An Overshadowing of Events

I’ve never really been one for planning; taking things as they come, with opportunities galore for spontaneity and improvisation, is more my favoured route. Sadly, things in the real world seem to be in conflict with my ideal and, planning becomes necessary when it comes to grocery provisions, especially so for festive celebrations. It is my good fortune that ma belle OH is the grocery shopper, especially so since I’ve found it difficult to cope with the sensory overload from any store other than the, now almost extinct species, corner shop.

As Christmas Day approached I got into the, unfavoured but necessary, routine of pre-preparing certain food items before the big day itself. I enjoy cooking the main meals but, tend to get a little stressed by these special occasions. At least there were no great numbers to prepare for, our elder daughter staying with us through Christmas Eve evening until Boxing Day late afternoon whilst the younger sibling was coming over at about 2.00pm, on the day itself, together with our grandson, following his mid-day nap.

The evening before Christmas Eve day I started experiencing very dramatic floaters in my right eye and, found myself stretching out to remove a soot covered cobweb from a corner of the loo. Of course neither the soot covering, nor the web itself, existed out there in the room but were rather hyper 3D-ised visions stemming from false retina readings. Shortly afterwards I started to have rather strident flashes of light appearing beside my right eye which I found quite disturbing. Christmas Eve morning, ma belle contacted my GPs surgery which arranged a call back from one of the doctors on duty that day.

A short while later, the ‘phone rang and ma belle OH passed the handset to me, at which point I was told about arrangements for the operation, with the sudden realization that this call was for my beloved. After months of waiting, they were now informing us that, all things going well, her aortic valve replacement would be taking place on 15 January. This news cast rather a shadow over subsequent proceedings as I am, to quite an extent, dependent upon Helen as my primary carer. At the same time, I gratefully acknowledge that the operation can give her a whole new quality of life, after several months recuperation from the cardiac surgery.

The next time the phone rang; a doctor from my local practice spoke to me and arranged for an appointment that afternoon. The doctor I saw gave my eyes a thorough examination and she put through a referral to the eye clinic at the District Hospital. A short while after arriving home, the phone rang once again; this time, the message was to inform me that an appointment with a doctor at the eye-clinic had been arranged for 10.00AM on Christmas Day. This was turning out to be an unusual Christmas Eve and Day, but having undergone a thorough examination at the hospital, I was back home in time to continue preparations for Christmas Dinner.

Ever since my wife’s cardiac surgery seemed quite imminent, last summer, I have once again succumbed to anxiety and depressive episodes, randomly tearful and unduly angry with people and events. When I saw a doctor about this experience in August, all she would suggest was CBT as she wanted me off all my medications, not adding something else. My anxiety intensified after that visit as the medications I am taking are for the heart, following a minor stroke, for long-term abdominal problems and for pain and restless leg control. As the operation date, for my beloved, is once again imminent, the anxieties have intensified so, yesterday afternoon, I saw a different doctor who is consulting with a pharmacist and the mental health team to see if there may be a suitable course of medication etc.

This afternoon I attended the opticians, for an overdue eye test, and have been referred to the cataract clinic with regard to my right eye. So, things are moving and I’m struggling on…

Season's Greetings

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS from Me to You

may it be a season of 

PEACE, HOPE, LOVE & JOY

simple pleasures and a heartless regime

Sometimes, far too frequently in fact, I forget to count my blessings.

Quite recently I was able to enjoy Christmas to a far greater extent than has been the case for several years past; I actually managed to pace myself reasonably well, with a minimum of twelve hours bed rest per twenty-four. Medications and grace combined to keep the worst excesses of pains, aches and sensory overload at bay; even my limited reserves of emotional stamina held out well for this time of grateful celebration.

In the past few days I’ve crashed a little; sudden bouts of fatiguing exhaustion during daytime hours are (almost invariably) followed by restlessly discomforting nights. At least I’m able to do a bit of reading, even though my concentration wavers considerably more than in days of yore! Most importantly, I’m able to enjoy the activity without it seeming a chore.

I always feel privileged to love and be loved by ma belle Helen, just to hold and be held by each other brings with it a tremendous sense of wholeness, going a long way towards alleviating that sense of isolation arising from a greatly restricted ability to socialise in the wider world since the onset of this debilitating illness.

Sat in a comfortable supporting armchair, I can watch all the avian activity in our garden; in recent days we’ve had plentiful visits from coal, blue, and long-tailed tits, alongside the sparrows and starlings. Their antics are always a delight, as are the regular sightings of red kite, gracefully riding the thermals overhead.

As a recipient of a state pension, alongside a couple of small company pensions, I am fortunate that I no longer have to be dragged through the arduous demeaning benefits medical assessments, that so many sufferers of chronic illnesses – mental or physical – are so unfairly forced to endure, adding further stress to their already vulnerable state of being.

I am truly blessed, having food in my belly, a roof over my head and, we are still able to afford to keep ourselves warm (despite the profiteering greed of the privatized utilities). These things, that should be a right, are increasingly becoming a privilege under a heartless ConDem regime.   

No rest for the shattered!

Yesterday was the busiest day I’ve spent for a considerable period of time; our friends Roy & Jacqui visited us mid-morning for a little chat. The course of the conversation, over the next three to four hours, was by turns both intimate and challenging, and covered reflection on our sundry life experiences, matters of faith, healing, and the place and limitations of reason. The person of Jesus the Christ proved a central focus to this time of fellowship.

A couple of hours after our visitors departure, Helen and I headed off to the Acorn Centre, where Helen helps as a volunteer, for their Christmas Party. The traditional Christmas dinner was cooked to perfection, and the chef received a very warm round of applause just as he’d intended to sneak quietly away! We enjoyed a quiz which followed the meal; the fact that ours was the winning team probably added a little extra to our enjoyment, and we were then entertained by the music group whose enthusiasm always compensates for any musical limitations. After three hours my body was telling me it was time to go and, I felt quite shattered by the time we arrived back home.

Although I felt achingly tired, by the time I attempted to immerse myself in the duvet realm, an intense excruciating discomfort in shoulders, armpits and upper limbs generally, made it impossible to find a restful posture. My whole body was convulsively shuddering as I, repeatedly, failed to find an appropriately comfortable position. A primary distraction from this upper limb discomfort was my essential response to the, all too familiar, erratically spasmodic intestinal convulsions.

An additional dose of tramadol was called for, before a sufficient easing of the upper limbs and torso discomfort was found. Having got into bed at around 22.15hrs, I eventually found a degree of comfort by 01.45hrs but, even then, an overactive/over-stimulated mind ensured that I remained awake until at least 06.00hrs.

Hectoring and Dining

In principle I have little objection to Christianity's co-opting of pagan festivals into the Chritian calendar; unlike the Puritans I am not at all against the celebration of Christmas but, I have to admit that like so many others, of faith or otherwise, I do feel rather sickened by the crass commercialisation of the whole season.

At the most basic level I love the way that the Christmas story turns the world's values upside down. The Messiah King is born in a most humble abode, not in a fine palace and, what is more, born to an unmarried mum. The whole community is being crushed under the heel of imperialist occupying forces at a time of great civil unrest. Of course we read in some accounts of how the Christ child's family are forced to flee the country to become refugees and, finding their refuge in the very country from which God had liberated the Israelites many centuries earlier.

Sadly the unrest in the MIddle East remains unresolved even at the present time; sundry imperialist forces and factions have ensured that throughout the centuries.

Anyway, that's enough of my all too familiar hectoring; I only intended to give a brief account of our quiet family Christmas.

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In the run up to the great occasion I lacked the necessary stamina (physical and emotional) to assist my beloved in much of the preparation but, helped where I could and, of course, I took control of the kitchen for much of the final food preparation time. I like to get much of the effort out of the way before Christmas Day arrives and, to that end, prepared the gammon a few days earlier.

I boiled the Gammon in water laden with cloves, garlic and halved onions (skins still attached) for half of the appropriate cooking time, drizzling the joint with honey before placing it in a pre-heated oven, applying a further drizzle for the final twenty minutes or so roasting time.

The capon, a 9lb bird, I prepared on Christmas Eve evening, inserting generous amounts of butter beneath the skin before rubbing in a blend of freshly ground black pepper and sea salt. Stuffings are prepared separately, partly owing to dietary requirements of one of our guests. Ma belle prepared her traditional sausagemeat, onion and black pepper stuffing and, we also char grilled a few gluten free sausages. The butcher supplied a cranberry, orange and chestnut stuffing mixture (unfortunately not suitable for the coeliac in our midst but, much appreciated by ma belle et moi).

Next I par-boiled spicy herbed potatoes ready for roasting on the day itself, and steamed a few parsnip portions, duly drizzled with honey on taking their place in the roasting tin.

Beth came to stay with us for three nights, and three Christmas dinners, whilst Cathy joined us for a Christmas dinner on the 27th. We didn't over indulge on any of these occasions, quite simply enjoying the company and felllowship of each other. Beth arrived on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, having worked an early shift in the bakery but, still managed to prepare herself to head off to Christchurch, where she sings in the choir, for midnight communion, as well as their Christmas morning service.

My familiar aches, pains and sundry discomforts in chest, abdomen, and lower limbs, unfortunately brought out a sensory overloaded  tetchiness from yours truly, but failed in their attempt to mar the festivities. Ma belle as usual found some very entertaining novelties to stock up my Christmas stocking.

Throughout recent weeks we've enjoyed a rich diet of varied Christmas music and, once again find ourselves wondering why we should reserve so much of it to be aired on so few days of the year. If the Christmas message, or any of the Christian feasts, has/have validity there is no need to cloister it/them in such limited time slots.

Mal's Christmas Message

As Christmas Day approaches, I've been revelling (as listener rather than participant) in lots of Christmas carols and other Christmas music whilst preparing for the big day. As a Christian, my central focus is upon the Christ child who grew up to challenge the secular and spiritual authorities of his day, proclaiming a discipline of selflessness, compassion, peace and humility. Although his spirit is still alive, it is all too frequently portrayed in a way which is both nauseatingly pious and uncharitable!


At times. it seems quite difficult to reconcile the wining and dining, which is an integral part of our Christmas celebrations, with the commemoration of the birth of a child in quite humble circumstances in an occupied Middle Eastern country but, I still manage to enjoy the celebrations. As I write, the large (11lb) chicken is roasting in the oven, a mixture of butter, garlic, pepper and chilli having been inserted beneath the skin. I've also been busily preparing both standard and gluten-free sausagemeat (with a liberal administering of onion, mustard and parsley) stuffing. Portions of chicken will then be placed in the steamer, along with sundry vegetables on the day itself. Ma belle has prepared the vegetables and the potatoes ready for par-boiling by yours truly, in a special herb and spice infused liquid, prior to roasting in due course.


I've also been diligently filling the sundry feeders for our gardens avian visitors, having first having scraped away the feeder's snow overcoats and, enjoyed a little walk with my beloved around a few blocks of the neighbourhood.


Beth, my elder step-daughter, together with her partner Mahmood, and his son Sina, will be joining us for Christmas Day dinner whilst Cathy and Ken (her partner) will be spending a couple of days in Barcelona. Of course Cathy will be coming round for her Christmas Dinner on Monday, with Ken calling around later to imbibe a few glasses of fermented grape juice. It's rather nice to be able to stretch out the festivities in this way. We are so fortunate to be able to celebrate in this way, whilst being all too guiltily aware of all those millions throughout the globe who struggle for subsistence.


My Christmas wish, as always, is for PEACE, HOPE and JOY, and a far more equitable distribution of the earths resources!

Christmas Calling

Christmas approaches and, a few lights and decorations adorn the interior of our house. Small nativity cribs, in the hall and dining room, remind us of the Christ in Christmas and, more potently, the nativity scene in our living room displays potential visitors barred, by a tall wall, from gaining access to the stable, telling of the situation that exists in that part of the Middle East today. The transformative event is centered on a small child born of humble parentage, not in a palace or in the fortresses of the occupying imperial power but rather in second rate guest accomodation.

Even the wise men expected something different, after all the seats of real power are always quite prestigiously situated. They stumble on their way but, meanwhile, the good news had already been broadcast to the sheperds and, they were the first to come to the Christ child. The men from the seats of learning are beaten to the post by these herdsmen. Values are turned on their head.

Sadly, it wouldn't be long before the wise and learned, serving the purposes of their earthly rulers, would distort this message, placing the Christ at the service of secular power rather than serving Him. A message of love and hope to the poor and humble becomes a religion of fear and subservience to ones earthly masters.

The child, born in humble circumstance, grew up to challenge the politics of greed, hatred and idolatory. Where he put the will of his heavenly father first, after his death and resurrection, he became the tool of the powerful who saw themselves as being God's representatives on earth.

Those who seek to follow the way of Jesus, who take up their cross, are likely to find little favour with either religious or secular authority. They will be tempted, at every turn, to betray their calling in order to obtain advancement in their place of work, told to be realists and not idealists. The call of Jesus is not for what he can do for me, but rather a challenge to us to serve our fellow men in the cause of justice and dignity.

As long as we stand by, and aquiesce, in the violence and injustice of our world we are kicking and bruising that child born in a troubled Middle East two millenia ago. I, myself, am a weak and wayward follower but, in Him I have my hope.

Returning Home from Being There

 

An endless numbness, a dull sullen hanging sense of nausea and, barely the energy to read a single word, listen to a note of music; if only I had the stamina to put a thought together it would probably turn into a single-syllabled question. The querulous word would, I suspect, be more on the lines of “What” rather than “Why”.

I’ve long since given up on the existential / metaphysical why; more an exercise in futility rather than to proffer any result. “What” keeps the world alive, “why” seems more like an evasion.

Well, that’s yesterday dealt with; today I have returned to me. The preceding days, and nights, had been dominated by intensely excruciating pain, ranging from the numbing tourniquet, to the slightly blunted arrow; the bone and muscle crumbling ache in combat with those swiftly-fleeting nerve-tingling darts that seem to take one’s breath away; a kind of Topsy-Turvy Terpsichore:

Dance rules over all – it prevails against reason, common-sense and substantial portions of ritual belief. Trouble is that, we are never in control; I am currently in thrall to a kind of voodoo dance –nature’s response to a crushing debilitating pain scenario.

When all else fails, randomly fling limbs in whatsoever direction they feel like; if it causes further discomfort then that adds a whole new terpsichorean overlay, disclosing hitherto undreamt of fraught sequences of space displacement.

On Monday my pain-killing medication was changed, to a 3 day slow release opiate patch. Having applied the patch, late afternoon, my familiar discomforted restless night was in attendance, so nothing different then but the following morn was quite a different proposition. A total inability to concentrate, a generalized dull ache underlining the spasmodically erupting specific sharp pains; all was eventually blanketed under a heavily nausea spiced  airless cloud of unbeing, crushing a body wracked in turn between hot and cold shivering sweats.

Needless to say, all the remaining patches have been returned to the pharmacy and, my routine has been switched back to Tramadol, this time of a non-modified release type, to enable me to remain in control, modifying the dosage as necessary. Meanwhile, I’ve once again been referred to the hospital for further investigative work.

The 18 hours respite, including some ‘real’ bed rest, between removing the patch and taking a further pain-killer, has served to enhance my appreciation of the home environment. For the first-time this season, I was aware of the seasonally decorated dining table, and the various Christmas ornaments and tinsel sundrily scattered around our abode. This awareness of one’s habitation, the taste of food, the sound of music and always one’s loving companion is a gift to be truly celebrated. The return from a pain-riddled drug addled stupor makes me feel like the fabled Prodigal Son; although at heart I am always aware of the love that surrounds me, it’s good to receive a whole-hearted reminder, for one’s abode to find it’s rightful status as Home.

 

A Christmas Message

I just sit and look across the room, my beloved lost in thought, a slightly perplexed smile on her face as she ponders the words she’s typing. I smile to myself, a token of admiration coupled with adoration. Sometimes, I lose track of time as I simply contemplate ma belle’s visage; I enter a wonderful world of devotion and love. It seems strange that no matter how much in love I am, it continues to grow.

We’ve gradually completed the Christmas decorations and enter into the magic of the season. Most importantly, for all the gewgaws with which we surround ourselves, we remember that our real celebration is of a helpless child born to a teenage mum in an occupied state in the Middle East. Research suggests that this child Jesus would most probably have been born around April but, I rather like the way Christianity has assimilated this pagan feast time to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. Those who choose to follow the way of the Christ child should not seek to separate themselves from the world but always be there alongside those they can assist in a far from perfect world. Christians are to be “in the world but not of the world”; it’s never enough to accept the world as it is but, rather, we have a duty to transform it.

Just as our Christmas lights and decorations transform the darkest time of the year; Jesus message was to turn the accepted values of the ruling elite on their head. Sadly, just like we put away the lights before twelfth night so, through the centuries, have some of the ruling elites served to restore the injustices which Jesus challenged, in the name of Christendom!

May the message of Peace On Earth and Goodwill To All Men be taken seriously in this twenty first century of the common era.

Just as my contemplation of my beloved gives me such a warm glow, so does the true meaning of Christmas.

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This post first appeared on 22 December 2006