Adrenaline, kindness and a nod to politics

November 20th

I heard the announcement on the news today, by AA Gill; that he had ‘the full English of cancers.’
Whilst being wonderfully descriptive, it was also horrifying. I knew exactly what he meant and feel for the chap. My worries seem almost trivial next to that, but nevertheless I feel it necessary to explain them;

I have experienced the feeling of tremors, each time I wake in the night. The Oncologist explained it is likely to be adrenaline. This might also account for the weight loss, besides worry.

As a Police Officer of 29 years service, I am more than familiar with this naturally occurring chemical; usually when I settled down to a hot meal-break and had to rush out to deal with another violent episode.
Only a month or so ago, I had been at work in my new role, leading a team of police public order trainers, to deliver this and other training to the men and women of Devon and Cornwall’s finest.

I decided that I should be capable of everything I asked, and took a full part in proceedings. This included taking up a baseball bat, a helmet and some padding and repelling waves of officers, until subdued by sound tactics and technique or sheer weight of numbers. What’s more- I loved it!
As we congratulated one another afterwards, I felt alive!-drenched with sweat, hands trembling.

Now, Adrenaline courses through my veins for another reason. Unwanted, unneeded. It is my body’s reaction to cancer. When I wake in the night- every night, and before I can soothe myself back to sleep, it is triggered by the new discovery that I have Cancer, and kicks in to fight it off.
The only time I am at rest, is when I’m asleep it seems.

It reminds me of my nonagenarian, great uncle. A former Bank Manager, Infantry Captain and veteran of Corinthian Casuals football team. He lived with my Mum, who looked after him in his last years, when he could no longer care for himself.

“Who are you again?” He would say each time I visited. After patient explanation on my part, he would say; “Ahhh you’re the copper”, with public school assertiveness. He might have called me something more distasteful, given the way he concluded the sentence- “COPPA!”-flecks of spittle and increasing volume, denoting this epiphany of understanding.

And so it is with me upon waking. The realisation each night that it was not a horrible dream but reality, sends adrenaline rushing mistakenly to my defence.

It is akin to waiting outside the door for a job interview, stomach churning, but no one ever calls you in.

One of the more concerning aspects, for me, is that the prostate cancer has spread to my bones as well as lymph. Apparently, wherever it’s spread it is still prostate cancer.
Especially, a whole bunch of it in my hip. I’ve had an X-ray and it’s been referred to to the Orthopaedic team to assess whether it should be pinned, replaced or neither.

The fact that the hormone therapy will make me impotent; that the cancer is causing my weight loss; that the chemotherapy will make me sick, are not my chief concerns. None seem as important as my hip. I need this to rebuild my strength; to run, cycle and gym my way back to full fitness.
‘Keep positive,’ I tell myself, ‘And be thankful for every day.’

The word ‘positive’ has been tainted for me of late. I’ve seen too many politicians and other workplace ‘leaders’ flaunting such mindless optimism, that it has diminished the word. POSITIVITY has replaced honesty and sincerity. “Actions speak louder than words,” I often repeat to my children, when they promise to attend their lectures or tidy their rooms.
I cringe at hearing on social media; “had a fantastic meeting with so-and-so today!” and seeing the picture replete with cheesy smile that accompanies it. Happy, smug and personally unaffected by the subject matter.

You can’t help house and feed the homeless on positivity; they need a blanket and soup! You can’t prevent crime or protect those in need by having a meeting. It requires the sleeves to be rolled up- Not in the the sense of George Osborne visiting the Jaguar factory, but that of the humble doer.
Don’t promise clever rhetoric and the latest management tools- get stuck in!
Our schedules have been very busy recently; Visits from friends, a meal out here: a coffee there. In fact busier than ever.
Work colleagues too, a wave of support and goodwill. Not everyone has this and I have to say; it is lovely to feel the encouragement.
“You’ll fight it- you’re strong.”
I only deleted one message of all the hundreds, due to its misspelled and abject insincerity. So trite, the concern for ‘me and that of my team,’ I wondered at the motive; was it to make me feel better, or the sender?- I don’t want to sound ungrateful but I have always despised insincerity, whether my own or others. I look into the eyes and can spot it from a country mile.

Sometimes, those from whom one might expect help and encouragement, do neither.
But the unexpected joy of kindness from those you would not expect, is a thing to rejoice in. The spirit of a carefully worded, or simple and sincere message. An arm on the shoulder. An appearance at the front door with freshly caught fish, made into a pie to ‘save us worrying.’
Even the delivery of some goodies and ready-meals from friends far away, and with enough troubles of their own. Not too much, not excessive but delivered at just the right time and from the heart.

It does not have to be any ‘thing’ at all. Just the thought that goes into it.

So embarrassed have I been at the weight of kindness bestowed on us, I have been humbled- even reduced to tears.
“It must be the hormone injections,” joked Michelle. “You’ll be wanting to watch romantic films next and buying me flowers.”