Going on from where the previous posting ended. I was referred to an Oncologist and was told the story. I was going to have to have 6 months of chemo one every 2 weeks, and 12 sessions in all. At this point I still had a kind of bring it on attitude that possibly helped me deal with it better initially.
The first session of Chemo was scheduled for 2 weeks from then so I would have a chance to get my affairs at work in order. The told me that I would not be able to work for about 2 days after the session. I usually had it on the Friday and could be back on the Monday so I'd only miss 1 day of work every 2 weeks.
The first session was nothing, really. I barley felt it. Well almost, I'm not exactly sure what the stuff is that the put under the brown paper bag when they give it to you but I quickly learned to insist of having warm water bags all over my arm when that went into the drip.
I went home feeling fine, I thought "Well it its like this I can go back to work afterwards from now on." And it stayed alright for quite a few sessions. The first 4 was a breeze and I had a marked decrease in my disease bulk it went down from 55mm by 84mm to around 35mm by 54mm for the biggest node, the next 4 I started to feel the effects somewhat and the Monday after my eight session I finally threw up for the first time. Unfortunately it went a little worse from then on. I started throwing up with each treatment, I was constantly tiered and week and my blood counts got so low that I actually had to skip a week once to recover a bit more before my next session.
My girlfriend who is living with me had some particularly bad Friday night when she said I looked like death warmed up. She felt helpless, but she later told me that she realized that she could bring me water and some green tea and just leave me to recover. I got very puffy in my face, esp the day of the chemo and it gradually settled for the first few sessions after.
After what seemed an eternity it was finally time for the last session. The last session was actually okay since we had gone down to Capetown for a holiday that week and I didn't work. Which helped enormously, if I can recommend one thing its that you should try not to work during chemo. You recover much quicker after each session!!
The last chemo was the 8th of December 2006 and I was told to come back for scans the first week of January. The scans revealed that the disease mass was not all gone but the doctor said that it might just be dead tissue. I needed to go for a further PET scan. After finally get this authorized via the medical aid it showed some remaining disease.
The doctor over the phone told me that the remaining stuff seemed to be dead but there might still be some disease left and we needed to do a little more treatment before we could be safe. Another hint! Cancer isn't gone before its gone. Me and my girlfriend had a party because we thought it was over. I'd go for one or 2 more treatments and then it'll all be done with. But it wasn't.
When we eventually went in to the doctor and he explained what needed to be done next we reacted differently. I was struck with a good deal of fear and I thought Heath was going to kill the doctor right where he sat.
Basically it involved 2 more high dose chemo sessions. Each would last a week with me in hospital and then 3 weeks at home to recover. Which was all fine, but we didn't initially get the whole story. Firstly we didn't find out whether the treatment was going to be a full week or just the same Fridays as usual (which we assumed) and secondly we were not aware that the chemo would degrade my immune system to such an extend that I would have to wear a mask and eat very selectively for the week after the chemo until my immune system recovered sufficiently. So another hint: Don't assume anything. Ask for details about how the treatment is administered and what you expect afterwards.
The two high dose chemo's would be followed up with either 2 more high dose chemo's if all was not gone or if it was gone, give it a final death blow with a stem cell transplant. A stem cell transplant involves a high dose of chemo therapy, you loose all your bone marrow and all of your immune system. They harvest some of your stem cells before you start and then give it back to you after. You then need to recover anything from 2 weeks to a month some of it in hospital.
I had my first session and it was surprise after surprise with the fact that I'd need to be hospitalized and then again then again when I had to wear the masks. The hospitalization was a particular problem because I hadn't quite gotten my disability organised. One phone call from Heather to the doctor got that sorted out tho and off I went.
The chemo itself wasn't that bad. Its equivalent of having 2 of the previous sessions in one week. The difference is it is given to you over 5 days instead of 3 or 4 hours. So you don't really have very bad reactions to it. You get your usual tiredness and lack of appetite but nothing to write home about.
The second chemo is going fine so far, I'm now on day 3 of the second session of 5 days. And then I'll have my scans done in about 2 weeks. So holding thumbs! I'm sure it'll be fine.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
My Hodgkins desease Story Part 1 - Diagnosis
I think of myself as very fortunate to still be around. So many things could have happened in my story that could have been just a little different and I would have gone undiagnosed.
It all started with a cough that didn't want to go away. I was still staying London when it began and I didn't pay much notice to it. In fact, we went to a club in London and I was not the only one that walked out of there with a cough. There must have been a bad bug doing the rounds.
I was due to go to France the weekend so the cough was particularly annoying since it would mean that my holiday was going to start off sick and I spent allot of time in the hostels where I was staying and on my overnight train journey to Nice from France where I had to stifle my cough.
The cough was basically cleared up by the time I came back from France but a little niggle remained at the back of my thought and I got into a habit of clearing my thought allot with an occasional cough.
After about a month of this not going away I went to the doctor for the first time. I thought this would also be a good time to just highlight a little bump in the back of my neck. I had been told previously that it was a swollen lymph node and that it will sort itself out.
The doctor checked my thought, saw nothing. Very uninterestedly glanced at my neck and told me I was fine and that the irritation would pass and that it was past of a previous viral infection. Content with this I went on my merry way.
The cough didn't go away tho, it got better then worse and better again so after giving it another 2 months I went back to the NHS doctor and it was the same story. He obviously didn't even check my file to see that I had complained about this previously. The doctor was in fact so giggly (male doctor) that I was thinking he was either high or had a crush on me. Again I left and the cough actually went away for a month or so but returned again. By this time I had done a Backpacking trip through Europe in which my stamina was a little lacking and I was going back to South Africa.
When I arrived back I again went to a doctor just to get some antibiotics to get the cough sorted out but I got the same story from the South African doctor. I started my new job, most importantly got on my new medical aid and got on a disability scheme at work.
Two months later I again went in for the Cough. This time I told the doctor that I was really agitated, no one is doing anything about my cough its not going to go away and she referred me to a specialist (so I guess if you want something done...)
The Specialist was a respiratory surgeon and he had me go first for X-rays. I was fairly certain it would be nothing. I didn't smoke, didn't drink more than most outgoing people my age and I was never sick aside from the occasional sniffy nose, I think I had a bad cough a school once to and I stayed home for a week.
The X-Ray revealed the very good news that I didn't have TB. It was also showing "something funny", as the termed it, but I said I probably had it all my life. Just to be safe a sonar was done and then things started getting interesting. The scans showed little from my chest but when the doctor scanned below he had trouble identifying my organs. He kept saying, "this shouldn't be there" or "is this the spleen?".
Meanwhile I asked the doctor if he could not perhaps do something about my fatigue. He said it was probably to do with the infection in my lungs which he did give some antibiotics for that did do the trick and clear up the cough. He sent me to check my iron levels and I guess calcium falls under the same test because I got a rather nervous phone call from the doctor asking me to come back and redo the blood tests because there was an anomaly in my calcium.
I went back and it wasn't a mistake, my calcium was though the roof. I was ordered by the doctor to get myself into the hospital asap. I asked if tomorrow morning would be fine but he said he'd prefer it if I'd be there inside the hour. He said that it pointed to either TB or Cancer and that with the levels as high as they where I could have heart failure at any time. I walked into my bosses office told him I have to go to the hospital because I possibly have cancer and left for the hospital.
The next week was a series of tests, everything from bone marrow (which I wont wish on my worse enemy) to some rather embarrassing tests involving my kidneys and they finally got the diagnosis they wanted with a biopsy. I was scheduled for surgery the next day but they didn't need to go that far since the biopsy was conclusive. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma. Which I was told is a good cancer to have if you have to have cancer.
It all started with a cough that didn't want to go away. I was still staying London when it began and I didn't pay much notice to it. In fact, we went to a club in London and I was not the only one that walked out of there with a cough. There must have been a bad bug doing the rounds.
I was due to go to France the weekend so the cough was particularly annoying since it would mean that my holiday was going to start off sick and I spent allot of time in the hostels where I was staying and on my overnight train journey to Nice from France where I had to stifle my cough.
The cough was basically cleared up by the time I came back from France but a little niggle remained at the back of my thought and I got into a habit of clearing my thought allot with an occasional cough.
After about a month of this not going away I went to the doctor for the first time. I thought this would also be a good time to just highlight a little bump in the back of my neck. I had been told previously that it was a swollen lymph node and that it will sort itself out.
The doctor checked my thought, saw nothing. Very uninterestedly glanced at my neck and told me I was fine and that the irritation would pass and that it was past of a previous viral infection. Content with this I went on my merry way.
The cough didn't go away tho, it got better then worse and better again so after giving it another 2 months I went back to the NHS doctor and it was the same story. He obviously didn't even check my file to see that I had complained about this previously. The doctor was in fact so giggly (male doctor) that I was thinking he was either high or had a crush on me. Again I left and the cough actually went away for a month or so but returned again. By this time I had done a Backpacking trip through Europe in which my stamina was a little lacking and I was going back to South Africa.
When I arrived back I again went to a doctor just to get some antibiotics to get the cough sorted out but I got the same story from the South African doctor. I started my new job, most importantly got on my new medical aid and got on a disability scheme at work.
Two months later I again went in for the Cough. This time I told the doctor that I was really agitated, no one is doing anything about my cough its not going to go away and she referred me to a specialist (so I guess if you want something done...)
The Specialist was a respiratory surgeon and he had me go first for X-rays. I was fairly certain it would be nothing. I didn't smoke, didn't drink more than most outgoing people my age and I was never sick aside from the occasional sniffy nose, I think I had a bad cough a school once to and I stayed home for a week.
The X-Ray revealed the very good news that I didn't have TB. It was also showing "something funny", as the termed it, but I said I probably had it all my life. Just to be safe a sonar was done and then things started getting interesting. The scans showed little from my chest but when the doctor scanned below he had trouble identifying my organs. He kept saying, "this shouldn't be there" or "is this the spleen?".
Meanwhile I asked the doctor if he could not perhaps do something about my fatigue. He said it was probably to do with the infection in my lungs which he did give some antibiotics for that did do the trick and clear up the cough. He sent me to check my iron levels and I guess calcium falls under the same test because I got a rather nervous phone call from the doctor asking me to come back and redo the blood tests because there was an anomaly in my calcium.
I went back and it wasn't a mistake, my calcium was though the roof. I was ordered by the doctor to get myself into the hospital asap. I asked if tomorrow morning would be fine but he said he'd prefer it if I'd be there inside the hour. He said that it pointed to either TB or Cancer and that with the levels as high as they where I could have heart failure at any time. I walked into my bosses office told him I have to go to the hospital because I possibly have cancer and left for the hospital.
The next week was a series of tests, everything from bone marrow (which I wont wish on my worse enemy) to some rather embarrassing tests involving my kidneys and they finally got the diagnosis they wanted with a biopsy. I was scheduled for surgery the next day but they didn't need to go that far since the biopsy was conclusive. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma. Which I was told is a good cancer to have if you have to have cancer.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Sitting in Hospital so I thought I'd write Part 3 (Europe)
For the first month I just had to hand over everything at work to someone. The second month I took my savings and went backpacking through Europe.
Europe was an interesting place and somewhere I probably never would have been if it hadn’t been for Heather. I always thought of it as a giant museum and from Childhood days I hated museums. However after having a bit of culture knocked into me by the plays we went to see, a trip I did up to Scotland with a couple of friends from the Hostel and just generally waking up to the world. I could appreciate it.
I started in Berlin in Germany for a day. I actually got there checked into a hostel, did a walking tour and then checked out the next day on my way to Amsterdam to meet a friend there for the weekend.
The Berlin walking tour was quite interesting tho. Germany built a huge Holocaust monument which basically consists out of a large square full of concrete blocks. In a odd twist of fate these blocks where covered with a chemical to prevent graffiti, which was party supplied by the same company who supplied Hitlers gas chambers. They did eventually catch onto this and changed the supplier tho.
We ended the tour in a large square with Universities where Einstein studied and had to retreat into the library as a blizzard hit.
Amsterdam, well its Amsterdam isn’t it? We took a bus trip out to a small village outside of Amsterdam and I was amazed by the story book character of the place. They actually exist, those perfectly painted little houses standing in a row with the streams and the the willow trees hanging over them.Not to be fooled, I walked into the back roads off the main “touristy” road to see if it actually looks the same back there. AND IT DOES!!
Anyway, we was a windmill they showed us how they made wooden shoes and we off course visited the red light district and the sex museum and even visited a “coffee shop”.
From there I made my way to first Brussels, where I have to say the only interesting things about it was the huge main square with the amazing palace/castle building on it and all the little restaurant. Oh and the Atomium. Which is basically a huge sculpture representing I think uranium's molecule. But it huge, around 7 or 8 stories height. From the top you can enjoy a rather nice few of Brussels in the distance though very dirty windows.
You can also go and see Manetjie Piss. A small statue of a being boy surrounded by chocolate shops.
I eventually made my way down to Munich. Now that was a trip, my first train was cancelled, my second one diverted. The next one cancelled and I had to wait for an hour for the next train and at the end of each leg go to the ticket office to get my ticket modified. But I did in the process stumble onto a little place called Cologne (I think that’s the spelling) in Germany.
It had the most amazing Gothic Style Church that I’ve ever seen. It is gigantic and made to look even bigger since the square on which it is build barely seems big enough to contain it. So I got a few pics and carried on with my Journey to Munich which by this stage I hoped actually existed.
When I eventually arrived in Munich there was snow. Snow everywhere packed up onto the side walks in mounds as the people tried to keep the roads clear enough to drive. It was cold as hell and late. So I did as I usually did when I got to a new city. Asked the closest person I could find if there was an Internet cafe around. Eventually got a place to stay and the next morning set off on another walking tour. This one ended up in a beer house and I and the rest of the walking group got very drunk on the incredible beer. I’m not lying when I say I drank 4 litres. Which in that beer house was the same as having 4 drinks. YES THEY COME BY THE LITRE. You have not tasted beer until you’ve drank in beer in Germany! There is actually a bit of history where the king of Germany had beer that use to be imported made, because of the expense and the general attitude at the time was that a meal was not a meal without a beer. Even breakfast…
I found my way back to the hostel, not sure how I did that and you can image why I can't find any pictures I took there. But I woke the next morning with a hangover and decided that since its Germany. I had a beer with breakfast.
I was then on my way thought the alps to Italy. On a train of course, and after being basically been told to go play by a bunch of Swiss people in Zurich I made my way to Bern. Nice little city, had some Italian food there and their views where amazing.
However by this time I was starting to feel tiered and I had seen all I wanted to see after the walking tour and because it was to cold to walk around everywhere I decided to take the earlier train. I had to catch a connecting train at Brig, a small town in the middle of the alps. I though, well if I had to spend the next 8 hours sitting around I may as well do it somewhere I can go walking around and exploring. I didn’t however bargain in the fact that in a small town on a Saturday, everything would be closed by 8pm. Which mean I had to sit from 8pm to 1am the next morning in the freezing cold waiting for a bloody train. I did however after a bit of exploring find a little bar/cinema where they where showing the German version of Pink Panther. I almost watched it but by the time I wanted to buy the ticket, they had sold out. So I just sat at a table in the corner with a beer.
Eventually time came closer and I went and sat in a very crowded little waiting booth on the platform for the last hour.
Needless to say I slept like the dead most of my way to Venice and woke just as the train was crossing the long bridge into the city. I must admit Venice was a surprise to me in allot of ways. I knew it was built on water but I didn’t realize how close it came to going into the sea. The water highways was also interesting, complete with lamppost.
Its really admirable how the Europeans can make bad situations into good ones. I mean there is pigeon problem so you can get pigeon crap on you everyday. But it Europe that’s good luck, people fling buckets of water out of their doors and catch unsuspecting walkers by with a morning shower, but that too is good luck. Same way as in Venice, if the St Marks Square floods every now and again its also good luck.
I did buy a packet of corn in the square and had about 50 pigeons trying to get to it at once however, I am glad to announce, that luckily I wasn’t lucky.
I also had the privilege of getting lost in Venice. Just so you’d know there is no way of walking in a straight line in Venice. I walked around for about 2 hours, even had lunch on the way and when I finally gave up and went to the nearest station, it was the one I started from. My goal was to talk a straight line away from it towards the station on the other side of the wind of the winding river. No suck luck. It was a nice walk tho. But I was really getting to the point where I counted off the amount of cities I still needed to go. By this time I was nearing the end of my second week on tour, and I still wanted to see 4 cities. So I pushed on.
Florence was interesting, from the initial let down at the station where I saw a guy wee against the wall of the station and the dodgee little Internet cafe that wanted my Passport, to the stunning little city with all its beautiful bridges. Michelangelo’s Park has a stunning view over the city with the river winding its way through it and the Big Chapels/Cathedrals sticking out here and there. I had arrived in Florence around 6pm and gone straight to bed in my very dilapidated room. It was the cheapest one in Florence after all. I was up the next morning at 5am walking down towards the bridge with all the jewelry on it. By the time I got there is was still closed, so I walked up Michelangelo’s Park without really knowing where I was going. I was the bronze statue of David up there and the other one outside the art gallery but was only fortunate enough to see the feet of the real one before I was encouraged to leave the museum because it was closed on that day. My pleas to the woman at the door of how this was going to be my last trip to Florence possibly ever fell on deaf ears, she possibly didn't understand a word I was saying. So by lunchtime I was back on the train.
I stopped over in Pisa, and even though I only spent around 3 hours there, it was a very nice little city. My feet by this stage had started to blister so I kind a limped my way down the little streets of Pisa towards the tower.I never really wondered about the physics of how the building was leaning over. I was always more amazed by the fact that the masonry could hold the weight of the tower at that angle. So I was rather surprised to discover that actually the entire foundation of the tower is leaning.
I finally stopped at Rome. And saying my feet where blistered no longer fully explained the situation. Every step was an effort. I had a blister on almost all of my toes, to top it off I was tiered and gatvol.So the first day I decided that the red buss tour was perfect. Seeing as I only had to sit, but I did get off at the Colosseum. Was not as interesting as I hoped, and the size of it is nothing like they had it in gladiator. But it was impressive non the less, if only for its reputation and age.
St Peters Square was stunning, especially at night with its fountains. It was raining at times when I was there and the reflection off the wet stone floor combined with the lights of the fountains made for a beautiful sight.
I was rather unimpressed with Michelangelo’s Chapel. Especially after they had me walking though a maze of small museum and rooms some much more interesting than others. I finally emerged into a room. And after a few moments figured out this room was in fact Michelangelo’s Chapel. I also did not know that the two touching hands where life sized. I always thought it was a big thing. It was nonetheless very well done I have to say. Looks more like sculptures on the roof than only a painting.
Europe was an interesting place and somewhere I probably never would have been if it hadn’t been for Heather. I always thought of it as a giant museum and from Childhood days I hated museums. However after having a bit of culture knocked into me by the plays we went to see, a trip I did up to Scotland with a couple of friends from the Hostel and just generally waking up to the world. I could appreciate it.
I started in Berlin in Germany for a day. I actually got there checked into a hostel, did a walking tour and then checked out the next day on my way to Amsterdam to meet a friend there for the weekend.
The Berlin walking tour was quite interesting tho. Germany built a huge Holocaust monument which basically consists out of a large square full of concrete blocks. In a odd twist of fate these blocks where covered with a chemical to prevent graffiti, which was party supplied by the same company who supplied Hitlers gas chambers. They did eventually catch onto this and changed the supplier tho.
We ended the tour in a large square with Universities where Einstein studied and had to retreat into the library as a blizzard hit.
Amsterdam, well its Amsterdam isn’t it? We took a bus trip out to a small village outside of Amsterdam and I was amazed by the story book character of the place. They actually exist, those perfectly painted little houses standing in a row with the streams and the the willow trees hanging over them.Not to be fooled, I walked into the back roads off the main “touristy” road to see if it actually looks the same back there. AND IT DOES!!
Anyway, we was a windmill they showed us how they made wooden shoes and we off course visited the red light district and the sex museum and even visited a “coffee shop”.
From there I made my way to first Brussels, where I have to say the only interesting things about it was the huge main square with the amazing palace/castle building on it and all the little restaurant. Oh and the Atomium. Which is basically a huge sculpture representing I think uranium's molecule. But it huge, around 7 or 8 stories height. From the top you can enjoy a rather nice few of Brussels in the distance though very dirty windows.
You can also go and see Manetjie Piss. A small statue of a being boy surrounded by chocolate shops.
I eventually made my way down to Munich. Now that was a trip, my first train was cancelled, my second one diverted. The next one cancelled and I had to wait for an hour for the next train and at the end of each leg go to the ticket office to get my ticket modified. But I did in the process stumble onto a little place called Cologne (I think that’s the spelling) in Germany.
When I eventually arrived in Munich there was snow. Snow everywhere packed up onto the side walks in mounds as the people tried to keep the roads clear enough to drive. It was cold as hell and late. So I did as I usually did when I got to a new city. Asked the closest person I could find if there was an Internet cafe around. Eventually got a place to stay and the next morning set off on another walking tour. This one ended up in a beer house and I and the rest of the walking group got very drunk on the incredible beer. I’m not lying when I say I drank 4 litres. Which in that beer house was the same as having 4 drinks. YES THEY COME BY THE LITRE. You have not tasted beer until you’ve drank in beer in Germany! There is actually a bit of history where the king of Germany had beer that use to be imported made, because of the expense and the general attitude at the time was that a meal was not a meal without a beer. Even breakfast…
I found my way back to the hostel, not sure how I did that and you can image why I can't find any pictures I took there. But I woke the next morning with a hangover and decided that since its Germany. I had a beer with breakfast.
I was then on my way thought the alps to Italy. On a train of course, and after being basically been told to go play by a bunch of Swiss people in Zurich I made my way to Bern. Nice little city, had some Italian food there and their views where amazing.
However by this time I was starting to feel tiered and I had seen all I wanted to see after the walking tour and because it was to cold to walk around everywhere I decided to take the earlier train. I had to catch a connecting train at Brig, a small town in the middle of the alps. I though, well if I had to spend the next 8 hours sitting around I may as well do it somewhere I can go walking around and exploring. I didn’t however bargain in the fact that in a small town on a Saturday, everything would be closed by 8pm. Which mean I had to sit from 8pm to 1am the next morning in the freezing cold waiting for a bloody train. I did however after a bit of exploring find a little bar/cinema where they where showing the German version of Pink Panther. I almost watched it but by the time I wanted to buy the ticket, they had sold out. So I just sat at a table in the corner with a beer.
Eventually time came closer and I went and sat in a very crowded little waiting booth on the platform for the last hour.
Needless to say I slept like the dead most of my way to Venice and woke just as the train was crossing the long bridge into the city. I must admit Venice was a surprise to me in allot of ways. I knew it was built on water but I didn’t realize how close it came to going into the sea. The water highways was also interesting, complete with lamppost.
Its really admirable how the Europeans can make bad situations into good ones. I mean there is pigeon problem so you can get pigeon crap on you everyday. But it Europe that’s good luck, people fling buckets of water out of their doors and catch unsuspecting walkers by with a morning shower, but that too is good luck. Same way as in Venice, if the St Marks Square floods every now and again its also good luck.
I did buy a packet of corn in the square and had about 50 pigeons trying to get to it at once however, I am glad to announce, that luckily I wasn’t lucky.
I also had the privilege of getting lost in Venice. Just so you’d know there is no way of walking in a straight line in Venice. I walked around for about 2 hours, even had lunch on the way and when I finally gave up and went to the nearest station, it was the one I started from. My goal was to talk a straight line away from it towards the station on the other side of the wind of the winding river. No suck luck. It was a nice walk tho. But I was really getting to the point where I counted off the amount of cities I still needed to go. By this time I was nearing the end of my second week on tour, and I still wanted to see 4 cities. So I pushed on.
Florence was interesting, from the initial let down at the station where I saw a guy wee against the wall of the station and the dodgee little Internet cafe that wanted my Passport, to the stunning little city with all its beautiful bridges. Michelangelo’s Park has a stunning view over the city with the river winding its way through it and the Big Chapels/Cathedrals sticking out here and there. I had arrived in Florence around 6pm and gone straight to bed in my very dilapidated room. It was the cheapest one in Florence after all. I was up the next morning at 5am walking down towards the bridge with all the jewelry on it. By the time I got there is was still closed, so I walked up Michelangelo’s Park without really knowing where I was going. I was the bronze statue of David up there and the other one outside the art gallery but was only fortunate enough to see the feet of the real one before I was encouraged to leave the museum because it was closed on that day. My pleas to the woman at the door of how this was going to be my last trip to Florence possibly ever fell on deaf ears, she possibly didn't understand a word I was saying. So by lunchtime I was back on the train.
I stopped over in Pisa, and even though I only spent around 3 hours there, it was a very nice little city. My feet by this stage had started to blister so I kind a limped my way down the little streets of Pisa towards the tower.I never really wondered about the physics of how the building was leaning over. I was always more amazed by the fact that the masonry could hold the weight of the tower at that angle. So I was rather surprised to discover that actually the entire foundation of the tower is leaning.
I finally stopped at Rome. And saying my feet where blistered no longer fully explained the situation. Every step was an effort. I had a blister on almost all of my toes, to top it off I was tiered and gatvol.So the first day I decided that the red buss tour was perfect. Seeing as I only had to sit, but I did get off at the Colosseum. Was not as interesting as I hoped, and the size of it is nothing like they had it in gladiator. But it was impressive non the less, if only for its reputation and age.
St Peters Square was stunning, especially at night with its fountains. It was raining at times when I was there and the reflection off the wet stone floor combined with the lights of the fountains made for a beautiful sight.
I was rather unimpressed with Michelangelo’s Chapel. Especially after they had me walking though a maze of small museum and rooms some much more interesting than others. I finally emerged into a room. And after a few moments figured out this room was in fact Michelangelo’s Chapel. I also did not know that the two touching hands where life sized. I always thought it was a big thing. It was nonetheless very well done I have to say. Looks more like sculptures on the roof than only a painting.
Sitting in Hospital So I thought I'd Write Part 2 (London)
For three months I carried on. Went out with friends and carried on working. I was still in constant contact with Heather over seas via SMS. I was considering going over but had trouble deciding to actually go for it. After all, I had a job and a life that I had to leave behind.
I got to work one morning and after a meeting I could only describe as being ridiculous I went home fuming. The next morning on my way to work I took the wrong off ramp, heading towards Head Office instead of to the client. Walked in, typed, printed and signed my resignation and a month later I was on a plane on my way to London.
I got work fairly quickly, I didn’t always like the content they were selling with the systems I was writing but the pay was decent and my new boss agreed to pay me weekly for the first six weeks during a probation period. This was especially a help since I landed in UK with little under 400 pounds on my name. Considering I was planning to stay 2 years and that the average cost per week for cheap accommodation is 70 to 80 pounds. I had to find something quick or get back on the plane.
Heather at the time did not want to get back together straight away. So my first couple of weeks there I spent in the city not really knowing anybody. Going out with the people in the hostel who Heather instroduced me to, clubing every now and then and working. I made some good friends however, 2 of which I had actually met in the british embassy in South Africa while applying for my visa.
After a month or two me and Heather started talking again and one thing led to another. We started out as “friends” but after breaking that off, getting back together like that again, breaking it off again, and again. We eventually got together as a couple around 6 months after I landed in London.
We started slow, moved in together eventually and all went well. We had quite a social life in London, helped on by that fact that Heather, after a couple of bad temp jobs, got a very nice position at Ticket Master and with that. Free tickets to shows in London.
We saw everything from We Will Rock you to Lion King and unfortunately a Tribute to George Dilan. Last would forever be our gauge when we saw a bad play. It was worse the Tribute to George Dilan or it was better than Tribute to George Dilan.
The restaurants in London are quite interesting. You never really got good meat tho. It was mostly bearable to alright, however Browns in Canary wharf graced us with a fantastic 150g steak that knocked us back 20 pounds each.
Heather had a very interesting talent for Picking weird and wonderful house mates. From an ex soup star to an verbally abusive Durbanite and the very next house a manic depressive one. It made life interesting at least.
I stayed with 3 Aussies. Now if anybody ever told you that the only thing wrong with Australia are the Aussies. I wouldn’t fight them to hard. The one guy we nicknamed Hamish the Horrible, because we could always see at least 15cm of his but crack stick out was the worse of the 3. Aside from him was a quite’ish guy who was actually the best of the bunch and then there was the tall typically Aussie guy who made for a good house mate but a not so good dosser. When he left the house share and then came back to sleep on the floor for 3 months, he deemed himself a more authorise housemate than Heather who had been dossing with me at the time.
Most of the Aussies got replaced eventually and 2 Cape Town girls moved in, one who was not very shy about her body at all. The other was always looking for some fun. Hell of a step up from the Aussies.
I always ended up knowing Heathers house mates better than my own tho, I think it was mostly because I didn’t like talking to people just as I got home. I would go into my room and unwind or sit on the couch not really trying to make conversation with anybody. Later at night when I loosened up a little and felt more sociable everybody had already pegged me about being in a bad mood. I don’t think they realized that they would probably have a much worse opinion of me had a talked to them just as I got home.
The house was in Canada Water (97 Redriff Road), in the docklands in London zone 2. the biggest problem I had with the house was that I could see the Gherkin building in central London out my window at home and at work.
After my first year I used my return ticket to South Africa and went home for a visit. When I left I also gave my room up at the Aussies and apparently a drunk durbanite took it over from me. (You getting the impression that we don’t think to highly of Durbanites)
Actually one of my friends in London also turned out to be a Durbanite (I know their everywhere!)
When I got back I moved in with Heather in South-Fields just up from Wimbledon in zone 3. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement but we eventually decided we liked each others company allot more than any house mate we could find, so we moved into a halfway house for a month while we waiting for a room one of my best friends in London offered us.
The last 3 months in London where the best and I think had we gotten to that point earlier, we might still be there now. But as it where Heather surprised me one morning in December with the announcement that she is going home at the end of January, and wanted me to come back with her. The choice was mine to make and made it without a second thought however I did stay behind for three months after she left.
Ariving in Egypt
Time: January in 2006
Seeing as it was going to be our last chance for a trip together before returning to South Africa, me and Heather decided that we'd go for a trip. We looked at a couple of options but decided that we'd do Egypt in the end.
So we went of last minute dot com and found a cheap package deal to go to Egypt.
The flight was alright, albeit that because of the cheapness of it we had to pay for drinks etc. The interesting part however came when it was time to land.
We had been flying over desert and some more desert and just to be different some rocky mountainous desert until the pilot announced that we should fasten our seat belts for landing. Looking out the window I could see DESERT. No city in the distance, no nothing.
Our trip had us staying in Luxor, mostly because it was cheapest but we could kinda kid ourselves by saying it was where most of the archaeological sites where. Bar the pyramids and Sphinx of coarse.
The little town however was mostly funded by tourism and it was dirty and poor, and small.
So getting back to landing, the little town was completely out of site. I would have felt better if I could have seen the Nile, but no such luck, and as the hollowing sensation started in my stomach as the plane started dropping there was still nothing.
We were eventually very low over the desert, and I must admit to having a tiny moment of doubt in our pilots sanity before suddenly the wheels made contact with something and much to my relief the plane settled onto a runway. I could still see nothing other than desert out of the windows.
Desert in Egypt is real desert. There are no scrubs, no nothing. It an endless landscape of rocky nothingness as far as you can see.
The plan eventually turned into a docking bay and we could see the station in the distance along with one or 2 other planes.
The next thing that comes to mind after your initial fear of having to hitch a ride with an Egyptian on a camel to the nearest town is the stupid little thought that suddenly comes to mind. “Are you guys sure we can breathe out there, it kinda looks like we’re on Mars.
As airports go, this one looks quite a bit like the one you’d see on some moon base in a star wars movie. I’m not sure if they intended it but the floor of the runway was a similar color than that of the rest of the desert and the the actual Terminal building was ridiculously modern compared to its setting.
Our trip being in end of January, which was technically winter in the southern hemisphere, we were thinking mild temperatures. We were surprised tho to find that the temperature never really dropped below 25 degrees Celsius, and we even had a 30 while we were there.
We stepped out into the African sun and the heat was a welcome change to the cold London we left begin. I don’t know about the rest of the crowd but I had to take in a deep breath of the fresh air. The sky was a stunning blue and it seemed oddly very clean, as if the sun would not allow a germ to life here.
The terminal building was cool and air conditioned. We went quickly through customs and went outside to catch the buss to our hotel. The realization dawns on you rather unexpectedly that you are no longer it a safe 1st World country. Maybe our South African instincts kicked in, but both of us kept a closer eye on luggage and reluctantly gave our bags to the bus driver who promptly demanded English Pounds for a tip.
After a few minutes of driving a few palm trees start dotting the sides of the streets. Traffic rules does not seem to be of the greatest importance and horse and donkey cars get more and more plentiful the nearer you get to Luxor.
We checked into our hotel, one of the more up market buildings stretching long the promenade and settled into our room, which had clearly been picked for an unmarried couple of 2 separate beds. It did however have a view of the Nile and the great mountain on the dead side of the Nile (called so because that’s where all the tombs are). In the dark however we could only make out some lights in the distance and thought it was a temple.
The next morning we decided to start exploring. As soon as we put out feet outside the hotel the hassling starts. Come ride on my horse cart, hire a bike, come down the the Nile and ride on my fuluca (Donno how you spell that but it a little rickety sailboat).
Eventually one of the hassling horde invited himself to join our walk and promptly walked us straight onto a Jetty where he wanted to take us on his fuluca. We were so bewildered by this stage that we had actually followed him almost straight onto the boat. Heather eventually whispered in my ear “Fake a phone call!!” and I made a little show of my friends calling me and I turned to see 2 people standing on the bank. I promptly adopted them as my friends in my little act and said. “Yes I see you…. Cool we will come and join you now.” And with heartfelt apologies me and Heather started, walking at a more that brisk pace of the jetty with calls of “You liar” following us all the way. I never said I was a very good actor. In fact I don’t even know if Luxor has cell phone signal.
Our brisk walk I think might have turned into a jog as we reached the promenade and we made at back to our Hotel after dodging another couple of the hassle’ing horde.
So we did what every sensible tourist would do. First we sat down in the safety of the hotel and had a drink to calm the nerves, and then we booked group tours for the remained of our stay so that we would never have to go out there alone again. These tours set us back quite a bit more than the flights and accommodation did but we were not about to risk the horde outside again quickly.
We settled in our room to watch the run set over the Nile after our first day. The sunset was amazing.
Seeing as it was going to be our last chance for a trip together before returning to South Africa, me and Heather decided that we'd go for a trip. We looked at a couple of options but decided that we'd do Egypt in the end.
So we went of last minute dot com and found a cheap package deal to go to Egypt.
The flight was alright, albeit that because of the cheapness of it we had to pay for drinks etc. The interesting part however came when it was time to land.
We had been flying over desert and some more desert and just to be different some rocky mountainous desert until the pilot announced that we should fasten our seat belts for landing. Looking out the window I could see DESERT. No city in the distance, no nothing.
Our trip had us staying in Luxor, mostly because it was cheapest but we could kinda kid ourselves by saying it was where most of the archaeological sites where. Bar the pyramids and Sphinx of coarse.
The little town however was mostly funded by tourism and it was dirty and poor, and small.
So getting back to landing, the little town was completely out of site. I would have felt better if I could have seen the Nile, but no such luck, and as the hollowing sensation started in my stomach as the plane started dropping there was still nothing.
We were eventually very low over the desert, and I must admit to having a tiny moment of doubt in our pilots sanity before suddenly the wheels made contact with something and much to my relief the plane settled onto a runway. I could still see nothing other than desert out of the windows.
Desert in Egypt is real desert. There are no scrubs, no nothing. It an endless landscape of rocky nothingness as far as you can see.
The plan eventually turned into a docking bay and we could see the station in the distance along with one or 2 other planes.
The next thing that comes to mind after your initial fear of having to hitch a ride with an Egyptian on a camel to the nearest town is the stupid little thought that suddenly comes to mind. “Are you guys sure we can breathe out there, it kinda looks like we’re on Mars.
As airports go, this one looks quite a bit like the one you’d see on some moon base in a star wars movie. I’m not sure if they intended it but the floor of the runway was a similar color than that of the rest of the desert and the the actual Terminal building was ridiculously modern compared to its setting.
Our trip being in end of January, which was technically winter in the southern hemisphere, we were thinking mild temperatures. We were surprised tho to find that the temperature never really dropped below 25 degrees Celsius, and we even had a 30 while we were there.
We stepped out into the African sun and the heat was a welcome change to the cold London we left begin. I don’t know about the rest of the crowd but I had to take in a deep breath of the fresh air. The sky was a stunning blue and it seemed oddly very clean, as if the sun would not allow a germ to life here.
The terminal building was cool and air conditioned. We went quickly through customs and went outside to catch the buss to our hotel. The realization dawns on you rather unexpectedly that you are no longer it a safe 1st World country. Maybe our South African instincts kicked in, but both of us kept a closer eye on luggage and reluctantly gave our bags to the bus driver who promptly demanded English Pounds for a tip.
After a few minutes of driving a few palm trees start dotting the sides of the streets. Traffic rules does not seem to be of the greatest importance and horse and donkey cars get more and more plentiful the nearer you get to Luxor.
We checked into our hotel, one of the more up market buildings stretching long the promenade and settled into our room, which had clearly been picked for an unmarried couple of 2 separate beds. It did however have a view of the Nile and the great mountain on the dead side of the Nile (called so because that’s where all the tombs are). In the dark however we could only make out some lights in the distance and thought it was a temple.
The next morning we decided to start exploring. As soon as we put out feet outside the hotel the hassling starts. Come ride on my horse cart, hire a bike, come down the the Nile and ride on my fuluca (Donno how you spell that but it a little rickety sailboat).
Eventually one of the hassling horde invited himself to join our walk and promptly walked us straight onto a Jetty where he wanted to take us on his fuluca. We were so bewildered by this stage that we had actually followed him almost straight onto the boat. Heather eventually whispered in my ear “Fake a phone call!!” and I made a little show of my friends calling me and I turned to see 2 people standing on the bank. I promptly adopted them as my friends in my little act and said. “Yes I see you…. Cool we will come and join you now.” And with heartfelt apologies me and Heather started, walking at a more that brisk pace of the jetty with calls of “You liar” following us all the way. I never said I was a very good actor. In fact I don’t even know if Luxor has cell phone signal.
Our brisk walk I think might have turned into a jog as we reached the promenade and we made at back to our Hotel after dodging another couple of the hassle’ing horde.
So we did what every sensible tourist would do. First we sat down in the safety of the hotel and had a drink to calm the nerves, and then we booked group tours for the remained of our stay so that we would never have to go out there alone again. These tours set us back quite a bit more than the flights and accommodation did but we were not about to risk the horde outside again quickly.
We settled in our room to watch the run set over the Nile after our first day. The sunset was amazing.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Sitting in Hospital so I thought I'd write Part 1 (Growing up)
So in short, I had crappy primary school, better high school years then after school did a bit of the rebelling thing, got my BSC IT at Rand Afrikaans University with a little luck… and some patience. Then I worked for a year met an amazing girl, travelled for 18 months (some might say following her to London, little more about that later maybe.) Then got back to good old South Africa (With the girl) and 3 months later, got diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma.
Okay it sounds like an interesting life but the last bit of it really sucked. Even though I now have an amazing girlfriend by my side literally through thick and thin (she actually literally goes thick (relatively speaking) to thin with me as I go through my treatments.) She is an amazing person and if I don’t stop talking about her after this sentence I’ll start babbling. SO!
Okay, some detail...
Okay, I’m starting a little before the beginning cause I don’t really remember much before “the accident”. I put that in parenthesis because it has been such a defining point in my life that it sometimes feels like it should be announced with a large Chinese GONG.
My first Dad, was a quantity surveyor (Junior Partner at Farolong- mind the spelling.). Not sure if I would have still become a programmer had he been alive today. I cant unfortunately tell you much about him cause I don’t really remember. I do remember being happy to see him when he came home and never saw someone run that fast after my little brother who disappeared down the beach because he decided that my parents should have gone down there. I can still remember running at full pace and suddenly feeling like I was standing still as my dad came flying by and scoop up my brother. Aside from small memories like this one I don’t think I remember the man, I wish I could remember his voice. I have trouble to come up with a memory of me sitting on his lap. But I can’t. Instead I just remember him as the man who brought me into this world. Gave me a great start to life and someone I loved.
My dad was working in a small town (He was junior partner at Foralang), Klerksdorp (We lived in Moreen Street 3). People, including us, living there will tell you its not a town it’s a small city. He got offered a job in Johannesburg. Back then it was still the old South Africa. I must admit to being totally and completely oblivious to the existence of apartheid growing up. I never thought of myself as being racist. The concept wasn’t even discussed with me or even mentioned to me. I was good friends with our gardener. I think his name was Johannes.
Okay not going into that discussion now because it’s a story all on its own.
So my dad got the new job and we were busy finalizing arrangements to move to Johannesburg. We even went there to look at the rent house (In Swallow Street in Horizon) we were going to stay in while my dad was going to build another house. However we never made it home that night. Instead I woke up a week later in the hospital. My dad had died, my brother was in a coma and I had a 30cm scar down my tummy and another 20cm one on my arm. Fortunately my youngest brother only cracked his hip bone, my mom only bit open her lip and our cleaning lady broke her nose (she was always with the family).
The time directly after the accident I think was hard for all of us. My mom especially, having to deal with three boys on her own whilst still providing us with the illusion that everything was alright. She still took us to the beach on holiday.
My brother who had stayed in a coma for a good part of 2 months had come out of it with some damage. So we stayed with my Dad's parents while he went through a lot of physio and operations to give him some hope of a normal life. He turned out good in the end, got through school. He got the house and the car and all that.
I was having problems at school. I wasn’t a popular boy before the accident but after it I became the guy who’s dad died and who the whole class went to visit in the hospital, and after a while the reason why I was different got lost on people and I was just labelled different. Unfortunately the fact that I had a huge imagination didn’t really help. As I had trouble making friends I started making up my own worlds in my head. Which would have been okay if I didn’t insist on telling everybody about them.
About 2 years after the accident my mom got married again to my dad and I couldn't have asked for a better father. I did get moved from being the oldest in the family to being the middle which kinda sucked but I wouldn't have it any other way. With my new dad I also got two older sisters.
My parents eventually wanted to give me some help so I was sent on a course. Young winners, yes, it is as corny as it sounds and even though I hated it, (Especially cause it was on while I wanted to watch ninja turtles), in hid sight I guess it helped me. Maybe it was that, that made me make one of the dumbest decisions of my life. I decided to go to a Technical High School. I’m a sucker for a sales pitch, ask my girlfriend she can vouch on that one. When the people from the Technical high school came and made their pitch at our school I was sold.
The promise of a new beginning, where very few people knew me was great. But your reputation follows you and I have to say that having a reputation grow from the seed of a few rumours can be much worse than the actual reputation. I again was back to the “misunderstood” outsider. Until I got some backbone and eventually at the beginning of Grade 11 decided to go back to the high school where all the other kids from my primary school went to, and suddenly I was accepted. Maybe it was the putting up with bullies 24/7 in the other School. Maybe it was just that I finally got it. But I was for lack of a better word, normal.
From then on my life just got better, I met the friends that till today are like my brothers. I had a fantastic University life of partying my hart out.
I was a late starter on the whole girls issue. But I did eventually catch on to that one to and it was in one of my late nights clubbing that I happen to meet my girlfriend, Heather. I walked past her earlier in the night and something about her caught my attention. Saw her later on while she was dancing on the stage and eventually caught up with her sitting on the stage. I got her name and her phone number and my pick up line was literally.”Give me your phone number and I’ll buy you a drink on your birthday.” And she gave me her number. Who says corny pickup lines don’t work?
We had a great 6 weeks before she left for London. I saw her off at the airport and I was pulled not just by her, but by her freedom. Going off to another country, no debt no attachments nothing, she just packed up and went.
At that point in my life I was working for a company doing database analysis work for large companies. I was driving a nice car for a guy my age, and I was out of my parents house. Albeit that I moved in with my brother. The point that I’m trying to make is I was well on my way to settling down. Most of my friends had long term girlfriends, the one that didn’t was still studying and didn’t have the cash enough to keep going clubbing night after night. And so my life was kinda at a turning point.
But I delayed.
Okay it sounds like an interesting life but the last bit of it really sucked. Even though I now have an amazing girlfriend by my side literally through thick and thin (she actually literally goes thick (relatively speaking) to thin with me as I go through my treatments.) She is an amazing person and if I don’t stop talking about her after this sentence I’ll start babbling. SO!
Okay, some detail...
Okay, I’m starting a little before the beginning cause I don’t really remember much before “the accident”. I put that in parenthesis because it has been such a defining point in my life that it sometimes feels like it should be announced with a large Chinese GONG.
My first Dad, was a quantity surveyor (Junior Partner at Farolong- mind the spelling.). Not sure if I would have still become a programmer had he been alive today. I cant unfortunately tell you much about him cause I don’t really remember. I do remember being happy to see him when he came home and never saw someone run that fast after my little brother who disappeared down the beach because he decided that my parents should have gone down there. I can still remember running at full pace and suddenly feeling like I was standing still as my dad came flying by and scoop up my brother. Aside from small memories like this one I don’t think I remember the man, I wish I could remember his voice. I have trouble to come up with a memory of me sitting on his lap. But I can’t. Instead I just remember him as the man who brought me into this world. Gave me a great start to life and someone I loved.
My dad was working in a small town (He was junior partner at Foralang), Klerksdorp (We lived in Moreen Street 3). People, including us, living there will tell you its not a town it’s a small city. He got offered a job in Johannesburg. Back then it was still the old South Africa. I must admit to being totally and completely oblivious to the existence of apartheid growing up. I never thought of myself as being racist. The concept wasn’t even discussed with me or even mentioned to me. I was good friends with our gardener. I think his name was Johannes.
Okay not going into that discussion now because it’s a story all on its own.
So my dad got the new job and we were busy finalizing arrangements to move to Johannesburg. We even went there to look at the rent house (In Swallow Street in Horizon) we were going to stay in while my dad was going to build another house. However we never made it home that night. Instead I woke up a week later in the hospital. My dad had died, my brother was in a coma and I had a 30cm scar down my tummy and another 20cm one on my arm. Fortunately my youngest brother only cracked his hip bone, my mom only bit open her lip and our cleaning lady broke her nose (she was always with the family).
The time directly after the accident I think was hard for all of us. My mom especially, having to deal with three boys on her own whilst still providing us with the illusion that everything was alright. She still took us to the beach on holiday.
My brother who had stayed in a coma for a good part of 2 months had come out of it with some damage. So we stayed with my Dad's parents while he went through a lot of physio and operations to give him some hope of a normal life. He turned out good in the end, got through school. He got the house and the car and all that.
I was having problems at school. I wasn’t a popular boy before the accident but after it I became the guy who’s dad died and who the whole class went to visit in the hospital, and after a while the reason why I was different got lost on people and I was just labelled different. Unfortunately the fact that I had a huge imagination didn’t really help. As I had trouble making friends I started making up my own worlds in my head. Which would have been okay if I didn’t insist on telling everybody about them.
About 2 years after the accident my mom got married again to my dad and I couldn't have asked for a better father. I did get moved from being the oldest in the family to being the middle which kinda sucked but I wouldn't have it any other way. With my new dad I also got two older sisters.
My parents eventually wanted to give me some help so I was sent on a course. Young winners, yes, it is as corny as it sounds and even though I hated it, (Especially cause it was on while I wanted to watch ninja turtles), in hid sight I guess it helped me. Maybe it was that, that made me make one of the dumbest decisions of my life. I decided to go to a Technical High School. I’m a sucker for a sales pitch, ask my girlfriend she can vouch on that one. When the people from the Technical high school came and made their pitch at our school I was sold.
The promise of a new beginning, where very few people knew me was great. But your reputation follows you and I have to say that having a reputation grow from the seed of a few rumours can be much worse than the actual reputation. I again was back to the “misunderstood” outsider. Until I got some backbone and eventually at the beginning of Grade 11 decided to go back to the high school where all the other kids from my primary school went to, and suddenly I was accepted. Maybe it was the putting up with bullies 24/7 in the other School. Maybe it was just that I finally got it. But I was for lack of a better word, normal.
From then on my life just got better, I met the friends that till today are like my brothers. I had a fantastic University life of partying my hart out.
I was a late starter on the whole girls issue. But I did eventually catch on to that one to and it was in one of my late nights clubbing that I happen to meet my girlfriend, Heather. I walked past her earlier in the night and something about her caught my attention. Saw her later on while she was dancing on the stage and eventually caught up with her sitting on the stage. I got her name and her phone number and my pick up line was literally.”Give me your phone number and I’ll buy you a drink on your birthday.” And she gave me her number. Who says corny pickup lines don’t work?
We had a great 6 weeks before she left for London. I saw her off at the airport and I was pulled not just by her, but by her freedom. Going off to another country, no debt no attachments nothing, she just packed up and went.
At that point in my life I was working for a company doing database analysis work for large companies. I was driving a nice car for a guy my age, and I was out of my parents house. Albeit that I moved in with my brother. The point that I’m trying to make is I was well on my way to settling down. Most of my friends had long term girlfriends, the one that didn’t was still studying and didn’t have the cash enough to keep going clubbing night after night. And so my life was kinda at a turning point.
But I delayed.
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