When Purgatory Beckons

I’ve always heard about the road to hell being paved with good intentions and, have more recently discovered that another’s good intention can bring severe dis-ease to the one being benefited by their deed. The past few weeks have not been easy for me to cope with, the aftermath of my minor stroke and that of my step-daughter’s accident, the latter needing my beloved’s assistance to dress and shower herself.

Over many years I learned to live both in communal houses and alone, much of the time at peace with myself. In more recent years I have lived in relative peace and harmony solely alongside my beloved OH. As I’ve mentioned before, since the onset of my chronic illness I have become increasingly tetchy, even over apparently trivial matters.

This morning my semi-invalided step-daughter suggested that the dust in our (that of mine and my OH) bedroom  was rather un-healthy and, decided with her one (currently) usable arm to take the vacuum cleaner upstairs to do the cleaning. You can only imagine, or maybe not, my dismay at being told, by a young lady who has four cats romping about in and out of all rooms, that our bedroom was unhealthy! I had already been made to feel guilty at my relative inactivity when a person with one arm immobilised, and purportedly in intense pain, could manage domestic duties of a kind which my physical and emotional stamina levels require that I ration.

The final hump-breaking straw was her decision to mop the floor using a pot pourri scented thick disinfectant, as a result of which I later had to struggle to regain my balance as I took a slipper shod slide across part of the bedroom floor! Fortunately that struggle ended successfully but, it was yet a further warning that a good deed, if ill considered, is certainly a step into purgatory.

CHANTING PSALMS out of ANGER and FRUSTRATION

Currently, my temper is running on a very short fuse, swift to anger but sluggish in calming down. At its worst I end up upsetting those whom I love and even, at times, keeping temper simmering long after the immediate (sometimes trivial) cause for letting it loose has disappeared. There are many times my anger is justified especially when I look at the policies pursued by our Tory government, that of the US of A and, indeed, the governments and people of all nations that punish the vulnerable and worship private wealth. Very little regard seems to be paid to the unethical practices that have enabled that wealth accumulation in the first place!

My less justified outbursts usually occur when I am in rather acute pain and discomfort; one word out of place, from another party, can so easily release a vehement stream of verbal chastisement and abuse from yours truly. These are times when my response / reaction leaves me ashamed and guilty for the distress which I may have caused.

Having expressed that mea culpa I can move on to the more regular occasions when the air around me becomes filled with expletives and near blasphemy. The frequency with which limbs and torso are acutely and crushingly subjected to intense discomforting pain has recently increased, reverting to that state I experienced not long after ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis) first held me in its thrall. The main trouble is that the discomfort strikes so suddenly, whether in wrists, elbows, knees or elsewhere on the torso, it almost inevitably transforms the axillary lymph nodes into a discomforting, nausea inducing, dis-ease. During the night, as I futilely hope and pray for refreshing sleep, restless legs, painful feet, and lymph node tenderness compete for my attention, the only reaction that rears its head is a ferociously spitted out “Jesus Christ” followed by a torrent of expletives as I vainly attempt to find a comfortable position either in or out of bed.

This morning, as I checked out my Facebook homepage, I stumbled upon this quote from Blake Chastain – “Sometimes swearing is just a minimalist psalm”.

So, even when I find it difficult to pray, I find myself enthusiastically chanting Psalms.

In the Book of Psalms there is so much anger and despair amongst the ritual hymns but, none as succinct as the involuntary F-word that spews from my mouth when pain and discomfort is at its keenest.