It was exactly two years ago that we were in Australia for the number one son’s wedding. Having made the momentous trip, it would have been foolish not to take in the spectacular Great Barrier Reef and so it was that on Valentines Day we found ourselves in a five-star hotel with an excursion booked to one of the most romantic islands around the reef in a glass-bottomed boat taking us to see the most amazing array of sea creatures and reef formations this world has to offer. A candle-lit dinner for two in the luxury of our hotel suite and a breathtaking view over the bay provided the most romantic setting and the prospect of more romantic adventures in the offing. What more could a girl ask for? Surely I must have built up enough Valentines brownie points to last a decade!

Imagine my surprise therefore when, a couple of days before this year’s ‘romantic relationship’ repast, I am being asked a range of tangential questions about the forthcoming weekend:-

“Do you think I should get my hair done before the weekend?”

“I bet all the restaurants are going to be packed this weekend, don’t you?”

“I think I might pop to the shops and buy myself a new dress. What do you think?”

“Don’t forget to fill your car up with petrol before the weekend.”

“Have you seen the price of flowers at the moment? It’s scandalous! Anyone buying flowers at this time of year needs their bumps felt!”

It took longer than normal for the penny to drop. Let’s face it I thought that particular box had been time-locked for at least another couple of years. Slowly as the reality dawned I realised that my options were limited to two only:

Option One – Pretend I hadn’t noticed the hints and put up with an icy atmosphere for  three weeks, maybe four. And stay away from sharp objects to be on the safe side.

Option Two – Muster up all of my very limited culinary skills and imagination to recreate the atmosphere of two years ago. All I need is a shoal of rainbow fish and a Michelin Star.

Each option fills me with dread! In either case I can see bloodshed on the carpet, figuratively or realistically given my prowess with the carving knife!

Tonight I realise that my guardian angel is still working for me, although I would prefer it to act quicker to prevent my three sleepless nights and three days of turmoil. Tonight my special Valentine comes in from work to announce that she’s been called in for a shift on the 14th. She hopes it won’t spoil anything, and anyway we don’t have  society dictating to us when we should be romantic do we?

I agree and give the extra shift my blessing – after all we can enjoy ourselves when all of the rest of these New Romantics have gone back to their Eastenders!

At the last minute a Valentines Day Massacre is averted.

In theory, going into retirement is a journey towards an easier life – a period where you can do more of what you want to do and less of what you have to do.

The reality is somewhat different!

I’m sure that it is with the best of intentions that family and friends work ceaselessly to ensure that time does not weigh too heavily on my hands. Suddenly there is an urgent need for a pocket diary and wall calendar to maintain a note of all of my commitments.

Let me give you an example of a typical week:

Monday – Collect granddaughter from school and take her for dentist appointment. A simple task if you ignore the need to encourage said six-year old granddaughter to open her mouth, even a tiny bit, to enable the dentist to make some semblance of an examination. Thereafter, to explain why she only received two shiny stickers for her good behaviour when her sister had gained three previously.

Tuesday – Drop a parcel of clothes to the charity shop. At the shop the Charity Shop supervisor is understaffed today and as such this mere ‘drop’ turns into a full-scale sort of the goods into the relevant departments, price-matching with similar items, labelling the products and placing them on the shelves. Two hours later I emerge from the shop, tired, sweaty and still waiting for the warm afterglow that is supposed to come on the back of altruism.

Wednesday – Go swimming with grandchildren. Getting three lively under sevens out of their day clothes and into their costumes is a bit like herding earthworms! Once in the pool, things go relatively smoothly until there is a dispute over whose turn it is to use a particular float, who gets to jump in next and why one should be excused the use of the goggles. Getting out, showered and re-dressed is a test of patience and ingenuity when it becomes clear that the six-year old has managed to squeeze into the three year old’s trousers, but the opposite arrangement seems too dangerous to consider. ‘Tired and happy’ is a phrase that springs to mind. The kids are tired from their exertions, I’m happy it’s all over for another week!

Thursday – Load elderly relatives (I’m ‘mature’ – these relatives are ‘elderly’) into my car along with zimmer frame,   wheelchair, lotions and potions and, not forgetting the obligatory sandwiches and Cornish Pasties for the 25 miles trip to visit other elderly relatives. Unloading the car and helping everyone indoors is challenging and psychologically daunting with the knowledge that I have to do it all again in reverse in two hours. The journey home is a cacophony of snoring and dribbling and some other, more basic sounds emanating from my travel companions.

Friday – Can I take a look at a letter from HMRC received by one of my old client So? It’s not an advice issue, it’s a translation of official mumbo-jumbo and I feel that this man needs a bit of support. My question in hindsight is, why, as I’m doing the favour, is it me that has offered to do journey? Friday traffic is horrendous, as usual, and I get back an hour late for dinner and have to negotiate the Cold War that ensued as a result.

Saturday Morning – I enjoy a cup of coffee in bed, one of my life’s luxuries when I hear a voice from downstairs,

‘Darling, Sue is hear from next door and she was just wondering if you could……..’

My mind slowly grew to boiling point and a one word answer formed:

‘Nooooooo ‘

It was a couple of days before Christmas and I popped into my surgery for my regular blood pressure test.

The waiting room was heaving with a motley crew of coughing, sneezing and wheezing humanity.

‘You know that we are doing the Flu jab at the moment and at your age, Mr Ward, we strongly recommend that you have it’

Instantly I was offended by this approach- let’s be fair, I had just walked into this building without a hint of a cold, unlike the many ‘wheezers’ half my age who were demanding GP’s valuable time. My age, indeed!

However, the rational part of my brain could see the benefits of the suggestion and within minutes I was sitting in a tiny cubicle with my left shirt sleeve rolled up in anticipation of my jab. Suddenly what I had seen as a medical clinic transformed in front of my eyes and in an instant turned into a medical version of a Tesco Express.

My nurse rushed into my cubicle with the smile of a mobile phone salesperson  exuding delight in her ‘buy one, get one free’ offering.

‘I’ve just checked the computer and I see that you qualify for the offer of Pneumonia Injection, and I can do it for you now, if you like?’

And the ‘killer close’ was the fact that, unlike the Flu jab, which needs to be renewed every year, the Pneumonia injection is a once in a lifetime offer – a benefit for life! I was sold and proceeded to roll up my right shirt sleeve.

Ten minutes later I walked through my front door a new man. I felt like a man doing his bit to keep NHS costs down. I felt like a man staying one jump ahead of those pesky bugs. I felt like a man with a lifetime of immunity. I felt like a man with two very sore arms. The wife would have to make the tea for the next few days, that was certain!

Christmas Day was a joy, as was Boxing Day but we then had another phoney Boxing Day on the Monday and I think it was this unusual event that disturbed my body’s equilibrium. By that evening I was full of a hacking cough and a head full of cold. My eyes were streaming along with my nose whilst my ears constantly switched between total deafness to something akin to a full orchestra playing in my eustacian tubes! My ability to breathe, my ability to sleep properly and my ability to function at any level seeped away from me. Indeed on a couple of occasions I was convinced that my inability to breathe at night was more to do with the pillow my wife was holding over my face than the phlegm drowning my airways. Her mitigation was that, on the rare moments that I was able to fall asleep, my snoring was like having a chainsaw carving up the bed beside her! I’m not entirely sure how strong a defence this would be in a court of law, if I’m honest but it never got tested.

A full six weeks from my previous visit and I found myself back in my GP’s surgery, but This time I was amongst the coughers, sneezers and wheezers. My temperature was up, along with my bile and my mucus. When I finally got in front of my doctor I couldn’t help but let rip about how I had been let down by the system, how I had been encouraged to imagine that I was now immune to all forms of infirmity, and here I stood a wreck of a germ-ridden individual!

Suddenly I was no longer in the NHS environment, nor even  Tesco Express, but in a back street second-hand car dealers, or the call centre for National Rail following a spate of train cancellations because of the wrong leaves, wrong colour snow or the wrong trajectory of the sun.

Apparently, my miracle medication relied upon a very specific set of circumstances to be viable. I have never before seen a GP invoke ‘caveat emptor’ and the rest of his explanation could have been delivered by Arthur Daly as easily in his enormous sheepskin coat:

‘See, yer problem, my son, is that you caught last year’s flu but we covered you for this year’s  version. Different animal, entirely, son. It’s like treating a cat with horse medicine. Mind you, look on the bright side: the way your body works, you should be OK next year! Then, of course, you’ve picked up viral bronchitis; different again from yer pneumonia virus. With the injection you had, it was like we gave you an anorak when what you needed was a facemask. Who knew? What can I say? My best advice to you, mate, is don’t bother with a Lottery ticket this week. You will get last week’s numbers, knowing your luck!’

Denis had always wanted to fly. Orphaned at the age of three, he had no real memory of his mother and father and had to build up the image of his parents from information and anecdotes supplied by his elderly aunt, Freda. He knew that his parents had died in a car crash during the war and he understood that his mother was taking his Dad back to the airbase where he was stationed as a bomber pilot. In later years, Denis could see the irony of his father dying in a car rather than in the air.

Today, at the age of 55, Denis was having his annual medical to renew the Civil Aviation Pilots Licence which he had held with pride for over 20 years.

“Morning Doc,” Denis smiled cheerily in his clipped cockney accent, “Do I need to drop my trousers yet?”

Doctor Jenkins had been looking after Denis for a number of years and enjoyed the banter with him.

“Not yet Denis, my hands are a tad too cold at the moment. Let’s start by sounding your chest and taking your blood pressure. You look like you’ve just stepped off the plane from a fortnight away on some sun-kissed beach.”

“No, Doc just the sunbed in my back bedroom, I’m sorry to say! No-one will come with me on a holiday. They say that’s not a break!”

“How so, Denis?”

“Well, I like to do a 5K run first thing in the morning, then a bit of weights in the afternoon and I end the day with a swim. Then I start to have a bit of fun. Most people around my age just want to power-lift pint glasses and the only sweat they want to see is on a chilled glass of lager. I don’t mind acting my age sometimes but I don’t need to look my age as well.” he concluded.

Doctor Jenkins busied himself with the examination routine whilst Denis continued his chit-chat.

“Let’s just do that blood pressure again” requested the medic as he put the cuff around Denis’ right bicep and listened attentively to his chest for a third time.

“So, Denis, have you been out of breath at all lately, or had any chest pains?”

“I only get out of breath chasing the missus around the bedroom; she’s getting quicker, on my life!” Denis quipped.

Jenkins chose to ignore the fact that Denis had mustered up a wife from somewhere.

“I asked the wife the other day what her favourite book is. Know what she told me? ‘Your cheque book’ – charming.”

“Got a bit of a problem here, Denis.” The Doctor announced gravely. The room temperature seemed to plummet by five degrees in an instant. Gloom replaced levity like a cloud blotting out the mid-day sun.

“Your blood pressure is through the roof and I’m getting an odd reverb when I listen to your heart. Now there could be any number of explanations for this but I want to send you for a scan to see exactly what is going on and in the meantime I need you to take some leave.”

Denis sat motionless, analysing every syllable of every word spoken by his doctor. At first it seemed as if he was listening to a foreign language but slowly and painfully the meaning became clear – Denis had an issue which could affect his ability to fly in the future. His day had turned from golden to grey in one short sentence.

“The appointment may take a couple of weeks to come through so best you sign off for at least a fortnight.”

The next week was like walking through treacle in a pea-soup fog. Denis was unable to find the energy to do anything and as he sat motionless in his apartment his faculties all seemed to have been thrown into neutral gear. Inertia had gripped him like a vice and his ability to plan a course of action had deserted him.

Eventually he emerged from the mist and clarity of thinking returned. Denis realised that he must meet this issue head on and set about moving things along by arranging for a private MRI scan.

“I’ve just got to deal with this thing before it drags me down. Deal with it and get back to my life. Deal with it and get back to flying.”

Denis had always been a person to deal with things: being an orphan; having only a mediocre education behind him, he needed to study harder than all the others to pass the written flying exams; having to stay ‘younger’ than the young guns who were challenging for his beloved pilot’s seat. Denis simply got on and dealt with these annoyances.

Days later, he sat in the chrome polished waiting room alone. His decision never to marry or have a long term relationship had not concerned him in the past. Today it did. It would have been comforting to have his Aunt Freda with him, but she had passed away some years before. A friendly smile of support would not have gone amiss, right now.

The title of ‘orphan’ had not weighed as heavily on him as it did on this day.

The Consultant looked too young for the role but had come highly recommended so when he explained his findings there was no questioning the diagnosis. Denis would need multiple bypass surgery.

“And then I can fly again?” demanded Denis.

“I cannot see you flying commercially again” was his final pronouncement, delivered without emotion.

Denis’ apartment was heavy with the silence that had lasted for days following the devastating news. His rowing machine remained untouched as did his shower. He could not recall when he had last shaved or even had a change of underwear. None of this was important to him anymore.

“This is so unfair,” he thought, “I’ve always looked after myself, made the best of myself. Why me? And how could I have missed the signs? There were no bloody signs! There was no way to prepare myself for this!”

If only he had been able to savour that last flight, knowing that it was going to be his final sortie. If only he could wangle one last trip to say a proper ‘Good Bye’ to that part of his life.

For the umpteenth time his telephone rang out, breaking the silence with its shockwaves. Denis did not flinch and the call went to his answering machine. The machine was flashing vigorously with the lurid red numerals “13” – the number of messages left and ignored by Denis since he had received what was a death sentence to him. Denis did not fear losing his life under the surgeon’s scalpel, indeed, in some ways, he saw this as a preferred option. Rather it was the losing of the only lifestyle to which he had aspired. This would not merely be a void, this would be a void within a vacuum. This was too big to fill and too late to start trying.

“Hi Denis, I know you are on holiday, mate, but I need a big favour. I’m scheduled to take the flight to Barcelona tomorrow and just realised it’s our Anniversary. Sally will kill me if I’m not here. I wondered if you could cover my shift for me.”

His mind raced through the options. No-one knew about his condition at work, they thought it was just annual leave. He had never felt better and anyway what better way to sign off than in a blaze of glory of his own choosing.

The next day’ in the country lanes behind the airport, Denis was driving his open-topped sports car at speed towards his appointment with fate. His car gleamed spotlessly in the morning sun and the breeze blew refreshingly onto his tanned face.

Meanwhile, 250 excited people were making their way to the boarding gate for ComfyJet Flight 103 to Barcelona; businessmen rubbing shoulders with loving couples; families with children mixing with trendy young things.

“Tell Alvaro that I will be at the meeting at 4.00pm your time and I expect to have a full explanation of what is going on!” one middle-aged gent in a charcoal grey suit barked into his mobile, his face turning puce with the invective.

“Will we be able to swim today, Mummy?” asked a tousle haired girl of around five as she jumped up and down with anticipation.

“I can’t wait to get you into our hotel room…….” crooned a young man to his girlfriend, the rest of the conversation delivered sotto voce directly into his lover’s ear.

Denis’ crisp white shirt and company tie complemented his Airline uniform whilst his clean-shaven face and clear blue eyes exuded dependability and control. He knew what he had to do.

He was convinced that this was his destiny. There might be some ‘collateral damage’ but a price worth paying to end his life the way it was meant to be.

Denis turned into the airport road and applied pressure with his right foot to the sensitive accelerator and the powerful engine throbbed in instant response to the call for more speed. Denis saw in front of him the ten-foot high Airport perimeter wall which had always been a kind of comfort blanket to him; the wall that encompassed his life.

Denis’ eyes did not waver nor did his hand deviate upon the steering wheel.

“Just like you, Dad” he shouted at the top of his voice.