Taking Lungs for Granted

We had a busy weekend but for once had time together to enjoy. This was made all the more poignant by Himself going to have a lung checkup this morning for his condition called Pulmonary Fibrosis.

He dropped me in Truro as I had several meetings there, and he went on to Treliske, not knowing how long it would take – last time he was there all morning. I couldn’t ring him till nearly 1o’clock and he sounded cheery as he answered the phone, so I knew things couldn’t be that bad.

“I had an X ray and breathing tests, and apparently my lungs aren’t likely to improve but it’s no worse,” he said. He paused and I knew there was more to come. “He said that most people are dead within three years of getting pulmonary fibrosis,” he added, in a matter of fact sort of way. “So I’m very lucky.”

It is now three years since he was diagnosed with the disease. I went hot and cold and shook. If there is such a thing as a ghost walking over my grave, this was it. A brush with death. Or a near brush. I’m still trembling just thinking about it.

“In fact, he says it might just be scar tissue, not pulmonary fibrosis after all,” he added.

My first thought was Thank God for that. Then I thought – hang on. Why didn’t they get the diagnosis right in the first place?

But the important thing is that he’s doing fine. He’s playing the cornet well – the Big Gig is in a month’s time – and his lungs have to benefit from that.

The bad news is that we didn’t win the lottery this weekend. But I’d rather know that his lungs are OK. Because you can’t buy new lungs for love nor money.

P.S. Off to Ways with Words in Devon on wednesday to listen to a talk by Celia Robertson about her grandmother. Apparently "by the 1970s, Sophie, the grandmother was destitute and mad. She washed her hair in margarine and cut up presents in case they had a listening device in the lining. In another life she wrote for the BBC; her poetry was published by Leonard and Virgina Woolf; she was reviewed in the national papers and had tea with Vita Sackville West. Celia Robertson asks: Who was Sophie?"

I can't wait to find out....