Today, I was going to have lunch with an old business partner in Surrey and getting to Waterloo station took me past Southwark Cathedral.
So I dropped by to have a quiet contemplation. As I’ve said in another post this place is special to me and as the sister of one of my friends, has a child near to death, I wanted to add my point fourpennyworth. Also being the day of Margaret Thatcher’s funeral I wanted to show respect privately in the way I do. I remember years ago, when Princess Diana’s funeral took place, I was on holiday in Northumberland with C. She watched it with a friend on the television and I just sat on the coast of Holy Island. I never watch this type of State pageantry on the television.
I never met Margaret Thatcher, although I should have done, solely because she got her priorities right.
A few months after we won our Queen’s Award, I went to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen,several politicians and a few others, for a reception, which I described here. Each company incidentally sent three people.
Mrs. Thatcher was supposed to attend, but the Welsh Secretary died that evening and she had other more important things to sort out.
A good friend of my late wife’s has recently died of cancer. He had been suffering for some time and having gone through two cancer-related family deaths in recent years, I can understand in some ways, how his wife felt.
Some doctors were worried I might be suicidal, but I wasn’t, partly because, my wife had prepared me for the future and also because I had strong support from my son and of course, lots of others.
Sadly though, in my late wife’s friend’s case, his wife thought the best thing to do was commit suicide. I don’t think she had any idea of the number of devastated people she would leave behind her. I wish that someone had told me of the cancer, as I might have been able to say something of value. On the other hand, I probably couldn’t have done! But I have been rather down for the last few days!
Life may be very bad at times, but there is no excuse for suicide, unless possibly it is totally in agreement with all those around you.
Most of our dogs have lived a long life, with one basset and a couple of setters getting to past thirteen, which is not a bad age for a dog.
But one incident of the end of a dog’s life stands out. Charlotte, our English Setter, who is pictured here, was probably about fifteen and for several days, she’d hardly touched her food or ventured outside her bed in the kitchen. Our amazing horse vet, Philip, who’d passed through in his usual hurry, a couple of days before, had told us that she didn’t have long and to call him, when we thought the time was near. So that evening I’d called him about six and he said he was busy and would turn up later.
I was writing software and eventually Philip turned up just after midnight. He ascertained that Charlotte hadn’t probably more than a few hours and then did what he had to do.
Normally, Philip didn’t have time to stop, but I asked him if he’d like a drink, suggesting tea or something stronger.
He had probably had a bad day, so asked for the latter.
Between us we finished off the greater part of a bottle of Irish whiskey!
I would like to think, that when my time is up, that I could go in the same dignified way that Charlotte did, with the pain for those present helped in an appropriate manner, by either alcohol, coffee or cake!
Charles Everett Coop, who was Surgeon General by Ronald Reagan has just died.
He seems to have really thought about his job and didn’t allow his religious beliefs get in the way of good health. But like our own Richard Doll,l who proved the link between smoking and cancer, he let the facts and the statistics do the talking.
Interestingly, both were recipients of the Tyler Prize for Environmental Achievement.
Both though have a health lesson for us all, as Doll died at 92 and Koop did even better dying at 96.
So perhaps they not only looked at the facts and the statistics, but they acted upon them to prolong their own lives.
I always like this quote from Richard Doll.
Death in old age is inevitable, but death before old age is not.
I would put one up from Charles Everett Koop, but I can’t find something pithy and direct.
I’m just watching a recording of the BBC documentary; The Railway.
In one section, they have to go and tell a mother, that her son has been hit by a train and killed.
I might not have been a saint, but one incident in my life made my mother think the worst.
I’d been driving back to Liverpool University in my faithful Morris Minor; VKX 156, when just before Peterborough, a guy in the slow lane of the northbound A1, decided he needed to turn right. But he missed the turn and was hit fair and square by the car in front of me. I would have gone right into him, but for the quick thinking of another driver in an Austin 1800 in the slow lane, who slowed and waved me through in front of him. I then pulled directly on to the verge as I thought things would now go seriously wrong. They did, but not around me, as the car that caused the accident bounced across the central reservation of the dual carriageway and then hit someone going south.
The Police turned up some minutes later and I gave a detailed statement about what had happened.
Nothing further happened until that summer, when I was on a boating holiday on the Thames, when a Police Sergeant turned up at our house around midnight and said I was wanted in Court in the morning to give evidence about the accident.
Seeing him there, had given her an awful fright, as she thought I’d fallen in the Thames or a lot worse.
Obviously, that hadn’t happened, but it does show the sort of reaction expected, when something serious happens.
I know the heartbreak of losing a child, so we should all take care.
I certainly do, as best as I can, after all I’ve been through in the last few years.
I was interviewed today, by a student from Liverpool University about some of the aspects of widowhood.
One thing that got me at the time of C’s death, was how professional some organisations and companies were and on the other hand how sloppy some others were.
I was moved to write to The Times, and this is my letter they published on April 16th, 2008.
The paperwork carried out when a relation dies should be standardised across all organisations.
I was widowed last year, and it is only now that I’m starting to get my life together. The response of the various government and local authority departments in handling all the paperwork involved has been very patchy.
Registrars: excellent, very sympathetic and efficient; Work and Pensions: bereavement allowance came through with a few hiccups, but not too difficult; Premium Bonds: system worked but could have been better; council tax: this was reduced automatically on signing a form by St Edmundsbury — totally painless; DVLA: its online systems worked well; winter fuel payment: found difficult to claim and missed it for last year.
The private sector wasn’t that much better, with some companies having people whose sole job appeared to be to deal with bereavement faring much better than those that didn’t. Some wanted death certificates, some accepted faxed copies and others took my word.
We need a lot more joined-up thinking in this important area, as, with nearly a million deaths in the UK every year, it would surely help the bereavement process for those left behind if every company, organisation, government department and authority were automatically notified. After all, if St Edmundsbury can do it here in supposedly sleepy Suffolk, then surely everyone else can.
Since moving to London, I could add a few to both lists, although nothing has been specifically about bereavement. In some ways the biggest surprise has been that the London Borough of Hackney hasn’t made any mistake, that has caused me the slightest bit of inconvenience.
Perhaps because yesterday was St. Valentine’s Day and it was my sixth without her, I think I should say more about the cancer that killed C.
Not to elicit sympathy for myself, as I’ve had enough of that in the past few years, but to put the true record on the Internet, so that it can be found.
It’s not pleasant reading, and there may be a cure by now, but typing “squamous cell carcinoma of the heart” into Google, just gives a couple of references other than the few in this blog or where I have posted in other forums.
C started to become short of breath in about July and in September, she went into Papworth Hospital to find out the cause, as it looked like it was something wrong with her heart.
In late October, they found the problem which was a squamous cell carcinoma actually growing inside the heart. So it was actually behaving like a valve shutting off the blood flow around the rest of her body.
They did try an experimental chemotherapy using a drug called Tarceva, but all this did was destroy her gut and make her mouth incredibly sore. It had no effect on the cancer.
The pain was so bad, she refused to see any of her friends and effectively withdrew into herself, just seeing her carers, and the immediate family. The pain was so bad at one point, that she asked me to take her to Switzerland, but by then, she would probably have found it impossible to travel. When I said no, she realised she hadn’t got long to live.
She died on December 11th, 2007, just a couple of months after the terrible diagnosis.
I said earlier, that I hope treatment is now possible. However do bear in mind, that C’s cancer was the only one of its type in 2011 in the UK and she was a very fit, non-smoker and light drinker, who’d hardly been ill in her near sixty years. She had had breast cancer, which was unrelated to the one that killed her, and had made a complete recovery.
A squamous cell carcinoma of the heart, must be one of the worst cancers you can get.
According to this article on the BBC, smaller pack sizes for paracetamol has led to fewer deaths, many of which are suicides.. However the number of suicides on the railways continues to grow to such a level, that special measures had to be taken.
And yesterday, it would appear that someone jumped off the roof of Eastfield. Accident? I doubt it!
The trouble with suicides, is that we try to stop them, by limiting the methods, when it would be better to stop the reasons people feel they might take their own life.
As to pain-killers, I rarely take them! A couple of years ago, I did have some severe pain after the stroke and had to resort to paracetamol, codeine and later amitriptyline. But I haven’t had a pain-killer since late 2010, although I may have had a small glass of the Scottish all-purpose remedy.
After Oakwood, I thought I take a bus through Barnet and come home on the Northern line, but I got off near where my mother-in-law used to live.
This picture shows St. James’s church in New Barnet. which was where my mother-in-law worshipped.
C, my late wife, also used to worship there as a child, but as a teenager she just didn’t get on with the vicar, so she moved her patronage to the church where we got married at Cockfosters.
By the time my mother-in-law died, there was a new vicar, who we’d not met until her funeral. He was incidentally an ex-policeman and we did know that my mother-in-law liked him a lot. She was taken into the church and the vicar started to go through the funeral service. Every time, he spoke of my mother-in-law he called her Frances and her many cousins in unison would chant her birth name of Edith.
After the cremation, we came back to her house round the corner and sandwiches and soft drinks were partaken. Most of the cousins left and we were left with a couple of my mother-in-law’s half-sisters and their family. We did then have a bottle of wine and about an hour later, when everybody had left, we were drinking by ourselves in the empty house, when the door bell rang.
It was the vicar! He’d been unable to come to the cremation or even back to the house, as he had had two funerals that day!
He congratulated us on our drink, as he felt it was a good practical idea. He then asked us, what all the hissing was about and we told him, how my mother-in-law had hated her first name and had always used her second. but the cousins had continued to use Edith.
He then said, that the first day, he’d met her, she’d walked up to him and said hello, indicating she was Frances and in the six months they’d known each other, he’d not used anything else.
So as she was virtually a friend, he felt that he didn’t need to check with the family. As it was, we’d have given the same name.
Today was probably the first day since then, that I’ve gone anywhere near that church.