Brain Inflammation

I am in two minds about these health posts, and not everyone wants to read them, depressing subject that it is. On the one hand, I don’t really want to talk about it, but I have found similar posts by others helpful and informative. Doctors talk about symptoms and treatments, but they rarely experience them first-hand. Bloggers have. They share parts of their lives with you, and you are concerned for them. And, like with medical reality programmes on television, I suppose some of us wonder how we would cope in these situations. The supportive comments are therapy in themselves. Thank you everyone. 

It is three years this month since my health disaster kicked off with an unexpected seizure. Until then, I was walking regularly around our lovely local countryside and further afield, riding my bicycle through our quiet local lanes, swimming each week, driving to my favourite shop (Screwfix) for DIY parts, doing jobs around the house, gardening, playing concerts and ceilidhs in a band, and trekking up mountains on holiday in locations such as Scotland and North Wales. We made plans now that the kids are fairly independent. We were going to book holidays and visit friends and relatives around the country. Most of it had to come to an end. 

I now wonder how long I will be able to continue this blog. Some days it poses no difficulties; others seem impossible. The same with commenting and responding. It can sometimes take me ten minutes to make a single comment; there are often things I want to say, but it is too difficult, so I read but do not comment, for which I apologise, but that is how things are.  

The problems are caused by pressure from brain swelling due to inflammation. It causes mental exhaustion, and I have difficulty recognising letters and words, and using numbers. Thoughts don’t flow freely as they should. 

So far, the inflammation has been reduced fairly successfully by Dexamethasone steroids, and I have been a lot better within two or three days. In February when I last wrote about this, when the (then) latest MRI scan indicated changes, I was given a 20-day course of 4 pills a day (8 mg) for 5 days, reducing to 3 for 5 days, then 2, then 1. Two years ago, when things looked really bleak and I was sleeping most of the time and unable to concentrate on anything, I was told to start immediately with 8 pills a day (16 mg). That is a very high dose. That was when the nurse practitioner, who says things she perhaps should not really say, said the MRI scan looked “awful”. I appreciate someone with the confidence to say what they think, rather than giving options without advice. On a previous occasion when it was realise what I had, she said “I would not go down the lung surgery route if I were you”. I would not have sued the NHS if that had been wrong. 

Because Dexamethasone has a tendency to irritate the stomach, it is normally recommended to take Omeprazole beforehand for protection. I don’t get on as well with Lansoprazole which is an alternative. They both reduce the amount of stomach acid secreted. 

As I wrote in February, the scan indicated a blood clot, a new tumour, and increased activity in existing areas. Disheartening, to say the least, but it turned out not quite that bad. When more recently they were able to get a cannula past the oedema and obtain an MRI scan with contrast dye, which gives a clearer image, they concluded that the new “tumour” was in fact associated with the blood clot, and was being re-absorbed. However, less encouragingly, the existing areas were continuing to show signs of activity. This has been going on slowly since the start, although now held in check by the targetted chemotherapy. 

Some days ago I began to struggle with letter recognition again. When I started to write a comment on another blog, I was unable to locate a particular letter on the keyboard. I then forgot which letter I wanted, and then what I was trying to say, and what it was about. The comment was never made. But I usually know what is happening and remember. The comment was that not many yet realise that international trade tariffs will give a massive boost to the BRICS economies, and their eventual divergence from the Dollar. 

With a few Dexys left, I decided to take one a day for 5 days before it got any worse. It seems to have helped. I did not mention it to the doctors because all they would have done is ask me in for more pointless tests, and possibly kept me in all night, and most of the next day until a doctor was available to sign me free to go. It is like a prison in there. 

How many more times will it happen, and how often? Will I eat the tomatoes and runner beans I have sown, see our pears and apples this year, make it to my next birthday, and then Christmas? How long does it go on? 

I looked back through Weaver’s blog. By this time last year, she was posting infrequently after posting brilliantly every day for many years. In July, she announced her final post. In November, we learnt she had passed away. I may be on a similar trajectory, but her condition was different from mine. Some years earlier, her husband’s brain tumour gave him only weeks, rather than months or years, but his condition was also different. 

I can only stay positive and hope. A few patients on the internet say they have been on my particular targetted poison for over five years. There are not enough of us to really know.  

Coal

Last week’s pictures of coal imported through Immingham docks to keep our last blast furnaces at Scunthorpe operative, bring home to me how much Britain and our heavy industries have changed over the last forty years. The furnaces were within days of running out of raw materials and going cold. Once that happens they are damaged beyond repair, and cannot be re-started, and Britain would have lost its ability to manufacture its own steel. The government had to step in at the last minute to save this strategic industry after the duplicitous Chinese owners, rather than buying more supplies as they claimed, had actually been selling stocks off. Goodness knows what it is going to cost us all. I come back to the economics later, below.  

We never used to import coal. In fact, we exported it. My home town owes its very existence to that. It only came into existence in 1826. 

In the eighteenth century, industrial goods from central and south Yorkshire were transported to the Rivers Ouse and Humber along the River Aire to Airmyn, and later by canal to the River Ouse at Selby. But as loads became bigger, and coastal ships larger, these twisting rivers became increasingly difficult to navigate. A new canal directly to the Ouse from Knottingley was proposed, bypassing Selby. This opened in 1826, and the brand new port and town of Goole was built at the eastern end where it joined the Ouse. It eventually carried millions of tons of Yorkshire coal for British and continental markets. Before the First World War, Goole was one of the ten busiest ports in Britain by tonnage. 

By my early childhood in the nineteen-fifties, there was an extensive network of docks, with ships trading goods of all kinds to ports throughout Britain and Europe. The town throbbed and echoed to the sounds of the ships, docks, and railways. 

Tom Puddings

Coal reached Goole by two methods. One was the canal, which used a system of compartment boats known as Tom Puddings pulled by tugs, introduced in the nineteenth century. One tub could tow a train of up to nineteen Tom Puddings, a load of nearly 800 tons. At Goole, hydraulic coal hoists raised Tom Puddings into the air and emptied them straight into the holds of ships. It made an unforgettable noise. 

One of the five coal hoists. This is a still from a short (2½ min)
Vimeo video of it in operation: https://vimeo.com/135597884

Ouse Dock in the 1930s

The second way coal reached Goole was by railway. Again, wagons full of coal could be emptied straight into a ship’s hold by crane or hoist. They could also be winched up an incline and tipped from a high-level coal drop at the dockside. 

The high-level coal drop in Railway Dock in 1988, by then disused

Coal wagons near the engine sheds, 1967

During my childhood, you could watch the hoists from close quarters. You could go almost anywhere on the docks. My dad used to take me to watch ‘Tide Time’ when ships arrived from abroad. You saw them swing round on their anchors in the river, manoeuvre to the quayside and edge into the lock. You could stand right at the edge looking down into the terrifyingly powerful turbulence from the sluice gates. You could follow ships to their berths and watch them load and unload. You saw coal wagons and Tom Puddings moved to the coal hoists and emptied into ships, and watched the ships leave the locks as the tide turned, engines pounding against the currents. Now, except for a footpath across the docks which the port authority tried hard to close, the public has no access at all. 

Reportedly, even if the steel plant at Scunthorpe is saved, we will still need to import large amounts of steel from countries like Spain, France, Germany, and Sweden to build our naval vessels, but at least it would be a start. It would be nice to think one day we will have our own electric furnaces, but as always now, we would no doubt be seeking foreign funding. We used to own all our own assets and infrastructure. Now we pay dividends and interest on it, mostly overseas. Britain, the birthplace of the industrial revolution! Has globalisation gone too far?

What I don’t understand is this. If we have to burn coal to keep our steel production going, then why do we need to import it? Ex-miners tell me, although Britain’s mines are closed, there are still mountains of coal buried beneath the ground, especially here in Yorkshire. Would it cost too much to re-open one, or open a new one in Cumbria as has been proposed? It seems to me that if you are going to burn the filthy stuff, it makes little difference to the environment whether it is imported or mined here. The same with buying North Sea gas from Norway when we could be extracting more of our own. 

I suppose in the long run, if left in the ground, it reduces what anyone anywhere can burn over the decades, but isn’t that just self-righteous self-sacrifice? We might as well use our own. It would surely be far less costly.

 

For  more about Tom Puddings (and there is lots) a good source is https://www.goole-on-the-web.org.uk/vol1/tom-puddings.html - the pdf link at the end of it is good, too.

Trainspotting

My first trainspotting book: Ian Allan ABC of British Railways Locomotives, Part 4 Eastern, North Eastern and Scottish Regions, Nos. 60000-99999, Summer 1959 Edition. 

It was my dad who first showed me the excitement of trains: they were all steam then; all that living and breathing weight and size. We went to the end of the platform, and he walked down the ramp and put a halfpenny on the track. The first train that came past squashed it smooth and flat, as big as a half-crown. It was one of the ways he entertained me on his Thursday half-days off. I would be about 5 or 6. 

There were smelly, express fish trains from Hull to London. You learned to stand well clear as they hurtled through, splashing fishy-smelling water all around. There were dirty goods vans and coal wagons, and sometimes a guards van of racing pigeons would arrive for release on the platform. In contrast, the Hull arm of the Yorkshire Pullman was luxurious in its umber and cream livery, shaded tables, and named coaches. It allowed businessmen two hours in London before returning, dining on the train both ways. It was bound initially for Doncaster where it joined with the Leeds arm. What a slick operation that must have been. 

   

Goole c1960 (from FBCCine on YouTube) (no sound)

A bit older, I would go to the station with friends. I showed them the coin trick. Nobody bothered you. You could stay all afternoon. 

About two hundred yards south of the station was another great place, the “Monkey Bridge”. No one seems to remember why it is so named, but possibly it was because originally the sides were made of strips of metal, which made people walking across look like monkeys climbing through trees.  

Three pairs of tracks ran beneath, the main lines to Doncaster and Wakefield, and the branch to the docks. Standing on the Monkey Bridge, you would see the railway gates open for a train in the station, see the smoke of the locomotive as it started to move, and then stand in the smoke as it passed beneath you, hair and clothes full of smuts. 

At the end of the platform. "Nottinghamshire" bound for Hull.

I liked to see the 4-4-0 D49 County or Hunt Class locomotives from Hull shed, named after counties and famous fox hunts: e.g. Nottinghamshire, The Derwent. They were shorter and more suited to the bends on the line than the more impressive 4-6-2 engines. We felt deprived not to have those, but we were better off than many. We did not realise how fortunate we were. 

For the bigger engines, you had to go to Selby station. Again, my dad took me there first, but later I rode the twelve miles there with friends by bicycle. You would not allow 12-year-olds to ride that busy road on bicycles now. 

Freight train entering Selby Station across the swing bridge.
Ben Brooksbank, Geograph.

Selby was then on the East Coast Main Line between Doncaster and York. Because of a swing bridge over the river at the end of the station, trains had to slow down to forty miles an hour, which gave you a good view of even the straight-through expresses. The ultimate was to see one of the streamlined ‘Streaks’, like Mallard. I think Bittern was the first I saw. 

The “Mess” (short for LMS), around a quarter of a mile south of the Monkey Bridge, was another good place. We named it so because of an ancient metal London Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) noticeboard warning about the dangers. So many summer afternoons we spent there waiting in the hot sun. The fence smelled of creosote. It was where trains from Leeds and the engine sheds were held to give priority to the London to Hull trains. Sometimes they would be held for more than ten minutes. I know because on Fridays in later years I would be on it, and my uncle would be on the London train. If he saw me he would thumb his nose through the window as he went through first. 

Through the 1960s we began to see more and more diesels, and I had to buy a book for those. At first it was mainly multiple units, and then locomotives. But, again, for the big ones, the ‘Deltics’, you needed to be at Selby. The first I saw was named Pinza. 

Sadly, the platform where my dad took me has been shortened and there is no direct London service. The carriage sidings are filled with houses, and the goods yard once piled with coal, with cars. Selby is a shadow of its former self, no longer on the East Coast Main Line which was diverted in the 1980s. Only trains to Hull now cross the swing bridge. Trainspotting is not what it was. 

Goole Station c1960, with the Monkey Bridge in the distance

Record Box - 4, The Beatles

Continuing to examine my old vinyl records before passing them on. 

Copies of The White Album were numbered 

The Beatles were the soundtrack to my teenage years. I heard Love Me Do on Radio Luxembourg when I was twelve, and their last LP came out when I was twenty. 

I have two Beatles LPs: the White Album, and Abbey Road, but I had the whole set on tape. I also have two 7-inch, 45 rpm singles: I Feel Fine / She’s A Woman and I Wanna Hold Your Hand / This Boy. Every record was innovative and original, leading the development of 1960s popular music from simple songs such as Please Please Me to the more sophisticated, like The Long And Winding Road. They assimilated a wide variety of musical styles, and widened our musical horizons.

I played them all the time, and liked just about everything they did. I have written about them several times, such as about how we went underage to the pub to watch The Magical Mystery Tour on television, and how Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, especially the song Fixing A Hole, seemed to accompany all my practical DIY repairs through the years (recently reposted). 

I liked Paul McCartney’s melodies best, and later George Harrison’s songs, such as While My Guitar Gently Weeps. I was never a big fan of John Lennon: he was too full of himself, outspoken, and opinionated for my liking. A bit of a big head. This was matched by his music which was edgier than the others’. 

The White Album allowed my early experiments with stereo. I fitted a stereo stylus and pickup cartridge to my record player, and wired one channel to my tape recorder input. It worked. The aeroplane at the start of Back In The USSR flew convincingly across the room, and I wanted to hear more. I spent my twenty-first birthday money on a rather expensive stereo hi-fi. 

Stereo Pickup Cartridge and Stylus

In the shared house in Leeds, we had The Beatles Song Book and played through it on our guitars at least once a week. We knew the songs really well, and I later recorded some improvisations around them. 

I suppose if I were allowed only one record, it would be by The Beatles. But which one? They had immense influence on popular music, and upon me. 

Fixing A Hole

New Month Old Post: first posted 7th February, 2015. A rather contrived piece about how the Beatles ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ accompanied my DIY jobs through the years. This piece was published in The Guardian newspaper (second item on the page linked here).

Fixing a Hole by the Beatles 

“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in /
And stops my mind from wandering / 
Where it will go”

1968: A-level examinations year. We moved house and I was allowed to decorate my new bedroom as I wanted, and listening to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band on my reel-to-reel tape recorder I covered the flowery wallpaper a responsible dark blue and irresponsibly failed my A-levels. I’m not sure which my mum thought worse, the room colour or the exam results, but after I left for an office job in Leeds, the flowery wallpaper returned.

1970: “Painting the room in a colourful way.”
 
To the tape of Sgt. Pepper, I painted the walls of my rented room an adventurous orange and unadventurously stayed for seven years, ignoring my mum’s frequent hints about the dreadful colour.

1978: A mature student in Hull. With Sgt. Pepper loud in stereo through my Akai tape deck, Leak amplifier and massive Wharfedale speakers, I emulsioned the room an impulsive dark red and unimpulsively got a first, despite living with such a dismal colour my mum said.

1990: “Filling the cracks that ran through the door”

In a good career in Nottingham, I at last meet someone who appreciates my interior design skills. I moved in with my old stereo and tape of Sgt. Pepper and mended the doors and window frames. I like to think my mum would have been impressed too but sadly by then it was too late. We sold the house and moved back to Yorkshire.

1993: Sgt. Pepper is now on a cheap cassette player as we paper our bedroom ceiling using the two chairs relay method. Standing one behind the other, the person nearest the wall sticks one end of the pasted wallpaper to the ceiling and the person behind sticks the next bit. The first person then moves with chair behind the second, and sticks up some more, and so on, right across the room. We both end up slippery and sticky, with more paste on us than on the paper, which slowly detaches itself and drops down.

2015: “Taking my time for a number of things that weren’t important yesterday.”

I only hear music in the car these days. Sgt. Pepper comes on and reminds me that now the kids are grown up we need to re-paper the bedroom ceiling which has cracked under the weight of all their junk – and mine – up in the loft. I wonder if the tape deck, amplifier and speakers still work?

Akai 4000 DS Tape Deck, Leak 3200 Tuner Amplifier and Wharfedale Glendale Speakers