by Swan, Tarn
The Consultant answered my questions with total candour saying the mole on my back could very well be pre-cancerous, or even cancerous. However, tests were needed to confirm it and also to ascertain whether the melanoma was insitu (confined to the mole itself) or whether it had gone deeper and with that in mind he was going to remove it today and send it to the lab for tests. I unashamedly held Twinks hand as we waited for a treatment room to be prepared. He’d gone silent. It’s one thing having layman’s worries and concerns and quite another having them more or less validated by an expert. I tried to be reassuring, saying that skin cancers were fully curable when caught early enough and possibly I’d need no more treatment than the removal of it today. He felt guilty for not noticing that the mole had changed colour earlier, and what if it had been like that for ages? It would be his fault if it had spread into the deeper layers of skin. I put an immediate embargo on any further thoughts along those lines. I also refused to allow him to come into the treatment room with me. He’s terrible with anything that involves needles and blood. I didn’t want him fainting.
The procedure was simple. I lay on a couch, the doctor injected a local anaesthetic into the skin surrounding the mole and cut it out, along with a sample of the tissue around it, he then put in a few stitches and covered it with a dressing and I was ready to go home. I was given an appointment for a week’s time to have the stitches removed and to get the results of the biopsy and discuss any further treatment that might be required.
Once home, I made us some coffee, sat down, pulled Twinks on my lap and told him to tell me his worst thoughts. Just to get them out of his head and into the open where we could give them some proportion. It was good for both of us. It made us air and share our deepest concerns. Speaking them aloud somehow un-demonised them. He was frightened at the thought of me being long term ill, not just because he didn’t want me to suffer, but he wondered if he would have the strength to help me through it. I told him I had no doubts about his capabilities, he had great inner strength. It made us discuss things we’d never discussed. Hard though it is to accept, there will come a day when one of us will leave the other.
We discussed healthcare, pain relief, insurance and funerals. Unfortunately the latter led us to a difference of opinion. I said I would prefer to be cremated and my ashes scattered on the sea. Twinks was very put out. He wanted me to be buried, in a nice plot, with a nice pink granite headstone, with room for him to be buried next to me when it came to his turn to shuffle off this mortal coil. He wanted somewhere to focus his grief. I said in the event of my dying first, I didn’t want him sitting around weeping over a grave. I wanted him to get on with his life. He erupted. I was just being frigging SELFISH! As if losing me to cruel death wasn’t bad enough, there I was denying him his widow’s right to weep and wail over a grave. What the hell was he supposed to snuggle up to in the afterlife when all that I had been was turned to ash and tossed on the sea? He became distraught, bursting into a paroxysm of tears. I hastily retracted being scattered at sea and said that I would give serious consideration to burial. The things you do for love!
17th July 2005:
A Walk In The Park
Mum rang to ask how I was feeling and pass on Priscilla/Eric’s best wishes.
Twinkles rang.
Dad rang to ask how I was and said Gill sent her love.
Twinkles rang.
Karen rang to say hello and ask how I was doing and said Paul and Dominic sent love and hugs.
Twinkles rang.
Maryann rang to ask how I felt and said Callum sent his love…I very much doubted it.
Twinkles rang.
Lulu rang, very emotional, and said Twinks had rung him, very emotional, and was it true I was at death’s door?
Twinkles rang…I had stern words.
Brian rang to say hello and ask how it went at the hospital. He said he’d missed us at the PP last night and we’d missed a huge bust-up between Beardaddy and his boy.
Twinkles rang. I told him about Beardaddy, he said he knew, Lulu had told him.
Someone rang and tried to sell me double-glazing. I declined the double-glazing, but said I was feeling fine and not to worry…well it had become a habit by then.
Twinkles rang.
I unplugged the phone.
My mobile rang.
It was Twinkles.
And there you pretty much have the pattern of my Saturday. I appreciate everyone’s kind concerns and expressions of affection, but it can all get a bit much, especially when you’re trying to watch the cricket on television. In the end, having missed most of the coverage, I went on the computer to check the scores, checking my emails at the same time, only to have Twinkles pop up on Messenger. I reassured him as to my health and well being and told him rather firmly that he needed to buckle down and do what he was paid to do, i.e. work and not keep making personal calls. He’s feeling needy. The frequent calls are as much about securing my attention for him, as they are about him giving me his attention.
We didn’t go out on Friday night, not that we’d actually intended to stay in or anything. It was just that with Twinks being so upset when we got back from the hospital, I took him upstairs for a lie down and a cuddle and one thing led to another and another, and yet another and we ended up falling asleep. We slept solidly until four o clock on Saturday morning. Twinks was cross with me for causing him to miss his Friday night out with my ‘voracious sexual appetite’ and shouldn’t I be slowing down at my age? I said that I hadn’t noticed him complaining at the time.
We ended up going out for an early morning walk. The sun was up and the air was light and warm. Best of all the streets were so quiet we could walk hand in hand without getting any strange looks or cruel comments. We went to the park and walked around the lake and then we played on the swings. Twinkles bet me that he could get his swing higher than mine, which he did, and then he dared me to jump off while it was at its height. I refused and forbade him to do it too. I remember kids getting knocked unconscious or breaking limbs when they performed that stunt, my sister Maryann being one of them. She broke her ankle after landing badly. To make matters worse the vacated swing then hit her friend on the head when she dashed to help Maryann, and she needed five stitches in the subsequent cut.
I’m glad there were no police officers wandering around. It would have been hard to explain what two grown men were doing playing on the children’s apparatus at that time in the morning. It’s sad, but guilt and suspicion are the prevailing attitudes of our time. There’s no innocence allowed. Take Twinks and I. We were gay males and in a park, the assumption: we must be paedophiles. The old man who sits on a park bench watching children play, in all innocence, probably remembering the days of his own childhood and those of his children, is instantly a pervert instead of someone taking a measure of joy in the state of childhood. We know bad things happen, we know there are bad people out there, but sadly it seems we are now all guilty of something until proven innocent. People are almost afraid to look at life in case it looks back at them and accuses them of something. The really scary thing is I’m probably just as bad as anyone else for doing it.
When we got home Twinkles put his arms around me and begged me to just hold him. I understood. We’d just shared a special moment, one of those times you remember for always. It was very simple, just a walk in the hushed atmosphere of early morning and a few silly moments playing at being children again, but it had a kind of profundity about it. We would probably never do it again, or if we did, it would remind us of the anxieties that brought it about and it would be different. It was a one and only moment. Our lives are marching on to who knows where, but we were strengthened and our bond deepened by a walk in the park.
22nd July 2005:
Attack Of The Liquid Tomatoes
It’s been a mixed kind of week. I literally saw red last Monday evening. Twinks, inspired by the tomato article he read in the hospital magazine, decided he was going to incorporate them into his d
aily diet as a way of keeping age at bay. When I picked him up from work, he had two big carrier bags absolutely full of fresh tomatoes. I was annoyed, and said so. Why? Because he’s not that keen on tomatoes, he always picks them out of a salad or a sandwich. I could see them just going to waste as there was no way he would eat them, and I certainly couldn’t eat that many before they went off. He haughtily told me to take off my disapproving Top face (didn’t I know that frowning like that would give me unattractive forehead lines) because he had a plan. He was going to liquidise the little red devils and drink them rather than eat them. He reckoned that if he drank a litre of fresh tomato juice per day, not only would he stave off getting any older, but also he’d look five years younger by this time next week.
As soon as we got home he raked through the cupboards looking for the blender that my mother had once given us as a Christmas present and never used. The look on his face, as he tried to drink a tumbler of the resulting tomato pulp was absolutely priceless. He couldn’t have looked more disgusted if he were drinking blood. I thought he was going to throw up. However, Twinks, once enamoured of an idea, especially if it relates to his vanity, is loath to let it go. Gritting his teeth he continued to sip the thick juice giving me a triumphant, if slightly queasy look as he finished the first glassful, claiming that he felt younger already. I reminded him there was still a fair amount to get through to reach his litre a day goal. He gave me a chilly look and suggested I might like to help him out, as God knows, I could do with something to halt the ravages of time and had I noticed the crows feet starting to develop around my eyes? He said if I wasn’t careful I’d rival the crinkle-faced emperor from Star Wars before my thirties were out. I gave his bitchy little bottom a good swat, told him they were laughter lines around my eyes, not crows feet and no way was I drinking liquid tomatoes. Just the thought of it gave me acid indigestion. Twinks immediately claimed that getting indigestion was another sign of advancing years. I said actually it was a sign of living with a vain little drag queen. At which point he mustered his dignity, stuck out his tongue, picked up his jug of red slush and retired to the sitting room to watch television while I made dinner.
By the time I took our meals into the sitting room, he’d drank almost half the jug and claimed he was starting to like the stuff and it was amazing what mind over matter could achieve. I was impressed. He really did seem to be enjoying it. No sooner did he empty his glass than he filled it again. By the time we’d finished eating he’d polished off the entire jug. Seeing as I’d made dinner, it was his turn to wash up. After he’d tottered off to the kitchen carrying the crockery, I groped around the couch trying to locate the remote for the telly, so I could turn off Hollyoaks and watch the news. I found it behind his cushion along with a bottle of vodka that was a lot less full than it had been last time I’d seen it in the drinks cabinet. So much for mind over matter! It was more like vodka over tomato juice. He’d been slyly quaffing Bloody Mary’s. It explained the rosy glow that had begun to creep across his complexion, not to mention his slightly lopsided gait as he’d walked out of the sitting room.
I strode into the kitchen to tell him he’d been rumbled and to ask what was the point of trying to stave off aging when he was poisoning his liver with booze? He was in process of packing the blender with another load of tomatoes and before I could say a word he pressed the on switch. The next thing I know something wet splattered straight into my face. It gave me such a shock that I dropped the vodka bottle on the floor, where it shattered. He’d forgotten to put the lid on the blender before pressing the on button. The kitchen looked like an abattoir. It was dripping with blood red liquid, and so was I, and Twinkles. We looked like victims of a Horror Film psychopath.
Wiping the wretched stuff from my eyes I glared at the culprit who picked up the blender lid, looked at it, looked at me, put a hand to his mouth and said, ‘oops,’ before breaking into giggles. He was in no fit state to clean up the mess he’d caused with his drink-induced carelessness. He wasn’t drunk as such, but he wasn’t sober either and it would take a trip up some stepladders to reach some of the places hit by the tomato pulp. He was having enough trouble standing on his mules. I confiscated the latter, told him to get cleaned up and made it clear that he was strictly banned from having any kind of alcohol for the rest of the week. I then sent him to bed to sleep it off. It took me ages to clean the kitchen, the vile stuff was everywhere, talk about attack of the liquid tomatoes.
In the early hours of Tuesday morning I was shaken awake by a panicking Twinkles babbling that he’d broken out in an itchy red rash and he was terrified that he was getting chickenpox again. It looked more like an allergy rash to me and I reckoned the tomato juice had triggered it. I calmed him down, got him an antihistamine tablet, then made up some of the Tea Tree solution we’d used for his chickenpox and gave him a soothing body massage with it. It did the trick. He sleepily asked if I would still love him when he was no longer young. Tenderly kissing each cheek of his rash red bottom I told him I would love him whatever age he was.
On Tuesday evening we babysat Dominic. We went round early, with Twinkles lugging the fishing tackle box he uses as a makeup holder, so he could do Karen’s makeup for her. I was pleased, because it meant that while he was making up mum, I got baby all to myself for a little while. Dominic is really coming on now. He can sit up by himself and everything is of interest to him. I love it when he smiles and holds out his arms to be lifted up. He hasn’t quite got the hang of crawling yet, but I don’t think it will be long before he does. He adores it when Twinks gets down on the floor with him and demonstrates how to crawl. After crawling around for a while, Twinks then hides behind a chair and the look on Dominic’s little face as he waits for him to peep out and say boo is a joy, as are the chuckles that follow the action.
While Twinks is brilliant at talking and playing with the baby he tends to get quite anxious if he’s upset and can’t be immediately placated. Dom is teething at the moment. He’s cutting his second bottom tooth. As he got tired and the Calpol wore off, he got very crabby and started crossly gnawing on his teething ring and crying. Nothing seemed to soothe or comfort him and Twinkles ended up in tears of anxiety and frustration because he couldn’t fix the problem. I ended up giving both him and the baby some Calpol. I then walked up and down the sitting room, nursing Dominic while Twinkle’s had a lie down on the couch. Dominic soon fell asleep.
Wednesday started badly with the arrival of a letter from our friend telling us that God hates us and we were on our way to Hell. Twinks who had woken up irritable to start with, went ballistic. Tearing it up he shouted that if Heaven was full of the fucking bastards who made other people’s lives a misery then he was glad he was going to Hell. It’s beyond my understanding that people who preach hatred, who condemn on grounds of race, sexuality and creed, who victimise, persecute and incite violence against their fellow human beings, somehow believe they’re on their way to heaven!! Why can they not live their own lives and let others live theirs. What bitter poison runs through their veins?
Things didn’t get much better. I had some work I needed to finish that evening, so Twinkles decided to call Lulu to see if he wanted to go out for a drink. I reminded him that he wasn’t allowed alcohol and he would have to stick to soft drinks. He argued for just one pint of sweet cider, or a glass of wine. I refused, saying the issue wasn’t up for negotiation. He wasn’t happy, snarling that there was no frigging point going out if he had to sit sipping orange juice all night and why did I have to be so frigging tight arsed and literal about everything. One drink wouldn’t do any harm! I knew the letter had upset him, I also knew he was getting anxious about the results of my biopsy, but I still wasn’t going to be spoken to in such a manner. I told him I didn’t think he was in the right frame of mind to go out after all and that a warm bath and an early night would be more beneficial.
He stormed out of the sitting room, slamming the door hard behind him. Unfortunately, it didn’t slam fast eno
ugh to prevent me hearing the very unattractive name he called me as he exited. I swiftly followed him, and we had a brief over the knee discussion about temper tantrums, mutual respect and courtesy. He apologised for taking his bad mood out on me. I sent him to bed after the spanking, but went up to keep him company, working on my laptop as he curled against my side criticising my grammar and lack of literary imagination. Seeing as I was doing some annual cost projections I didn’t let his remarks unduly affect me.
On Thursday evening, Lulu came round with a dress that Twinkles had promised to help alter. He didn’t stay long. He and Twinkles had some kind of quarrel and he left in a huff, saying people shouldn’t ask your opinion if they didn’t actually want to hear it. Twinkles said he was sick of Lulu and his bitchy remarks and he was going to find himself a new best friend and then sat with his arms folded and a face like fury all evening.