, the Myth , the Legend (the idiot)

It’s not often I question the man, the myth, the legend that is The Swede. However I distinctly recall as we struggled through last years Marlow to Truro ride having a conversation where for once we were both in agreement.  These epic rides needed to become a little less epic and a little more Driving Miss Daisy.

We discussed about taking on less miles to allow for more leisurely stops, sipping tea and nibbling on a local delicacies whilst taking in the resplendent countryside views of whichever far off land that we had chosen to adventure in.

We agreed that our increasing age, the deterioration of our fitness and in Magnus’ case extreme weight gain were all conspiring against us. We had to tone it down and make sure the rides didn’t become a head down grind without any sense of fun or excitement.

So in my usual last minute approach to getting ready for any non-essential activity, I have finally started to pay attention to the itinerary that The Swede has put together.

In summary we are going to Sweden for 7 days cycling from Umea to Mangskog and below are the highlights that I have finally taken on-board.

Umea to Mangskog	Mileage	Climbing (ft)
Day 1	88.3	4,350
Day 2	89	4,625
Day 3	73.1	4,614
Day 4	72.8	4,010
Day 5	90.2	5,789
Day 6	90.8	6,180
Day 7	61.5	3,446
Total	565.7	33,014

 

Now I appreciate that the above is no Tour de France but then again some might say that my cycling partners and I are considerably closer to Christopher Biggins than Bradley Wiggins when it comes to cycling prowess and conditioning.

 

So given that last year we huffed and puffed our way down to Truro covering 350 miles with 18,000 feet of climbing, how the hell The Swede sees this gig as scaling things down is beyond me.  My ever caring wife, having followed our wholly inadeqaute training regime via over the shoulder reading of our WhatsApp group seriously asked if we all know how to administer CPR. 

The question was genuine but it caused me to consider if the worse comes to the worst who out of my two companions would I prefer to put their lips around mine and blow lifesaving warm air into my lungs?  The following day I completed a non-resuscitation form and I am keeping my fingers crossed that the card arrives before we depart on 4^th July.

As for which of Humpty or Dumpty I would rather revive, that’s easy. It’s The Swede as it’s his dad’s house we are going to be staying in at Mangskog at the end of our trip.  Although I know his father has questioned how his genes could have possibly produced such a misfit, I am sure it won’t be much of a party for Mike and me if The Swede is laid out to rest in Papa’s living room.

Anyway on that note I will sign-off other than to say if you have enjoyed this post and want to follow Magnus, Mike and me on our antics in Sweden watch out for the daily posts on Facebook and please share them with your friends and if you/they are real glutens for punishment anyone can register on the blog site to get email notifications when we post something new.  Keep the likes and comments coming also as it really does lift the spirits to know people are following the three amigos.

                               

A mini blog for a mini adventure

So today I started a mini tour with my long (all of 3 years) suffering wife Emma. 

I left home this afternoon and cycled 16 miles to Reading where I met Emma and we took the train to Bournemouth. The plan being to do a leisurely 25 miles to our overnight stop in Blandford leaving us a more manageable 66 miles tomorrow to our final destination, the lovely city of Bath. 

The trip was positioned by Emma as a nice training ride for me in preparation for the week long cycling tour I have in two weeks time in Sweden with the much longer suffering Swede and Bendy Hendy.

It all seemed to make sense at the time that I signed up for it. Then nearer the time I enquired what bike Emma will be taking, bearing in mind I will be taking “the beast” - my steel frame tourer, built for comfort, long days in the saddle and certainly not in any way built for speed.   It will also be laden down with fully loaded panniers as Emma would  again play the “great training for you” ticket

My assumption had been that Emma would have picked one of the mountain bikes or possibly a hybrid from the array of bikes we have hanging up in the garage.

Casually Emma replies to my enquiry “the road bike of course” as if to take anything other than a road bike complete with razor thin slicks would be madness.

Now to me this news was like a knee in nuts as I immediately realised what this would mean. Emma gliding along without a care in the world, absorbing the beautiful English countryside whilst I am head down pushing myself harder than is appropriate for a man of my disposition. Too proud, stubborn or simply stupid to shout, slow down you dopey mare I can’t keep up. 

My concerns played on my mind leading up to the off. It got to the point where I decided to hatch a last minute plan to try and get Emma to change her steed in the hope that I could slow her down.

I had the task of entering the route that was supplied by Sustran ( great charitable organisation btw) onto my Garmin so that we could find our way without too many squabbles. After I had completed the arduous task I asked Emma if she realised that a large portion of the route was off-road, thinking that she would see sense and change rides.

I should have known better, Emma  immediately carried out research on the route and in her endearing dismissive style, including a wave of the arm announced it all looked fine to her.

My plan failed within a matter of minutes of launching it.

So the ride from Bournemouth to Blandford went as expected.  Emma  starting by trying to be considerate by not pushing the pace. So she sat drafting on my back wheel which any cyclist will tell you means she is expending around 30% less energy through the front riders efforts. Then every now and again she would politely ask if I would like her to take the strain at the front to which I would gratefully (at first) respond in the affirmative. On hitting the front Emma would put her head down and leave me for dust without a look over her shoulder until she was half a mile down the road. 

Anyway I really don’t want to sound bitter about the first days efforts because it has been great training - my thighs can definitely vouch for that. 

Also we have both been really looking forward to two nights without our gorgeous Georgina . 

We need to take advantage of this precious time together on our own in a lovely hotel in a four poster bed.

As I write this I am laying in the said bed with Emma next to me quietly snoring and gurgling away - she must have worked a little bit today. 😃 Actually not sure my thighs could take any more exercise - she has worked them hard enough today. Night folks. X 

1 year on

The past week has been a milestone week for me on a couple of fronts.

Firstly on the 9th of January it was exactly a year since the end of my course of chemo and radiotherapy treatment for throat cancer. Whilst the effects of the treatment continued for several months, I still hold this date vividly in my memory.

On that day in 2017 I was an in patient at the Churchill hospital in Oxford as my depleted immune system was struggling to cope with a bit of man flu.

I can remember shuffling along the corridors to the torture chamber thinking thank god that this is going to be the last time I have to be pinned to the table, held perfectly still by the custom made head and shoulder plastic lattice mask.

The second pivotal event of this week was on the 10th January when my beautiful, if a little cheeky, daughter George turned into a 1 year old.

Looking back again a year, I recall how amazing my equally beautiful, and more than a little cheeky wife Emma had handled her pregnancy.

Can you imagine, you wait until you are well past your sell by date looking for Mr Right to show up - he never does.  So with your 40th birthday speeding towards you like a runaway train and with your ovaries equally quickly shrivelling up like a couple of prunes, you panic and decide the old guy who has been showing more than a passing interest in you will have to do.

Within three months of being married you are pregnant and you find out that the man of your, he'll do, dreams has throat cancer.

How Emma dealt with this and apparently sailed through her pregnancy whilst supporting me without seemingly batting an eyelid is beyond me.

I recall last year how disappointed I was that this was going to be my only daughter whose birth I was not going to be in attendance. Again it was like water of a ducks back to Emma.

This past year has flown by, the first half was a real blur and still to this day someone will recall a story, a meeting, an incident and I have to ask, "did that really happen? I don't remember".

As I look back and contemplate what went on, I genuinely think that the effects of this life event were in fact harder for my family and close friends than for me.

I was in a drug induced haze most of the time and had things to do - daily trips to hospital and sleeping being the primary ones.  But family and friends didn't have Morphine to numb the mind and stop them from worrying and contemplating worst case scenarios.

I know that whilst the support that Emma and my daughters showed me was amazing, the whole experience has impacted them and if I had one wish (other than not having contracted the disease) it would be that I could take away the pain and upset that my family suffered.

So let's finish off by bringing you up to date. I am currently on 4 monthly checks, the last being in December which was a physical examination with a camera being inserted into my throat via my nose. All looked OK and so with one year down, hopefully I am well on the way to successfully proving the 2 year rule, which says that this type of cancer is unlikely to come back after two years of being clear.

Thanks for reading the blog and for all of the good wishes, likes and comments given during my treatment, it really did help.  Also look out for my next cycling adventure with the Swede - Marlow to Morzine is in the early planning stages for later this year.

Anybody Got a Pin?

With the decision made to have the suspicious lymph nodes in the right side of my neck removed, the big day (25th July) soon came around.  Once again I found myself checking into a hospital but this time with realistic optimism that this could be the final round of my cancer saga.  Though, as I ponder this statement, I cannot help but wonder will there ever be a final round - one that enables me to forget and consign the memories of the past 10 months into a black hole, never to re-emerge. 

Having enlisted the help of my good buddy and best man extraordinaire Dave to act as chauffeur on the day, I was dropped at the front doors of the hospital slightly ahead of my 07.30 reporting time. The Manor hospital in Oxford gave the feeling of a half decent hotel and I noted the squeak of my shoes as I walked across the highly polished floor to the reception desk.  

 

I am directed to a ward on the first floor where a nurse will apparently be waiting to greet me. Certainly the Balcony Cafe I pass en route looks a touch above the League of Friends Cafe I had occasionally frequented on my daily trips to the Churchill during my radiation treatment. 

An attractive slightly older nurse welcomes me with a lovely smile .  When I say older, I mean older than me, as later for some unexplained reason Sally volunteers her age as 63 along with a number of other personal details - I am really not sure how I came to find out that her father was a director at British American Tobacco for many years and that eventually he died of smoking related cancer. 

The room Sally escorts me to is huge and could easily make two good sized bedrooms. The usual standard of hospital furniture adorns the room with the exception of an electric blue PVC sofa which stands out of place, loud and proud. 

Having been asked to report at 07.30 my hopeful assumption was that I would be scheduled for a morning slot in theatre but on enquiring, Sally informs me that as my operation is the longest and most complicated I am last on Mr Winter's  list for the day. 

I curbed my urge to shout "but that makes no sense".  I rationalise internally that surely being the most complicated procedure it should mean that I be first down to theatre whilst the  surgeon's levels of concentration are pin point sharp rather than dulled by exhaustion and boredom following a series of routine operations. 

I am duly told I should be going down to theatre around 12 o'clock and so I resign myself to the prospect of killing a few hours reading my book and surfing the internet looking for new "special interest" sites. 

As 12 o'clock comes and goes my paranoia about the state of alertness of Mr Winter plays on my mind and finally, having been told by the ever helpful (but less than reassuring) Sally that the previous case has been on the table for 2 hours longer than planned, I get taken down to be prepared to go under the knife at 14.30 hrs. 

It's not long before the anaesthetic is administered and I experience that feeling of quietly and peacefully slipping into unconsciousness. Come the glorious day that I shuffle off this mortal coil I can only hope that it is with this same feeling of painless serenity. 

The operation was scheduled to take 3 hours and so on coming around in the recovery room I am told I was under the knife for only 2.5 hours, which I recall taking as a positive sign as to how well the operation went. 

As expected I'm moved to the Intensive Treatment Unit for observation overnight. 

The night was less than straightforward as my neck started to swell due to an internal bleed which eventually left me looking like the mongrel love child of Alfred Hitchcock and Desperate Dan.

The pain was brought under control by a healthy dose my old friend Morphine at 2am and in fact by the morning the pain had gone completely but the drain that had been installed as part of the operation was proving inadequate at coping with the bleed. 

Having been put on "nil by mouth", following consultation with Mr Winter, the decision was taken that I would go back to theatre to prevent my head from turning into an over ripe melon. 

 

Anybody got a pin !

So the preparation procedure is repeated except that the anaesthetist on this occasion is a little uncomfortable about putting me to sleep and then finding out that due to my swollen neck he is unable to stuff a breathing tube down my throat.  

He calmly explains that this will mean he will put the tube in through my nose and it will be whilst I'm awake - suddenly I am a little less relaxed but the spray he administered through my nose meant it was not an uncomfortable process and eventually I am feeling serene once more.

An hour or so later as I come round the feeling of being a bit-part actor in the movie Ground Hog Day washes over me. 

This time the outcome of the procedure was as desired and I am returned to ITU with my normal 3 chins - the turkey look is all the rage this year I'm told.  

 

Gobble Gobble Gobble !

 

Another night in hospital and with no further complications I am discharged the next day. 

In a couple of weeks I get the results of the biopsy on the lymph nodes but to some degree it's an irrelevance. If it shows cancer was still present then I needed the operation but if it shows all clear then, that is good news. 

As for me, I'm hoping that the results show this latest episode was all a waste of time as the lymph nodes were free from cancer as a result of the chemo and radiation treatment. Fingers crossed.  

Doesn't look a day over 39

Saturday July 15th 2017

So as part of the latest Mrs Marsh's significant birthday celebrations (her age being the significant part), we have come away for a two night break in the luxurious surrounds of Whatley Manor near Malmesbury. 

Apart from the extra crows feet appearing around Emma's eyes another significant fact is that it is our first night away without George, who has been left at home in the capable care of her aunties, aided by her sisters Megan and Milly

When saying capable, in describing George's Aunties Rachel and Sarah, capable of what has to be the question. On our first night away we get some much appreciated photos of our baby girl enjoying quality time with Aunty Rachel as she gets her first visit to a drinking establishment - The Bounty public house. 

 

Given that normally at that time she is being prepared for bed, I watch with anticipation to see if Emma's blood pressure rises, but no, not at all. I suspect that George, as 50% Townend blood stock, will soon enough find pubs a real home from home.  In fact having subsequently learnt that George enjoyed her first visit to the pub so much that Aunty Sarah repeated the trip to The Bounty on Sunday that I suspect it may be a lot sooner than I might hope!

On arrival at the hotel, having just enjoyed a really delicious fish and chip lunch at a local pub, we checked in and promptly collapsed into bed for an afternoon nap. The prospect of a couple of hours uninterrupted sleep before our evening dinner in the Brasserie restaurant was too much to resist. We slept deep and sound and on awaking, I announced to Emma that, before dinner, we are going to the 6.30 showing of a film at the in-house cinema.

Ever the obedient wife, Emma readied herself and we arrived on time to be shown to our front row seats where a table with popcorn, drinks and a remote control were neatly set out. 

The lights go down and the movie starts and to Emma's surprise, complete with some lovely backing music a selection of our wedding photographs is played, followed by highlights from our wedding video, which neither of us had actually watch since we walked down the aisle in July last year. 

Since becoming a mother Emma has discovered a softer side which must have been buried deep beneath her hardened exterior. The ice maiden was in tears after about 10 seconds and so I trotted to the gents and returned with a box of tissues, enabling the main attraction to continue. 

Much thanks must go to my eldest daughter, Megan, who spent many hours over the previous weeks making the montage which was appreciate by the entire audience ! 

After dinner we return to our room in eager anticipation of our first full nights sleep without twitching every time the baby monitor crackles. 

However if the truth be known, our first night without George was a little disappointing for Emma. I'm not referring to my performance in the bedroom department (let's just say what goes on tour stays on tour!). Whilst I slept like a log Emma woke several times feeling certain that she could hear a baby crying in another room. Now as we had seen a tot being pushed around the grounds in a buggy earlier that evening, it is impossible to tell if this was the cause of Emma's disturbance (as she would have us believe) or if it was the neurotic mind of a new super sensitive mother. I will let you be the judges here.

 

Sunday 16th July 

After a hearty breakfast we prepared ourselves for a bike ride in the lovely surrounding lanes. 

Emma had meticulously planned the ride from the hotel down to Chippenham where a rest stop would be taken and from there an option to take a long or short route back.  

This was to be my first meaningful ride since recovering from treatment. The complete loss of fitness that had ensued due to 8 months of zero exercise had left me a little nervous. Please Lord tell me she is not going to be stronger than me on the hills! My inner self reassured me that I was being ridiculous, oh course she won't, she had a baby in January for goodness sake.

My concerns were well founded. Whilst the early hills passed without incident, halfway through the outward leg, Emma powered past me on a hill which was met with some suitable grumbles from me, "how can you be so cruel, don't you know that I'm recovering from cancer". Not sure how much longer I can use the cancer ticket, I suspect it is coming to its end of life.

I dug deep for the next few hills and made it to Chippenham without further distress. 

A hot chocolate stop sat by the river was a welcome break as Emma spelt out the options for the return journey.  It was simple, an additional 15 or 30 miles back to the hotel.

At this point the legs were shot to bits and so I made some feeble excuses about not wanting to tire ourselves out before our meal in the Michelin starred restaurant that evening and how we should make use of the lovely Spa and a match on the croquet lawn also beckoned. 

The Simple fact was we had riden 15miles already and the prospect of doing that distance twice more would have quite possibly killed me. 

Decision made and without rubbing my nose in it too much, Emma agreed it was sensible to take the short route home.

After Emma had broken me on a few more hills on the homeward leg I needed something to lift my spirits and the much anticipated croquet match did just that. After a bit of lunch on the terrace, the match commenced and despite her clearly making up some rules to try and pin back my run away lead, it was all to no avail and a comfortable 2-0 victory was achieved, thus allowing me to regain a little of my lost pride following the cycling debacle. 

 

Emma learning from The Swede's school of navigation

 

Some late afternoon pampering in the spa prepared us for the main event of the day, a 14 course extravaganza in The Dining Room. 

 

The food, as you would expect was impressive and Emma elected to have the "wine flight" menu to accompany the delicious food. This entailed 7 different wines from around the world. Me for one, would have been giggling like a school girl after 2 glasses but Emma managed to hold herself together very well, however the snoring later was an unwelcomed side effect, though it didn’t seem to bother her too much.

 

Monday 17^th July

After tea and the opening of presents in bed, a lovely full English breakfast was taken sat outside overlooking the vegetable garden.

Desperate to avenge the trouncing on the croquet lawn the day before, Emma insisted on a return match before we headed home. For a brief moment, I thought that as it was her birthday I should let her win, but that crazy thought was quickly dismissed once we got started and whilst an improved performance was given by the birthday girl, the result was never really in doubt.

 

Let the battle commence

 

An uneventful drive home led to continued celebrations for Emma with friends and family and provided the perfect end to a fantastic weekend.

Foot note on treatment: The decision has been made to have the neck dissection and get rid of the string of Lymph nodes on the right hand side of my neck, taking away with it any doubt as to whether the cancer has gone.  The last step on my trip down cancer lane is on Tuesday 25th July - in hospital for 2 nights and recovery of 2 weeks.

The Story Runs On...

As things start to settle down after what can only be described as a challenging period in the new, expanded Marsh family I cannot help but look back at some of the key decisions made over the past 18 months and wonder if all of the facts had been known, would those considerations have ended in the same result.

We now know that it is almost certain that when I proposed to Emma, I already had early stage throat cancer.  If I had known this would I have still popped the question?  Damn right I would – I cannot imagine going through the treatment without her.  So let’s park the fact that we have identified that I’m a selfish, weak, lily livered, inconsiderate dick and move on to Emma.

So I pop the question and as she peers down at the aging old git on bended knee in front of her, what would have gone through her mind if she was aware of the cancer growing inside me.

Jesus, this is going to be awkward.  I hope he doesn’t cry. Thinking on her feet she blurts out, “It’s not you darling honestly, it just all those years of playing hockey and I think I’ve been hiding my true sexuality.”

Obviously my mind immediately turns to a three way, before snapping back to the reality of the painful rejection.

So let’s assume that my dazzling personality and boyish good looks prove enough to win the fair maidens hand and we decide to tie the knot.  There was another knot to be tied when we decided to try for a baby – would we really have gone ahead with the vasectomy reversal knowing I had cancer.  We both strongly feel at the very least we would have put that decision on hold whilst the good fight was fought and then you have to say that the probability is that we never would have had George (as Georgina is affectionately known).

So enough of the “what if’s” - we do have George and the amount of joy she brings not only to me and Emma but to our wider family is immeasurable and we are both so thankful that we never had the knowledge of the enemy within to cloud our minds.

I have also ruminated on more than one occasion as to what must have gone through Emma’s mind when she found out that I had cancer.  Remember at this point in time she was less than four months into married life, was pregnant with George and about to exchange contracts on the sale of her much loved home as we had found the perfect family house in Marlow in which we were planning to build our future together.

There is no way of avoiding swearing here, “shit, what have I done, I didn’t sign up to this. I assumed at least 20 years, possibly 30 and may be even 40! Widowed within the first year was not what I had in mind, the selfish twat.”

However those secret thoughts never once surfaced and the love and support she showed me through those dark times, whilst can never be repaid, will never be forgotten.

On to the latest on the long running medical saga. The long awaited PET scan to revisit the lymph nodes in my neck happened last week and whilst it has not shown any deterioration, it has basically remained the same (i.e. very slightly above normal reading for blood activity on one node).

The decision therefore is to continue to monitor and re-scan again in 3 months or to have an operation and whip the buggers out.  Whilst the strong probability is that the lymph nodes are free from cancer, this is not guaranteed and even if they are clear now, the cancer could return.  Therefore the likelihood is that I will have them removed but that decision will not be taken for definite until after a further review of the scan results between the ENT surgeon (the dashing Mr Stuart Winter) and the radiologist.

The story runs on….