Antique Monopoly

I thought that we might have a quick break from some of the darker stuff going on.

The other day I was going through some old stuff - having an "Autumn" clean - and found this: my parent's old Monopoly set.

I know that it belonged to my parents because I remember playing with this copy of Monopoly as a child, sometimes with playmates, but most especially with my brother. During school holidays, if the weather was a bit dull or worse, we would have Monopoly marathons which would last up to 3 days.

When we ran out of Monopoly money, we'd steal the money from our Payday game, and simply continue. Of course, we had to change the rules to make sure that none of us, would ever go bankrupt and have to stop playing. This is, until we were sufficiently bored or the weather fined up and our parents threw us out of the house.

The set was bought by my parents around 1965 or 1966. This is because of the address on the box comes from a time not long after I was born.

This bloody scoundrel's got my parent's money.

What do you mean no batteries required?

I know that there are many different varieties of Monopoly these days - but this one is from them olden days with the proper London street names - all assigned upper, middle and lower class property values, as was fitting at the time.

"By Jove, we're British and must respect the class system don't you know!" Piss off Grandpa. The game of Monopoly is a U.S. invention anyway.

The only utilities that you could invest in were the Water works and the Electric company. None of those fancy mobile phone services, cable TV or internet service providers.


And Free Parking in London? Did that actually used to happen? Perhaps you might find some now what with the congestion tax and all.

I suspect in London if you had enough money you could always buy your way out of jail - but getting out free?

It still costs a ridiculous amount of cash for your Barrister, and perhaps a few bribes for some dodgy judges, politicians and warders.

What's that Grandpa? "The youth of today are just good-for-nothing rabble rousers. I reckon them coppers should lock 'em all up and throw away the key." Piss off Grandpa!

However, the powers-that-be seem to be listening to you. Rates of youth incarceration in countries such as the UK, USA and Australia are higher than they've ever been. The popular solution is not more social support and proper job creation. It's to build more jails.

Now you can buy the jail itself, and still have some change left over to pick up a nice slice of the privatised railway - certainly in the UK. Why does it always seem that so many Public-Private ventures end up in a screaming monetary mess, and it's us poor fucking taxpayers who always foot the bill?

We're selling off the farm, guys!

I always loved the fact that in this old version of the game, the currency is in Pounds. Good old British (or perhaps Australian or New Zealand) Pounds. When they still had shillings and pence too! "Proper money, not like those Yankee-style decimal currencies," grumbles Grandpa.

"And what do you mean we're metric now? Harrumph! Never did like those uppity French chappies anyway." Piss off Grandpa!

To my eye the old pound £ symbol always seemed a little more elegant than the dollar $ sign. Sort of like a lot of old symbols such as the Ampersand or the Treble Clef. So nice to write.

As for the metric system and decimal currency, I'm a big fan. It's my scientific background I guess. These systems may lack a history, but they're clean, logical and easy to use.

These look more like Euro notes rather than modern pounds. And the £1 note is now a coin.

Nonetheless, the actual notes were nice and colourful, unlike real Pound notes at the time, and certainly more interesting that the "greenbacks" of the US currency. They all look the same!

They say that life is a game of chance, and at its core, the game of Monopoly is the same. You never know what the next throw of the dice will bring. You can go from potentate to pauper in a small number of rolls.

If that's the case then I've rolling some bad numbers over the last few years.

Note that in the picture above, one of the original wooden dice is missing and been replaced by a plastic one (on the right.) I guess that's what happens when kids are allowed to get near games like this with lots of bits and pieces. "Mummy, I just ate the little dog. Soooorry."

I would put in a picture of the little dog, or the iron, or some of the other standard tokens, but they are missing. I think I saw them somewhere during the Great Cleanup of the family home when my father died. I wouldn't have thrown them out, but at the time couldn't find the Monopoly game itself.

These are the rules, based on the Industrial-Capitalist economic systems which seem to rule much of the world.

One of the basic rules is that if things are tough, and you don't have the money, then you're fucked.

Mind you, if you're rich then things can go down the gurgler in a very short space of time.

Owning property seems to be the key to success in this game, and you can collect some pretty stiff rents, from seemingly random passers-buy, and they're only wooden houses!

In the real world this is called extortion and you may indeed proceed directly to jail.

Unless you're a successful underworld figure, or as they are called in Sydney sometimes "a colourful racing identity". Then you might get that "Get out of Jail Free Card."

Mind you, if only we could pay rents like that now. £200 for a single house is just a dream.

Especially in a place like swanky Mayfair. Although perhaps the area is not all that it's cracked up to be. Not these days.

Times, and what is cool and expensive change pretty quickly. The rent for a new East-End apartment must be pretty astronomical! Then again so is a wooden cottage in inner-city Sydney (watch out for the yummy asbestos...)

Anyway, it was nice to find this set, a piece of my childhood (and that of my brother's.)

Better go now. It's stupid o'clock in the morning - and I have to be up at 6:30 to get to the hospital to have my very first Chemo hooked up. Is that anything like your first My Little Pony?

Yes, you guessed it, Mr. Pain has come for a serious visit again. Feels like he's moved in. I wish he'd fuck off and go rent a wooden house in Mayfair.

And so it begins...

Morning funky friends,

Today is preparation day for Chemotherapy.

I have lots of fun things in store for me.

First will be the insertion of the PICC line. A "minor" surgical procedure where they thread a cannula up through a vein in my upper arm and across and down into my chest, ending in one of my major heart veins.

It's all done with smoke, mirrors, incantations to the Elephant god ... oh and some local anaesthetic, an ultrasound machine, and hopefully someone who knows what the fucking hell they are doing!!!

It all gets verified by an X-ray.

I may be getting my first dose of Chemo via a standard I.V. That should take about 90 minutes. I would confirm that but the information sheet that would tell me has gone AWOL. I know it was in my walker basket when I came home from hospital last Wed, but no sign of it now. *Sigh!* I will ask my nurse for a replacement.

And there's some sort of information session to sit through as well. It may go like:

You will learn!

"Now sit up straight boys and girls! Is that gum in your mouth Stephen Nicholson?" 

"No sister, a eucalyptus lollie."

"Well spit it now young man, or it'll be the ruler across the knuckles for you!"

 "Yes sister..."

"Godless pervert... Now children, all together now: Pall-ia-tive care ..."

All together about 4 hours. So it will be a long day. my brother Chris will take me in, but I'll probably get a taxi home. With a new funny tube sticking out of my arm.

Then, good goddess, I have to be up early tomorrow (Wed. 21 MAY) to get back to the hospital by 8:15 am to see my Gastroenterologist! Hopefully that shouldn't take long.

Never a dull moment when you're seriously ill - except for the dull moments while you're waiting for stuff.

Little Victories

Little Victories, Little Victories,

You can always count your blessings...

Lyrics from a song by Wild Pumpkins at Midnight

(Much of the following post is from an e-mail that I sent out today. So some people reading this blog will already be acquainted with the content. Some events from the weekend have been detailed in other posts.)

Greetings all,

hope that you're all well and happy.

For the moment I am. The last 3 days have been very positive all over, annoying pain aside.

Had a great weekend. Long-term friends Keith and Sharyn came over on Saturday (17 MAY) and we had a Game of Thrones marathon. We watched all 6 available episodes of this years season. Made me feel so ... normal! Just hanging out and doing stuff that had nothing to do with cancer.

There ya go great-grandad!

Saturday night I devoted to locking off some of my family history efforts. I saved the book ("The Leavetaking") I'd been writing as a PDF, and closed the Word file. That was it!

I'd bought a pile of USB memory sticks and loaded them the book, a special "gedcom" file containing the entire family tree, scans of some of Mum's old cookbooks that I had from a marathon scan after Dad's death, and copies of my family photos folders. They're ready for various cousins who are interested. Some I'll post, others will pick them up. Oh and one huge one for my brother. This is a major achievement for me - 10 years of research and 3 years of writing.

On Sunday (18 MAY)  another long-time friend Leigh came down from Sydney. She is like a little sister to me, and I hadn't seen her in 4 years. We had a great afternoon sitting about and catching up on things. After I dropped her off at the train, I came home and cried for a while. Not something that I've done for a loooooong time.

From unhappy to intense! Licence photos never lie.

Today (19 MAY) I got my drivers licence renewed. Although I expected it, there was no shit-fight over the fact that I have all these dressings on my head for the photo. Enough of my face was visible to be acceptable. And, perhaps symbolically, I bought the 5 year licence (not a cheaper 1 or 3 year). Will I get a chance to renew it again? Stayed tuned kids!

One of the more interesting aspects of my trip to the registry office was that I walked there without my Walker. I decided to give it a try as it wasn't far. I think that if the distances are still long that I would probably need it - but I handled this quite well without it.

I finally got news late this afternoon about starting Chemotherapy. I'm not happy about the chemo itself - but it's a positive sign that attempts to help me are coming along fast!!

I head into Hospital tomorrow (Tue 20 MAY) to have my PICC line installed. It's like a permanent cannula. A tube goes from my upper arm, up and into my shoulder, and across through my chest and directly into a major vein near my heart. They watch all the time with Ultrasound.

Then Thursday (22 MAY) (at 8 am - bastards!) I'm back to the hospital to be "Connected" with my 4-day portable pump of the drugs. Apparently the pump is shaped like a dildo :-) It stays with me 24/7 wherever I go.

Next Monday (25 MAY) I have to pop back in and have it Disconnected. We wait and see what happens, and about 3-4 weeks later, I'll start round 2.

And the best news of all. Last week I had a CAT scan to determine if the cancer had metastasised (spread to other parts of my body.)

It's CLEAR!

Cancer suddenly springing up in the rest of my body is the last friggin thing I need.

Anyway, Woooo-fucking-hoooooooo.! & a hearty Yaaaaaaaay!

(I know - it's just for now, but still good news.)

The fight goes on ...

Happy Days Part 2

You know when you meet an amazing person, and you click, and you just know that you're going to be the best of friends for life? Yeah, well, that didn't happen with Leigh and I. Perhaps that sort of instant thing is just bullshit.

Flatmate Hell, Chippendale

The deep love and friendship between Leigh and I was born in the fiery crucible of the share-home experience. For 6 months we lived in a dire household in Chippendale (Sydney), with a mad drug-addled screaming queen, his depressed punching-bag boyfriend,  a sour vicious goth girl, and 2 naughty kittens.

Leigh and I bonded sitting in one or the others' bedrooms, smoking dope, drinking red goon, watching Star Trek videos and telling each other how much we hated living there.

At the end of the 6 months lease, the household sprang apart and Leigh and I moved into a house in South Newtown together. That was a haven of relative peace (never mind the jumbos flying overhead) and fun.

We became like the older brother and younger sister that neither of us had. We shared secrets at midnight that til this day no-one else knows. She taught me how to hug and cook.

After 18 months, for better or worse we went our separate ways. She eventually moved to Katoomba for years - which was sort of great. I would go up and visit and usually stay the night on the floor, teasing her cat Lucie. Her various homes in the Blue Mountains were like a retreat from the busy life of the city. I continued my busy and somewhat slutty life in Newtown.

When my mother died in 2001, Leigh was the only one of my Sydney friends who came to her funeral. That meant a shitload to me. Later that year I was sick of living alone in Newtown, and Leigh had become bored with the mountains and was ready to re-enter the fast lane again."Are we moving in together again?" I asked her on the phone. "Yep, looks that way." she replied. And so it was.

Come on in, the cocktails are ready & the bong's clean.

We rented a large old 2-storey Terrace House around in Enmore for 18 months. It was a manky old place but a and good space for two people who had lived alone for a long time. When the landlord wanted the property back, the Universe found us a new place, a single storey terrace, almost directly across the road. We hired some stair trolleys and tempted friends with free booze, and moved.

We were housemates again in Enmore for 6 years. We had great parties, and always had spare room or a bed for visiting friends, or plenty of floor-space for the leftover bodies from parties.  We were close to great pubs, and thousands of eateries; next door to a Wiggle, and the ever thumping Enmore Theatre.

"Breakfast at Steve's the morning after,

Leftover people eating leftover pasta."

From a little poem I wrote years back.

I encouraged her career as an I.T. Business Analyst, which hasn't always been easy for her, but the money has allowed her to write a number of Vegan Cookbooks.

Again, with her life changing, she moved out (along with her 2 cats Lucie & Squeak) to get her own space, and lived in Newtown.  I stayed in Enmore.

After the death of my father I moved back to Wollongong to live in the old family home for a while, and when that was sold, I moved in here and did my falling into the bottom of a whiskey bottle routine. As you may have read from an earlier post, this was almost fatal. I lost contact with Leigh (amongst many other wonderful people.)

The Lucie-woo. RIP love.

Soooo ... after all that exposition, you might imagine what it was like to see her again on Sunday. She looked well and happy. Her job was OK and she has another Vegan cookbook on the way. She is somewhat saddened this year with the death of her mother, and her oldest 20 year old cat Lucie. I'm so ashamed that I wasn't there for her.

As soon as she stepped off the train we had a long deep hug - something I don't get much of. We went back to my place & sat about for hours catching up. It was like we'd only seen each other the day before. But at the same time we were both aware that so much time had passed and there was much to discuss.

Friendship runs deep. Especially if you're both silly.

After seeing her off on the train back to Sydney a few hours later, I came home and cried for a while. That's the first time in a looong time. But I felt so much better for the cry, and for her visit in general.

Somewhere deep in my heart I've developed a better understanding of what I would miss should/when I die. (Bloody hell- that last sentence was hard and strange to write.)


[Weird aside about this post. I went to add the labels for it and found that all of them were horrendously depressing, all about hospitals and cancer. It was nice to add some happy labels.]

Happy Days

Greetings fellow travellers.

Put on a Happy Face

Despite the bad news that I've received this week, the last few days have been wonderful and full of nice surprises.

I find myself a happy man tonight.

Here are a few things that happened on Friday (16 MAY).

My extra four legs

My walker and shower chair were due back at Port Kembla hospital, their 3-month lease being up. I was hoping that I could pay another $50 and get them for another 3 months.

The young man on the phone was explaining that they only loaned the equipment for a 3 month period and renewing that was not an option. The stuff had to go back. Sighing as Port Kembla hospital is way south of here, on a hill, parking is shit, and my legs are still weak - thus the need for a walker in the first place!

I was about to hang up when the young man, who must have been reading my file, asked if I had been referred to the Palliative Care team. I said "yes." That had already happened when I got out of hospital 3 months ago.

"Oh that's alright," he said. Being connected to Palliative Care meant that I could keep the walker and shower chair on indefinite loan at no cost. "Until I no longer needed them." [insert ominous music]

Anyway ... fucking BONUS!

Not this guy! Too techie.

Then my lawn mower man popped in (lawns did not need doing) with a Mac laptop under his arm. Apparently he had been trying to send me some e-mails and they had bounced. I took a quick look and determined that he had mistyped my address. Simply fixed. He's not too tech saavy - but is trying. Fittest 70 year old I ever met though.

He said he wanted to get MS Word but didn't know how to go about it for the Mac. I took pity as I had the installer discs of a slightly older but perfectly serviceable version. I told him I'd fix that for him too. He took off for another job and I got out the discs. When he returned it was all installed and up and running. He was very happy.

We chatted about his need for an external backup drive. I told him what he needed, but he did seem somewhat confused. Anyway I said that I have to go and pick up some things from Officeworks (big office supply store). He asked if they had backup drives and I said, yes they were sure to. So he offered to drive me into Officeworks so I could get my stuff and help him choose what he needed.

When all that was done we headed to the checkout. I started to sort out what in my walker basket belonged to me, and find my wallet, when he stopped me. "I'll pay for it all," he said. "You've helped me so much it's the least I can do." So pay for it all he did, with a hearty thanks from me.

Strange nice little surprises sometimes come your way. The Universe isn't totally heartless and cold and fucked up.

Saturday (17 MAY) was even better. I had a visit from long-term (nearly 30 years) friends Keith and Sharyn. I had some copies of the first 6 episodes of the new Game of Thrones (don't ask me how I got them - that damned stork delivers more than babies ya know ;-)

Sharyn in particular was keen to watch a few episodes to start catching up with what was going on. Keith wasn't too fussed - I think he was sort of dragged along. We got all comfy in the lounge room with my big tele & surround sound. Dark chocolate and microwave-heated cashews appeared and we settled down. I'd seen them before, but I do like seeing things like that a 2nd time. You tend to pick up so much more.

I  expected we might get through 3 or 4 episodes, but in the end it was Keith who was the driving force - demanding every time that an episode finished that we go onto the next one. He really got into it.

 Go team Targaryen!

After the 4th, Sharyn had noticed that from time to time I'd been fading out and having little grandpa-naps. What with the radiation induced fatigue, my crap general health, and the cancer pain pills, it's easy enough for me to do - especially curled up in front of the TV. It was late afternoon and they were murmuring about leaving. I'll be honest, I didn't want them to go. The naps had refreshed me, and if we watched the last 2 episodes that I had, our marathon would only finish around 7:30.

They happily agreed to stay and onto the last 2 episodes we went. I was particularly keen to see the ending of episode 6 again. Peter Dinklage at his finest.

After that it was hugs all round and they headed back to Sydney,

I was in a fantastic mood! For the first time in ages I had done something NORMAL! Friends, snacks and a TV marathon. There was nothing medical involved at all.

It's sad that my life has become defined to some extent by all the medical stuff that I need to go through. People seem to think that someone who is chronically ill, as I am, swans about the house all day watching TV and wanking.

I've had nurses ask me "So, Stephen, how do you fill in your day?" Are ... you ... fucking ... KIDDING ME?

I have to keep this crazy cavalcade of events in iCal, and print off a monthly copy and put it on the fridge, just to know what I'm doing, what's going to get done to me, and when. There is a never an empty day. At the very least I have to get my dressings changed that keep the nasty cancerous areas on my head clean. Every day, without fail, by a Community Nurse. Then there is the round of meetings with my GP, Specialists, check-ups at the Hospital, scans, blood tests and so on.

So you can imagine that Saturday made me feel so alive.

So much so that I brought the long running saga of my family history book to an excellent conclusion.

I'll write about that, and a visit on Sunday from my closest friend Leigh, in some forthcoming posts. For now, the pain killers seem to be working well enough that I might attempt bed - again!

G'night.

And the results are in ...

(The following Post is based on an e-mail I just sent out to close friends.)

Not good news!

Hi there all,

not been the best day today. Went for my  appointment with the Medical Oncologist re starting Chemotherapy.

That is going to happen, probably ASAP - esp. if I start with using my private health cover. The public system is alas a bit overloaded and it would take quite a number of weeks before they could "find me chair" as the jargon goes.

With this type of chemo they'll hook me up to a portable pump at the hospital. It stays on for about 4 days, and then it's removed again. The process is repeated every 3-4 weeks. So no long sitting about in hospital twiddling my fingers.

The side-effects will probably be not much worse than the those I've already experienced with Radiotherapy - so no big surprises for me there.

The nastier news is that the cancer is more advanced than what I'd previously been told. It's gotten into the bone around my ear.

The only reason to have the chemotherapy now is to try to extend my life somewhat, and keep me comfortable.

They estimate that I have 6-12 months to live.

Because of the depth of the cancer, there is little that surgery would do except waste my time (3 painful months in hospital) in a most uncomfortable manner. The cancer would just return - and faster than before.

I'm getting a full body CAT scan tomorrow at the hospital to see if the cancer has metastasised (spread.) The less spread - the longer I get.

The few people that I've told are all saying "I don't know what to say!" Which is alright ... neither do I, although when I told him, my brother made gratuitous use of the word "Fuck" - which is probably more articulate than I've been on the subject. I'm still in shock. It's not really sunk in.

My close friend who accompanied me to the meeting jumped on the net here at home and got some information about who to contact at places like the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital Sydney Cancer Centre etc. for possible second opinions and trials - and I think for my own piece of mind that sort of thing will be worth a try. All I can do is ask around.

Anyway ... I don't think I've any more to say ... for now. I'll be keeping regular updates here.

-- Stephen

Look Boss! De pain, de pain!

OK, the title is bad pun on a corny tag line from an even cornier old TV show. But it's 5 in the bloody morning so what do you expect? A sense of humour bigger than Ricardo Montalbán's pecs?

Yes, I've been woken by the cancer pain. For a long time it's been quite nicely under control, but just in the last 4 days or so, not long after my returning cancer was confirmed, the pain has been consistently starting to spiral up again.

Partly this may be increased tension within me after last Monday's poor diagnosis, which often adds physical tension to my body. I'm a great jaw-clencher and breath-holder even though I'm often unaware of the fact.

However, I think it's mostly that the cancer re-growth may be pressing on some sensitive areas within my ear canal and surrounds. Anyone with dodgy ears will know how stupidly painful ear pressure can be. I've never suffered it before, although my brother has, poor bastard!

As I already mentioned in a previous post I have access to some opioid pain killers, and the dosage level has been very successful at keeping me mostly comfortable thus far. If this goes on, however, I may get my arse to a doctor and see what I should do. I think I'll ring my GP's office Monday morning and see if she can squeeze me in for a quick appointment. If worse comes to worse I'll definitely be seeing this new Medical Oncologist on Wednesday.

As far as I understand it the level of pain killers that I'm taking is in fact very modest compared to what some people need, so it may not be too much of a problem in upping the dosage, especially now that it's disturbing my sleep. Parts of my last few posts were written mostly in these wee hours for the same reason. Getting up, moving about and doing something to distract me for a while seems to help. I can normally slip back into bed again after that.

One of the more interesting back-ups that I have is that I'm already connected to the local Palliative Care team at Port Kembla hospital. This was done when I was leaving Wollongong hospital back in February.

When they first told me that this referral had been made I sorta freaked out a bit. Palliative care - isn't that for, *gulp*, dying people? Is there something that they haven't told me?

It turns out that anyone who has been seriously ill, and in for a long haul illness and recovery like myself, can also be looked after by palliative care, not just the specifically dying. They make sure that all the services are put in place to keep you comfortable during the long recovery. That includes dieticians, physiotherapists, occupational therapists, counsellors and social workers, as well as doctors and nurses: some of whom have been popping in here at home from time to time to make sure that all is well.

They've done something that I've never heard of before. The team's head doctor has written some prescriptions which have been lodged with my local pharmacy (drug store). They are for emergency injections of powerful pain killers, sedatives, anti-nausea and anti-vomiting drugs. The Community Nurses who look after my dressings every day can call the pharmacy, have those emergency 'scripts filled, and come around here and jab me with whatever's needed to help.

Of course, that doesn't help me at 5 AM on a Sunday morning when everything is shut. There is however a magical mobile number I can call at any time to ask an on-call Community Nurse to come around. I don't think it will go that far this morning. I've popped a full Endone and will wait and see what it does. Soon I should be comfy enough to slide back into my toasty warm bed.

Ever since I came out of hospital nearly 3 months ago I've actually been sleeping quite well. I don't want those restful sleep cycles disturbed. Normally in the past I've been a pretty crap sleeper with bouts of insomnia. Or for the last 4 years I've not been sleeping as such, more passing out from the booze. I'd forgotten what good sleep is all about.

Anyway ... the pain seems to have calmed down a bit, so I might try and get back to bed. I can hear Kookaburras in the distance already singing their morning-song. Luckily I don't have anything happening until about midday when my Community Nurse will pop in and change the dressings on my head, and if need-be, I can nap again later in the day.

As the old song goes: "Laugh Kookaburra, laugh! How gay your life must be ..."