There is very little new on the medical front this week. I will, therefore give you an insight into my daily medication routine and how I feel. Perhaps, before I finish this blog, I will have some idea of when my surgery will be as I talk to the anaesthetist on Friday. Just discussed with the anaesthetist and he cleared me for going ahead. No date! He said they will contact me soon with the date and time of surgery.
My son, Selby, who is much more au fait with the web and posting in this medium than me, and I had a bit of a brainstorming session earlier in the week on how to progress with the blog. This week I introduce you to my siblings, which basically brings us up to where I will actually start on my own life story. I suppose you could say my foundational background will be complete following today. I will not introduce my children at this time as they will be included in my life story, as obviously their lives fit within the parameters of my life. I have three children, Storm, Janine and Selby. So blessed!
“I learned in the army that a person’s failure was 80% down to his manager. Of course, in many instances, the weak leader, neither recognises this nor takes it on board. You cannot fire a conscript, so you learn to maximise each individual's potential for the good of the whole.” Peter McSporran
The difficulty in my writing this blog is that there is more than one focus subject. The focal subjects on my blog are my fight with cancer, my life story, my views on investing in Africa successfully, and my philosophy on life. All of these are very diverse subjects in their own right. That raises the question of how I manage them within my blog? I do not wish to write four separate blogs. Once a week is enough for an illiterate farmer. Somehow within the weekly blog, I am going to have to divide these subjects into sections. This may help some of you, my readers, as they may not want to hear about my daily tribulations but perhaps are interested to understand the challenges of farming and investing in Africa. So in future, I will divide the blog into three sections.
My fight against cancer. I would be happy for others to share their stories with me on this subject.
My life story and my philosophy.
Farming and investing in Africa. Contradicting or validating views I would be more than happy to share with my readers.
Everything I write in future will fall within those categories. I will not attempt to create more and try to allocate them within the appropriate sections. If it is anything like my file storage on this computer, it is probably a task doomed to failure. I will rely on Rozanne and my kids to keep me on the straight and narrow. I do detest discipline.
The subjects are bound to overlap, so please excuse me for this. You may have recognised from my writing that my thoughts, at best could be termed as convoluted and at worst highly confusing. My children often think it’s the latter. Also, my grasp of the English language is oft time wanting.
This opening section in future blogs will be termed the introduction to each particular blog. I would also like to thank all those people showing interest in this blog and for taking the time to read it. I take this as a compliment and therefore hope I do not bore you too much. Probably the best time to read this is just before bed as an alternative to counting sheep.
Medical Update
I am still waiting for a date for my surgery. Had a call with the anaesthetist. No date for surgery but told soon. Due to COVID, was by means of telephone. The system in Portugal allows all medical personnel to access your medical records. This means the anaesthetist had to hand all my previous blood tests, scans, x-rays and medication for reference during the call. He said there was a risk but considered me fit for the operation.
As for my daily routine, I start with a pill as soon as I wake, which helps me get rid of any excess fluids. As you know, fluid in the lungs brought about my heart failure, which in turn was brought about by the large growth in my abdomen. So, after taking this pill, my day begins with frequent visits to the toilet commencing within the hour. When I get up, I weigh myself, take my blood pressure, check my heart rate and record my fluid intake. These daily records, I send to my cardiologist who is monitoring my heart. This week he still indicates that my heart has improved enough for the surgery to take place as has the anaesthetist. As with my surgeon, I have constant interaction with him, and this is encouraged. I then take my morning medicines which consist of four pills, including one which contains hormones. This is a follow-up treatment for my prostate cancer brachytherapy procedure, which I had 3 ½ years ago. These hormonal capsules are much milder than the ones I had immediately post the procedure. Those made my boobs sore, made me really indecisive, I could not decide what to wear each morning. And moody. Who am I to identify the gender these traits are most applicable to?
Strictly at 9 am, I inject myself with medicine to reduce the chance of thrombosis and stroke. This is a danger with both tumours and surgery related to the stomach. At this time, I also take my liquid iron to help with my blood. At 9 pm, I have a second injection similar to the morning. These injections are subcutaneous to the stomach. Before bed, a further four pills. I have to try and limit my fluid intake to 1.5 litres a day. Even the liquid content in yoghurt must be recorded.
However, this does not stop "the alien" from growing or moving around within my abdominal area. I do get tired quickly if I do anything slightly strenuous; in addition, I get lightheaded and nauseous. I do not have any real pain. Discomfort, yes, but no real pain. I have been prescribed painkillers, as yet have not had to make use of them.
"Without discipline and respect for others, society is doomed to fail. The same can be said when there is despotic or a non-democratic leadership culture." Peter McSporran
My Siblings
I will talk about my siblings in their birth chronological order. My first sibling was my sister Morag, born in 1952. We spent most of our early childhood together until my father’s marriage to Flora, my stepmother. This was especially true during my mother's illness in the five years leading up to her death. I was nine, and she was seven at the time of our mother's death. Morag was an adventurous child and once went missing for a full day. She was eventually found trapped by rising water in the burn, under a bridge leading to the farmhouse. This was at Kellan Farm, part of Killiechronan Estate, Isle of Mull. This was the first house we resided at on Mull. Morag always seemed to be very much more streetwise than I. She appeared to know what was going on, while all I knew was that my mother was ill, and that meant I could basically do what I wanted. After my mother’s death, she picked up on where my father spent some evenings. We could see from our bedroom window, his vehicle lights travel to and from the Harley house some two miles away. We anxiously awaited his return, but always ensured we were in bed on his arrival home. Morag would often bring up embarrassing incidents, which occurred in my earlier life, which featured in future conversations. One incident I do remember was the time I shot her in the backside with my air pistol. My parents were unforgiving even though I claimed it was an accident. It did prove that I was a better shot than my father.
Much of this time, we had either a quasi-housekeeper or nanny looking after us. These people, no fault of their own, had little control of us and I think you could describe Morag and I as being feral. Unlike me, when my father and stepmother married, Morag remained at home. She had an inferior relationship with her stepmother. This did not appear to subdue her happiness or smile outwardly. Only later, I realised this experience very badly hurt her. She went to school at Gruline, a local school which, when I left there had only around six pupils. From there, Morag went to senior school in Tobermory. A school bus would take her the 20 kilometres in the morning with the return journey in the evening. This meant that in winter, she left in the dark and came home in the dark. As I recollect, she did not go beyond 16 years at school and therefore did not sit any worthwhile exams. I am sure, no fault of her own or her capabilities. Her schooling had been neglected. After school, she left to take up a hairdressing apprenticeship in Glasgow. There she met her future husband, Lindsay Ross, a Rhodesian who was studying marine engineering in Glasgow. In Lindsay’s own words, their life was as follows:
“It was my good fortune to meet Morag in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1969. I was studying marine engineering at Springburn college, and Morag was training as a hairdresser at Stewarts. By chance we lived in the same “digs” - I was on the first floor with 3 other navy cadets, and Morag had a room on the ground floor. Morag and I encountered each other, mostly in the tiny kitchen on the basement floor. I was smitten with Morag and much to the delight of my roommates. I volunteered for more than my share of cooking and washing up! Morag and I formed a relationship.
In 1970 and early 1971 – our relationship was somewhat split by circumstance, as I went to sea and Morag moved to Campbeltown to work as a hairdresser.
In August of 1971, I returned to my home Rhodesia and took up an engineering position on a tea estate. In November 1971 Morag followed – and on the 22nd January 1972, we got married in Umtali, where Peter officiated in the place of his father who was ill. Morag was 20, and I was 22. In early 1976, with Morag pregnant, we returned to Scotland, to bring our daughter Nichola into the world, and for me to study further.
We returned to Africa in 1979 to a life on rural tea estates in South Africa and Malawi, that would span 31 years, 25 years of which was in Malawi. Our son Stuart was born in Umtata in 1982.
We had a fantastic and fulfilling life in Malawi. Morag had her first health challenge at the age of 48 in the year 2000. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the next 5 years, she received surprisingly tolerable oral treatment for the disease and overcame it.
Sadly in mid-2008, she was diagnosed with a new and completely unrelated, rare cancer – Leiomyosarcoma. A major operation removed the tumour from her vena cava, but within 7 months secondaries had appeared in her lungs and liver. Despite some successful treatment with a handful of trial drugs, Morag succumbed to the disease in March 2011. She was so amazingly strong for the whole period of her illness, carrying “everything” within herself – and leading with her amazing smile and laugh right to the end! She was such a special wife and mother!!”
Following Morag came a little sister named Maureen. Unfortunately, she was still an infant when she contracted meningitis and died. I do remember her crawling on the carpet and also my mother changing her nappies. I am afraid that is the only memories of her I have. I am unaware of any photos of Maureen.
Mandy was the biggest and a most welcome surprise in my life. I did not know of her existence, let alone meet her until I was thirty-two years old. She was about twenty-two years old then. I know little of her youth except what she has told me. In her own right, she is a highly successful business leader with an exceptional career well recorded by means of awards and newspaper articles. For myself, she has been a welcome addition to the family and has become, as well as a sister, a close confidant and friend.
Presently she is CEO at BRIM (Business Resilience International Management). Before founding BRIM in 2019, Mandy was the Chief Executive of the Scottish Business Resilience Centre for over 9 years, working in direct partnership with Police Scotland and the Scottish Government. In 2014, Mandy established the London Digital Security Centre based on a similar model.
I let her describe her life and events following her adoption in her own words below.
“I don't know exactly when the decision was taken to have me adopted, but it was certainly when Flora was pregnant. A further decision was to give the pretext of Flora working elsewhere for a period of time in order to avoid her father's shame. Something which her brothers and sister have since dismissed, but anyway it is what it is.
The selected place where the adoption happened was the Salvation Army Home in Dundee. At that time, it was felt to be best for the mother and the child to nurse for three months and then for the child to be adopted by parents selected within this timescale. So my adoptive parents first met me when I was four to five weeks old. I'm sure that this was actually a very good model for the nurturing of the child, but there is no doubt that it did create separation problems given that mother and child were together for that length of time.
The adoption was always intended to be entirely confidential, and indeed throughout my childhood, I didn't have a birth certificate. All I had was an adoption certificate. This practice has since changed. On the day that my adoptive parents came to collect me, Flora really struggled with the final process, and I gathered there was a good deal of upset. Against all best advice, she saw my adoptive parents from the window. Watching with her was another young mother from Dundee, who recognised the man who was to be my father. Flora told me that for many years this unnamed woman kept an informal tab on where I was and would pass that information onto Flora. I always knew that I was adopted and I was brought up with an adopted brother from elsewhere, within a home of great culture, academic, humanitarian interests and ambition. My adoptive parents were both psychiatrists.
Like most small girls and particularly teenage ones, I had always imagined that really, I was a Siberian princess and that one day the white horses would roll into town. However, by the age of 16, I had decided that I would probably not trace my family. Although I'd always thought that one day I might just like to see my mother across the street to see what she would look like. No one else could ever be Mum and Dad to me other than my adoptive parents who brought me up. This is a concept which some people have found hard to understand, and there are still people within Flora's side of the family who refer to my mother and father, meaning people completely other than the people who brought me up.
For reasons that I won't go into here, there was a period of my life that was extremely unhappy when I was 21. When I was 22 and back in Dundee (having been away), I was with my Mum in the house when she took a phone call which made her face go completely white. Clearly, something very strange had happened, and I assumed that it was to do with one of her patients. The next day she told me that it was the phone call that she had been waiting for all of her life. It was my natural mother asking if I had died. (There were reasons for that particular question). Flora subsequently took fright and hung up and then there started slowly, an extraordinary story of me meeting not only my natural mother and father, of course, but learning that they had also since married. Also hearing of my younger blood sister and blood brother, along with my older half brother and half-sister. There are huge benefits to come from such a meeting and especially in the relationships it has brought. Without hesitation, this includes my amazing big brother, Peter, at that time, farming in Africa and looking a bit like a wild man with longish flowing hair and a beard. Who as soon as he heard about my existence, got on a plane and flew over to meet his new little sister. Peter's unqualified acceptance of me as a sister and his subsequent embracing of all of that aspect of our lives can still choke me up unbearably.
For others who have gone through the same thing, it can be extremely difficult to cope and explain. The impact of something on the scale of an entire family showing up! At times when I'm trying to explain it, it feels as if my head has been cut in half. It has also led to great confusion with even my longest term friends, who have known me since school. Especially when I have made a comment such as "I was with my sister" and they've said, “but you don't have a sister?” AAAAAAh, but I do….
I know there is some of Flora and her spirit within me. Some of her early photographs have shocked friends and family with the similarities between us. She was a fantastic grandmother to my son, Liam. Despite his birth having caused her extreme anxiety and unwillingness to see him for over six months. I always thought it was her reaction to a baby. They became very close.”
I did not meet Mandy’s adoptive father but did her adoptive mother, Camilla. A lovely intelligent lady. A genuine lady.
After what at the time was the unknown birth of Mandy, my brother Archie was born in 1961. I was already away at school by the time of his birth. During my school years, we enjoyed the holidays together as brothers. He was mad about football and wanted us to kick a ball at any spare moment, day or night. I was a rugby man, and although he had also learnt to play rugby at school in Perthshire, he preferred football with superior skills to his older brother. Between him and the son of a shepherd, Jimmy McRae, who lived on Kellan Farm some two kilometres down the road, they drove me crazy with wanting to kick a ball around at all times. No wonder I spent so much time working on the farm or fishing. Anything to avoid football. They were my favourite pastimes from a very early age. The truth be known, my dislike for football was mainly because I was so useless at it. I have two left feet.
At a young age, Archie was sent to preparatory boarding school at Ardtveck, Perthshire but returned to Oban for his senior education where he excelled. He was both academic and studious, unlike his older brother, who was happy to be Mr Average or below at school. Following school, Archie studied Law at Edinburgh, once again excelling with Honours. He is a practising advocate specialising in complicated medical litigation. He is married with a son and two daughters, delightful children who have joined us on a fishing trip to Mozambique. Lewis, his son, spent some time in South Africa after leaving school.
Although sometimes Archie appears outwardly dour and reticent, I know him to be of generous heart and definitely someone to go to if you need help and or honest advice. He is a loving father.
Fiona has inherited her mother’s dark hair and good looks, but her father’s grey eyes. Fiona, like Morag, stayed at home throughout her schooling, but unlike Morag did well at school. By the time she went to senior school, her parents had moved to Oban; only a short walk allowed her to attend an excellent High School. She went on to obtain an Honours Degree in Art at the Glasgow Art School at the end of which she published a book on the life and work of the artist Edward Arthur Walton. Her earlier career was at antique and art auction houses. She spent 10 years at Christie’s where she met her long term partner, Gordon Foster, both in business and romance. They have an antique outlet in Doune, Stirlingshire. and are retained by a number of discerning clients to procure or sell pieces on their behalf and also undertake valuations. Gordon from time to time, you may well see and recognise on the Antiques Road Show as the silver expert. He is a wonderful guy who likes fishing. Funny, most good guys enjoy fishing and beer.
As a young girl, Fiona appeared to be very bohemian with liberal views, but as time has passed, in my view she has become much more conservative. She also has a dry sense of humour; she and Gordon live in a beautiful house with a well-tended garden just outside of Stirling. Like Archie, she has always just been my sister.
I am glad to say I have a good relationship with all of my brothers and sisters. Due to circumstances, we did not grow up as a close-knit family; however, we have always kept close, be it at geologically distant. I value their love and friendship greatly.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
Very interesting to read your life history, you must keep fighting your internal "Alien" and we all keep rooting for you..
Hi Peter, just read your blog, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Jeep wrting!