The Royal Free Hospital

"Happiness is a choice. Your circumstances can affect it but ultimately you are the one who decides your happiness." ~Unknown

  We rose early Tuesday and walked up the towpath from NB Val through Leighton Buzzard, across a green park, and strolled into the train station where Les bought our off-peak tickets (travel allowed only during non-high impact times--in other words after the poor rats have made the morning and evening race-commute.)
   I noted in my diary that it was exactly a year ago to the day that Les began Radiotherapy without which Mr. H refused to operate to remove the cancerous rectal mass as he said radiotherapy was required prior to surgery to shrink the tumor. Radiotherapy which--and I quote directly from notes taken at the meeting with Dr. J--the Oncologist at Mount Vernon, who said, "the short course Radiotherapy will not shrink anything but it will assure that the cancer does not return to the bowel or metastasize."
   The train traveled quickly past villages and towns we know well from our travels on our boat until it arrived at London's Euston station which was a first for me. 
   This trip to the Royal Free Hospital to meet the liver specialist was also a dry run for me to suss out the station and the bus for future daily expeditions.
  

Passengers wait for platform numbers to post on reader boards.

The key I think is not to allow one's self to become too overwhelmed by the size of the station and the sheer numbers of people pouring on and off trains and out into the London streets. (Later that evening waiting for the train on our return leg, it was barely controlled chaos as hordes of workers heading out of London packed the main floor of the terminal, scanning the fifteen or so reader boards looking for the train which would take them home; which train line was arriving--London Midland or Virgin--which ones ran straight through, which ones stopped at every town, what time each was due to arrive in Euston Station and which platform from which each would leave. Platforms usually are not announced until the last possible second.

   A canceled train meant the next one would be jammed to the rafters, as happened to us. As soon as a platform number was announced travelers shot off like fish traveling in shoals--first one way then another--as they raced to a platform to find a seat before there weren't any. As night falls every mother's brother's sister's cousin's son and daughter is seeking a way out of London.)
   Les showed me where the cash point (ATM)  and the toilets were and we left via a side exit to Eversholt street where we walked about 500 feet and stood waiting for the 168 bus--which was of course--diverted due to road works that began October 6th and will run until the 17th. This rather large diversion means the 168--which is scheduled to arrive every 6-10 minutes--is running on average thirty minutes late.
   This put paid to Les' brilliant idea of arriving early and walking up to Hampstead Heath to eat our homemade picnic lunch in the quiet of nature.  Instead we sat on the wall of the hospital facing Pond Street, people watching in the brilliant sunlight; specifically we enjoyed two groups of primary school children, walking two-by-two, holding hands as their minders led and followed.

The wall where in front of the RFH where we dined Al Fresco.

   The kids were full of joy about going on a field trip and so cute in their matching gray sweat pants and sweatshirts. They jiggle-jogged along the sidewalk like a large segmented caterpillar, only to pile into one another as the lead minder stopped suddenly every now and then to count heads. Their innocent joy was infectious.
   This was the third time now that we've eaten lunch wherever we could find a spot in a busy town for various reasons. I told Les he was going to have to stop spoiling me with all these romantic Al Fresco dining opportunities for fear they might go to my head!

RFH check-in kiosks.

   In the main lobby of the Royal Free Hospital the automatic check in machines are a world away from the ones at Watford General Hospital; like comparing an Ipad with a 1983 Apple Mac computer--remember the boxy gray units? Les' details came up in a trice and his appointment was confirmed with instructions for us to proceed to the first floor waiting room two.
   Professor D.--a liver specialist, instructor (this is a teaching hospital) and surgeon was right on time. We met with him and his nurse assistant. I took detailed notes as I always do for all Les' appointments. Professor D. took Les' general health history, examined Les (strong heart, good clear lungs, no liver enlargement or tenderness) and proceeded to tell us about Les' scan which showed 2 lesions on the right section of his liver. In his opinion they are doubtless rectal cancer cells which typically travel to the liver, since all the blood in our body sweeps through and is cleansed by our liver every 14 minutes and it travels from the bowels to the liver.  Professor D. said removing thirty percent of Les' liver on the right side (which automatically includes the gall bladder which is hooked into the liver there) offers Les "a very good chance of a cure, although there are no guarantees." Ah yes how well we know...
   "What about chemotherapy?" the Professor asked.
   "I'm not interested in chemo," replied Les. 
   "Have you spoken with an Oncologist?"
   "Yes, Dr. J. at Mount Vernon."
   "Okay."
   We mentioned we live on a narrow boat and continuously cruised and the Professor's face cracked into a lovely smile. 
   "Well then," he said in his Scottish accent, "We'll do the surgery aboard your boat. You've got a dining table, yeah? And some rum?" We laughed and nodded in the affirmative. "All right then we'll call it a day trip."  With that Professor D. left us with his nurse assistant to fill us in on some of the details.
   Les goes in next week for a pre-op and fitness appointment. The surgery will be scheduled sometime between then and November 2nd. It will take place at the RFH in London. Les will be on the operating table for 5-6 hours so with pre-surgery and post-op recovery it means I'll be waiting there all day. After recovery he will spend the first 24 hours in Intensive care and then move to a specialist floor. Recovery in hospital takes 7-10 days if all goes well (no infections) and then he will come home to recover further for another three months.
   So far the services received to date from the RFH have been good. Quick appointments, kept on time, and quick follow-up directly by phone.

    We walked hand-in-hand from the bus stop on Euston and Tottenham Court Road reveling in the beauty of London on a fall afternoon, strolling into the

Les snaps a selfie of our reflection in a window on a busy London street.

British Library for a mooch around the Folio Society Gallery on the floor just up from the main desk at the entry. The exhibits there are always free. This time it is "Enduring War: Grief, Grit and Humour." I was shocked to discover that Britain had been directly bombed in WWI by German zeppelins. This country has been attacked and bombed in two world wars and still it endures.

I could live in the British Library! This view is from our table across the street.

The sunset skyline of St. Pancras station rising behind the British Library.

Dear Sir waits for our vegetarian pizza to arrive as we sit and enjoy the view.

   We stopped outside under one of the large, white umbrellas covering the lunch tables so Les could take the next round of 27 pills he swallows daily now as part of a regimen to keep his weight and health up for surgery and change his blood chemistry so his body is no longer a willing and welcome place for caner to reside, for we know that the word "cure" as used by medical professionals must be translated to say "you may live for five years," five being the magic number chosen by researchers who found they could not realistically follow up on cancer patients past the five year mark.
   Chemo, radiation, and surgery do not cure cancer. Cytotoxic cancer treatments destroy cells--good and bad--with the hope the patient will survive the treatment and the disease will hibernate in remission. Surgery removes the diseased portions of the body. None "cure" cancer.
   We hope this was caught in time for us to reverse Les' body chemistry so that cancer can no longer continue to grow and flourish inside him and his immune system will grow healthy enough to stand guard once more.
   We are so very thankful for everyone's hopeful, positive thoughts and prayers on his and our behalf and the unwavering support we've been offered by our families and our community on the cut.
   We are thankful for each other and this glorious life of freedom and peace lived as continuous cruisers. We really appreciate Canal & River Trust officers working with us during this difficult time. (And I personally am thankful this operation is not taking place at Watford General.)

Chillin'!

"Light be the earth upon you, lightly rest." ~Euripides, 484 BCE - 406 BCE

Library books in hand, Kings Langley towpath

   Slowly, slowly we head North once more, leaving the crazy pressure and press of humanity in our wake. We've cruised in this way, staying a week or 10 days when stopping, to fill time while waiting for Les' consultation with the surgeon regarding next steps to reverse the Ileostomy.  It was June 6th and he's blogged about that so I won't.

Palouse photo and Big Love Tray

    We made friends with Susan and Colin on NB Carrie Ann while moored in Cassiobury Park last month. They are new live-aboards and really lovely folk, whose company we've enjoyed immensely. Our paths have crossed since then as we leap frog past one another along our way toward the summit.
   Les and I spent a week moored at Home Park near King's Langley, walking the local footpath into town for lunch and making several visits to the library to look at old Ordinance survey maps and check out historical books about the area and began a slow spring cleaning, washing all the curtains, cleaning out cupboards and drawers, making space on our wall for a Big Love Tray by Emma Bridgewater potteries--a gift from friends Lael and Larry in Idaho and in so doing, finally freeing up the perfect spot for our wedding gift from friends Karen and Jim Barron in Pullman, Washington--a photo of the Palouse in flower. The tray matches our Big Love mug--another lovely gift from dear friends Sue and Ken Deveson of NB Cleddau; we have a decor theme going!
   We puttered up to Apsley for water, caught up with NB Carrie Ann once more and spent a delightful evening aboard their lovely boat chatting, laughing, and drinking wine. The craic was grand!
   We moved on to Bourne End for a week, moored up across from Pix's Farm--a delightful pocket of countryside surrounded by the growing babble of London's ex-urbs. We discovered at the Hemel Hempstead library, that Pix's Farm Lane is an old roman Road! Imagine Romans walking along that old lane 1900 years ago!

Pix's Farm at 5 am, Bourne End, Grand Union Canal

Continuing the view around to Sharpes Lane Bridge, Bourne End

   On our first day there we saw: 4 horses and 2 goats in the field across from us; 36 Canada Geese and 6 goslings; a swan bathing in the early morning light, magpies, wrens, a mated pair of Cormorants, 4 Herons also in the field, waiting for frogs maybe??
   We watched a Moor hen make its way along followed by 8 feathery babies all looking like miniature escapees from Fraggle Rock, and a mother duck with three new babies. She sunned herself on the bank directly across from our bow while we watched for nearly an hour as one by one, her babies each figured out how to escape the water and settle beside their mother. The smallest chick was last, making several mock running attempts toward the bank, grabbing at leaves with its beak as it finally hoiked itself out of the canal.
   As the afternoon wore on were privy to a continual parade of Martins swooping and diving for sips of water, snatching insects on the wing. A walk up to the bridge allowed us to spy thousands of tiddlers (small fry) basking in a spot of sun warmed water. Later we spotted 15 Bream cruising slowly along the bank looking for spawning places. Bees hummed in the hedgerows, and life began to feel like the deep breath before bursting into glorious song.
   We spent two hectic days in Berkhamsted catching up with our wonderful friend Angela, whose home we moored in back of, checking out her neighborhood and the local market, walking along the streets of Berko with A. who played tour guide and generous hostess. We chatted about anything and everything as we three enjoyed the BEST Maple Cured, free range, Gammon (Ham) Rib Eye steak of our lives at The Old Mill Inn (Aubrey Allen--the Queen's butcher supplies the Mill Inn with cuts of meat). If its good enough for The Queen--its good enough for the three of us!
   While we were moored there another boating friend passed on her way to the Big Smoke. We were pleased as punch to see Kath on NB Bobcat coming our way. She pulled over and stopped for a cuppa and a slice of blueberry Lemon Drizzle cake while we caught up. It had been almost two years to the date since we saw Kath last in person up at Tixall Wide. Thanks for stopping. Enjoy the rest of your journey south and we look forward to seeing you again sooner than later! 
  We left on a sunny morning with a poesy of flowers resting on our bow--a sweet and thoughtful present from Ang as we headed out for Dudswell Lock where the donkeys are penned near the towpath in a huge, well manicured yard. Along the way I took the opportunity to manually haul the boat into a lock without using the lock ladders. I want to continue practising in and out, going up and down until I feel totally confident in my skills at single handing--at least in practice. 
   Moored up now in the quiet before the summit, I finally feel like I can breathe again. Five months of cruising south to London, waiting two weeks at Cassiobury in Watford, and making our way north again left my soul feeling pinched and strangled.
  On our anniversary Les took me to the Tring library, where we checked out some books and wandered around the village.
   We shared a delicious meal at Pizza Express in Berko, toasting to three amazing years of married life. We wanted to eat at Francesco's Italian Restaurant in Tring--a family affair with truly delicious food--but it didn't open until 6 pm and by the time we ate it would be difficult to catch of the final two buses of the evening back to Dudswell.
   Never mind, not only did we enjoy our pizza in Berko, we met up with another lovely friend on his way to dinner as well--Mike Wall of NB Independence. He is one of my two knights in shining armor who provided rides to Watford Hospital and the grocery store while Les was in hospital last Autumn.
  We walked up to Cow Roast Chandlery and picked up a Towpath Talk, stopping to sit on the lock gates and visit with Mike Griffin (our other shining knight). It is always a gift to see the face of a friend. As we walked back to the boat I took the opportunity to pick some Comfrey leaves from plants that had not yet set blossom, to tincture in olive oil for the making of salve later in the summer.
   We took advantage of the sunshine and washed three loads of clothes and hung it all out to dry, airing our pillows and down comforter as well. Sitting in the sun, reading our library books and eating lunch, we indulged in a bit of bank side gongoozling as we watched the hire boats and weekender's from the marina too-ing and froe-ing up and down the pound.
   Les has engaged in some handiwork, removing our Sky dish and repainting our satellite pole, cleaning up the tangle of wires on the bow and tidying things up. I whipped up wok of Kung Pao chicken with rice for dinner and we howled with laughter over Graham Norton's season finale show with comedians John Bishop, and  Brendan O'Carroll (Mrs. Brown). We've stayed up reading until 1:30 am, slept in, and finally chilled out! 

A Night on the Town

" We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur." ~Dan Quayle

   When we were under the assumption that Les was required to check into admission for prostate surgery on March 4th, 7am at Watford General Hospital, we booked a hotel for the night before. To get the best rate one has to commit, so we did, the surgery was rescheduled, and we found ourselves with a hotel room and no means of refund or rescheduling. 
   We decided to make a date night of it. Les made arrangements for a coupon dinner special through Pizza Express and purchased tickets to a performance of War Horse. I was surprised this play was appearing in Watford. Les realized after paying £15.00 per ticket, that the event was actually listed as a film, however he couldn't locate any information on the Palace Theatre web site explaining what, exactly we had purchased but we decided to give it a go. 
   Anonymous A was kind enough to give us a lift into town. Thank dear friend! We appreciate your kindness. 
  We checked in to the Jurys Inn, got our bearings, and walked to Pizza Express for dinner. Away from the boat, Les and I focus in on each other and our conversations tend to be deeper and more philosophical. Dinner was delicious and we were relaxed and set to enjoy an evening of...theatre? Film? Theatrical Film?  
   Our seats were front row center. We peeled out of our winter coats and settled down. It quickly became apparent, with the pre-show material being screened, that we had paid for tickets to a live broadcast from London's West End National Theatre of War Horse!

© Tracy Wheeler, 2014, One Hand Clapping Blog

   Essentially we were only one layer removed from the actual live performance. Teh camera filming the live event actually offered us better views than the best seats in the West End theatre. I wondered if Les, with his slim experience of theatrical productions, would be able to engage in the suspension of disbelief while watching a giant movie screen; I wondered if I could as well since the puppeteers are always in sight throughout the performance.
   The lights went down, the National Theatre cameras panned across the live audience as the lights went down in London and the show began. I can only say it was wonderful. The Handspring Puppet Company puppeteers were amazing--unobtrusive, and yet the living essence of their characters, providing not only the movements of each animal but also the vocal sounds. It was brilliant! I've never seen anything like it in my long experience of participating in theatre as a performer as well as an audience member.
   At one very poignant moment in the production I glanced sideways as Les wiped a tear from his eyes. Success! He was lost in the story unfolding in front of our eyes. Just after intermission, as a special part of the broadcast, five minutes was taken for the show's director and Michael Morpurgo, the author of the book, to chat about the craft of making the show and the puppets which helped place the overall production in context.
   Moved and surprised by our experience, we made our way back to the hotel in the strange yellow city-lit night, our breath spilling out of us in clouds as we walked arm in arm. Back in our room we took advantage of the deep, long bathtub and endless lashings of scalding hot water to soak in Gilchrist & Soames bubble bath--a sybaritic treat for narrow boat live-aboards who can only shower--and that for about three minutes before the hot water is gone.
   The next morning we enjoyed the hotel's fine breakfast buffet, picked up a few items in the shops and caught the 500 bus back to Cow Roast and NB Val. Our excursion did us a world of good and our National Theatre Live Experience piqued Les' curiosity about other production broadcasts. Here is what we discovered:
"National Theatre Live is the National theatre's groundbreaking project to broadcast the best of British theatre live from the London stage to cinemas across the UK and around the world." (NTL website, accessed 03/12/14)
   We felt we had the best seats in the house no matter where we sat. We experienced closeup shots of the puppets and actors in action from the best viewpoint possible thanks to the cameras which actually enhanced our personal experience of the play.   

© National Theatre Live, 2014

   "National Theatre Live launched in June 2009 with a broadcast of the National Theatre production of Phèdre with Helen Mirren. We've since broadcast more than twenty other productions live from the National Theatre, and on occasion other theatres in the UK. Our broadcasts have now been experienced by over 1.5 million people in 500 venues around the world, including 250 in the UK. Past broadcasts include Danny Boyle's Frankenstein with Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller, One Man, Two Guvnors with James Corden and The Last of the Haussmans with Julie Walters." (NTL website "What We Do"; accessed 03/12/14)
   Our tickets for front row, center cost £15.00. Seats in London at the live production in the very same section cost £62.50. We highly recommend folks take advantage of this fine means of experiencing great theatre. There are live broadcasts throughout the UK and overseas--even Seattle, Washington! British Opera and Shakespeare productions from Stratford-on-Avon are also providing live broadcasts, which means I have a great chance of getting Les to see Shakespeare's Richard III some day.