You can change many things in your life, but you cannot change your birth mother or your biological father and their families. You can deny them but, “they are who they are.”
A number of my friends have suggested the “blog writing” is a good idea, as it will keep my mind occupied between tests and during my treatment for cancer. I think this may be partly true as it is plausible. However, the real reason more likely is due to my own vanity.
This week I have a short medical update for you and a look at who my mother was. She died when I was still very young. Therefore, this blog is probably as much about her family as it is about herself.
I am also thinking at this time, of my good friend David Hamp-Adams, Sally’s Sandeman's brother, who underwent a five-hour operation for cancer on Wednesday evening. Here’s to his swift recovery. He has already been on Whatsapp to me less than 12 hours after surgery.
Medical update
This week for me personally has been a week of standing by for some biopsy results and undergoing further scans. I undertook an MRI of my liver on the 6th, to scrutinise some lesions which have been detected. A CT scan has been scheduled for the 7th in the afternoon on my thorax and lungs. That leaves the remaining, as of now, known procedures, being a PET scan lined up for the 18th of November. Following receipt of the results, there will be a specialist multidisciplinary meeting to discuss my case at the University Hospital, Coimbra. Meanwhile, I am scheduled to meet with the anaesthetist on the 4th of December in preparation for the planned surgery.
As I mentioned in my earlier blog ‘Not now, just now’ I had previously been diagnosed and treated for prostate cancer in March 2017. My urology specialist was Dr. Bradley Wood and the oncologist was Dr. Wayne van Niekerk in Gauteng, South Africa. This cancer, while registering 7 on the Gleason Scale, appears to have been treated successfully by means of brachytherapy. Dr. Wood continues to monitor my PSA numbers every 6 months. His attention has been fantastic and I am appreciative as my medical insurance in Southern Africa is no longer valid. Nonetheless, he reviews my test results and he does not charge me for his valuable time. The last couple of blood tests showed a steady increase in my PSA and he had suggested I see a urologist in Portugal to check my prostate, which I duly did. I am now under observation by a local specialist who has arranged for me to have scans next January to monitor my prostate. Of course, events have overtaken this, and to date, the scans carried out on my present health issues have not raised any concerns about returning prostate cancer. In other words, the growth in my stomach is not thought to be related to my previously diagnosed prostate cancer nor is there any indication it has returned.
I should also mention in 2018, I was diagnosed with Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD) in the left eye. After receiving treatment, which entailed a course of injections into the eye, the attending specialist declared it was not improving and I should forget any further treatment.
Contrary to this, when I went to get my eyes tested by my local optician for the renewal of my Portuguese driving license last November, my optician firmly suggested that I obtain a second opinion. His previous observations of other clients often showed that the injections normally decelerated the development of AMD. I took his advice. An unusual occurrence. The Professor who diagnosed me the second time around informed me, he believed I was not suffering from AMD, but rather had had a thrombosis in my left eye. The cause of which baffled him. This is currently ongoing and I visit him on the twelfth of this month. Perhaps there will be a connection with my latest health issues?
Personally, I put all these ailments down to retirement. In December 2016 I decided, or rather Rozanne, my wife did on my behalf, to go into partial retirement. That is when all my troubles began. Type 2 diabetes, which is now under control, arthritis in my knees, prostate cancer, blindness in the left eye, drop foot, and now this growth in my stomach. To stay healthy, you obviously have to avoid retirement. Of course, there is no medical reason to support my hypothesis.
The real lesson is, “Do not leave your retirement until too late!” Even if I hooked a marlin at the present time, I doubt if I could land it. A marlin is the last thing on my bucket list.
One of the positives is they now have my heartbeat from 150+ down to the 80s since my hospital visit at the beginning of the month.
Who am I?
I was a Pears baby. Surprise, surprise!
As far as I know, I am Peter McSporran (my name spelled Mc on my birth certificate, but my other living siblings and children's names are all spelled, Mac). My father was Archibald McSporran born in Campbeltown, a farmer, and my mother was Grace Sommerville Martin born in Glasgow. I was born on the 5th of November 1949 at Irvine Hospital, Ayrshire. Thursday was my 71st birthday. I was surprised to even reach forty. My survival until this age has confounded many of my friends.
I will come back to my life at a later stage, but today I would like to give you a little insight into my mother’s background, her family, and their battle with cancer.
I have been proven correct in my earlier assumption that the “Fount of all Knowledge” would be found within my female relatives. As of now, their male counterparts have contributed nothing of substance to my memories. Then again, any inaccuracies are therefore clearly down to the female side of the family. If you feel like challenging any inclusion, please do. From my own experience, I would advise against it. There are many better ways to waste your time.
My mother
As previously stated, my mother was Grace Sommerville Martin. During the war, she was a member of the “Women’s Land Army”. These women took on the role of farmworkers, therefore releasing the men to join the armed forces. She met my father when she joined the farming community of Tayinloan in Kintyre before he joined the RAF.
I have little recollection of my mother, due to both my young age and to the considerable time she spent ill in hospital, or in bed at home prior to her early death. I have no recall of seeing any photographs of her until I was in my fifties. By all accounts, she is remembered as a gentle and kindly lady. Most people tell me they always remember the good times spent with deceased close family. For me, my most vivid memories with my mother are rather sorrowful. The day my grandmother, her mother died, I can recall this very well. She was in tears! That is the day I also learned that animals did not go to heaven when I raised the question about where she had gone. I am unsure why I asked the question about the possible afterlife for animals? But my mother could not console me with my new-found knowledge of the limitations of heaven. From that day on I seriously started to have doubts about the existence of God.
The other two times I remember, on both occasions, I made her cry. I can remember these most vividly. The first time was when I was given a slip by her to deliver to my teacher. This slip confirmed my mother's order for the British Encyclopedia which was on special offer through the school. I lost the slip in the burn (stream). I often took a detour through it on the way to the school bus. As she was already ill, the non-arrival of the books probably partly added to the cause of the tears that welled in her eyes. The last time was just before she died in March 1959. This was when I picked a bunch of snowdrops which I took to her bedside. On me offering them to her she burst into tears and declared that I had brought bad luck to the house. I was dumbfounded. I was not aware at that time of the Victorian superstition about snowdrops, that when brought into the home, they signified a pending death.
My mother also suffered much sadness beyond her own illness. My infant sister, Maureen, died of meningitis just before my mother became ill and her mother, my grand died whilst she was poorly.
Her Family
She had a brother, Douglas Balloch Martin, and a sister, Christina Balloch Martin, known as Bunty. Her sister Bunty, who joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service, met her husband, Tom, in Glasgow during the war. He was an officer with the Free Dutch Army. I mention them as their surviving child, my cousin, who has been a wealth of knowledge about my mother's side of the family. Bunty also nursed my mother in the last months of her 5-year fight with cancer. My mother died of the disease when I was ten.
My uncle Douglas, an officer in the Merchant Navy, was killed off Tobruk in WWII when a U boat sank his ship.
My mother’s father was an engineering officer in the Merchant Navy and he died of cancer in 1934. Her mother, also Grace, succumbed to cancer in 1957. Following my mother’s death, both my Aunt Bunty and Uncle Tom died of cancer but were predeceased by their oldest son Douglas, also from cancer.
Of their three remaining children, Marius, Petra, and Sheila, both Petra and then more latterly Marius died of cancer. Shiela, the remaining cousin, has provided me with much of the information about that side of the family. After I left home, I lost contact for many years with my Dutch family. My uncle Tom worked at the Ministry of Economics and of interest sat on the International Coffee Board for many years. I remember them fondly as a generous and happy couple.
“Death is not the fear of most; it is the transition from life to death that holds most in fear. Death can be sudden, violent, peaceful, painful or painless. If given a choice, I believe most would take the peaceful, painless route.” Peter McSporran
My Aunt Bunty died before the law for assisted medical euthanasia was introduced in the Netherlands. My cousin Douglas fought the disease to the end, but my Uncle Tom and cousins Petra and Marius were medically assisted en route thus lessening their suffering. I think it's a brave choice.
Of my mother's family, she had ten cousins in total. Two died in the RAF during the war and of the remaining, three are still alive. I have not met any of them. Of interest, the one, now known as Sir Norman McFarlane, the Baron of Bearsden, made his fortune setting up the McFarlane Empire by using his £200.00 army gratuity at the end of the war.
As stated, my mother died of cancer, as did my full-blood sister Morag. So the female side of my family is prone to cancer. It should be noted my cancer is not known as hereditary.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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