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Black Hole Sun...... (Read 96445 times)

Oldmanmatt

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#25 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 12, 2011, 09:41:05 pm
So....

Two weeks have passed. There has been no time for introspection, little time even to catch a breath and when time was found; the thoughts and fears too urgent, too overwhelming to be allowed to surface.

Last weekend, I finally managed to leave Spain and return to a damp, grey, Devon.
 
I still haven’t been paid.

The last week in BCN was spent with lawyers and the Courts. There were arrests to be made and papers to file. It might have worked, we pray it has; we need the money.

Tuesday...

Tuesday meant a meeting with the Vascular Surgeon. He eases our fears. He has so many answers, so many alternatives....

“I will re-build the Artery with an artificial insert, if that’s not possible, then I’ll... and if I can’t do that, then I’ll... and we can always do... and even, at a push I can...”

Her right leg is now twice the size of her left, angry, purple.

The pain is getting to her, the easy smile, the quick joke; gone.

In both of us, the tears and anger are there, close, just behind the eyes; ready to burst out at the slightest provocation. Everyday life is a minefield of provocation.

She is scheduled, now, for surgery on the 28th. We have to move house on the 20th. The children have to be taken to school / nursery. The shopping must be done. Bills paid. Things that are frustrating, normally, are now irritating to the point of distraction.

I grind my teeth and hope I can keep it in...

Hope I can control it...

Hope no-one pushes the wrong button...

Friday...

I take my little Girl to the wall, first time there in seven months. The bouldering and wall training in Spain, during her visits, have paid off. I’m proud of her. Her Mum kept up the training at home as long as she could.

It’s not the same without Mummy.

Her boots were in the gear bag, her harness.
 
I will leave them there, in the bag.

I know she will need them again soon.

I can’t let myself think anything else.

Oldmanmatt

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#26 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 27, 2011, 07:52:39 pm
Tomorrow....

Just another day...

It will probably rain...

Tomorrow...

They will operate.

Today has been one long exercise in fear suppression.

We alternate between holding hands and bickering over nothing.

Over dinner we tell the children. "Mummy will be going to hospital tomorrow, for her operation. Do you remember? She's going to be away for ten days..."
"You must be good" she says "for Daddy and Mamia, until Mummy comes home..."

A pause, we glance at each other, she looks away...

There is chocolate pudding for dessert, the children soon forget.

I wish I could...

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#27 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 27, 2011, 10:08:49 pm
The most compelling thing I have read on the net. You have a true gift with words.

I hope everything works out, I really do.

God bless.

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#28 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 06:20:09 am
Wishing for the best for all of you Matt.

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#29 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 07:47:27 am
Thoughts are with you...

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#30 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 09:56:27 am
The most compelling thing I have read on the net. You have a true gift with words.

 :agree:

I only wish it was the result of happier times, and I also really, really hope it everything works out.

Oldmanmatt

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#31 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 11:09:33 am
Sitting in the hospital restaurant...

They took her to theater ten minutes ago.

I wait...

People around me, happy, sad, chatting, quiet. The full gamut.

I can't sit here and worry, I have to push my mind to another place; pull out a memory.

Drown out the voice...

Oldmanmatt

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#32 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 11:59:27 am
There was a beach...

We could see it from the roof of the hotel. Miles of golden sand, rolling surf, blue waters; shimmering in the distance.

It was a “no go” area.

Between us and that mirage of heaven, lay the Shanty Town. A white man could not go there and live. A white man, in this town, travelled in groups. A taxi from one razor wired compound to another. The Hilton, the 21 club, the Casino, the High Commission. With an armed escort, maybe a trip to the market.

“They” thought we needed a break, a little holiday in the sun. We thought they wanted us out of the way for a while. There was some spurious “security” job at the British High Commission.

There was initiation to the hash house harriers (that involved a “who’s the toughest” contest with our Yank and Aussie counter-parts and left me with a concussion and black eye (trying to break ice blocks with my head))...

We were surfers...

There was surf...

We were bored...

We went...

The taxi would not take us into the shanty town. The driver stopped a good 200 mtrs up the track from the first huts. We had worn nothing but a T-shirt, shorts and Flip-flops.

No watches, no wallets, no jewellery. Enough cash for a cab back, no more.

We stood there, uncertain, watching the cab race away.

Well, we’re here now; no going back...

As we walk into the hovels and narrow streets, a silence descends. The hustle and racket around us peters away to nothing. A sea of faces, open jawed, staring...

We have made a mistake; we should have heeded the warnings...

We are about to die...

A lone face approaches, a middle age man. Worn, ragged, scrawny.

“Are you Americans” he asks, sombre, cautious.

“No Mate, he’s English and I’m Cornish” I say.

A pause.

A broad grin breaks out across his lined face. “English! We used to be English! See, we still have the Queen on our money!” He pulls a crumpled note from his pocket. “We have the same Queen! Yes?”

He grabs my mates’ hand. “Come! Come, we drink tea. Yes? Englishmen like tea. Yes? My wife makes good tea.”

He leads, we follow. The spell is broken, around us life resumes. After all, there are more important things, in shanty town life, than two stupid white boys.

The tea is good. Family, friends, pour out of the hovels. The smiles are broad, bright white teeth in ebony faces.

There is a lot of hand shaking...

Tea drunk, we walk on through the teeming bustle. It is Sunday. It seems every other building is a makeshift church, singing fills the air; exultant, joyous; African.

In the dunes behind the beach, young men, race their horses. Heads swathed, Tuareg style, in flowing shemags; they thunder back and forth. A crowd of young women, ulating, cheer them on. Flirting, teasing, vibrant.

Alive.

We reach the golden sand.

The beach is steep; a high Atlantic swell rears to dump heavily on the shore.

Lines of singing teenagers, clad in flowing white robes, stand at the water’s edge. Waist deep, the local Pastors plunge them under, shouting their Baptism to the waves.

Away from the singing mass, we strip down and plunge into the crashing surf. Body surfing, hard into the sand.

There is release.

There is freedom.

Exhausted, we stroll further along the shore.

There are fishing boats and men hauling nets. Chanting they drag the nets out along the shore, then one end is secured to a stake driven into the sand. With the other end attached to the boat, the men paddle furiously, pitching and leaping through the surf; in a great semi-circle around the stake. Shouting, cheering, they ride a wave back in. Boat dragged clear, they begin to haul, singing as they pull.
 
The net is full.

It is full of Shark, Barracuda and Sea Snakes.

Maybe the swim had not been such a good idea...

As the Sun sets on the sea behind us, we head back to the stink of the city. Shaking hands, we promise to return; we want to return. It is a good place.

There is gun fire, somewhere, in the concrete jungle up ahead. We find a cab and return to the razor wire gates of home.

We never went back...

Papers came. Orders. The “Holiday” was over.

We left.

That day will never leave...

Oldmanmatt

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#33 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 08:15:29 pm
Today...

Today, I had to tell a mother her daughter was going to die.

Today...

Today, I had to tell my wife, that they could not operate. That when they opened her up, they found the cancer had spread; that there was nothing they could do.

Today...

Today, I had to come home and put the children to bed. I had to smile, to read a story; to tell them Mummy would be home soon. I had to lie.

Today...

THE Day.

 I wish I was back on that beach.

Today.

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#34 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 08:39:23 pm
Fuck that's harsh man - apologies if it sounds trite but I wish you all the best in the days ahead.

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#35 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 08:42:05 pm
Christ Matt, that's grim news. Be strong, thoughts with you.

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#36 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 08:57:11 pm
So sorry Matt.

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#37 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 28, 2011, 10:56:28 pm
So sorry to hear that

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#38 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 12:06:48 am
I am a long time board reader who doesn't post very often, however this subject is very close to my heart as my dad has terminal cancer.  I know it is cliched however try and stay positive, i will be thinking of you even though i only know you through your words posted here.

Ste.

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#39 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 08:14:32 am
Really sad news. Thoughts are with you.

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#40 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 08:23:10 am
Don't know what to say, that's so awful man. Thoughts are with you.

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#41 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 08:41:29 am
Really sorry to hear that Matt.

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#42 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 09:11:03 am
Gutted for you. Thoughts with you and your family, cherish the time you have.

Oldmanmatt

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#43 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 08:54:36 pm
I sit in the hospital restaurant again, waiting to see the Oncologist. She was angry today, at the world, at the doctors, at everything. I cannot focus. I need escape. Pretending hunger, I left the quiet of her room to seek refuge in the hubbub of the crowd; in memories...

There was a cave...

More overhang than cave, jutting out of the low cliffs that bounded the small estuary.  We dumped our kit at the back and gathered drift wood in the last of the afternoon sun. Just within earshot the South Atlantic pounded on the Island’s shores.

As dusk drew in, we grabbed our cheap “Start Fishing Kit” rods and went in search of supper. We hadn’t eaten for 24 hours or so. All that remained in our packs were a couple of rashers of smoked bacon. This would be bait, a gamble, an investment; with no guarantee of a return.

We worked our way up with the rising tide. I followed the main channel, while my friend headed up a small creek. Almost my first cast produced results, a small Mullet; enough for a meal for one. It went in my pocket and I cast again...

There was nothing, for a long time. I carried on, upstream, the sun kissing the horizon...

A sharp tug, a tremble and the line screamed off the reel.

Shit! This was big and my silly little reel was rapidly spooling out the precious line. Should I cut it, cut my losses, save the line that was left? Panicked, I fumble for my knife.

Before I can open the blade, the line stops spooling. Cautiously, I try to pull. The rod bends alarmingly, then eases.  I reel in a little, then a little more.

And some more...

Half the line recovered. Maybe it’s dropped off, or maybe....

Have I caught it?

Fwizzz!! The line is off again, tearing out.

And so it went on. Both of us hooked now, the Fish and I.

The Sun was almost gone, the evening gloom cold and murky.

We fought our way up that muddy estuary, me knee deep; cold to the bone.

I could not reel him in. Each time I tried , the rod would bend, till I thought it would surely break. Pointing the rod directly along the line, I dug my heels in and walked backwards into the shallows.

The Fish fought every step.

It was dark...

I had no Idea how far up stream we had travelled. I wanted help, my arms and back burned with effort, but I had no Idea where my mate was. There was no response to my calls.

The fight went on...

It was, suddenly, easier. As I walked back, I felt my feet touch dry ground and then my legs were against the low bank at the river’s edge. The moon was high and bright, now, and there in the shallows; lay the Fish.

Reeling in, I walked quickly towards it. As the line slacked it began to struggle again and I stopped.

Point the rod along the line, back up to the shore; quickly walk forward, reeling in.

Repeat.

The Fish is on the beach.

Panting, I pick up a rock, raise it to strike...

And hesitate.

We need to eat.

The rock comes down.

Carrying my fallen foe, I pick my way by moonlight, back to the cave. There is a boulder in my path and I raise my foot to step over it and....

The boulder leaps to its feet and runs up the nearby bank.

I stumble back, falling on my arse. There, eyes glinting in the moonlight, was a Patagonian Fox.

Silver coated, it stares at me.

An age passes, our eyes locked, before it turns and flees; the moment gone.

I realise I am filled with shame, the lifeless Fish heavy in my arms and my heart.

I stumble on. 

Oldmanmatt

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#44 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 09:14:33 pm
I wrote that last post at lunch time, before we met with the Oncologist. I couldn't post it, couldn't log on to the hotspot. After the meeting, it suddenly seemed more apt, maybe even prescient...

For us, the fight will go on...

The Oncologist has clarified things. From the despair of yesterday, the shock for both us and the doctors; there is now a plan.

The surgeon did not remove the tumour. Because the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes, the best way to fight it is to burn it with radio therapy. She cannot start the radio therapy until she has healed from yesterday’s operation (or she will never heal). He chose to limit the area of damage, to speed up the healing and to get her into Radio as soon as possible.

She doesn’t understand, she just wants the pain gone and the tumour causes the pain.

I think I understand.

It will be one hell of a fight.

No promises.

Hope.

Time to pull the line, reel it in.


 

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#45 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 09:19:12 pm
Keep on stumbling.

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#46 Re: Black Hole Sun......
June 29, 2011, 11:10:47 pm
Matt, do not get buried in the memories!
The best thing is to be near her
You love her so much ... and in such moments it is necessary to be with Liana   physically ... ... material, she can you see it, she touch you, she knows that is not the alone...
Tell her we love her and that God loves her
My English is bad but you're smart and you know what I mean
God be with her and you to can help it
We love you!

godmother

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#47 Re: Black Hole Sun......
July 01, 2011, 05:05:14 pm
So sorry, Matt. Thinking positive for you all.

Oldmanmatt

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#48 Re: Black Hole Sun......
July 15, 2011, 09:59:54 am
Sing a song of sixpence...

I sing, as I drive the kids to school.
Loud, enthusiastic.
It helps.

A pocketful of Rye...

I’m going to have to stop doing it when I’m alone in the car, or I’m going to be sectioned.

Four and twenty Blackbirds, baked in a pie...

I met a man at the Climbat wall in BCN, a couple months ago. I’d guessed that he was ten years my senior, he was knocking off F7a’s after a couple of tries. In conversation, it emerged he was a visiting American, in town for a couple of weeks. We got around to Yosemite, he’d climbed the Nose with Dougie Haskil; he was sixty four!

And when the pie was opened...

There is a man, who climbs at Dart Rock; we chat often. He is seventy five; he knew my Grandfather and my father as a child. He’s all muscle and sinew; he’s training for a trip to Yosemite in September, aiming for the Nose.
But, I think I can see (in the occasional twitch), the beginnings of Parkinson’s...

The birds began to sing...

The Radio therapy will begin on the first of August. It is, apparently, complicated; it will take a lot of planning.
The pain is difficult to control. They keep juggling her pain meds and blood thinners. It was so bad on Sunday; we had to make a trip to A&E. She refuses to take the Oramorph. “I’m not ME!” she says, when she takes them...

The King is in the counting house...

The voice is not alone now.
I can hear another sound.

Somewhere...

A clock is ticking...

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#49 Re: Black Hole Sun......
July 17, 2011, 12:57:27 pm
I sat on the tattered old deck chair...

As the sun rose over the valley before me, I popped a pill and cracked open a can.
I stretch out my leg; it’s feeling a little better.

And then...

It all gets a little hazy...

We’d arrived a day ahead of the rest of the guys, Steve and I. We’d taken a hire car loaded with all our gear and driven up; the others would follow by train and bus.
On the coll, at the end of the lake, the hotel is closed; season over. “But” says the proprietor “feel free to use the barn at the back”.
“No charge” he says “Rats, yes, but no charge”.

It’s early morning, the glacier glinting in brilliant autumn sun, beyond; the summit. The highest point in the Dolomites.
We share a look, a grin. We have time...
Later, much later, we step off the ice and bound joyfully down the scree. Another summit ticked.
Laughing, panting, I step from the scree to the tarmac of the road and...
Miss my step, ankle rolling under me, I sprawl across the tarmac.

The guys have arrived. My ankle has ballooned beyond recognition, livid, purple.
“I think it’s just a bad sprain” says Doc, our tame MA “I don’t think it’s broken” (it is, but it will be weeks before that comes to light). He gives me the pills and strict instructions about how many and how often to take them. “It’s Oramorph” he says “strong stuff”.
In the deep dark before the dawn, I hobble around, helping them gear up. I watch them walk off into the gloom; they will be gone forty eight hours or so. I will wait alone. I settle into the chair and scan the horizon for a hint of the sun...

I finish the can. It really does feel a lot better, hardly hurts at all. Maybe just one more of those pills. I crack another can...

I can hop on the bad leg now, it really doesn’t hurt! They’re only a couple of hours ahead, maybe I can catch them up?
“Nah” says the voice “you climbed that one yesterday. What about that one over there?”

I climb.

When it hurts, I pop a pill.

The world is a wonderful place.

I am descending, when I run out of pills. Still above the snow line. Quickly the pain mounts, filling my mind, drowning out all thought. The voice drives me on.

I become aware of where I am. I’m sitting on a rock, well below the snow. The sun is almost gone. I am in agony, I am lost, I am alone and no-one knows I am here.
Suddenly, two figures appear out of the gloom. One tall, skinny, the other short, fat. Both wear lederhosen, both have the silly hat with the feather sticking out. The short one carries a blunderbuss.

I remember giggling.

 “Have you” says the skinny one “seen the White Stag?” They have thick German accents (“you’re in Italy, but hey.” says the voice). “Ja” says the fat one “the Great White Stag?”
“No, but can you help me? I can’t walk. I’m cold.”

“No” whispers the wind.

I am alone.

I turn to watch the last dying embers of the day, and there, silhouetted against the last sliver of the sun; I see the white stag. Magnificent, proud upon a jutting rock; he stares across the valley. I am mesmerised.

The sun is gone. There is no moon. I am cold. My world is pain. I cannot walk.

The Stag...

Is nothing but a twig, sticking out of a cracked boulder, no more than a foot in front of my face.

“Ah...” says the voice.

I remember, stumbling, boulder to boulder.
I remember pain.
I remember waking, sprawled on the grass, covered in a light October snow.
I remember the barn, a few yards ahead, in the first light of another dawn.
I remember not being able to get into my sleeping bag, just dragging it over me and surrendering to the void.

“Matt?” A voice, hands shaking me. “Matt? Are you all right?”
“My leg, it’s my leg.”
Someone tugs off my boot.
“Shit Mate! What have you done?”

A needle.

I’m running with the Stag...



 

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