It's a Family Affair

We got the call on Monday the 22nd November at 11pm. We were just getting ready to go to bed.
- We've got you a liver. Make your way here as soon as you can.
It was time to activate the much-discussed plan. Mum and Dad came to collect Nic, we left and collected Joanne, my step-daughter.
The 70 mile journey to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, felt like a 10 minute ride. We arrived at 1.30am. And waited, nervous, kept in good spirits by Dave who was the only calm one.
They came for him at 5.30am. Only then did I see a flash of fear.....
Me and Joanne cried and cried and wandered around an empty, not yet awake hospital looking for somewhere comfy to sit. We talked and cried. Lots.
At 9am one of the transplant co-ordinators called.
- The new liver's in. They just have to sew him back up.
At 11am, 5 hours after starting, the transplant operation was complete.

And that was the easy bit.

Before the op we had attended all the compulsory workshops and education sessions so we knew exactly what would happen but none of it really sinks in until it's actually happening.
The trauma of the first 48 critical hours was, well, traumatic. And noisy. Bloody hell if you thought Intensive Care was quiet and calm think again! But we got through it with the help of the NHS angels and my God, they are angels. His life was, quite literally, in their very capable hands.
The surgeon, Thamara Perera, a man I will never forget or be able to thank enough, came to see him - us - every day and assured us that things were going well. Even the expected, acute kidney failure.
After 2 days he was transferred to a ward. After 4 days he was able to shuffle to the bathroom. After 6 days he was fit enough to come home but had to stay because of the kidneys and dialysis. After 12 days he did come home.

And that's when our new life began.

I'm not ashamed to admit that we both cried buckets. We were told that we would and we were told to just let it all go. It was for a combination of things.
Tiredness, we were both totally drained for different reasons. Dave for obvious reasons, me for travelling there and back every day and not eating much besides Maltesers.
Fear, without the safety and security of the hospital and having someone else dish out the drugs. Oh my God the drugs. There are so many. And some of them are taken to counteract the side effects of others. And we can't afford to get the dosage wrong, these are the difference between life and death - a massive, scary responsibility.
Also, and again I'm not ashamed to admit this either, there have been a few 'why us' tears. We are feeble human beings after all...

And not forgetting the donor. We learned as much as we're allowed about the donor and that detail will always remain a family affair. But we cried for that person. We thought about their funeral and their family. The surgeon said a lovely thing though, that Dave had done as much for the donor and their wishes as they had done for him. The liver had to go to an otherwise fit and healthy person or be wasted. Dave was the fittest and healthiest at that time. Without him as a recipient the organ wouldn't have been able to be used.

So two families who will never know each other, have been linked together forever.....in quiet moments those thoughts are overwhelming.

What was also overwhelming was the love and support from family and friends. Mum and Dad became surrogate parents to Nic and kept her routine as normal as possible. Dave's family, especially Joanne, were there for me throughout.

And you lot, my twitter family. The love and good wishes we received from you was incredible, so many hugs and kisses and offers of sharing a cuppa at the hospital, just to keep me company. And so many from people I've never even met. I thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.

I won't pretend that adjusting to our new normal is easy. It really isn't. But we'll only come out the other side stronger for it.

And cured. How bloody fantastic is that?

Just seek yourself and you will shine

12 months.
Prodding. Poking. Looking. Searching. Not finding.....
Wondering. Pondering....
Indications are suggesting.....
Results are indicating.....
What if?
Why can't they see it?
Why can't they find it?
Is it not really there?
Is it moving?
Spreading.....?
Life goes on. Working. Sharing. Eating. Sleeping. Laughing. Crying.
Loving....more loving....unconditional loving.
Life.
12 months.
Just life.
Prodding. Poking. Looking. Searching. Still not finding.....
Wondering. Worrying. Pondering. Dismissing....

Thursday 19th August 2010

Dave. Tumour. Liver transplant. Soon.
Found. Contained....not spreading.
Relief. Fear. Terror. Hope.
Life.
12 months recovery.
Just life.
12 months.

Love....more love....unconditional love.

Above us only sky

Most of you will know that Dave keeps birds of prey. He's been into it for a long time but has only kept them for just over 2 years. He has a hawk but mainly keeps owls. He's been really successful at training them all to fly free. I can't tell you how scary and exciting it is to let a bird go free for the first time, watch it swoop and circle and eventually come back to you when you call it. The secret to it all lies within careful weight management and a slow, steady build up of trust between man and bird.
So after a while it seemed natural for Dave to try his hand at breeding. Well trained birds are what is known as 'imprinted' to a human. That means that the bird thinks the human is it's parent as it is the source of it's food. It knows that when it's called it will be treated with a tasty morsel. To successfully imprint a bird it must be taken from it's natural parents at about 10 days old, preferably before it opens it's eyes, and be hand-reared.
Enna was the first bird Dave bred. Her name is taken from the Greek word 'ena' (pronounced enna), meaning number one. We chose a Greek word because of our long history with Corfu but that's another story.
So Enna, a beautiful female barn owl, was brought in at 10 days old. She was kept indoors in an incubator and Dave dutifully fed her every four hours. In a weird case of deja vu he even set that alarm to get up for the night time feeds. As she grew he was able to start 'manning' her. That means getting her used to being handled and to sit steadily on his glove. When she was about 6 weeks old he was able to fit her anklets and jesses (the leather straps). As soon as she had all her feathers and was therefore able to keep warm outdoors during the night, she was ready to go out into her aviary. Training could now be stepped up and by the time she was 8 weeks old she was flying free.
Enna is now 12 weeks old. Last Tuesday he was flying her in the garden. It was quite windy that day and she'd flew up onto the roof a bungalow over the back. At this point she'd almost finished her exercise and had eaten all but one piece of food. He called her down and she came but a gust of wind took her up and over the rooftops. He chased in the general direction, ran across the park over the road and into the fields beyond but there was no sign.
That night some kids from over the road knocked and said they'd seen an owl and had we lost one. We went out and criss-crossed all over the estate opposite. No sign.
The following day the kids put up some posters I'd printed. We weren't hopeful at all of finding her because she's only 12 weeks old and we didn't think she'd have that hunting instinct. There were a few reported sightings so Dave got up at daybreak each day looking for her and we both went out at dusk. Still no sign.
Tonight, Sunday, we got a phone call from a stranger who'd been out with his dog and seen an owl and had seen one of our posters. We got Lulu, our whippet, and set off.
We went across the park and into the corn fields then into the woodland beyond. Then I spotted her. She was on the other side of a corn field in a tree. I couldn't quite make out if it was a white owl or a piece of pale tree bark where a branch had snapped off. But then the white blob jumped and went down into the corn.
Dave scrambled down a bank, over a muddy stream and into the corn field and started calling her. After a few minutes she rose from the corn and flew. She circled the corn field, occasionally disappearing into the woodland and emerging again.
She flew and flew, pausing only once or twice, seemingly to give us time to catch up before setting off again. All this time Dave was calling her and waving some food. She swooped low, just a few feet above the corn and looked like she was coming in to land on his glove. At one point she was so close we could see her leather jesses trailing behind her. But she didn't come to him. And trust me, if she was hungry she would have glided to his glove for that big fat treat.
She did one more circle of the corn field before flying into the woodland and out of sight. Dave called and called but we didn't see her again. And he won't look again.
Because watching her fly like she did taught us a few things.
That we were wrong about her not having a hunting instinct. Flying like she did, swooping and gliding, twisting and turning means she's fit and healthy. Which means she's eating. Which means she hunting.
So we have to accept that she's wild and free. And happy.

All you do to me is talk talk

And as the song says, ‘I’m tired of listening to you talking in rhymes’

Picture the scene.
You’re at work in the canteen having a pre-meeting coffee (and a cheeky muffin) with colleagues. The conversation is easy, natural and flowing. You head off to the meeting feeling positive and relaxed. But it doesn’t last.
They’ve started to talk another language. At first it’s mildly amusing. They’re discussing your event horizon. Isn’t that something to do with black holes? Maybe you’re company is doing something with Virgin Galactic that you didn’t know about. Someone mentions ‘enterprise impact’. Yes, it’s definitely something to do with space travel. In fact, ‘need to make improvements in that space’ is mentioned a lot. You start to panic a bit. How come you didn’t know? And what’s it all got to do with today’s meeting?
The talking heads in the room continue to open and close their mouths but you’re just not making sense of what they’re saying. Now they’re running something up a flagpole, lining their ducks up, putting stuff in a sausage machine. Your heart starts beating a bit faster as you start to feel more left out and in the dark. You’ve no idea where this meeting is going and you’re terrified of being asked a question. Someone says ‘Yes, that’s been baked into the 6:6’. What?? Baking? Who mentioned baking? You haven’t baked anything since school and you weren’t that good at it and you’ve never quite forgiven that nasty kid for stabbing your soufflé. You look at the talking heads through blinking, bewildered eyes. Are these really the same people who, not 15 minutes ago, were having the has she/hasn’t she debate with you about Amanda Holden’s lips?
But wait…oh no! NO! Please no! The talking heads have stopped. They’re all looking at you. THEY’VE ASKED YOU A QUESTION!!!!! Your mouth’s dry, palms damp, head’s starting to spin.
‘Sorry?’ you squeak.
‘We were saying, we really need to prioritise by enterprise impact and consolidate our engagement efforts in the transformation. What do you think?’
There’s only one thing for it. You pretend to pass out.

OK so I made it all up. But I’ll bet that a meeting just like that is going on in businesses all over the world right now. Thinking about - and listening to - all the gobble-de-gook (is that how you spell it?) that is spouted gave me the idea of the NMB club, Never Mind the Bollocks. Well, if it’s good enough for the Sex Pistols it’s good enough for us!
Wouldn’t it be much better to say what you mean, mean what you say and cut out all of this nonsense? Why do we put up with it? And, horror of horrors, join in??
I think people do it to make themselves sound really clever and important. Do you think it works? Me neither. I think it alienates people and hinders progress. I mean, who has time to sit and decipher what was being discussed in a meeting? I also think it’s soulless. I’d much prefer if we always talked to each other naturally and with a bit of feeling as opposed to reciting the annual report.
You know, we talk a lot about making our workplace a great place to work don’t we? The only reason people love working somewhere is because of the people they work with. No-one loves working somewhere because they have a nice desk or because they do a lovely toad-in-the-hole in the canteen, although these things help. So, how can we create a place where people love to work if we talk to each other in made up words? Spoilation anyone? No, I’m not kidding. And no, I’ve no idea what it means either. And listen to this, overheard at the coffee machine recently, ‘Well point to point’s point to point and if you aggregate it’s net net.’ Eh?
So my message is this; join NMB, let’s stop this rot from taking the soul out of our daily toil, let’s be ourselves and speak to each other from the heart and not from the…well, some other part of our anatomy. For work without love is busy-ness, drudgery, sacrifice, a death-camp…
Ahem, sorry I got a bit carried away there. But you see, I am passionate about this!
So start today. Will you join my NMB crusade and challenge the gobble-de-gook? You can report any NMB crimes on Twitter using the #peewiinmb tag.

TTFN (is that allowed?