Capt Pancreas

Bumless in Bredagh

2007-08-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

Yep, I'm pack home after a few days in Donegal Town. It's about an hour and a half away from here so, far enough to feel that we'd been away from home, close enough to still be near the hospital etc. And I did need it, albeit briefly as I had a bout of tummy travel that left me with both ends burning. Still, it's settled up now. Rich food in the hotel probably the problem.
So, fill you in soon - I had to cut down for a few days and saw more fat disappear from my rear disappear. Update you soon.

Off for a few days

2007-08-17T02:25:00.000-07:00

Planning to take a couple of days away in a hotel, chill out etc. Not too far, just further around Donegal. Catch up when I get back.

So, anyway...

2007-08-13T01:50:00.000-07:00

...I'd gone for my chemo and a touch of the infection on my leg had reappeared. They sent me home with an antibiotic but that made me throw up so I had to come back in for IV treatment and, while I was there, the pain treatment seemed to run into trouble so it was changed to a combination of drugs called Oxycontin/Oxynorm and these seem to have inproved things. While in hospital I read Patrick McGillgan's biography of Hitchcock and I'd really recommend it.Favourite reading is still not the deeply profound; I'm continuing to enjoy biogs and good, well-crafted entertainment.
Is it just me or is Hitch slipping off the old critical radar a bit? When I was a school kid, he movies were still recent enough to show in the main film slot on Sunday nights on the BBC. None of your fancy 1 year of release and it's on TV back then. I remember a Monday morning after The Birds had been shown and not being able to wait to get into school and talk to my mates about it...
Then there were Alfred Hitchcock's 3 Investigator books and short story collections in the school library. I've since picked up a couple of second-hand copies of these although I've failed in my mission to get the 'Monster Museum.' It has the original 'Blob' story, the one that was made into a movie with Stevie McQueen and some very scary jelly. Ummm...scary jelly...
So, Hitch was a big deal for me and that was probably why I got such a nostalgic thrill when my first serious crime short story sold to the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.
But it's all part of another world, now. See, I am relatively young for this ilness but, let's face, I am middle-aged and it feels great to have gotten here.
I was bought a portable DVD player for my birthday and it's fantastic - it'll help tie in with my let's-see-how-much-good-stuff-I-can-still-watch-in-whatever-time-I-have-left. Fabulous with the earphones on. Means I can watch my Peckinpah's and Leone's and check out the audio commentaries.
So, that's the update.
Keep in touch. I can't tell you how good it is to know that, as well as the people I have here, that you're out there, too.

Sorry, I've been in hospital...

2007-08-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

...for just under 2 weeks. Got out last might just in time for today's birthday so look for a fuller update soon.

Brian

I ain't got no body...

2007-07-23T03:22:00.000-07:00

Check out the comments to the 'User Manual...' post below and you'll see we got a bit of the old mind'body debate going. What an opportunity for me to whale in with some ill-thought out amateur philosphising. See, the 'we are only flesh' has a pretty strong logical argument going for it but something - perhaps nothing more than intellectual cowardice - has always made me shy away from it. At the same time, I don't think it's as simple as the 'My body is just a suitcase...' idea proposed by my good friend Mark and by Willie Nelson, admirable chaps both. See, in some very fundamental way my concept of 'me' is very much linked to this lump of flash and blood and water plunked here on an office chair in Donegal. Regarding the suitcase theory, I just can't imagine myself getting of the plane in Derry to be told that, although my soul has arrived safely, my body has turned up unclaimed in Prestwick. Everything I feel and experience, I feel in this piece of extended stuff I call 'me.' I don't sit here in my office and feel happy in the next room. (Reminds me a bit of Woody Allen's psychic twins, one of whom had a bath while the other mysteriously got clean.) All those things we see as intangible still seem to be located about this physical old body with all its imperfections. The action is here, where my body is and I can't envisage how it would be any other way. Now, I'm not saying that nothing exists beyond the physical. What I am saying is that what exists seems to be mediated through the physical at the very least and that the two appear mutually dependent. More than that, I'll leave to greater minds than mine to puzzle out.
Smell you later.

Feelin' hot hot hot

2007-07-20T09:47:00.001-07:00

Went for chemo yesterday and actually came away feeling pretty good. Had a chat with the consultant who felt that most of my recent problems - eg: the extreme tiredness - were more likely the cause of the chemo than the cancer. The tumour itself, from what they can tell with the blood cultures, doesn't seem to be growing much. You can't read too much into this in itself, mind. Bill Hicks' tumour shrank three months in a row but still killed him in less than a year. However, it's certainly not bad news and, although my face is still covered with acne the consultant reiterated that the people with this side-effect did seem to get the best result from the treatment.
Then, last night, I woke up shivering, a sure sign with me that I've got a temperature and - lo and behold - I was above the dreaded 38 degrees C mark. That meant I had to call up to hospital today to get it checked out. My son got really upset at the thought of me being admitted and that, in turn, really upset me. It also made me think about how he'll cope when it comes to the final parting.
But then - good news! The Dr felt the temperature thing was just a blip and told me I could go home. Big cheers all round and one very happy 7 year old.
You know the big news I've been hinting at? Well, a guy from a publishers came across the blog and thinks it would make a good book. He has to run it past his boss etc but it would be really cool if it happened. It'd be a nice legacy for my wife and son.
So, there you go.
Stay well and check back soon.

Where's the user manual?

2007-07-16T08:53:00.000-07:00

See, you're born with this body and it takes you a while to figure out exactly how everything works. But you do it. Pretty soon you can read the signals. That's hunger....that's tiredness... Then something happens and suddenly the body changes. And it's not an upgrade either. Now, your body works in different kinds of ways and, whereas before, you could read the signs, this body doesn't give you many clues at all. So, it feels sleepy all the time. But is it really sleepy? Well, it seems to be because if you close your eyes, pow, you're out of it right away. Still, wait a minute, if I go to sleep every minute my body tells me I should, I'll spend all day, every day asleep. Is that what I want?
This is scarier than it seems because, in a fundamental way, my body is me. Whoever I am is related to this mass of bone and tissue and water. So how can I not understand it and read its signs? And how could it betray me by growing this terrible thing inside me without me knowing?Where's the user manual?

So, where was I?

2007-07-12T03:51:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the relative lack of posts. I felt sort of ill this week and this made me a little blue. When that happens I have to fight off the black dog. See, most of the time I'm pretty cheery and stuff but, let's face it, I wouldn't be human if I didn't get down. At times like that, it's easy to be sucked into a kind of what's-the-point-I'm-dying-anyway nihilism. Even with this blog, you start to wonder if anyone other than than a few old faithfuls along with family and friends are reading. Chris Valance from the BBC sent me one of those counter tools but, eveytime I try to install it, I make some mistake and the thing fails to install. However, the last day or so have seen an improvement in my physical and mental health and, this week, while still taking the new drug, I'm on a break from chemo so that might help as well.
Loading stacks of stuff onto my mp3 player in anticipation of the time - however distant - when reading etc will be denied to me. Just finished King Curtis Live at the Filmore West and am now putting on some Neil Young and Crazy Horse.
Anyway, take care of yourselves, whoever you are.

Smell you later

2007-07-04T02:52:00.000-07:00

Hah, thought I chickened out, didn't ya? You don't know me...So, here it is, your free idea. Just remember, at no point did I say it was a good idea.
Al Jazeera gets a webcast from the commander of a platoon of coalition troops ( British or American? the choice you make will influence the action.) His men have been there for a long, long time and a recent incident ( friendly fire, civilians killed by mistake? again, the choice influences what follows.) is the straw that broke the camel's back. He announces that they're going home, packing up their stuff, going to the airport and staying there until a friendly plane takes them home.
So, what happens next? Are they far away from Baghdad or close to the airport. Again, that's a choice that dictates the action. I've a liking for things like Black HAwk Down or, more particularly, Walter Hill's The Warriors, where a short journey becomes an epic.
How do the authorities react? After all, this is desertion in the face of the enemy. But, in the modern world with the internet etc, these men, their wives, girlfriends and children all become well known. There's hige outrage, yes, but also great sympathy and they reflect the views of many people in their home country. So, how do the authoritied try to stop it? Do they use clandestine means, attacking with proxy forces? How do the rest of the military react? Are they heroes or traitors? What about within the platoon itself? Is everyone completely onboard with the plan or are some doubtful? Are the authorites texting them or whatever.
There are wider questions, too. In tone, this can be a serious, action-themed piece or a Dr Stranglelove style satire. Look at how Strangelove and the movie Failsafe tackle the same idea in vastly different ways.
So, there you go. Obviously, feel free to tell me the idea stinks but be kind. After all (kof,kof) I am a sick man.
Over to you.
Me, I've chemo tomorrow.

The double whammy

2007-06-29T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'm afraid I'm going to have to crave the readers' indulgence and make this another short entry. Yesterday was my first experience of combining my chemo with this new tablet. I seem to have reacted to it ok although I was a bit worried that I was getting a temperature again and this would mean going back into hospital. And today I felt fine again but I'm really, really tired. So, aplogies for the lack of content but I still want to keep the lines of communication open. Next time, as recompense, I'll give you a free gift. As a writer - albeit in a very small way - people always ask you where you get your ideas and they're always dumbfounded when I tell them that getting the ideas is the easy part, knocking them into shape is the hard bit. To demonstate I am prepared to give away free, gratis and for nothing an idea I think would make an interesting book or film. The only condition is that, in the admittedly unlikely event that you sell it for millions, I get a 'from an original idea by' credit and the appropriate recompense.
So, don't say I never give youse nothin'

The weekend - good in spots

2007-06-25T01:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I couldn't resist it as the promised acne-like spots have begun to appear. I look like Edward James Olmos.
Actually, it was a spotty weekend in other ways, too, being our 19th wedding anniversary. My wife found it very hard; again, there's this thing about casting your mind forward to next year. The number 19 seems kinda mocking, too. It's like it's saying, Ha, didn't make it to 20, did ya? Well, we'll see. The fight's not over yet.
On the work front, the BBC have contacted me to do the VO for a forthcoming fly-on-the-wall series, so that'll be good.
Still have that big news waiting in reserve but I don't want to say too much at present in case it all comes to nothing.
So keep checking in.

New drug

2007-06-22T02:13:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday I went to the hospital and was given this new drug which - if the side effects aren't too serious - I'll be taking in tandem with the chemo from next week. Apparently, the most common side effect is an acne-like skin rash so I can relive my teenage years. On second thoughts, no thanks...I was a miserable teenager. I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Finished the Brian Keenan book and am back on crime fiction, George Pelecano's 'Hard Revoltion.' Pelcanos writes about Washington DC where he's from using a cast of characters who come from the same area and sort of bump into each other throughout the novels. His main themes are the changes in race relations and the growing power of drugs. In a way, the books work together as one huge novel in which the main character is DC itself. He's also a bit of a music anorak and his novels always have a great soundtrack. This one is set in 1968 and the characters are on the cusp of the change from soul to funk, with the militancy that accompanies this. The main character is Derek Strange, a black rookie cop who later turns up in a series of contempory novels in which he's a private eye.
Anyway, if you haven't read them, check them out.
In the mean time, I'm off to watch my zits grow. I'll let you know what happens.

How do the bad days feel?

2007-06-20T05:20:00.000-07:00

Something like this:

Look at your body -

A painted puppet, a poor toy

Of jointed parts ready to collapse,

A diseased and suffering thing

With a head full of false imaginings.

The Dhammapada

It shouldn't hurt but it does...

2007-06-18T02:16:00.000-07:00

Fathers Day. Hey, we all know it means nothing, that it's just a scam invented by the greeting cards industry, don't we? So how come it can still hurt so much? Losing my wife and little boy is just still such a painful topic for me. So much so that I can't even talk about without being reduced to uncontrollable sobbing. I cannot speak with crying. And, stupid tho' it is, Fathers Day is just one of those occasions that reminds me what I'm losing. Also, my wife had bought me a present for my son to give me, way back before I was diagnosed. It was a pair of new shoes as I like walking so much. With my boy knowing about them, they had to be given to me. Yet they were a reminder that, not that long ago, we were looking forward to a future. Shoes are a present for the future, they're to last months and years, they speak of a belief in longevity. In a way, those shoes were beamed in from what seems to me now to be another world, where death was a distant possibility not an ever-present reality. And that world is gone.
Still, I got breakfast in bed and my favourite roast chicken dinner made for me! So whey-hey...there's something to be said for it. Plus a great card made by my wee man.
Anyway, catch up with y'all soon.

When 4 weeks is a lifetime

2007-06-15T01:15:00.000-07:00

Went for chemo and everything was fine. My consultant, in whom I have a great deal of trust, also told us that, from next week she plans to introduce another drug in combination with it. Although we live in isolated old Donegal, she's spent a lot of time in the states and, in fact, came up with this idea while talking to a friend of hers in New York who specialises in pancreatic cancer. The new drug won't work miracles but it can add 4 weeks or so on to your life. In my situation, 4 weeks more with my wife and son would be very precious. There can be side-effects everything from acne to a heart attack! - but I think its worth trying. I'll keep you up to date on how it goes.
Reading Brian Keenan's 'An Evil Cradling' at the minute. Another book I've had for ages but never got around to reading. For some reason, I've always liked to read about people in extremis, whether they were in prison, at war, in the wilderness etc. I suppose I was curious to know how the human spirit reacts when tested to the limit. Or mebbe I'm just a sadist by proxy? Came across this quote as Brian & John McCarthy are talking about how, despite no attachment to conventional religion, they still find some comfort in prayer: "In its own way our isolation had expanded the heart, not to reach out to a detached God but to find and become part of whatever 'God' might be." I think this reflects my own feelings, that sense of disinterest in a theological construct in preference for a sense of how concepts like 'god' and 'compassion' relate to me.
Overall, it's a fascinating book with some interesting observation on 'terrorism' that come from Keenan's comparison's between Beirut and the Belfast that both he and I grew up in. Pity it all remains so topical. The relationship between McCarthy and himself is also fascinating. It's clear that a real love existed between them. Of course, in our debased times, we tend to sexualise such realtionships and believe they must have had a homosexual component. In that way, we're no different from the guards in the book: because they live in such a repressed society they are unhealthily fascinated with the hostages' sex lives etc. We're in what is supposedly a much freer society yet are equally interested in the most squalid details of people's private lives. What's our excuse?
Did I turn into my grandad there? I hope not.
Anyway, see y'all later.

Email now ok...

2007-06-13T12:44:00.000-07:00

...so thanks to everyone for their suggestions. Chemo tomorrow so I'll let y'all know how it goes.

Communication breakdown

2007-06-13T01:17:00.000-07:00

Apologies to anyone who has been trying to email me. Someone has obviously sent me an email that is too big for my little Donegal dial up to cope with, or else is booby-trapped. The result? - everytime I try to get mail it loads up all the emails until it comes to this rogue one, then crashes. When you try again, it starts the whole process from the beginning again, crashing out part-way thru', altho' sometimes an additional message gets past.
I, of course, being completely techno-illiterate, don't know how to fix this so any suggestions vis the blog would be welcome.

Valhalla! I am coming!

Cops and cocoa

2007-06-12T02:51:00.000-07:00

I just noticed that 2 posts back, I described myself as heading off for a 'cop of hot chocolate.' Phnarr, phnarr...!

The consolations of philosophy

2007-06-12T02:47:00.000-07:00

I found this great quote from David Hume:
"I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have any, could wish, and as easily and cheerfully as my best friends could desire."

Birthdays, radio and sunshine in Donegal

2007-06-10T13:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my wife's birthday. I kinda don't want to go into this too much. My wife and son deserve some privacy in this blog, it was my decision to write it, not theirs. But, like school sports day, it as one of those very bittersweet experiences. In normal circumstances, events like these tend to make you nostalgic. But for me and my wife, you can't help projecting forward and wondering about next year.
Anything that involves looking at the future is very perilous for someone in my position. The only way to really handle it is to try and live as much in the moment as possible. I know this can sound a bit new-agey, Power-of-Now-ish but it really is a common feature you find in all sorts of spiritual teachers. Not least of all Jesus, who told us to "take no thought for tomorrow for you know not what tomorrow will bring." Did I ever discover the truth of that! See, that's what I mean about the relevance I've been finding in spiritual stuff. It's not in the theology, it's in the practical stuff that people with more insight than you and I try to tell us about who we can live valid lives. And that's what interests me, not heaven, hell, resurrection, reincarnation, any of that.
As regards sunshine in Donegal, we're actually having some really stunning weather here. I know that you'll think it's the drugs kicking, but this little Inishowen penisula really is a very special place and in the sunshine...it's just breathtaking. Another good thing to store away for the times to come.
I was in hospital when it happened so I wasn't able to put in an entry on my appearance on BBC Radio 5 Live. In fact, I did the interview on my mobile phone in the corridor of the oncology ward of Letterkenny hospital so, if omeone's heart monitor conked out elsewhere in the hospital, I'm the one to blame. The presenter, Chris Vallance, was really kind about the blog and you can check out what he had to say at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/podsandblogs/blogs/
If you're interested in blogs at all, pods and blogs is really worth listening to.
Anyway, a cop of hot chocolate and some morphine awaits.
See you later.

Bowels

2007-06-07T13:24:00.000-07:00

Chemo today. Everything seemed fine and, a I've completed 7 sessions, I might get a week off while they review where they go next. Generally, all the tests seemed to come back positive. I'd lost weight last week but have regained some of it in the interim. This is good news because it probably indicates the weight loss was just a blip, not the start of a period of decline.
My chemo is a gentler routine than most people but the day is still a bit of a drag. The problem is, you turn up at 10am and give a blood sample. This has to then go the lab who take a couple of hours or more analysing it. They then send the results back to the Dr who decides whether you're ok for chemo and, if so, whether the strength has to be adjusted etc. The dose is then made up and administered. So, while my treatment - ie the actual giving me the stuff thru the drip - takes 30 minutes, it actually wasn't administered today until 3.30.
As for the bowels...Well, it's just one of those things about being under medical care. Every week, you go through a list of questions including, inevitably, "How's your bowels?" Not a question that tends to be asked in other social situations. However, in the world of medical care, the bowels retain their importance . And why not? Personally, I think we all sense that the bowels have a democratising effect; reminding us that even the greatest among us still have to make poopy.
While I remember, watch this space for some exciting news about the blog and its future..!

I asked Van Morrison for his autograph - and lived

2007-06-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

First, let's put this in context. I didn't want Van's autograph. This was the early 80s, I was 20 or something and cultivating my I'm-not-impressed-by-anybody pseudo-cool. But I was out on one of the earliest dates with my wife, who had recently seen him in concert. The fateful confrontation occured in a hotel in Bangor, County Down. It was a Tuesday night or something and the bar was deserted except for us, Van Morrison and a female companion. Van is - surprise, surprise - in a bad mood, his mid-Atlantic accent carrying all thru the place. I have a bad feeling.
'There's Van Morrison...'
'Uh-huh, ' I awknowledge while trying and hide my whole face inside my half-pint glass.
'I'd love his autograph...'
Of course you would. And you want me to get it. And we've only just starting going out so, you know, I want to impress. I gird my loins, get a piece of paper and a pen and get up and start walking towards Van.
In an empty bar, it's pretty clear that I'm headed for him. I'd like to tell you that I strode proudly towards him, head held high but actually I was staring at the ground. There was a lot of bar to cover and always the possibility that Van would start lobbing glasses or something.
Eventually, I reach his table. I've worked out a strategy. Mea culpa, I will confess that I am intruding but promise to leave him alone as soon as the deed is done.
I get as far as saying,'Look, I'm sorry, I know you don't like this sort of thing...' when VAn responds.
'So, why are you doing it, then?' the great man asks.
I start to say my girlfriend is a big fan, go for the all-lads-together approach but, no, he's off. For the next 10 minutes he tells me how pathetic this is, how everybody bothers him, how he wants to left alone...10 minutes! He could have a) signed the thing or b) told me to bugger off in two seconds and it would all be over. But no. I stand there, looking at the ground while Van tells me how I'm symptomatic of everything difficult in his life. All I was lacking was a flat cap to twist between my hands while he delivers his message. Finally, he does sign the thing with a contemptious gesture, and I back away muttering embarassed thanks and we leave the bar soon after. I don't wave.
The autograph? Lost many moons ago.
Still think he's produced some works of genius but nothing worth paying too much attention to since No Guru, No Method, No Teacher. Well, I'm going to be a sucker for a title like that, aren't I.
So, that's it. I'll be back soon. After all, it's too late to stop now.

Clint Eastwood, VAn Morrison and a flickering torch

2007-06-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

The future: it's amazing how much time we spend living in a place that doesn't exist. Until it's taken away from us, of course. I suppose Sports Day got this into my mind. But there was another seemingly trivial incident that reinforced it. As you know, I am a complete music/book/movie junkie, so I was always ordering stuff off the internet etc. Just before the diagnosis, I'd preordered a box set of the 2 Clint Eastwood Iwo Jima movies. When they arrived this week, they were like a relic from another age; a time when I believed I could simply order something like that and then have all the time in the world to watch it whenever the notion took me. Before my life stretched in front of me like a path seen in the sunlight of early morning. Now, it's more like I'm walking in the dark. I have a flashlight but I'm not exactly sure when the battery will run out.
Aside from such morbid stuff, my reading is actually quite light. I've just finished Johnny Rogan's book on Van Morrison, No Surrender. Belfast being such a small place, those of us from there tend to have a fascination with those sons of the city who've made names for themselves outside our own little world. For all you Van fans, I'll include in my next post my own personal encounter with the (alleged) grumpiest man in showbiz.
See you then.

Sports days and fairness

2007-05-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

My son's school sports day. Every parent knows that, what the spring and winter equinox were to our ancient ancestors, the navitity play and sports day are for us. Of course, it has that terrible sense for me of being the last I'll attend, in all probability. Strange to think of it...made even more so by the fact that he's still ignorant of the fact that I'm dying.
I love being a dad. Perhaps because it too such a long time and was fraught with difficulties, I did so appreciate my son when he came along. And we've built so a great relationship. The thought of the heartbreak he'll have to go through is still devastating for me. I feel guilty at leaving him alone no matter how much I tell myself that it's entirley outside my control. I worry about the emotional consequences for him, the financial implications for him and his mum, the whole thing..
Seven is still so very little to have this dumped on your plate.
Still, he got 2 medals - a 2nd and a 3rd - the sun shone and it was a beautiful day. Trying to take some consolation.
Chemo tomorrow so I'll let you all know what happens.

In and out like a fiddler's elbow...

2007-05-28T03:22:00.000-07:00

I spoke too soon.
Got home on Wed night, felt a bit ropey. Come Thurs morning temperature was up above the dreaded 38c mark, so that was me back into the hospital for until last night. Things seemed to stabilise pretty quickly and, actually, I feel better then when they let me out before.
Watched TV on the ward on Saturday night: Channel 4's 50 Movies To See Before You Die. See, if anybody ahould be compiling those lists, it should be me. It reminds me of an old story about Vietnam. The Vietnemese used to dig this really complex tunnels so the Americans had these guys, nicknamed tunnel rats, whose jod was to go down these things in the dark with a flashlight and a handgun. So, one day, the squad is sitting around listening to the radio and they hear Pres. Johnson's speech about the war where he says he has seen the light at the end of the tunnel.
The Tunnel rat grunts: "What the **** does that guy know about tunnels?" he asks in disgust.

I'm back...

2007-05-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

Sorry - I was whisked off to hospital almost two weeks ago. My temperature had spiked and they thought I had an infection in my lungs and a blood clot in my leg. Turns out it was the other way around. Still, I'm back now and, if you give me a day or two to get settled, normal service will resume.

Some sad stuff and a Runyonesque greyhound

2007-05-10T22:15:00.000-07:00

As my regular readers will know, it's not my intention to make this a grim account my death. Yet, there is terrible pain happening here. My wife of almost 20 years is trying to make sense of the prospect of a life without me. I look at my little boy and feel crushed at what he's going to have to face.
My dad died in 2001 when he was 79. He had a number of strokes and was in a nursing home. It's hard to know how aware he was of his circumstances but he was still able to give my hand a squeeze. I was sitting beside him when his breathing appeared to gently stop. I called for the nurses, who checked him, found his heart had stopped and asked if I wanted him resucitated? My mum, brother and I had discussed this and, although my brother had been a bit unclear, both mum and I felt that trying to revive him just to put him through more pain was cruel. So I told them no and they left me alone with him. Dad didn't believe in God, heaven or hell. Yet, the conviction I got in that room with him, that his suffering was finished, is one of the factors in my own attitude to my death.
He was a real character, from a Belfast working-class community that was full of characters. During the war, his brother joined the Navy but dad, as an aircraft fitter, was seen as a vital trade. He loved greyhounds and walking and, at times when he didn't own his own animal, he would volunteer to walk others dogs for them.
So, one night he is met by an an old crony of his, a bit of an Arthur Daly character, who buys and sells racing greyhounds. Here, Billy, this character says to him, I've somebody coming from England to watch this dog race tonight. Will you walk him up to the stadium? My da is surprised and tells the owner why, the dog has never won anything in its life. The owner takes something out of his pocket which, he says, he bought from an RAF pilot who uses it to keep alert on night missions. It's speed, which he slips to the dog. What about the race stewards? the da asks. Don't worry, it'll have walked it off before the race starts, his mate tells him.
So, my dad starts walking the dog towards the stadium. It starts off okay but soon the greyhound starts to behave a little strangely. It starts to stagger, to stand still in strange three-legged postures, make weird musical keening sounds, stop and stare fixedly at unremarkable objects. Dad panics, the stewards can't miss this. However, by the time they reach the stadium, the dog seems fine, except for a strange look about the eyes.
The race comes around and the thing comes flying out of the trap. The buyer can't wait to own the thing. Strangely, this performance is never repeated on its move to England and my dad's friend is always very wary of bumping into his customer on a return visit to Belfast some time.
Is it any wonder that my dad loved Damon Runyon ?

It's chemo time again...

2007-05-09T04:22:00.000-07:00

..and my platelets are improved from last week, so I got the treatment. Loooooong day, tho' as, with Monday being the Bank Holiday, they were doing 2 sets of patients yesterday. As a result, I'm a wee bit tired but, other than that, feeling fine. So, if you don't mind, I'll make this a short one.
Check back soon.

How much is a life worth then, pal?

2007-05-07T13:48:00.000-07:00

EVERY DAY IN THE WORLD A HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE DIE. A HUMAN LIFE MEANS NOTHING.
General Giap, C-in-C, North Vietnamese Army

NEVER SEND TO KNOW FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS;
IT TOLLS FOR THEE.
John Donne

Two quotes, both linked to war novels. I'd run a lttle quiz except I'm not sure how many people would know the book the General Giap quote comes from. A guy called Kent Anderson, an ex-special forces soldier and Portland, Oregon cop, wrote two amazing books. The first, Sympathy for the Devil was about Vietnam and the second, Night Dogs, was described by James Crumley as the best cop novel he'd ever read. I wonder if that impresses you as much as it does me?

Anway, 2 quotes and, of course, we all know the one we identify with. A human life means nothing? What a horrendous thing to say. And yet...For many of us, death doesn't exist. We're entirely happy for it to cut swathes through Iraq, Darfur, wherever...Never bothers our conscience, never makes us doubt our faiths. But dare death presume to come near us - US! - then that's an outrage.
So, if the bell tolls for us each time - really tolls for us - what are we going to do about it? What difference does it make to how we see ourselves and the world around us?

I mean Owen Meany of course!

2007-05-06T14:00:00.000-07:00

It's the classic pattern, first the ankles go, then the spelling....

Own Meany, Mississippi John Hurt and how I've discovered that I was vain about my ankles

2007-05-06T13:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, vain about my ankles! How fickle and superficial we are. See, I'm not a looker but, the other day, whether it was steriods, diabetes, whatever, my ankles became very swollen. They looked just like my mums and she's an 82 year-old woman who left school at 14 to go and work in the Belfast linen mills and whose body shows the terrible cost of growing up poor. And, it was only while looking at these swollen, ugly things that I thought "I had a nicely-turned ankle in my young day..."
Actually, I had a couple of days when I was pretty tried and sore. Today, we stayed at home, just the three of us, and it was exactly the day I needed to recharge and I feel the benefit of it.
The members of the Rocking Vicar blog - www.therockingvicar.com - have been coming up with some great music/book suggestions - I've started reading A Prayer for Own Meany and sometime mentioned Mississippi John Hurt, one of my very favourite old country blues guitarists. But here's a question: are re-reads of favourite books out? Should I concentrate on the ones I haven't got around to reading yet? Let me know what you think. And check back soon.

7th sons and holiday graves

2007-05-04T02:30:00.000-07:00

This part of Donegal still has its tradition of healers, 7th-sons-of-7th-sons, old women who make up their own potions - even anti-cancer sweets have been mentioned to me. And if you're hanging around cancer patients, all these things get discussed. Everyone has a friend or family member who were told their situation was hopeless. They went to this person, said the prayer, took the sweeties, made the vow and whatever, returned to the doctors to discover that the cancer was gone. You hear hundreds of these stories. So many, in fact, you wonder who are in all the graveyards around here. Unless they are eternity's answer to the holidayhome bonanza...
Pardoxically, when people hear you have cancer, they also tell you how they've never heard of so many people dying from it. And there will follow another story - of misdoagnosis, perhaps; of partners left behind and young children devastated.
Without going into all the theology, I don't belive in an interventionist god who is going to sort out my situation. Not one who would do that for me and leave kids in Darfur to die in agony or watch Jews go to the gaschamber.
But a magic sweetie...Wouldn't that just be great?

Chemo and a little Readers' Digest moment

2007-05-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

Yep, hospital yesterday and, even though my bloods were a bit iffy, they decided to go ahead. Felt okay afterwards. The whole chemo thing is weird because it a) definitely won't cure the bugger b)it might even make me feel worse in the long term. Still, I kinda see it as my only revenge. I'm not a computer-games guy, I mean, how many geeky habits can one man find room for? - but I like to visualise myself as one of those macho Starship Troopers blazing away at the buggers with a huge screw-you ray gun.
So, to the Readers' Digest moment. Last week my blood sugar soared so I have to take this diabetes test, where they prick your finger and the reading comes up on a little digital display? So, the nurse keeps doing this, tutting, then trying it again. Finally she says "I don't know why it's doing this..." and shows me the readout.
"Expired," it says.

The Rocking Vicar or This time it's pastoral...

2007-04-30T16:22:00.000-07:00

The Rocking Vicar is a great site for sad, middle-aged music fans like me, so I sent them details of the blog. See, not that long ago, the only obituries in music mags were for people who died young - yer Jimis and Janis'. But now, Mojo has tasteful features on musos who died from natural causes. And where the artists are going, the fans will follow.
The time of the dying rock dad has arrived with all the dilemmas that entails. To keep buying CDs or just listen a lot more closely to the stuff you have? To admit that, try as you might, you're just not going to get the Arcade Fire? Should you divvy up the CDs prior to going or let people fight over them? Any old vinyl copies lurking in the back of cupboards just waiting to be discovered and to destroy that hard-earned cred?
Important issues, friends. Spiritual issues. I hope you'll join the debate.

I'm tired tonight...

2007-04-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

...so I'll cheat with a quotation from Richard Holloway's great book, Looking into the Distance.

When the map of our life is complete, and we die in the richness of our own history, some among the living will miss us for a while, but the earth will go on without us. Its day is longer than hours, though we now know that it too will die. Our brief finitude is but a beautiful spark in the vast darkness of space. So we should live the fleeting day with passion and, when the night comes, depart from it with grace

A visit and another day to treasure

2007-04-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine - we'll call him Mark, 'cos that's his name - came up yesterday and stayed over. We met in the agency where I used to be creative director and bonded over a mutual love for Steve Earle and American roots music. Neither Terry nor Matthew knew Mark and, although I wasn't thinking of this, it has become more significant to me as I've thought back over the visit. I'm hoping he'll keep in touch, not just for the duration of my ilness, but afterwards as well. MAtthew's taken a big shine to him - "He's going to be one of my best grown-up friends..." - and he has his own little boy just a year older than Matthew. It would be good for Mark to be able to give Terry and Matthew a reference point for 'Work Brian,' the person who existed when I left home in the mornings. Also, because I'm such a sad music buff and have shared my enthusiasm for this with him, that'll be another little reserve of knowledge for my loved ones to drawn on.
He also brought up - very sensitively - something that is probably going to be a problem for me. Mark, like my immediate family and a number of my friends, is born again. And born again people want to convert you. For the sincere ones, this is because they honestly believe that, should you be unsaved, you will suffer eternal damnation and they love you and don't want this to happen. Others I believe are not so sincere; I think they find it a kind of slight that you could dare face death without agreeing to accept their point of view. My mum will want me to convert. Terry doesn't need me to convert but it would make her a great deal happier if I was to say that I think something of me will survive and that we'll meet up again and be reunited. And I would love that, too, for the circle to be unbroken. But I would also love not to be dying and one of the things recent events has taught me is that the universe does not mould itself to our expectations, not matter how much we wish it would. In a way, I do think I'll survive but - and this'll come as no surprise to those who know me - in an abstract way not as any kind of physical being.
I'm not frightened of ceasing to exist. Because they will be no me to be afriad. There was no me before 1961 and the thought of that doesn't scare me, why is the nothingness I go to now any different?
I'll not go on anymore about this but you can bet your life we'll be back at this topic sometime in the future.
Anyway, Mark has never been to this part of the world so, before we went home, we took him a quick trip around the immediate area. It sounds stupid, especially to anyone who lives among huge, spectacular scenary, but I really do think that I live among some of the most beautiful places in the world. The sun shone today, the birds are back in the trees, the whin is blazing out from the hedgerows and it was jsut magnificent.
So, a good day. And here's to another one tomorrow.

How much does a Grecian Urn?

2007-04-26T05:26:00.000-07:00

Whether it's the medication or the cancer, I tend to fall asleep very rapidly and, just as suddenly, snap awake. When I wake, I sometimes find myself moving my hands or somehow in the middle of some task.
This morning, I had dozed off when a voice woke me. Don't worry - I'm sure it was internal in origin - I'm not that far gone. It was quoting Keats and I've put down what I remember it saying rather than going to check the actual quotation

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,
That is all ye know on earth
And all ye need to know

Chemo and chocolate

2007-04-25T01:28:00.000-07:00

Had my chemotherapy at Letterkenny Hospital yesterday. Last week's was called off because my platelets (sp?) were low after the last session. Glad to feel that something is going in to bat against the bugger even if, at this stage, we don't know if the treatment will help, make things worse or just be ineffective.
As they're not able to detroy the cancer with chemo, they're not blasting me with it. This should minimise the side effects. So, I won't lose hair. (Who am I kidding, I mean more hair.) I didn't feel sick although I was conscious of some pain. Nevertheless, even that could be psychosomatic: Ive noticed that once you start looking for pain, it's pretty easy to find.
Blood sugar levels were up so I've to go to the Drs in an hour or so and get them checked again as I might be diabetic as well. See, that's a bugger. If I have only this time left, I don't think I should have to deny myself Kit Kats. Can the universe really be so cruel>

Trust nobody - sepecially me. Or, why dying gives me absolutely no greater insight into anything else than anyone else

2007-04-25T01:21:00.000-07:00

Much as I would like to claim - as many have - than when I came to be told of my own death, the scales fell from my eyes and I attained wisdom and enlightenment....Naw. Sorry. Didn't happen. The live-every-minute thing happened but I can hardly claim that as a deep insight into the meaning of the cosmos. I'm as much a pilgrim as I ever was. In fact, you could argue with taking medication etc, I'm less likely to have anything meaningful to say than ever before.
And, of course, I'm writing about myself, a subject on which it is impossible for me to be in any way objective. I'm as deluded, egotistical and self-deceiving as everyone else, including you.
I just happen to be dying. Then again, so are you.

Who knew?

2007-04-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

Pancreatic cancer sneaks up on you. Boom! By the time the symptons appear, it's got it's grip on you and that's one of the reasons why it's so deadly. Pior to the back- and side- pain that started showing up a couple of months back or so, the only other symptom I can identify is a tendency towards sweats I've noticed for the last year.
But I wonder if my body knew what was happening and, in some way, was adjusting to what was going on with me. No, don't worry, I'm not going to get new-agey or anything. But I think it's pretty accepted now that our bodies do work in response to changes of which we may or may not be aware.
People have commented on "how well" I've been dealing with the news. I know what they mean although I don't think they're really grasping what's actually going on. However, I do feel that there was an evolution in my thinking over the past 12 months that, I think, has helped me cope with this. I started to read more spiritual thinkers across a range of faiths and no faiths, whether these were Richard Halloway, UG Krishnamurta, Jacques Derrida, Marcus Borg, Eckart Tolle or John Caputo. And what I was interested in with these people wasn't abstracts. I was obsessed with the idea of compassion, a concept that's all the more relevant to me as the days go past and to which I'll return. I was obsessed by our materialism, by what I saw as the emptiness of our culture. That's one of the reasons that I was reading the Bill Hicks biography and found out about his cancer, because he was someone who was dealing with this issues but in a popular, funny way. I thought a great deal about the Third World, about the environment...It's my usual mish-mash but it all seemed related to ideas outside my immediate and selfish reality.
So, was this my consciousness preparing me for cancer? Or just my mid-life crises? The honest answer is that there's no way I can know. Or is there? Mebbe I can just be aware of any kind of evolution in my thinking now?

This was worth my time, so it's damn sure worth yours

2007-04-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

Blood is the Sky, by Steve Hamilton: - great, tough-minded crime writing with fantastic characterisation and a real feel for the sorrows and pain of ordinary people. The descriptions of the environment and wildlife around northern Ontario are amazing, too. I really was transported out into that wilderness.
It's the only one of his I've read, to my shame, but it sounds like they're all good.
And, to repeat, if it's worth my time, it's damn sure worth yours.

Carpe diem and dodgy showers

2007-04-22T13:51:00.000-07:00

From the moment I received the diagnosis, I knew I was going to fight to make the best of every second, every moment I had left to me. On the Friday night I got the news, I was moved from a general ward in Letterkenny Hospital over to Oncology. Terry, my wife, had gone home broken-hearted and with the awful responsibility of trying to interact normally with our son. And, although the staff and the unit were excellent, I felt myself crumble a bit. So, to make myself feel better, I decided to unpack my bag, organise my stuff and have a shower, rather than just pull the duvet over my head. So I went in to the bathroom and stripped. Make the most of every second, I told myself, every nano-second, every second that's even nano-ier than a nano-second. I went to turn on the shower. There was a sign on the wall. It said:
"Let the water run for 5 minutes before using."

Disappearing like snow and how recent events have changed the meaning of one of my stories

2007-04-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

A story of mine, Like Snow, written long before I was ill is about to appear in the paperback anthology Read By Dawn 2, available now from www.bloodybooks.com. The tale is a rather gentle ghost story in which mysterious, spirit-like figures appear without explanation. And do, well, nothing actually, except act as a kind of canvas onto which the characters project their own hopes, fears etc. It deals with the effect of this phenomenon on one little boy and his family and it's a story very much about loss and leaving.
The weird thing is, reading it over now in the light of my panceatic cancer diagnosis, it takes on a whole different meaning. It's quite weird. I can't really say too much more about it without murdering the story to dissect the meaning but it's had quite a profound effect on me.
Anyway, you might like to check it out. And, if you enter the promo code 'blood' online, you can even save £3 off the cover price. That's $6 in today's money.
Still pain free, still sleeping well. Had my first visit from the home care nurse and found her very caring and reassuring.
Check back soon.

Pancreatic cancer, facing mortality and why my next stop is no longer Holywood

2007-04-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

God, I'd had a good year. But a statement by a friend of mine has always hovered back in my mind since he told it to me a few years ago. "Everyone thinks they're going to win the lottery. Nobody thinks they'll ever get cancer."
Now, much as I'd love to tell you that, on the 6th of April this year - God, just 2 weeks ago - I was shouting 'In yer face, cancer!' and planning to spend those big bucks I'd just won, well, you've guessed, haven't you?
No, one short week after being admitted to hospital, I was sitting with my wife broken-hearted beside me, being told that I'd got the easy option. See, it's hard to win the lottery. Those odds..! But cancer's a doodle. People get cancer all the time. Of course, I didn't quite go for the easy option. I had to have hard core. Pancreatic cancer with secondaries in the liver. Six to twelve months on average to go. Bummer.
In a week I'd gone from thinking biopsy was one of Peter Rabbit's friends, like Flopsy and Cottontail, to being advised to cancel the Fruit of the Month Club.
But this is not a cancer blog. It's the blog of a guy with cancer and it'll be about all sorts of stuff. I'm a freelance advertising writer but, at long last, I'd made a breakthrough into crime fiction and was looking forward to seeing a short story of mine in the anthology 'Next Stop Holywood' due out from St Martin's Press in NY in May. I'd completed a play with music by my friend, the acclaimed songwriter Michael Weston King that I was proud off. And I'm not done yet.
Just after Christmas, before I had the first inkling of being ill, I read a Bill Hicks biography. We were same year although he died a decade ago. Of pancreatic cancer. And you know what he said, looking at it all? "It's a ride. It's just a ride."
And it is.
Mebbe you'd care to join me?