I wasn’t much older than GP1 when I first decided I wanted to dive.  We lived in Jamaica at the time and I had already spent many hours snorkelling over the coral reefs.  Diving was the obvious next step.  Being one of six children, though, nothing came on a plate and my mother refused to pay for me to join the dive club; I had to wait until I could pay for it myself.  I took a year off after A levels and taught in a small High School in Kingston where the girls weren’t much younger than me and I used my earnings to fund my diving.  There were a few weeks in the pool and then it was off to the coast, and every weekend from then on was spent heading for one reef or another. 

I was 18 and diving has been my passion ever since.  I’ve now dived around much of the British and Irish coast, from Rockall and Muckall Flugga to Thanet and the Scillies, taking in Rathlin and the Saltee Islands on the way.  There have been trips to other parts of the world over the years, although noticeably fewer since children came on the scene, but I have never been Down Under. I’ve never been to Australia or New Zealand, never dived the Barrier Reef.  So this summer, that’s what we’re going to do.

We’re heading for Australia via Singapore, then on to Fiji, San Diego and home.  The boys are learning to dive  before we go and will do their first dives in the sea on the Great Barrier Reef.  It feels hugely extravagant but after everything that’s happened in the last couple of years I don’t really care.  GPD and I want to share our obsession with the children while we can and while they’re at an age when they can appreciate it.  If they like diving, that’s great.  If they don’t, it doesn’t matter at all but they’ll have had a go.  They’ve both just done exams this summer and who knows, they may not want to go on holiday with their parents for that much longer.   It took a bit of effort persuading GPD that he really could  take a whole month off work, that the place wouldn’t come to a standstill without him.  It took a bit of will power on my part to turn down a couple of interesting/lucrative jobs because we were going on holiday.  Once in a while, these things just have to be done.  And they have to be done before the children have grown up while you weren’t looking.

We’ve only planned in a couple of days diving, in case they hate it.  We can do more if it all works out.  If you look on Google Earth, the place we’re going to in Fiji is a white speck surrounded by rainforest and sea  so there’ll be plenty of opportunity there to dive, if we want to.   And after Fiji, we’re going to catch up with Kris, a friend from the past in San Diego.  The wonders of Facebook!

Not long to go now.  A few last minute things to do - should I shell out more cash on a netbook, for instance, so that we can download photos while we’re away (and maybe do the odd blog post…)? And could I trust Amazon to deliver when they say?  Can I live without my underwater camera?  We’re reading the guidebooks, taking advice from Potty Mummy and others, wondering what to do in Singapore and elsewhere.  All suggestions welcome!

We can’t wait! 

Must nip off now; there’s still time to dig around down the back of the sofa. 

Photo credit: Richard Ling  (Must scan some of my own )

But there’s been a change at our local surgery.  One practice has split into two and our surgery has an almost entirely new staff of doctors, nurses and whoever else works in a GP practice.  So, today, there’s a new nurse, no Sally, and the blood test went something like this:

“What’s this for? CA 125? Oh, you’ve had a bone scan.”

(Thinks: Bone scan?  Why’s she asking me about a bone scan?  I’ve had cancer, I’ve had everything scanned and she’s asking me about a bone scan?)

“Which arm?  OK, show me both arms. ”

Taps veins.  ”It’s coming up.  This one will do.  I have done this a few times before, you know.”

(Thinks:  Oh dear, bad sign.  Why did she need to tell me that?  That few is a bit worrying.)

 Needle in.  “Do you normally have problems giving blood?” 

(Thinks:  No.  Why? More bad signs.)

Needle jiggles about.  No  blood.  Change the angle. No blood. Jiggle about a bit more. 

(Thinks: That’s why)

Dig the needle in a bit further. 

(Thinks: Ouch! That hurts. Giving blood doesn’t normally hurt).

Still no blood.  Tilt it down a bit.

(Thinks:  Now that really hurts! I’m going to have such a big bruise.  Hurry up!)

“Are you all right?”

(Grits teeth and thinks: No I’m not alright. Giving blood has never been so painful. Get on with it.  Says:  Yes.)

Hooray! A dribble of blood appears in the syringe.  Dig the needle in a bit more.  We’re done.  I can go home.

“So do you phone for the results?”

“No, it goes to oncology.”  (Thinks: I still don’t know why she asked about the bone scan.  Perhaps she has no idea it’s a cancer check up.)

And in fact, to be fair, there’s no reason why she should have any idea what CA125 indicates.  But she could have looked at my notes. Or even tried to make some conversation.

Over the past two years I’ve got used to having needles stuck in to me: blood out, nasty things in, whatever.   It’s rarely been a problem.  It’s routine for most of these people.  Oddly, though, the worst ones at taking blood have been the phlebotomists.  As far as I know, that’s what they’re trained to do: take blood.  Yet one of them had to call the doctor in to do the necessary and the other left me with my biggest bruise to date.  Her record might just be broken today, though, as it’s an hour later and my arm still hurts.

I’m already dreading the next one in 3 months time.  I might just enquire quietly if there’s another nurse and book with her.   Come back Sally!

Photocredit: @MSG

More details will follow, I’m sure.  But things to do, you know.

It started yesterday, 3pm.  “Mum! My calculator’s broken”.  “It’ll be the battery” she said sagely and spent the next 20 minutes extricating one of those tiny silver buttons, the sort you never have spares of in the house, from an impossibly tight casing.  Dashed up to town for spares.  Dashed home to insert.  It still didn’t work.  Emergency phone call to GPD to purchase new calculator on his way home.

“I can’t do this question! How do I work this out? We’ve not done this.”

GPM thinks: ”Don’t ask me! I’ve got no idea!” GPM says: “Let’s look in your text book. It’ll be there somewhere.” And then he figures out the answer anyway, and decides perhaps he has done it in class.

“What do I need tomorrow?” came next. “Do I put it all in a plastic bag?”  Much whittling of pencils ensued. 

Calming noises from GPM, who finds a whole forgotten supply of those handy zip top plastic bags. Thanks, Lakeland!

This morning.  “You’ll have to collect me. Be there at 4. I can’t take my phone. What do I do with my calculator during the non-calculator exam? Perhaps I’ll take my school bag for my phone and calculator. But BE there at 4.  No I won’t take my bag. I can’t take the calculator cover, can I? It’s got stuff on it. Perhaps I will take my bag. ”

Soothing noises from GPM.  “They have organised an exam or two before, you know. There’ll be somewhere to leave things.  Read the first question twice.  Read every question twice. Check your answers.”

And then, at school: “There’s noone here! Do I have to sign in? Where shall I go? I could just wait outside the room. Don’t forget to collect me. At 4.”

“Go to the social area.  Go the the library.”  But I’m sure he found his mates as soon as he walked through the door.

He’ll be fine. He’s done loads of work.  But he reminded me all over again what it’s like doing exams.

The school bag’s in the car, by the way.  And I’d better set an alarm for 4pm.

1. Send off forms for school travel passes (oops - should have been on last week’s list.  Oh well).      
2. Book our holiday.   ;-)    Started.  And we’re probably going here:  Dolphin Bay Divers (among other things)
3. Tax the car   :-(     Why is the simplest thing never simple?
4. Go through tender application.  A big one. It has to go out tomorrow. There’s a whole bunch of us working on it. I’m near Edinburgh.  They’re in Edinburgh, Weardale, Pembrokeshire, Dublin, Galway.  The world becomes small with email and phone conferencing. 
5. Rearrange podiatry appointment for GP junior.  He’s now hobbling after every football/basketball/tennis/whatever session.   Good job he likes swimming. 
6. Wonder if hubbie’s health insurance would deal with it more quickly.  And how do I find out? Arrange it? Find a decent podiatrist? Will it cover follow ups?    :-?  
7. Book our holiday.  Still not done that.   :-D 
8. Finish the next section of my current project. It’s already overdue and time’s running out.   8-O       
9. Find accommodation for September survey. 
10. Start on next tender for a job in north west Scotland.
11. Book our holiday     :lol:   
12. VAT return.    :-( 
13. Start (and finish) report for Menai Straits last year.    :-( 
14. Go for a run - Great Edinburgh Run this weekend.      I’m not in Mud’s league but you do what you can do.  I’m aiming for under an hour this year.  She’s tagged me, by the way - I’ll get round to it soon.  Put in on next week’s list perhaps.
15. Nag.  When they come in from school, of course   :roll:      
16. Pay credit card bills  :-(     
17. Hang out the washing.  We escaped for the weekend so there’s a backlog and yes it rained yesterday. 
18. Wonder why the front door bell’s not working.  Had three different lots of people wondering how to break in yesterday.
19. Book that holiday   :-P      
20. Displacement activity - write a blog post     :twisted:    

Must dash.  Things to do, you know.

Why do some smilies work sometimes and not at others, she wonders?

Oh, and there are lots of entertaining blog posts to read in my spare time, in another blog carnival over at Mothership.  Do drop by! 

Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag

GPM:  “That’s 3 weeks. THREE weeks. Well OK 23 days and a few hours until Higher English.  You won’t be able to put it off any longer then.”

GP1:  “I kno-o-ow.”

Nag. Nag, nag, nag, nag.

“So have you learned that poem? Read that book? Written out those quotes?”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.  Sigh.”

Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag.

Bup-a-lup goes MSN.

Nag, nag, nag, nag.

I think I’m turning into a moany old nag.

And I wish someone would move that wall that’s making lumps on my head.

Nag, nag, nag. Nag, nag.

It must be summer - exams are upon us.  It’ll all be over soon. Thank goodness. Until next year, that is.

And until then…

…nag, nag, nag, nag…

Bup-a-lup

My first dive in Britain was at Petticowick, after learning to dive during a gap year in Jamaica.  I vividly remember my introduction to the cold, greenish murk of a November kelp forest, shivering in a too big borrowed wetsuit with a piece of orange canvas that purported to be a life jacket around my neck.  “Wasn’t that wonderful!” proclaimed my buddy, Tim, later of Eden Project fame, as we staggered out of the water. “Drifting down through the kelp, in that beautiful clear water!” He clearly hadn’t been on the same dive as me.  Still, I perservered and learned to like, if not love, kelp forests.  The following year Julia and Chas arrived in Durham and joined me in the diving club while I switched subjects and joined them in Zoology lectures.  We became firm friends within a wider group of divers, biologists, college mates, and were involved in organising expeditions with a Joint Services diving club.  Then came finals and we went our separate ways to research posts around the country:  I headed for Glasgow (what a mistake that proved to be!) and ultimately to the natural history side of science, Chas to Lowestoft and fisheries, Julia to Bristol and a career in the science of fish vision.

Those few years were an intense period of living, and we lived them to the full.  They marked a shared growing up between leaving home and setting out into the world. They established the direction of our future paths.  And yet, looking back, I see how little we knew of each other outside our university lives.  I find myself writing all this now as I have had it in mind for a few years to get back in touch with Julia again. I knew she had moved to Australia but we had barely been in touch since my wedding, over twenty years ago. So now, with a family  trip to Australia in the early stages of planning, it seemed to be time to meet up again.  Tragically, I’ve left it too late, just a few weeks too late.  Julia died of cancer at the beginning of February this year, leaving a partner and two teenage children, about the same age as my own.  

It’s strange how, after all these years, I can still hear the sound of Julia’s voice in my head.  She was a generous, softly spoken person, self-contained with a sort of inner grace that I have come across in few other people.  She was a very good friend although it is so long since our paths last crossed.   I have found the news of her death very upsetting for a whole mixture of reasons.  It was so recent - if only I had been in touch a couple of years back when I last made a half-hearted attempt to find her.  Her death reflects my own experience of cancer in a way that I hardly dare think about.  Her children are so close in age to my own and they must be devastated by the loss of their mother.  And she is the third of my relatively small cohort of female diving marine biologists to die of cancer.

Dale, who I worked with sporadically over many years, died of breast cancer just before Christmas.  Nettie, who I shared an office with in the stable yard at OPRU, died a few years ago of a particularly nasty cancer of the smooth muscle.  And now Julia.  A mutual friend has a photograph of Nettie, Dale and Julia together on a survey on Skomer in the 1980s;  all three are gone but I think of them all with fondness and remember the laughs we shared and the many good times we spent together exploring the coast.

And I think of other peripheral friends, important friends I’ve lost touch with but keep in mind, and I have resolved not to leave it too late to speak to them again. 

And by coincidence - because it was a long, long day - I happened to finish my current reading matter on poolside.  Reading matter for Mothers’ Day.  “Mothers and Sons”, a collection of short stories by Colm Toibin, has been sitting by my bedside for over a year.  I don’t know why it has taken me so long to get around to reading this as I always enjoy the clarity of Toibin’s writing and, sure enough, once I was into it I couldn’t put it down.  The stories were all very different but they tweaked a few emotional heartstrings and the predominantly Irish setting nudged out a childhood memory or two.  I have to say that they’re not mother and son stories to lift the spirit and gladden the heart, but a good short story most certainly needs a twist in the tail.  If you enjoy short stories, I can surely recommend this, although not necessarily for Mothers’ Day!

No. 37  Homage to Tracy Emin

Alternatively known as

No. 49.  The horizontal filing cabinet 

or

No. 51.  Revision?

I warned him it would be blog fodder. 

  :roll: 

I’ve been dealing recently with membership from our club, since our membership secretary moved away, and I knew that I could go online to check membership numbers.  But what I only noticed recently was that all the numbers are hyperlinked and when you click on one it takes into another screen containing a lot of personal information.  To remove your information, you have to register an email address.  When I retrieved my jaw from the desk, I started asking around to see how many people knew about this.  So far, I haven’t found anyone, and the arguments began.  And while I managed to get my information hidden, I haven’t yet managed to take down my sons’ as they don’t have email addresses registered.

I’m sure I’ll tell you more about this in a while but for the moment I would be very interested to know what information you would be happy for an organisation to put online about a) yourself and b) your children.  So there’s a little quiz below.  As I haven’t mastered the art of those fancy quizzes where you click a box and it’s anonymous, perhaps you could reply in the comments box:  Q1  Yes;  Q2 No; Q3 Yes/No/Maybe/It depends  sort of thing.   And no, not all the information displayed below has been publicised - I would hate to bias you before I start!

Don’t worry, I won’t treat this as anything statistically signficant.  Or even significant.  All I really want is a measure of my paranoia and to decide whether or not I should let it drop.

So, what information about a) you and b) your children would you be happy for a sports body to put in public on the web?

1.  Family name

2. Given name

3. Name known by  (eg Given name Rebecca, known as Becky)

4. Address

5. Town

6. Region

7. Age

8. Year of birth

9. Date of birth

10. Name of Club

11.  Club code (specific to organisation)

Are there any particular combinations you’d be happy with?  Not happy with?  What if it was password protected?

Would you just not be bothered?

Please, please answer in the comments box.   As anonymously as you like. 

Photo credit: LittleBlackCherry