Moments of Pleasure

My mate Greg at work gave me a CD of a playlist he’d come up with.  It was his idea of a perfect Sunday morning listening. Now, one of my ideas of heaven is a full tank of diesel, a long road, and loads of music on shuffle in the car. I constantly update the songs on my iPhone so when I plug it into the car’s stereo and hit random, I have 30 minutes of  sheer pleasure before I get home from work. And I make sure I put music in there that I either don’t know at all, or don’t listen to enough. Just so it’s not a succession of songs I already know to death.

And sing ho for the simple pleasures in life. I’m noticing them more and more. Actually, noticing’s the wrong word. Making myself more open would be a better way of putting it. We’ve all got them, haven’t we? A little something that lightens the day, raises a brief smile and makes everything OK for a moment. For me, it’s the squeak of the strings when a guitar player changes chord….finding the traffic lights that are red EVERY DAY when I get to them are suddenly green….a word of praise from someone you respect….a song you haven’t heard in ages coming on the radio….getting home to find the kids have actually tidied up….the cats crawling onto my lap for a cuddle….I could go on and on.

Back to Greg, my boss at Jack FM. The CD went into the car, and, oh boy, it was wonderful. Starting with a brief snatch  of Mayer Hawthorne’s ‘Strange Arrangement’  (thankyou, Shazam), through ‘Bare Necessities’, Buffalo Springfield’s ‘For What It’s Worth’, ‘Walk in Fire’ by the Doves and’ Re: Stacks’ by Bon Iver. And how the hell did I get to 47 and manage never to have heard ‘Thirteen’ by Big Star?!  (I confidently identified it as something by Starsailor before I got home and googled the lyrics.) Moments of pleasure, to quote the lovely Kate Bush. More from her in a moment. A propos of nothing, and because I think you can tell a lot about someone from the music collection, here’s what’s on my iPhone iPod this month:

Affirmation – Savage Garden

Afterimage – Rush

Aicha – Khaled

All I Want Is You – U2

America – Neil Diamond

America – Razorlight

American Woman – Lenny Kravitz

Apologize – OneRepublic

Are Friends Electric? – Tubeway Army

Arial – Dean Friedman

Atomic – Blondie

Autobahn – Kraftwerk

Baby Don’t Cry – INXS

Baby I Need Your Loving – The Four Tops

Babylon – David Gray

Bad Things – Jace Everett

Be My Baby – The Ronettes

Between The Wars – Billy Bragg

Book of Love – Peter Gabriel

Border Song – Tom McRae

Brand New Day – Ryan Star

Break The Night With Colour – Richard Ashcroft

Brimful of Asha – Cornershop

Bring On The Night – The Police

Brown-Eyed Girl – Van Morrison

Building a Mystery – Sarah McLachlan

Butterfly – Crazy Town

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You – Andy Williams

A Canterbury Tale – Dreadzone

Cars – Gary Numan

Cash Machine – Hard Fi

Celebrity Skin – Hole

Chemistry – Semisonic

City of Blinding Lights – U2

Climbatize – The Prodigy

Connected – Stereo MCs

Corpses In Their Mouths – Ian Brown

Cry Me A River – Justin Timberlake

Desert Rose – Sting

A Design For Life – Manic Street Preachers

Diesel Power – The Prodigy

Distant Sun – Crowded House

Dr Who theme – OST

Don’t Falter – Mint Royale with Lauren Laverne

Don’t Need a Reason – Beth Orton

Don’t Panic – Coldplay

Don’t Stop Believing – Journey

Don’t You – Simple Minds

Drops of Jupiter – Train

Duel – Propaganda

Electric Trains – Squeeze

Erase/Rewind – The Cradignas

Even Better Than The Real Thing – U2

Fantasy – Earth Wind adn Fire

Feeling a Moment – Feeder

Fix You – Coldplay

For You – Judie Tzuke

(Forever) Live and Die – OMD

Forget About You – The Motors

Four Seasons In One Day – Crowded House

Friday I’m In Love – The Cure

The Game Is Won – Lucie Silvas

The Game of Love – Santana

Give A Little Bit – Supertramp

The Golden Age of Rock ‘n’ Roll – Mott The Hoople

Gravity – Embrace

Happiness is Easy – Talk Talk

Here Comes the Flood – Peter Gabriel

Hometown Glory – Adele

How Soon Is Now? – The Smiths

Human – The Human League

Human – The Killers

Human Remains – Tom McCrae

Hymn To Her – The Pretenders

I Spy – Pulp

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For – U2

I Want It That Way – The Backstreet Boys

I Will Follow – U2

(I’m Always Touched By Your) Presence Dear – Blondie

If I Had You – The Korgis

If You Tolerate This – The Manic Street Preachers

In Your Eyes – Peter Gabriel

Intervention – The Arcade Fire

Into the Nightlife – Cyndi Lauper

Invincible – Muse

Is It Any Wonder? – Keane

It Feels So Good – Sonique

It Must Be Love – Madness

It’s My Life – Bon Jovi

It’s My Life – Talk Talk

Julia – Chris Rea

Just Like Fred Astaire – James

Just The Way I’m Feeling – Feeder

Keep On Rocking In The Free World – Neil Young

King Of Pain – The Police

Last Goodbye – Jeff Buckley

The Last Of The Melting Snow – The Leisure Society

Late Night Grande Hotel – Nanci Griffith

Let’s Get Rocked – Def Leppard

Letter From America – The Proclaimers

Life’s What You Make It – Talk Talk

Little Britain – Dreadzone

Lonely Boy – Andrew Gold

Love is Here – Starsailor

Love Over Gold – Dire Straits

Make You Feel My Love – Adele

Making Plans For Nigel – XTC

Map Of The Problematique – Muse

Messages – OMD

Michael Caine – Madness

Miracle of Love – Eurythmics

Miss Sarajevo – U2

Missing – EBTG

Monkey Dead – Sunhouse

Moving – Supergrass

Mr Blue Sky – ELO

My Love – Justin Timberlake

My Sharona – The Knack

Mystify – INXS

Nature’ Law – Embrace

Never Forget – Take That

Never Never – The Assembly

A New Day Has Come – Celine Dion

News 24 Theme (3 minute cut) – BBC News

The Night Is Still Young – Billy Joel

No Tomorrow – Orson

Northern Star – Melanie C

Nothing Else Matters – Lucie Silvas

Nothing Lasts Forever – Echo and the Bunnymen

Oh Yeah – Roxy Music

Oliver’s Army – Elvis Costello & The Attractions

One – U2

One Better Day – Madness

One Day Like This – Elbow

Only Women Bleed – Lita Ford

Open Your Heart – Human League

The Other Side – David Gray

Our House – Madness

P Machinery – Propaganda

Patience – Take That

Perfect Moment – The Christians

Pop Muzik – M

The Power Of Love – Frankie Goes To Hollywood

Private Investigations – Dire Straits

Private Universe – Crowded House

Promised You A Miracle – Simple Minds

Protection – Massive Attack

Puncture Repair – Elbow

Ray Of Light – Madonna

Refugee – Tom Petty

Rhiannon – Fleetwood Mac

Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution -AC/DC

Rock and Roll Pt 2 – Gary Glitter (I know, I know)

Roll Away The Stone – Mott The Hoople

Romeo and Juliet – Dire Straits

Rule The World – Take That

Sail Away – David Gray

Sara – Fleetwood Mac

Senses Working Overtime – XTC

SexyBack – Justin Timberlake

Shake Your Head – Was Not Was

Shape Of My Heart – Sting

The Shape Of Things To Come – The Headboys

She Goes On – Crowded House

She Has No Time – Keane

She Will Have Her Way – Neil finn

She’s Always a Woman – Billy Joel

Shine On – The Kooks

Shoot the Runner – Kasabian

Sinful – Wah

Sing For Absolution – Muse

Skin Deep – The Stranglers

Sky – Sonique

Small Black Flowers That Grow In The Sky – The Manic Street Preachers

Smokers outside the Hospital Doors – The Editors

Smooth – Santana

So In Love – OMD

Solsbury Hill – Peter Gabriel

Some Fantastic Place – Squeeze

Something Changed – Pulp

A Song For Lovers – Richard Ashcroft

Songbird – Fleetwood Mac

Spanish Stroll – Mink de Ville

Speed of Sound – Coldplay

Starlight – Muse

Steam – Peter Gabriel

Step Into My World – Hurricane # 1

Stop And Stare – OneRepublic

The Story Of The Blues – Wah

Strength To Dream – Propaganda

Subdivisions – Rush

Suburban Knights – Hard Fi

Supermassive Black Hole – Muse

Sweet Disposition – The Temper Trap

Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand

Talk You Down – The Script

Talkshow Host – Radiohead

Tattva – Kula Shaker

Teenage Dirtbag – Wheatus

Tell Me It’s Not Over – Starsailor

That’s Not My Name – The Ting Tings

That’s The Way it Is – Celine Dion

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out – Neil Finn version

They don’t Know – Tracey Ullman

This Summer – Squeeze

The Time is Now – Moloko

Time Is Running Out – Muse

Times Like These – Foo Fighters

Too Lost In You – Sugababes

Trash, Trampoline And The Party Girl – U2

Tsunami – The Manic Street Preachers

Tubthumping – Chumbawamba

TV Is King – The Tubes

Two Tribes – Frankie Goes To Hollywood

The Unforgettable Fire – U2

Universal – Blur

Vertigo – U2

Viva la Vida – Coldplay

Walking On Broken Glass – Annie Lennox

We Are The People – Empire Of The Sun

Wearing My Rolex – Wiley

When Love Comes To Town – U2 and B B King

When You Were Young – The Killers

Where The Streets Have No Name – U2

Wild Horses – Susan Boyle

Wild West Hero – ELO

Wire To Wire – Razorlight

Wondrous Stories – Yes

Wrong – EBTG

You Came – Kim Wilde

You Got The Love – The Source featuring Candi Staton

You Make Loving Fun – Fleetwood Mac

You Raise Me Up – Josh Groban

Zooropa – U2

99 Problems – Jay Z (and you haven’t lived till you’ve seen a matronly middle-aged white woman singing loudly along in the car to THOSE lyrics)

Back to the lovely Kate Bush. I’ll confess right now that I couldn’t think of a title for this blog, so went hunting on everyhit.com for one. (I try to use a lyric or song title for all my blogs. Usually, weirdly, the title comes before the blog itself.) The title ‘Moments of Pleasure’ sounded perfect, so I searched for the lyrics. Oh boy.

“Just being alive
It can really hurt
And these moments given
Are a gift from time
Just let us try
To give these moments back
To those we love
To those who will survive”

One trip to YouTube later, and I’d heard the song itself. It’s utterly lovely. Today’s little gift from time. A real moment of pleasure. May you find yours.

Killing in the name of……

Tomorrow, I have to kill my cat. (Interesting to see how that sentence looks when it’s not dressed in its ‘having her put down’ clothes. ) She’s 19, had a heck of a life, and is now deaf, can’t quite jump onto the sofa, and wets herself. I’ve been putting this moment off for a couple of months – ever since she started losing weight drastically. We took her to the vet (where a weary nurse handed her back after taking blood for a test, saying ‘there can’t be much wrong with her, she put up a hell of a fight’) and wormed her. My sister, an RSPCA inspector checked her out. And the verdict was: nothing’s really wrong, she’s just worn out. While she seemed happy and pain-free, I was happy to clean the puddles and the poo. But over the last 48 hours she’s suddenly become even more skeletal (although still ravenously hungry) and….I’m looking for le mot juste…..empty. Aimless. Not herself. And that’s when I knew I’d have to call the vet in the morning. A call to my sister confirmed what I knew deep down.

I wanted the vet to come out to her, but as that would cost around £240 (which I just haven’t got), me and Andrew will carry her into the vet’s tomorrow morning. I say carry – she’s so weak, and she hates the basket, so I’d like her last journey to be as stress-free as possible. And here’s the rub. I know the most loving thing I can do for her is to end her life painlessly, with me and Andrew there to whisper loving things and hold her while she dies. But I have to make the decision to kill her, and it’s killing me. I have a, shall we say, interesting relationship with death at the moment. I cry when I see roadkill. The thought of all that vitality and energy smashed to pieces rankles me. I’m fighting for life, so inviting him in with the other hand seems strange. I know it’s selfish to want to hold on to my cat Cindy when she’s so clearly starting to have very little quality of life left. But something in me balks at having to snuff out that spark of life.

But, it has to be done. Grief is the price you pay for love, as the cliche goes, but it’s true.

Sand and Water

It’s Mother’s Day – a time to remember my own mum, and wonder how I’ll be remembered by my own children. My mother was the centre of our family, of my world, and when she died aged 54 of cancer in 1987 I behaved rather like a chicken with its head cut off. I ran around in ever decreasing circles, until reality caught up with me. She was an amazing woman, and on the 20th anniversary of her death, I got a few people together who knew her over the years to meet and reminisce over a cup of National Trust tea in Devon, where we used to live, and where she’s buried. I was astounded at how many turned up, or at least sent their apologies.

She was common sense, and love, and great cooking, and warm arms to run to, and tough love when you needed it and praise when you deserved it. I always meant to try to be like her, but somehow never quite managed it. I’m not the mother I meant to be – are any of us as a good a parent as we’d like? This is going to sound horribly trite, but one of my favourite songs of all time is ‘Slipping Through My Fingers’ by Abba, of all people. A pop song about the guilt of not doing enough – of wishing time back to make a better fist of it. All with great chords!

Still my children are what they are, and they’re stuck with it, the poor bastards. Douglas is the most like me. He’s inherited my weird sense of humour and love of music (the title of every blog post I do is a song or a lyric), and the reddish hair from my mother’s side of the family, along with the liver. Jo is me on a good day – self-controlled, organised, funny and caring. I could beat myself up about what I have and haven’t done for them, but am just going to have to settle for the fact that neither of them’s in therapy. (Yet.) I’ve been ill with cancer for nearly half their lives, which rather puts a crimp in many plans. But I’ve been allowed the time to see them through the argumentative, selfish teenage years, and hey, which parent would want to have missed that, eh?

F.E.A.R.

There’s one question I tend not to get asked. Well, that and ‘Can I offer you a contract worth half a million quid?” A lot of people tell me that oh, I’m so brave to live with terminal cancer. I’m oh, so not. They don’t see me at 3 in the morning, trying to fight off a panic attack because I’ve stupidly forgotten my lung’s limitations, have trotted off to the loo and now can’t get enough air into my chest. Or in hospital, close to tears, begging for more pain relief. Bravery is a choice. (And don’t even get me started on the PDSA’s awarding of a medal ‘for gallantry’ to a dog. If you want to reward an animal for such work, make it the Dickin Bag of Jumbo Bones for a start – not a bloody medal.)

Bravery is one side of the coin. The other is fear. People tend not to ask about the fear. And I don’t hear a lot about cancer and fear, mainly, I suspect, because people don’t want to go there. Cancer sufferers are always ‘brave’ (have you noticed?). I’ve promised to be honest in my blogs, so here we go. Yes, I get scared. I would hazard a guess that other people with cancer reading this do too. The nasty little cynical side of my brain says bravery is encouraged to make life quieter and easier for those dealing with cancer victims. And the nicer, happier side says it’s a natural, human reaction, to try to deal with the reality of what cancer can do to someone.

I’d expected to be afraid of dying, but I’m finding that the fear is spreading to touch other parts of my life that I hadn’t bargained for. I saw it in my brother’s eyes today as we had a family lunch. I’ve been ill for a couple of days, and was on the sofa, trying to look ladylike while puking into a bucket. (The upstairs toilet is a very, very long way off when you can only move at the speed of your average glacier thanks to severely crocked lungs. Thank god the threatened chemotherapy side effect of rampant diarrhoea hasn’t happened yet. We’ll need a bigger bucket if it does.) He hasn’t seen me like this, and he started to cry. He’s going to lose his sister. My kids are going to lose their mum. My husband’s going to lose his wife – the only woman on earth, he told me, stupid enough to marry him, so what the hell’s he supposed to do next, hmmm?

My own fear is something I’m trying to get to grips with. The idea of becoming more and more oxygen dependent fills me with horror, and I try to push down the surging feeling of panic when I think I can’t breathe enough. Strangely, I don’t think I’m afraid of death itself, but am not looking forward to the process of dying. Woody Allen said it better of course: “I’m not afraid of dying. …I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” There was a brief moment a couple of days ago, when a chest infection meant I was so breathless that I’d be puffed, panicking and reaching for the oxygen just getting out of bed. And I did wonder for a few seconds whether this was the way life was going to be – scared to move in case the breathlessness sparked panic. And in that brief moment, I could perfectly understand why some people choose to end their lives rather than live with pain and fear. I’m not sure I’d have the courage to do that, actually, and anyway my husband says if I top myself, he’ll kill me, so I have to respect that. But I was much taken with Sir Terry Pratchett’s strong advocacy of assisted suicide.The only thing I’d change would be the music. Vaughan Williams instead of Tallis, I think. (Although the teeny tiny ‘sod you’ part of me quite fancies insisting on something spectacularly inappropriate to make everyone laugh. ’99 Problems’ by Jay Z would fit nicely. You must come to my funeral. The music choices are going to be quite striking.) And perhaps a good whiskey instead of brandy.

The fear I’m having less success coping with is everyone else’s. What can I say to my children? I lost my mum at 24 and it haunts me still. I know what losing a parent can do to a family. I have an inkling of what they’re going to go through, and am pretty much powerless to stop it. I am going to be the author of the biggest pain in their young lives to date. That’s not what parents are supposed to do.

What can I say to my husband? He’s the love of my life. I’m his. I blithely talk about funeral arrangements, of which family member should get what to remember me by, and he just has to put up with it. I’m going to waltz out of his life soon(ish) and leave a gaping hole. He’ll have to cope with looking after my children’s grief. He’ll have to get on with life, pay the bills, not bore his friends too much with how he’s feeling, make our double bed alone, cook, clean and wash and miss me. And miss me. And miss me. And all because of me.

What can I say to my elderly father? My extended family? My friends? I’m overwhelmed with their love and feel so utterly unworthy of it as I’m the one that’s causing all this extra work and grief. My nature is to look after those I love. It’s already getting to the point where I can do very little to be of use to anyone. Well. that’s how it feels. It irks me that I can’t return the favours! Although I am plotting….

Perhaps Roosevelt was right: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” ?!

PS I keep meaning to say that if anyone reading this is on Twitter, please feel free to follow me.

We are all miracles…..wrapped up in chemicals

There’s no doubt that the human body’s incredible. And I say this without a trace of irony, as my traitor body continues to press its self-destruct button harder and harder. To quote Gary Go in his perfect pop song ‘Wonderful’, “We are all miracles, wrapped up in chemicals”. (If you haven’t heard the song, join Spotify right now and indulge your ears. It’s free. And please, do what the lyrics say.) And as of this morning, I’m wrapped up in slightly more chemicals than most. (Although possibly not Pete Doherty.) Ladies and gents, it’s chemo time again.

I had a bit of a bombshell last week. My breathing’s been getting worse and worse, until a couple of Category A near misses with a panic attack persuaded me to go back to my consultant. One CT scan later, and it’s clear that my cancer’s progressed.  Not hugely, but enough to stress my lungs and necessitate more chemotherapy. But it’s what she says next that freaks me out. If this chemo works, then I may have a year left. If it doesn’t, then (and here she shrugs) much less. Every step of the way I’ve rather obsessively asked how many treatments are left to me, as though each one’s a lifeline in Who Wants to To Be A Millionaire and must be jealously guarded. ‘Oh lots, don’t worry’ seemed to be the favourite answer. This time, though, it suddenly seems to be rather different. This is the last chemo on offer, unless you count the stuff that the local PCT probably won’t pay for and costs £3,000 a month. I had to be wheeled into the cancer unit because I couldn’t breathe and walk at the same time. I walked out in a cold rage. Possibly I’m now into stage two of the grief cycle (which, take it from me, is cobblers).I spent a couple of days just being furious. Not at the NHS, but at my tumours. At the cancer which may well make sure I don’t see my grandchildren, the 2012 Olympics or Oxford United get to the Premier League. Much like shouting at the computer when it doesn’t do what I want it to, the problem hasn’t gone away but I feel much better.

So, here’s an idea. Cheaper than drugs, and if implemented by faceless bureaucrats and politicians, would pretty much guarantee success. If adrenalin and fury can make me feel better, perhaps it should be available on the NHS. Monty Python’s Argument Clinic, anyone?