For the 1st full week of December I headed over to Dublin for work. I had a few projects and tasks that needed to be done before we got to Christmas, and with careful and considerate planning, it also coincided with 1) the Dublin staff Christmas party and (on the same night) 2) The Happy Mondays playing at Vicar Street. Both were excellent, and the Mondays appear to be getting things together after a few rocky years. Best of all was the support from my colleagues over in Ireland. To a man (and woman) they have been with me these past 9 months, and I can't thank them enough for it.
My flight back from Dublin, and drive from the airport, got me home just in time to watch our game at Fulham. I was expecting a horrific display, but somehow we managed to dig out at 2-1 win away at the team in 3rd place. Surely we can kick on from here, with 2 winnable games coming up at home, and be in a great spot for the Christmas fixture? Thankfully, City didn't let me down. A few days later we had Millwall at home. It was a rotten night: cold, rainy, windy, but to cap it all off, the most spineless and abject home performance of the season, and until we scabbed back a late consolation goal, we offered nothing. OK, we are all allowed at bad day at the office now and then, we can make amends this coming weekend home to Blackburn. Narrator's voice: They did not make amends, if anything it was worse.
The next day I had the appointment with the oncology pharmacist to discuss the logistics of the upcoming clinical trial. I went into the meeting expecting a bit of a stand-off about timings, over how a 3 week treatment cycle, with a checkup at the end, fits with a 4.5 week holiday. Thankfully the pharmacist was totally reasonable, and agreed that I could delay the start of the trial to coincide with the day after my return. Armed with this. I also then made plans for another trip to cover cycle 2. The nitty gritty of the trial is a bit heavy duty: 12 pills a day for 2 weeks, 1 week break, rinse and repeat. The kicker is the list of possible side-effects: chemo, whether in liquid or tablet form, does bad things to the body, worse than a dodgy kebab from that shady looking take-out in the sketchy end of town with the council health department sticker on the door announcing imminent closure. You know the place. Still, the alternative is neither fun nor palatable, so all aboard.
On Friday I started my trek home, albeit in a very roundabout way. First off was a trip to London to see 1) my godson and his family at Hyde Park Winter Wonderland, and then later 2) the brilliant Shed Seven at Brixton Academy. Both were great in their own way, but I am not sure I could have coped for more than an hour at Hyde Park. After the gig I went back to my friend's house for the night. She did an admirable job making cheese on toast, and large G&Ts, especially since she was out of cheese, bread and tonic. We chatted about various things cancer and non-cancer related and then it happened. I had not melted down for some time (maybe I needed to release several months of emotional turmoil, maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the absence of a fine matured cheddar, I don't know), but the tears came nonetheless, and my friend had to serve as a cry cushion for about 10-20 mins or so as I sobbed uncontrollably in her arms. It was not as though I had been consciously trying to rein in my emotions from the outside world, rather I had just been doing a grand job of keeping it altogether. But, every now and again you just need to accept it.
The next day I travelled down to Southsea to stay the night with my brother-in-law and family, deliver a birthday gift to my niece, and to see The Southsea Alternative Choir's Christmas charity concert. I had seen them earlier this year at a festival, and they were excellent. Essentially an eclectic set of covers ranging from indie to 60s classics, by way of modern pop. We went home and the party carried on into the early hours of Sunday morning. Which, normally would have been fine. Knowing I had a 5.15am alarm call and a 6am cab to Heathrow made it a tad dicier. Still, after about 3 hours of sleep I managed to make the cab, and ultimately had the perfect journey: I was vaguely conscious of us driving over the bridge to leave Portsea island, and then the next thing I knew we were stopped outside T3 departures. After checking in, I treated myself to breakfast and a glass of pink champagne in the lounge and headed to board. I was lucky enough to get the Christmas miracle of a gate upgrade to business, and slept most of the way to Miami. The connection was less good, a mechanical fault meant a change of plane, and I got home around midnight, some 2 hours delayed.
I had not seen the dog for almost 5 months. After my last absence, and less-than-overwhelming welcome home, I figured surely she must have it all saved up for me this time. If anything it was more disappointing. A quick sniff, 2 seconds of cursory her head on my lap and then she wandered off. The next night, a friend popped over to say hello. She treated him like a reincarnation of the God Of All Dogs who must be worshipped. We'll have words.
On Tuesday morning I got a call from the clinical trial, advising of a bit of a cock-up on the drug taking front Reggie. Seems that the pharmacist was mistaken in letting me delay the start, so I started popping pills that morning. And now await the adverse reactions. I THINK the nurse understood me when I say I was not back in the UK until 20 January, but we'll soon see when they start hassling me about the end of cycle check and restock of pills.
On Wednesday night, our holidaymakers arrived, my sister and her partner. We can almost start getting ready for Christmas.