The first of the firsts

 People talk about the first year as being hard, as you have all the first anniversaries, birthdays, Christmasses etc etc, and you have to navigate your way through what everyone wants/expects from all of those. It’s Father’s Day in a couple of weeks - I want to stick my head in the sand to be honest, but I have no idea what we’re going to do/how we’re going to handle it. 

These I can try and prepare for - I will see them coming, even if they do hit like a juggernaut. What’s getting me like a surprise punch in the face is the little corrections. Last night I asked my mum if she wanted to come and see our daughter dancing in a show (we had asked before and originally they had been going to go on a cruise, which is now cancelled obviously). She said yes, and I said to my husband ‘They’ve not seen her dance before’ and then teared up immediately at my own use of ‘they’. They never will. 

Today at the lake I saw a Rottweiler dog, and I was staring a little because they’re fairly unusual. I was sort of mentally preparing for if the owner caught my eye and thought I was either weird or scared (they have a bad rep) and was thinking I’d say ‘My parents have Rottweilers’ - and again caught myself. My mum has Rottweilers. 

I know there will be many, many more of these. 

My dad has died

 Turns out we didn’t have long to wait after all. 

Friday night my mum messaged me to say the nurses had visited and had upped his dose. She said his eyes were going darker and that her mum’s eyes were nearly black just before she died. I offered to go over but Mum said she thought we had a few more days as he was chatty at lunchtime. 

Early Saturday morning I took my two daughters and their friend to cadet camp for the weekend. I was semi-aware that I hadn’t had my usual ‘no change’ text from mum as I would get most mornings, but figured there could be many reasons for that. Then my phone flashed up with an incoming call from her and I pretty much knew. I didn’t answer as my phone bluetooths to the car stereo, and we were under ten minutes from our destination. So I declined the call. 

Five minutes later she rang back. I answered with ‘Mum I have the girls in the car, I’m just about to drop them off, can I call you back in ten minutes?’ and she just said ‘He’s gone’. 

I just didn’t know what else to do but to keep driving. I knew at the very least I had to drop their friend off. Alice started crying, as did I, otherwise we were just silent. 

I told the girls it was up to them what they wanted to do, that there was no right or wrong. Alice just shook her head. We arrived, and Poppy said she thought she wanted to continue with the weekend (she’s very dedicated to cadets). I was still crying as I hugged her, aware that I looked like an over-anxious parent who couldn’t bear to be parted from her precious child for over 24 hours. One of the adults asked if everything was ok (I guess I was crying harder than I realised) and I just blurted ‘I’ve just found out my father has just died’. He turned to the two older girls and said ‘You don’t have to be here. It’s not important’ or similar and then I had to say ‘Oh no, this one [the friend] isn’t mine, she’s ok!’. Poppy was teary but went off ok. Her friend very sweetly gave me a hug. 

So we drove home. Oscar wasn’t up yet (it was only 8.40am by this point) and I called Thomas in Florida to let him know. I put some stuff in a bag and texted my brother to let him know I was on my way. He replied ‘drive fast, the undertakers have been called’. 

Driving was really hard and I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact I was about to see my Dad dead, and my first dead body. I had to whack the stereo up to full volume to drown out the thoughts. 

I made it before the undertakers and Mum asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes, out of a combination of respect, because I felt she wanted me to, and because I felt I should woman up and break the fear - death has become so removed from our normal experience and I thought the longer I put it off, the worse it would be. 

I am ambivalent about having seen him. He was (obviously) still in the same bed, looking largely the same. Still him but not human at the same time. I’ve heard a few people say that dead folk look like waxworks, but it wasn’t even that - like an uncanny valley sensation. However his mouth was agape and that was really hard. It’s only 36 hours later, so not long at all, but that’s the image that is sticking with me at the moment. I also kept expecting his eyes to pop open at us coming in and talking. Mum tried to shut his mouth but couldn’t. She said I could touch him, but that felt like a step too far. My brother came in the room and Mum said ‘It’s her first time seeing a dead body’ and he said ‘Mine too.’ To be honest, I just haven’t had the opportunity before really (and I don’t walk a dog, although I do run). 

The undertakers suggested that we be in a different room when they took him out as ‘it’s not nice’ - my mind is trying very hard not to think about all the reasons that might be (mostly involving them karate chopping him in the stomach to carry him out more easily, or some kind of Weekend at Bernie’s style shenanigans). 

So we did, they just went, my brother went and then it was just… well now what do we do? So we dusted all the many cobwebs from the ceiling (just because we noticed them and thought we might as well), we deleted the tv programmes he had on series link off the hard drive player. I then went and got some lunch which we ate out in the garden under the wisteria, which was just…nice. We talked about him, but also about other things. 

Then we went through my mum’s physical and phone address books and texted/emailed the people she hadn’t already informed. A few of her friends only had landlines, which just felt far too much. Mum called to ask them to take the hospital bed away, but they couldn’t do that until Friday. She is going to sleep in the spare bed because she doesn’t want to see it. Thomas FaceTimed, and it felt a bit weird to say ‘actually we’re…ok’. But we were/are, for now. Sad, incredibly sad but as I texted my friends, right now feels so much less stressful than the last few weeks. 

She said she didn’t need or want me to stay, so I came home. 

My Dad is dying, part six

 I know! He’s dragging it out…

Wednesday I felt calmer - not sure if that was because it’s hard to stay on high alert all the time, or because I had a swim planned and something to focus on once awake. I did a longer swim, partly because I have a distance swim booked in the future, and partly because in the water no one could contact me and so everything was theoretically fine. 

We visited Thursday. The nurse came out and said it would be a good idea for him to be on a syringe driver - I know informed consent is essential generally speaking, but I’m not sure asking someone who is hallucinating left right and centre is actually the best idea. But he agreed. She also asked him if he knew how ill he was, and when he said he didn’t understand what’s been going on, she basically told him he doesn’t have long left. 

The whole visit was hard. I always want to just turn on my heel and ‘nope’ it out of the room. In some ways it was harder with my husband there because I was almost seeing it all fresh through his eyes (last time he saw my dad a couple of weeks ago he was able to walk and stand). Usually I can push the feelings down and cry later but this time I just kept snivelling. 

We were both able to say our goodbyes, without explicitly saying it might be the last time. Dad said he would miss my husband <ooof>. The nurse laid out all the end of life medications and wrote down which numbers my mum should call when. 

She told my mum it’s a matter of days - certainly under a week. The district nurses will come out twice a day and give him medication and review.

Friday mum said they’ve increased the dosage - so essentially they slowly send him off.

So now we wait. 

‘Look after yourself’

 I don’t know how many times people have said to me ‘make sure you look after yourself’ or ‘take care of yourself’, or variations thereof. 

I know they mean well. This isn’t a ‘how dare people attempt empathy’ rant. 

But my overriding internal response is ‘but I don’t know how to do that/what does that actually mean??!’

I’ve been reflecting on it and in no particular order (partly so I remember how to do it when the overwhelm hits and I just can’t remember what helps) here is a list:

- Physical self-care. The basics. Brush my teeth (I hate teeth brushing - it’s so boring, the mint burns, it always seems to take aaages. I also hate the furry teeth feeling, go figure). Wash my hair even when I feel like I cba. Take my vitamins. Going to bed early isn’t a problem as I’m usually dead on my feet by 10pm anyway. 

- Exercise, preferably outdoors. I’m pretty good at exercising as I have finally found exercise I like (swimming, cycling, weights, yoga) but when I’m feeling just… meh, getting outside often helps. Maybe a loop of the village, or yoga outside in the back garden, or table tennis with the kids. Setting a timer for 7 minutes and just sitting outside and being. 

- Eating is always a tricky issue. I never forget to eat, or skip meals, but the balance of giving myself nourishment while not eating my feelings is a tough one. 

- Meditation. I usually forget this one, but it does usually help. Just a ten-minute lie down with a guided meditation. 

- Which may lead to napping. Especially with a soundscape on in the background. 

- Thinking about what hobbies I like to do. Card games, board games, crochet (I know things are dipping when I can’t concentrate on the pattern, even if it’s basic), diamond painting, hanji puzzles. 

- Small household tasks. Make a phone call. Clean one window. Then I feel virtuous and like I’ve ticked something off, but without it taking all day. 

- Music. Either dancing to something full volume (Just Dance is a good combo of this and exercise), whacking up the tunes in the car, or playing guitar. I’m still very much learning, but I can stumble my way through a few different tracks. Learning a new skill as a fully grown adult is HARD. 

- Being by myself. Sometimes it’s better to just take myself away and recharge. 

- Reading. I’ve stopped attempting to read a couple of books lately, not because they were bad, but because they felt like hard work. (Which reminds me: never, ever, read A Little Life if you are feeling anything less than 100%. Or just don’t read it at all.)

- Writing this stuff up. 

Tbc…

My Dad is dying, part five

Tuesday. 

I still don’t even know if we are there yet. But this morning I did my usual check in text to mum ‘How was last night? How does he seem today/how are things?’and she said he hadn’t slept well because he’d been cold.

Again, I know nothing is definite but I google and that’s another step closer, right?Different friend confirms, yes. Not long. (Whatever that means.)

So I’m sitting here right now, trying to get all my thoughts in order. Mum isn’t answering the phone and I’m assuming that’s because maybe she’s actually out doing something (she said she had stuff planned this week) and not because she’s sitting bedside holding his hand. 

What I do know is that this isn’t the end I want for me. I don’t think dad is selfish, but this has been such an overload for my mum, both physically and mentally. None of us have been through this before so as mentioned we have always been one step behind, running to catch up. I want to be parked somewhere nice with lots of good drugs and come and visit me when you can. I can’t help but feel dad’s pain (and constipation!) would have been controlled better if he’d been in a hospice. But that was his and mum’s choice. Also I’m thinking we’re going to have to have a difficult conversation with mum, because if she gets to the same place near her end of life then there won’t be someone to be there 24 hours for her. 

So. We wait. 

My Dad is dying, part four

 Wow, when I started thinking ‘maybe it would be helpful to get the narrative down on paper’ I really didn’t think I had this much to say about what really has been quite a short space of time. 

5 May We’re a month and a bit from the oncology appointment, and so I’m thinking we’ve still got 4-5 months. This feels a really long time for him to be in so much pain, and to struggle with basic needs like going to the toilet. I keep asking Anuschka - she says when he can no longer get up, that’s a closer sign. But he’s still going out for meals so maybe that’s a while off? 

My thoughts are jumping all over because that’s how it feels. My son is going to sit his first GCSE in under two weeks. I am a huge list maker, and I’m starting to feel like I’m losing control of the basic stuff. My daughter is dancing in london soon and I haven’t looked at what she needs to take, where we need to be when, how to get there etc. It all just feels like too much. One Saturday my husband is at work and I just pretty much cry on and off all morning. We go to watch my daughter dance and I have to block my ears with tissues because the sensory overwhelm is just too much. 

I understand now how clients with chronic anxiety feel. My god it’s EXHAUSTING. It’s hideous. I hate it. 

26 May. Dad hasn’t got out of bed in a bout a week and he has yet another UTI that isn’t responding to antibiotics. When I get there the carer is feeding him some protein shake through a Calpol syringe. Mum goes out, saying the GP is on the way in 90 minutes or so. 

Fun times ensue when dad says he needs the loo. He’s now in a hospital bed and there’s a commode, but I don’t feel it would be safe to try and get him on it by myself. (Oh I forgot earlier in the week where we had to drag him to the loo on his walker and my mum missed her friend’s funeral as a result. I was having to brace him with both arms against the toilet so he didn’t slide off. Hospital bed and commode were delivered the same day.). For so much of this we have been one step behind what he needs - which right now is two people with him at all times. Cut to the chase, the GP turns up when dad is on the commode (he’s in pain from the constipation but the back pain seems to have gone). He takes some blood and says he’ll prescribe a third round of antibiotics. 

I see the doctor out and I ask if this is the UTI, which I know are incredibly serious in older people, especially with a range of issues, or does he think it’s the beginning of the end. I am mostly expecting him to say it’s just the UTI and when it’s cleared we’ll be back to where we were last week, more or less, but he says he thinks it’s the beginning of the end. Fuck. I say I know it’s hard to predict but how long are we looking at? Weeks, says the GP. Fuck fuck fuck. My son’s last GCSE is 19 June. GP pulls a face at that date and says ‘well you never know’. He’s going to get the rapid response team on the case. Mum comes home and i have to tell her we’re looking at under a month. 

Mum has a night carer in place that evening, phew. (She’d been up with him three maybe four times Wednesday evening? I keep saying ‘this isn’t sustainable’ and everyone agrees but change is so slow.) A nurse from the rapid response team comes out to see him Saturday morning and says in her experience he’s looking very close now, as in a matter of days, certainly under a week. 

Ooooofffff. Bloody hell. Mum says not to come over as she’s fine for now, she’s been given some end of life medication should he become agitated (she’s not allowed to administer it though, she has to call someone). I am on absolute tenterhooks. I have both numbers for mum on the ‘except’ list for Do Not Disturb but I sleep terribly that night, expecting The Call. I don’t feel a burning urge to say something meaningful to him before he goes, nor do I feel that I must be there right at the end, but I just want to support mum. 

Sunday the exact same nurse says he’s rallied a bit and we could be looking at a couple of weeks. FFS this is an absolutely battering experience. Mum says do what you were planning to do today, don’t change things, she’s been told what to look out for etc. 

Monday I reflect that this is like the reverse of waiting for a baby. You have a rough date, every day you wake up thinking ‘could it be today?’. And in this case, mum tells me he’s eaten a little, he’s calm and comfortable, no change, so I think ‘ok, not today, carry on as normal.’ 

Until….

/end part four

My Dad is dying, part three

 This is a fun ride isn’t it?

30 March. Another appointment with the same respiratory doctor, except when we’re called through it’s not her, it’s an oncologist. I immediately know. 

Yep. The first PET scan was slightly too high, so missed that it has spread to his liver and back (his back pain has been increasing lately, to the point where he’s very uncomfortable). Also it’s in two places in the lungs. She is positive that even if it had been picked up sooner, we would be in the same position as where we are now. Of course my parents ask how long (I mean, it’s what we all want to know, and it’s only from my extensive listening to Griefcast that I know they are only ever guessing) and the doctor says ‘six months, with treatment’. Somehow my parents take ‘six to twelve months’ away from this (again, I’m not going to be the harbinger of doom and go NO THEY DEFINITELY SAID SIX). They will do radiotherapy on his back to reduce the pain, and they’ll type the lung tumour so that IF (and it feels like a very big if) they see vast improvement they can look at radiotherapy again in the future. They can ‘no longer offer’ radiotherapy on his lung as it could make things worse (not sure if they mean him coming in for a month of daily therapy). They are referring him to the palliative care team. Follow up appointment in three weeks. 

The doctor is not cold exactly, but sort of school teacher-esque. I cannot imagine doing this for a job, but when it is your job I don’t know, maybe act like it’s worse for the people hearing this? 

Both my parents apologise to me for having to be at the appointment and hear the news. I’m 50 years old and they are still protecting me. My brother is on a ferry home from Europe, four hours out of port and I call to give him the news. He’s very matter of fact and ‘thank you for letting me know’. 

In ‘of course this day could get even slightly worse’ it takes me over fifty minutes just to get out of the car park before I can attempt the 45 minute journey home. My husband has messaged to say that our daughter’s parents’ evening was brilliant, and I’m thinking how can I go home and tell them? How?

I do, of course. I have to. I literally wail. Kids are a bit bowled over, understandably. 

Over the next few days I let my work colleagues and other people know, more in a ‘if I’m not functioning properly or I’m slow to get back to you, this is why’ way. My brain wakes me up super early with questions like ‘how many cars will we need to take us all to the crematorium’ - it’s a form of processing it all I guess. Six months plus maybe a bit extra with palliative care takes us to maybe my birthday, his birthday, Christmas? Excellent. 

I listen to a lot more Griefcast. I start reading ‘With the End in Mind’ by an ex-palliative care doctor. I can only read it in small doses. 

Over the next month he has the radiotherapy but slowly deteriorates. It doesn’t really seem to make any difference to his pain levels. We go to a follow up appointment with the same oncologist who is much more human this time - she says they won’t get him to come in again as it’s clearly too much. His medication increases every time my mum speaks to someone about it. He starts hallucinating from the morphine. I go over every Friday and nearly every time he says something that’s upsetting in one way or another. In early May he says he doesn’t want me visiting him again because he doesn’t want me seeing him as he is now. The following week he says I will forget him. Then he says something about never walking round the garden again (they have this large calming garden that he loves) or walking the dogs again. We have discussions about his DNR form and what he does/doesn’t want for his funeral. (Hi dad, I’m here to upset everyone yet again!) He cries over the unfairness of it all. I know I’m probably skipping over large chunks, but it’s so hard to see him wincing with pain and there being nothing that can be done. 

I’m worried about Mum. Being stoic is her default position but this is so huge. Finally she agrees to getting a carer in. Thomas is visiting from Florida and he is a huge help - not only has he already been through something similar when he nursed his ex-partner in his final days, but he’s so ‘can do’ and he breathes in sync with dad through the pain, which helps calm him. They go for afternoon tea to my parents’ favourite restaurant and we go to the pub for dinner, although we have to cut it short as dad is uncomfortable. We take the kids over to see him and get some pictures. He looks frail and yellow in the pictures, but is insistent on standing up for them. 

I’m so frustrated that there isn’t more of a road map to dying. How do we know when we need to do more? Some of the signs that come up on google searches he has, some he doesn’t. Does this mean something? I know, logically, everyone is different, every progression is different, but the not knowing is really hard. 

/end part three

My Dad is dying, part two

 Just as cheery as part one. 

So. He’s back in the UK. He’s really not well - barely eating, dozing off constantly, zero energy. It’s all looking very much like it’s only going one way. 

Thank fuck for the NHS. What follows is essentially a lot of tests here too. I spoke to one of the doctors here who asked for a summary of his discharge notes from Florida. 

152 pages, most of which were blood tests. But I managed to find the biopsy summary, which said ‘poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma with neuroendocrine features’ and his lungs were described as ‘fucked’ (I’m paraphrasing). Heart ‘critical aortic stenosis’ and ‘severe calcification in the aortic valve’. The doctor also asked if the American hospital could send the actual pathology slides from his biopsy over (this never happened, so they had to do another biopsy here. He collapsed on the way out and had to spend a night in hospital).

I know they say never google, but I find facts in a crisis helpful. (As the wonderful Max from the Chronicles of St Mary’s says ‘Always deal with the now’. Useful advice and facts help me know what the now is.) I didn’t know before, but as well as stages of cancer there are also grades, 1-4. They don’t necessarily correlate, but what they were describing was grade 3 (where 4 is baaaaaad) and likely to metastasise, if it hadn’t already. 

We are now at three days before Christmas. I’m NOT going to absolutely piss all over everyone else’s Christmas by going ‘you know this could be his last one right? You do realise how bad this looks?’ Both my parents are convinced that with modern medicine these days he’s going to get better. I cannot be the person to take that away, especially when I don’t actually know. So I sit with it by myself. Fortunately my ex-nurse friend (let’s call her Anuschka, for that is her name) is a brilliant person to talk to. And I do talk to my husband. But we’re all so much in the dark. 

Because mum thinks everything is fine, she is suggesting we don’t see him until NYD. Wtf? I negotiate her to 27th Dec. 

29th December they see a doctor who is ‘confident’ that due to the placement of the tumour they can operate (it’s low down on the right hand side, so essentially they can just lop it off). Then they can look at the heart stuff. Huh? How did the American hospital get it so wrong?? Eh?

I mean, you’ve seen the title of this post. Bit late for a spoiler alert. 

Mum has cancelled the carer we had coming in three times a week because his appetite is back and he can move from stairs to sofa (with a walker), can shower solo. They’re doing a PET scan to look for spread. 

12th Jan. I couldn’t attend the results appointment with them and you’ll be amazed to hear my mum couldn’t record it on her phone (I don’t have an app that records! YES YOU DO). At this point they don’t think the tumour is urgent, will run some more tests including more cardio assessment to look at that, and the PET scan says no spread. I was convinced they were going to find secondaries. 

7 Feb. Biopsy had to be rescheduled due to a small tear in his lung (no idea where that came from) and dad has his third? UTI. As said above, he had to spend one night in hospital after a ‘reaction’ to the biopsy but was discharged the next day. 

Meanwhile I had a GP appointment for some stomach issues I’ve been having (poss gastroparesis? ) and why yes, the doctor did say it was probably stress related. ‘Anything stressful in your life right now?’

‘Well my dad has lung cancer.’

‘Right. Yes. And what do you do for a job?’

‘I’m a counsellor.’

‘Ah’

Ah indeed. Weirdly working helps, as I can spend 50 minutes in someone else’s world. 

16 Feb. I join my parents for a hospital appointment at the respiratory clinic. They are getting a second opinion on his biopsy as it’s ‘unusual’. Maybe because he’s never smoked a cigarette in his life?? He’s currently not well enough for chemo or for a heart operation, so the plan is a month of radiotherapy on his lung to reduce/slow it down. Oncology will take over from here. They are thinking his breathing issues are more heart-related than lung-related. The doctor mentions ‘options’ and ‘quality of life’ so I’m wondering (to myself, of course) if they are gently trying to prepare us. I notice how forgetful and repetitive dad is during this appointment. 

Which reminds me - he had maybe two small strokes when he was in hospital in Florida? Just to add to the fun. 

In a ‘this would be thrown out of a script for being far too obvious’ moment, while we were waiting to go in my parents were discussing their older dog (obviously they have a puppy too because that’s what you need right now) who has this growth on his leg. It could be cancer. If it is, then they’re not going to give him chemo because they don’t want to put him through that, and quality of life is more important than quantity. Me (to myself): the subtext is just MASSIVE FUCKING TEXT here…

Cue more tests to get an accurate assessment of the tumour and ‘in the next month’ and ‘we just need to check one more thing’ and nothing is happening until…

/end part two

My Dad is dying, part one

 Yep. Exactly as it says on the tin. 

A summary:

For some time now my dad has had a bit of a catalogue of issues. Primarily polycythemia vera (too many red blood cells is my layperson’s understanding), gout, I’m sure I was told he has COPD (but my mum says not, so who knows where I got that from - his breathing is fucked, basically), vertigo, a leaky heart valve and probably a couple of others that I’m not aware of/have forgotten. 

This normally presented as him getting tired quite quickly and not being able to walk very far. He got a blue parking badge three years ago (renewing it was fun - I am positive the system is designed to make people give up, but that’s a separate rant). 

In November 2022 they were in Florida (they have a house there). As they’d go for three months at a time, I’d speak to them on FaceTime once or twice a week. They’d just been on a cruise for a week so I hadn’t spoken to them for ten days or so. My brother messaged me saying ‘FaceTime dad please and moan at him to go and see a doctor. He looks like crap. I’ve told him, mum’s told him…’. I was at work, and then they weren’t answering, so I couldn’t get through until the evening. He did indeed look crap, but just kept saying he needed to lie down until he felt better (this was his usual coping mechanism and usually he was indeed better the following day). Essentially I had to shout and then cry to get him to go and he agreed to go to the local A&E. 

He was an inpatient for I think 11 days. This being America, they ran an absolute barrage of tests. Meanwhile we were wondering if we should go out, when, would it help mum or not, etc etc. They discovered he had another leaking heart valve and said they would operate the following week and he was told ‘you’ll be like a new man’. Yay! My friend who used to be a nurse said to me that they wouldn’t operate if they didn’t think he was a good candidate for it for fear of litigation. Heart surgery is relatively straightforward these days. All looked well. (‘Well’ = ‘fucking terrifying’, but positive steps in the right direction. We couldn’t FaceTime when he was asleep (which was fairly often) and mum didn’t want to step out of the room to speak to us in case she missed the doctor(s), so all communication was via WhatsApp, which was fine but obviously slowed things down/hampered clarity a little. 

Then one of the tests showed a tumour on his lung and the hospital was basically like ‘What shall we do about it? You might want to think about a biopsy’ Mum: well obviously can you do that please? So they biopsied it and boom, it’s lung cancer. Not only that but they’re discharging him and saying he’s ok to fly home, pick it all up with your doctors there, but they have said they can no longer operate because he’s fit to fly. WTAF? What happened to making him into a new man etc etc?

So he was sent home (to their house in Florida) with these rechargeable oxygen tanks. Meanwhile we’re looking into stairlifts and ramps etc etc. He’s incontinent, barely eating and as a result they wouldn’t let him on their scheduled flight (we’re now at 11 December). This meant having to get a Fit To Fly certificate from a quack doctor and they flew home 24 hours later. 

They came home to no heating because their not-to-code wiring in the house had shorted the boiler. Plus a wasp infestation which was extra fun because my mum is genuinely deadly allergic. But the stairlift was in (note: you think it’ll be a bit like a fun ride but actually they are INCREDIBLY slow) and he had a GP appointment for the same afternoon. We all went. GP obviously prioritised the cancer referral but also made one for the heart issues. Dad had an indwelling catheter which was causing him immense discomfort - cue next stop A&E here (after a return visit back home for a code brown). Doctors here said he should never have flown with it. Marvellous. 

/end part one

Unstoppable Feb

 I think I’m just going to put everything into one post. 

The programme is 28 days of workouts under 28 minutes, but as much as I love PJ I don’t think I’ll be doing one of her workouts every single day. It’s a bit much. 

Day 1 - Bosu balance workout, not PJ. I like this one because it’s short AF (17 minutes) but I work up a sweat and it’s working on all sorts of good balance stuff. Not a PJ workout.

Day 2 - Upper body. One of PJ’s but from a few days ahead (shhh). Also walked with my colleague at lunch. 

Day 3 - Reflecting on the general advice that if you want to improve at something, do it more, I’m going to try and run twice a week, Tuesdays with Kate and Fridays intervals. I’m (as ever) not hugely fussed about speed/distance stuff, but I would like it to feel less like I’m dying while I’m doing it. 

I had a pre-programmed intervals plan on my watch (from lockdown days! But if it ain’t broke…). However I couldn’t feel my watch buzzing for the changes so I had to keep looking at the times, which as we know is soul-destroying. I  think I’ll slightly increase the warm up to eight minutes to get over the slight incline on the way out of the village, and add in another repeat. Plus maximise the buzzing. 

Day 4 - no equipment leg day. I have a bugbear about no equipment workouts, in that if you are larger then it’s just too much weight/significantly more than dumbbells. I’ve already forgotten but I think this one was ok….! I took it slow because I’d given blood the day previously. 

Day 5 - swim! Air temp 0 degrees, water temp 4.1. Seventh sub-10 swim and second sub-5 - makes such a huge difference with the air temp not being -8 though. No after drop, I swam to the first buoy and back (so slightly more than last time), absolutely buzzing afterwards. Also went for a short walk with the kids after lunch. So lovely to see a bit of sunshine and the beginnings of spring buds. 

Day 6 - Bosu metcon workout. Somehow I didn’t press start on my watch <eye roll>. Also did a therapeutic walk with a client at lunch. 

Day 7 - indoor cardio workout. It would normally be a run day but it’s -2 out and I don’t want to go arse over tit. 

Day 8 - Bosu balance by the same woman but with extra abs. Less fun than the other one. 

Day 9 - No repeat leg day. Except it’s same muscle groups, so you just don’t notice it as much. Good workout. 

Day 10 - chest and triceps workout. Also went for an intervals run - super tough as my hands were freezing and I got stitch. 

Day 11 - Back and biceps. Think both of these upper body ones were good. 

Day 12 - Hips yoga. Still trying to find the perfect hip stretchin/opening yoga online workout. 

Day 13 - Metcon workout. Indoor cardio is bearable when there’s a dumbbell involved. Also went to the spa afterwards and had a wee swim in their tiny pool, but a) I was full of three-course lunch and b) it was only 12.5m long so I was turning turning turning all the time. Plus I didn’t think to bring my goggles. 

Day 14 - Valentine’s Day! Multitasked by running to the GP surgery for a blood test (figured my veins would be nice and raised). Obviously this meant huffing like a terribly unfit person in the reception. 

Day 15 - upper body. Plus a jaunt round the village in the afternoon

Day 16 - walked to the GP this time (blood pressure and weight check)

Day 17 - Leg day. Four circuits of the same moves - not my fave. 

It’s now May. I definitely did the whole month, and some into March, and it was… fine? There definitely came a point - as ever - where I just woke up one morning and thought ‘I don’t want to exercise today and that’s absolutely fine’. Which it is. So I’m not quite sure what conclusions to draw here… do what you want?

RED days 28, 29, 30, 31

 I have completely forgotten to update this in over ten days! Inconceivable. 

Day 28 - hip opening yoga. I still haven’t managed to find a routine that’s quite up to Adriene’s deep hips one that’s behind the paywall, but this wasn’t a bad runner up. Really need to do hip stuff more frequently!

Day 29 - weird day where the kids had a vaccine trial appointment that should have taken 60-90 minutes and we ended up being there for over six hours. Time stopped to have any meaning. At the point where eldest had to sit and wait 30 minutes in case of any reactions, other child and I went for a walk because we were so desperate to just get out of there. Lovely sunset though. 

Day 30 - total body strength dumbbell workout. 

Day 31 - finished as we started with a run with Kate, same route. Slightly faster but I’m not going to read anything significant into that. 

Reflections… I’m still not sure if continuing on the days where I didn’t feel like it was positive or negative. Definitely positive in terms of ‘testing your own strength and overcoming adversity’ type stuff but it didn’t necessarily feel like I was getting fitter. Will I do it again? Well as it turns out PJ has an ‘Unstoppable’ challenge for February that is basically… exercise every day, because apparently Feb is the month when people tend to give up. I’m definitely not going to be every day about it - if I want to, I will, if I don’t, I won’t. 

RED days 23, 24, 25, 26, 27

 Life has got in the way of updating this week! But that’s part of the challenge. 

Day 23: total body strength workout and a therapy walk with a client. Struggled today as I’ve been having stomach/digestion issues lately and they peaked on this day, culminating in spending some time in the school nurse’s room thinking I was going to be sick. Fun times

Day 24: purposefully chose not to run as a result and met a colleague for a walk. Frizzin. 

Day 25: Upper body workout. Think it might have had some extra ab stuff that I skipped, because obviously who needs that?

Day 26: Leg day. See above for ab stuff. Although PJ kept saying ‘this leg exercise is also really good for your core’ so evidently it’s not needed. Right?

Day 27: I ran! For the first time since day 1. Can’t believe some people are actually doing Run Every Day - i think something would fall off/internally collapse. 

Nearly there. Four days to go! Then PJ starts a Feb RED type of challenge of her own… we’ll see. 

RED days 20, 21, 22

 Three days comes around quickly (it seems)

Day 20: leg day. NGL, I half-arsed this one. Skipped some of the ab exercises to JFDI. But I did also walk from the windscreen replacement place to the supermarket and back (with shopping on the way back - 10 mins there, 13 back!). So that’ll do me. 

Day 21: Bosu balance workout again. Definite improvements in balance, either because I knew what was coming or because I’ve actually improved? You decide (I have no idea)

Day 22: Five minute lake swim but before you go ‘Pfft, that’s no time at all!’ - it was MINUS EIGHT DEGREES outside and a mere 3 degrees in the water. Which is cold cold cold. I was probably in the water for another four minutes or so before I started swimming in order to try and acclimatise - not long enough evidently, as my collar bone area got super cold a minute or so after I set off. Then a bit further on I could feel my toes starting to tingle, so I decided it was time to turn around. They say ‘always get out when you feel like you could have done more’ - maybe I could have done to the first buoy and back, but maybe it wouldn’t have been sensible. There’s always next week. Getting changed after was…interesting. Much swearing. 

RED days 17, 18, 19

 Definitely starting to flag, but then that’s part of what makes it a challenge. 

Day 17: Booty Band cardio. Tuesdays I usually run with a friend (who very kindly significantly slows her pace to mine) but it’s frozen here, so indoors seemed safer. Only 15 minutes but it felt longer, so perhaps a good thing we didn’t run. 

Day 18: Yoga. An earlier start to the day, plus recognising that I needed something more gentle. 

Day 19: Upper body. I’m following PJ’s Patreon calendar (not to the day, but the upper body workout for that week I’ll do on my usual day) to see if that makes a difference. Interestingly her calendar for Feb is basically a RED style challenge so yeah, we’ll see what happens there. 

 RED days 14, 15, 16

Day 14: closest I’ve come to ‘fuck this shit’ - no specific workout/exercise, but I did some housework that did indeed get my heart rate up significantly - climbing onto a stool and the boxed in chest level sections of the bathroom to clean the mould off the ceiling. 

Was it exercise as we know it? Arguably not

Was it moving with intention more than I otherwise would have? Yes

Do I care if it doesn’t count? Nope

Day 15: lake swim. Very different to the last swim (which is one of the things I love about the lake: it’s different every time) as the biting wind made it choppy, to the extent that I got smacked in the face with waves a few times. And it was cooooold getting changed afterwards, to the extent that my toes HURT. Fifth sub-10 degrees swim though, second swim in January (albeit a very mild January so far - I’m not anticipating going this Sunday when the temperature will be 3 degrees, but never say never), and bearing in mind before the heatwave of this summer I never thought I would entertain the idea of going into open water, I’m pretty pleased with that. 

Day 16: total body workout. Another one where halfway through I thought ‘I could happily ditch this altogether’. Kept going though as it was pretty short.  

Also walked 5k later in the day - mixture of an outdoor therapy walk and walking into town. Rewarded myself with a hot chocolate, obviously. 

RED days 11, 12, 13

 I’ve worked three days straight this week (I know! That much!) which has been an adjustment after almost three weeks off work. Added to that, I noticed my anxiety levels rising earlier in the week as I knew my parents were attending an important follow-up medical appointment and I was anticipating a pretty bleak outcome. (Actually it was a lot better than expected, phew.)

Combination of these factors meant I had to push a bit more to get some exercise in. 

Day 11: Upper body workout, FWPJ

Day 12: (biggest ‘nope’ day) - a BOSU ball (or knock-off BOSU if you’re me) balance workout. I chose this thinking that because it was short it would be straightforward and gentle. Hahahahha nope, I was sweating by halfway. 

Day 13: lower body. Usually when I start a workout I lose the ‘meh’ feeling once I get going, but today I was very much in ‘how much longer’ mode. But, it’s done, another three days in the bag and fuck you very much, January. 

RED 8, 9, 10

 Back to work and so it begins… too many tabs in my brain open. 

Day 8 - FWPJ cardio boxing workout. It looked absolutely exhausting in her preview video, but was actually very doable. One to bookmark for a (literally) rainy day.

Day 9 - total body strength workout based on push-pull-hinge-squat. Slightly longer one and my legs are still a bit sore from the leg workout a few days ago - I was stiff again by the evening. 

Day 10 - in my head I was going to go for a run at 7.45, but it was DARK and windy and raining and LEGS and just hella nope. Yoga instead - I started doing a bit of Adriene but ended up finding what feels good and just doing my own thing. And that’s fine…

In other news, I’m trying to plan a party. For me! Lots of tabs open on that one…

RED days 5-7. And stopping doing things

 Slipping already! Which ties in with what I meant to add to the last post - I recently read something about it being ok if you don’t stick with things. Bear with…

… meh can’t find it. Basically, it was along the lines of that it’s perfectly fine to have a hobby, or an activity or whatever and… stop. To not do it forever. Whether you do it for a few days, months or years, it’s absolutely not failure to stop completely, or pause. Circumstances change, life happens, sometimes we’re tired or whatever. It doesn’t mean you wasted your time or shouldn’t have tried, or that you’re a flake who can’t stick to it. Yet somehow we’ve gained the notion that if we don’t do something consistently we’re not doing it properly. And then we feel like since we have failed, we might as well stop altogether, when maybe just doing it sometimes is perfectly good enough. 

Anyway. Day 5: upper body workout

Day 6: Leg day. Body weight only - which was plenty, my lower body is stiff today. Which leads to…

Day 7: yoga for tired legs. 

First week in the bag! Next week is back to work though, so we’ll see what a difference that makes. Also the weather is shit. 

RED January 3 and 4

 Yes, yes, a post every two days is going to be terribly boring, even to myself in posterity, but any longer and I won’t keep it up. It’ll be interesting (I use the term loosely) to see how I fare when I’m back at work. There’s definitely something calming/cathartic about the flow of thoughts-words-fingers-screen - something about the process is almost like magic - you think it and it comes out. As an aside, I’m so glad I taught myself to touch type 30-odd years ago. 

Day 3 - total body workout. I love Fitness With PJ’s workouts - she guides you enough (but not too much), she balances muscle groups and you feel like a superhero doing a chest press or a concentration bicep curl (or possibly a bit like you’re in the prison yard - just me?) with 7 or 8kg dumbbells. When I started, I wasn’t sure it was something I would keep on with - like all of us, I’ve tried various hobbies and types of exercise over the years, and not all of them stick - I’ll come back to this thought, bear with. But I’ve kept it up, and every few months I buy heavier dumbbells (woop! Not sure I’ll progress beyond 8kg any time soon though - not least because it’s just really heavy to hold in my hands). I’m a Patreon member and she sends you a monthly workout calendar. I adapt it as necessary, because I occasionally run and I love love love open water swimming at the moment, but it helps as a guide. 

Day 4 - 45 minute total body yoga stretch. Back to the ubiquitous and reliable Yoga With Adriene. I’ve definitely noticed a reduction in my hip flexibility since I don’t do so much yoga, so I need and want to get back to it. But, hours in the day….

RED January: intro

 So this time last year I exercised every day for 117 days straight (End of Dec - mid April). Some days I might have even done two things (usually the second one would be a walk or something fairly light). 

I don’t have an exercise addiction, and I’m overweight, so arguably it was a healthy thing to do, but it was definitely a coping mechanism. I struggle most years with January and February (even with a SAD lamp and taking extra vitamin D) so this was something that I could control. Most days it wasn’t a struggle, and on the days when it was I would just do 15 minutes of yoga, and just making my body move with intention and purpose usually lifted my spirits. 

Then one day I just stopped. I can’t remember why - I think I was just tired. And that’s fine. 

Lots of charities have done a ‘Run Every Day’ fundraiser in previous years - that was never going to be me. I figure I’m doing quite well if I manage one run a week, and even that is rare these days. However one of the groups I’m in is doing ‘Record Every Day’ for January and as I’m a sucker for a pretty medal I’ve signed up. 

Not every day. Just January. Limits. 

Anyway, as I can’t really remember how it felt last time, I thought I’d record it for my own posterity purposes. 

Jan 1: 3.45k run. I was going to do Parkrun, but I slept badly (I wasn’t at home) and the thought of both running 5k and going somewhere new to do it just didn’t appeal. I prefer to exercise first thing (well after a cup of tea and a ponder) so it’s not often that I manage to exert myself later in the day. But I cajoled a friend into running with me, and chatting en route always helps distract me (that and largely 90s dance music). I got stitch at times, and it was pretty slow, but it counts. Also did a short walk around the block in the afternoon - I was quite glad when it started raining, as my quads were feeing it. Must have helped though, as I wasn’t sore the following day. 

Jan2: 250m? (not sure of the distance actually) lake swim. 6.6 degrees in my ‘blood of the orphans’ Primark wetsuit. They say you should go in slowly to avoid cold water shock, but then on the other hand the longer you are in the water the more you are cooling down….so basically I waited until the ‘WTAF’ feeling of cold in my pelvis dissipated, and then it was ok. It always helps when the sun is shining because it’s such a gorgeous spot. It’s rained so much lately that a) the car park is 90% pot holes and b) it was really slippy underfoot - I felt for the woman who got out after me and just face planted into the mud. Fortunately as it was a soft landing she wasn’t hurt, but she had to go back in to wash the mud off. 

I love it here so much. 

Therapy isn’t without humour... sometimes unintentionally

Before I started my training, it’s fair to say that I was known for being quite... blunt. Not so much in a ‘I speak my mind, me’ way, more of a ‘engaging my mouth before my brain’ type of way. I like to think that now I’ve managed to curb this impulse and/or transform it into something a bit more positive, but now and again it reappears.

Like the time I was with a long-established yet still quite recalcitrant client. I felt that some of their reluctance to open up was from a concern over being perceived wrongly, or judged. I tried to be reassuring.
‘There’s nothing you can say that would make me think any worse of you,’ I said.
Pause.
I twig that it hasn’t quite come out in the way I intended, and could in fact be taken in entirely the opposite way. Fabulous. I start gabbling about how it’s because I actually hold them in really high esteem, not the opposite, but then start laughing at myself and how I’m just digging myself a deeper hole.
Ever the professional.


Actually not my fault (honestly!) but a communication breakdown lead to a very confusing few minutes with a client once where they had meant to join the school council, and had instead made an appointment with us. They were expecting there to be more people there, I’m asking about the family background, we’re both looking at each other weirdly... it took a few minutes for the penny to drop. 

In one of our therapy rooms we have coasters that have blue owls on.
‘Is that the TripAdvisor owl?’
Yes, please leave us a five star review at the end of your therapy. Tell all your friends and family!

Client: I’d like to use the time today to think productively about how prayer can help me.
Me: Ok, let’s talk about that some more. What religion are you?
Client: I’m an atheist.
Me: .....

Trying to keep a professional appearance during some conversations is harder than others, particularly if you’re trying to reduce embarrassment, for example when talking to people about masturbation and sexuality.
Client: Please tell me I’m not the only person you have these sorts of conversations with!
Me: Oh not at all, I talk about sex and relationships and masturbation in sessions on a semi-regular basis.
Thinks: Don’t giggle at the word ‘semi’. DO NOT GIGGLE AT THE WORD SEMI. JUST DON’T...
<giggles>
I’m really sorry, the word ‘semi’ just set me off a bit there.

It broke the ice and enabled a frank discussion in a way that perhaps being serious and grown-up might not have done.