Falling

Falling
“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)

My child leans off the edge of the frame,
the ground three times her height away.
I hold her gaze during the moment’s fall
before I am enmeshed in
the ivy-bind of arms
and the silk web of her hair.
.

My child forgets the rule,
stands up in the boat,
stretches towards me.
He disappears beneath waist-high waves,
down to where my feet chill
on corrugated sand.
Dragging him out, I hold him
as he laughs from the safety of my shoulder,
his glossy hands drawing heat
from my skin.
.

I am falling, gaining speed,
arms wide like sycamore seeds.
With eyes tight shut against the upward rush,
its brush against my skin is the assured hand of Thomas;
its hoarse blather in my ears, the loosened tongue of Zechariah
blessing his first born.

A Quick Update

In short, the news isn't good. We met with the doctors this morning to receive the results of the blood test and the scan. Unfortunately, the cancer has spread in my lungs and further into the bones of my pelvis. Chemotherapy has already started and will run initially for three months. On the positive side, this regime is taken in tablet form but sadly it is going to be tougher than last time. For this reason I am going to have two weeks on the tablets and one week off. Not the best start to Christmas celebrations, but it can't be helped. For 25% of patients this regime will shrink the tumours. For a further 25% it will just keep the cancer stable. For the other half it will do nothing at all. If I end up in the latter scenario, they will factor in a stronger drug introvenously to run alongside the first regime which should up the chances of there being shrinkage/stability. This other drug has tended to cause shrinkage in 40% of cases and stability in 75%. After that, if I am one of the unlucky 25% for which it does 'hee haw,' then they swap the second drug with a third one. If that doesn't work ...we'll cross that bridge at that point.

Mary and I were both very aware that the doctor mentioned my death for the first time, during his explanation of the treatment, and although we have known for over a year that my demise is a foregone conclusion for the medical staff, it still felt a bit raw. Our faith is still there, however, not in any triumphalist sense, but we have always accepted that I can survive this if God chooses. I think I have said in the past that we would never say it it is certainly going to happen, and I think all Christians are allowed a degree of doubt. However, we do believe that it is one possibility alongside all the other grim ones.

The list of side effects runs from inflamed hands and feet, through to mouth ulcers and vomiting and finally ends with death! He emphasised that this was a list of possibilities and not expected effects. For those of you who believe in prayer, as well as praying for the obvious, I really want to get off lightly as far as the side effects go, because if I don't it is going to lead to all manner of questions from Naomi, who worries that every sneeze and cough is caused by my illness and is therefore a sure sign of deterioration. I really don't want the children to know at this point what the stakes are.

We are just quietly taking all this in for the moment and I am sure we will surface again soon. That said, we are not hiding away and we will be very happy to see/hear from you as usual. I am pretty determined to keep life as normal as possible and who knows, perhaps in three months things will be looking much better. I feel a poem starting from somewhere, so watch this space.

Climb Every Mountain ...

Now, I'm aware of my tendency to 'go too far' with things, but I can explain about the photos. It was Children In Need and the school staff were in need of being cheered up, so we all decided to go in fancy dress along with the pupils. The theme was ... someone famous! So, who more famous than the Mother Superior from the Sound Of Music! Hopefully the second picture puts my outfit in context and allays your fears. I had two very strange conversations whilst clothed in habit and wimple. The first was with a parent. She rang the buzzer at the hatch of the school office and I immediately dropped to my knees and prayed that the secretary was there and able to speak to the parent. When it rang for the fourth time, I knew I had to appear. I boldly walked into the office and up to the hatch and the parent said, "Oh hello. I am just dropping off Tom's lunch box. He left without it. Also, have you got a copy of the sports club letter that went out on Wednesday?" Not a word about my appearance! No acknowledgement that the headteacher was dressed as a nun...
My second conversation took place with one of our dinner ladies. She came in and said, "Have you come dressed as any nun, or did you have a particular nun in mind?" I quickly replied, "Well Mary is dressed as Maria Von Trapp ... " The dinner lady looked relieved and said, "Oh, you're THAT nun. Okay." With that she left. However, at the end of lunchtime, she came back into my office again and asked, "Have you based your outfit on the real historical character, or on the Mother Superior as portrayed in The Sound Of Music?" I explained that I was unsure of the appearance of the real nun and thus couldn't help but be influenced by the strong yet tender, fierce yet gentle, woman that sang "Climb Every Mountain" so beautifully by the open window. With that she just nodded and left. It clearly answered a question that was troubling her. I have no idea what that question was!

Onto safer topics. We are fine at the moment, although I have been struggling with the pain. My painkillers tend to wear off about 4.00am and I start waking up at regular intervals until the alarm goes off. I think the increase in pain is inevitable but it shakes confidence, to be honest. The trump card is the fact that I can have a major dose of localised radiotherapy that is predicted to have a significant impact in the short term. However, I can only ever have one (two at an absolute push) and so I want to delay this if I can. I have a blood test on 7th of December that will inform another consultation on 14th December. This will be a much more informed update than the last one and so inevitably we will be more anxious. I have to say that our faith remains intact, but it is much more difficult to be consistently hopeful when you are just going further and further down the inevitable road and we do find ourselves struggling with a sense of the inevitable. We have also realised through conversation that our daughter Naomi, in particular, has little sense of what might be looming. She thinks that this is an illness like other illnesses she has come across ... it is taking longer than expected, but people eventually get better. However we don't feel it right to load her up with our fears and therefore while day to day life continues fairly normally (give or take a day or two when daddy dresses as a nun) then we will just keep going.

Lastly, highlight of the month ... dear friends Rachel, Anne and brother Simon coming down from Glasgow to cook us a meal in our house last Saturday. The food was of a disturbingly high standard. You should hire them ... honestly.

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When It's Spring Again, We'll Bring Again ...

Mary and I are just back from a child-free weekend in Amsterdam. What joy! My brother Phil, his wife Rosemary and their family came over to look after our cherubs and off we flew on Friday evening. It was our first visit to the city and we weren't disappointed. As the photos show, the people of Amsterdam very much took us to their hearts, even if they were a tad reserved.
(It is amazing what you are prepared to do when far away from home and responsibility. Mary had to be talked out of jumping up to sit in the arms of one of these fine men, and those of you who know her will realise that she was very serious!)

Now ... the lastest trip to the consultant. There have been no further scans, so in a sense they were just seeing how I was. That said, so as not to disappoint they managed a disturbingly thorough examination and said that there didn't seem to be obvious developments. I always find some of the questions alarming, such as "Have you started having difficulty breathing?" and "Are you managing to work?" It is an indicator of their expectations for me. However, I am still living day to day life in a normal fashion thanks to my pain killers and so at the moment it is still a case of 'just getting on'. Even life at school seems to be fairly smooth ... it is quite unnerving. Maybe I should try and introduce something wreckless and radical, such as a theory that there might be meaningful life outside the village, or I suppose I could try and persuade the community that 'National Bullying Week' isn't the opportunity to practise and thus become better at it!

I am starting regular blood tests so that the doctors can monitor my tumour markers. The first set of results and the next consultation is due on 14th December. This will guide them as to when to re-scan or start treatment. I was thinking today that on 7th February 2003 I officially had a 40% chance of being alive on the same date in 2008...

And so a poem, as it has been a while, on the theme of determination and persistence:



Knocking
One of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray.” … He said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and he goes to him at midnight and says, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have nothing to set before him.' I tell you… because of the man's persistence the neighbour will get up and give him as much as he needs.” (Luke chapter 11)

My memory guides me through the darkness
to my neighbour's door.
.
It is tight in its frame,
trapping warm breath from mouths
dry with wine and words,
now slack with slumber.
.
A guest waits in my home,
distance burning in his joints, hunger eating his belly.
.
I beat a pulse into the dead wood,
strain against bolts,
shake rust from hinges,
force words through cracks and gaps.
.
This door will stain my fist black and blue
until the skin swells up and cracks,
as if warm and full of yeast.
.
Bread is what I need ...
even dried out, crumbling,
cut up and thrown for sparrows.

Living Room Poets

Can I start off by saying how surprised and yet delighted I was about the flattering descriptions of my dance ministry left in the 'comments' section of my last posting. I had only recently decided to permanently hang up my liturgical leg warmers, cat suit and headband, but I am now thinking that All Saints, Poppleton might just be ready for the return of my ministry. I think I'll start off slowly, however, by dancing an unannounced and unaccompanied version of Kum By Ya this Sunday enhance by my WWJD poncho ...

I have just returned from a very brief visit to Scotland to take part in a poetry reading with the very fine and talented Mr. Ronnie Kerr. Ronnie is based in Fife and we met and read at the home of our dear mutual friends, Malcolm and Mel. Thirty five friends, neighbours and colleagues attended and helped make what was, for me, a very enjoyable and memorable occasion. There is something very intimate and relaxed about living room gigs that can't be replicated in libraries, village halls or festival tents. Thank you to everyone who came. All funds raised by tickets sales are being donated to Cancer Research UK. I am eager to repeat the experience, so if you have a living room that you feel would benfit from a gathering of friends and 'live poetry' from myself and at least one other poet, email me. Have note book ... will travel.

I am on a count down to the next visit to the consultant. It happens on Friday 2nd November. I think the focus of this visit is to decide whether or not to re-start treatment. I haven't had scans since the last one, but they intend to monitor my pain levels. The point at which my cocktail of brufen, codeine and paracetamol falls short is the point at which they will probably book me in for the big radiotherapy blast. This can happen only once, and so I want to postpone it as long as I can. I will, of course, let you know the decision.

My computer has been refusing to go on line which is why this post is late. I hope this new connectivity lasts ...

Thanks for visiting the blog and taking interest. It means a great deal to us.

Och Aye...

I just want to share this photo of Joel dancing at a Scottish Fiddlers Concert. Martha is part of the Poppleton Fiddlers Group and they unite with a similar group from Ayr for a concert in Poppleton every year. We attended last Saturday. Predictably it was full of people in kilts with very tenuous links to Scotland. You know the sort..."Me? Scottish? Well my Godmother's cousin has a neighbour who holidays in Fife..." Anyway, Joel (who had just shouted "It's a gorilla!" as the conductor took to the stage) insisted on an impressive display of free movement to express his genuine 50% Scottish geneology, (sadly equalled by his 50% Essex heritage from Mary's side.) He is now the only Halliday male willing to dance in public...thankfully.

Sunday Evening

First of all, thank you for the various caption suggestions that arrived by email, relating to the 'poetry reading' photo in the last post. Sadly, many of them can't be shared in this arena so the rest of you will have to guess what they were. Thanks also to those of you who commented that the three of us were looking haggard. It was a festival!! You are meant to look haggard and a bit rock 'n' roll... Anyway, I was trying to associate and blend with thousands of unshaven, worse-for-wear, desperately in need of 'Lifebuoy' campers, and in doing so conceal the fact that I was actually staying in a hotel.

This is just a quick post to say that Mary and I are gathering with just a few friends for a short service at York Minster on Sunday evening (23rd September). We do this from time to time, in the context of the Eucharist, to pray specifically for my healing . It is an important occasion for us, acting as a reminder that this is where our hope lies. The future is obviously very unknown and, if you believe the prognosis, very bleak. Our faith, however, provides important possibilities in what quite often seems like an inevitable situation. We genuinely believe that healing is possible; we would never say inevitable, or even likely, but we genuinely believe it is possible. If you are of a similar mind, please feel free to pray alongside us at sometime on Sunday evening wherever you happen to be. We would be very grateful for that. In the meantime, the pain relief is working pretty well, I am therefore slightly less grumpy and am resuming my weekly spin classes tonight!


I leave you with a poem about prayer...


Carried
They made an opening in the roof above Jesus and,
after digging through it, lowered the mat the
paralysed man was lying on. (Mark ch 2 verse 4)

Your fingernails break the surface
of the parched clay roof,
gouge down and through
until the words from the packed room beneath
well up,
spill towards me.
I wait as the hole begins to gape;
my route to the floor a fan of white light.

I have callused your feet
and blistered your fingers,
pressed to this canvas sheet.
But you feed the ropes through your hands,
leaning to counter my weight,
shrinking over the short distance
as I sink lower.
I feel the tremor of tight arms
transmit down lines
that will still be held
long after I have come to rest at
the speaker’s feet.

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