spoilt by lack of choice

Just how irritably tetchy, like an overwound spring, I'd become wasn't immediately apparent but, (these days) the most minor event goes wrong and, wham, bam ... I'm in there without so much as a by your leave. I feel sorry for the recipient of the agressive verbal outpourings that ensue, it just seems so contrary to my (what was always seen to be) laid-back temperament. To be honest I never suffered fools (especially the supposedly intelligent ones) gladly but, would always deal with the situation in a calmly measured way, at least that's what I attempted. Nowadays it's shoot first ... ask questions later.

On the one hand I know that suppressing anger / outrage can have a negative effect on one's psychsomatic well being but, at the same time, rapidly vented anger leads one into a lingering slow-motion period of regret, the outrage having frequently been disproportionate to its triggering event. Unfortunately I never have sufficient stamina to release the pent up frustration by more directly physical means - walloping a punch-bag, bopping the night away, even going out for a lung stretching high speed walk is out of the question - so I'm left with a fiery verbal temper.

Since succumbing, eight years ago, to this excruciatingly painful, socially isolating, chronic condition, the irritability quotient seems to have multiplied in an almost logarithmic progression. Intense frustration arises on occasions when I've decided to go with ma belle to do some shopping, only to find that minutes after belting up in the car I suddenly feel too discomforted and unwell to pursue this course of action. At other times I arrive at the shop and have to find a place to sit down, in splendid isolation, whilst ma belle does the shopping. Bracing myself for such outings as visits to shops, GP surgeries, or indeed any priorly arranged appointment, swiftly depletes my already limited stamina reserves. Should a last minute change occur to any of these plans, that's when the spring snaps ...

What surprises me most is the high degree of contentment I have in simple pleasures such as sitting out in the arbour seat, observing the garden's flora and fauna, or basking in the presence of my beloved in the evening. I am essentially a happy, easily contented person; I just wish my body would allow me to socialize more, rather than constantly having to fall back on being self-contained. An asocial mode of being is not my lifestyle choice. 

Growing Pains

Transplanting weeds / wildflowers (delete according to preferential term) can be a time consuming business but, fortunately, I have an OH to do the uplifting, from an inappropriate location, whilst I occupy myself with the re-planting. Not everyone welcomes the growth of weeds / wildflowers the way we do in this household, many would have difficulty in appreciating our excitement at finally having a healthy nettle patch developing in the wildlife friendly area of the garden! The rapid growth of the teasels is really something to behold and, I can just imagine the local goldfinches eager anticipation of their reaching fruition.

It's difficult to believe the amount of cultivation required to ensure the right kind of poor, reasonably well-drained, soil in what could all too frequently be a partially waterlogged area. It then took quite a while to develop the knack of disturbing the soil (in this meadow-type area) just sufficiently to encourage wildflower growth. Mind you, even the more traditionally cultivated areas of the garden contains somewhat random groupings of flag iris, even intruding on the lawn, whilst crocosmia merges with fuschia and rose of sharon in one bed whilst, elsewhere, other varieties of crocosmia happily rubs shoulders with rosemary, sage, and thistles

The mini, patio, and fish ponds all proffer a rich variety of aquatic and marginal plant growth, a rich habitat for insects and frogs. Red-veined docks, originally a minor introduction to the pond marginal range, have established themselves in various areas of the garden. The increasing number of avian visitors is a real treat; amazing how rapidly news of our feeding stations, and abundance of insects,  has travelled via the feathery grapevine. As I write, sparrows are rapidly flitting between the lantern feeder and their fledglings lined up, in eager anticipation, on an adjacent fence. The rain, which temporarily dissuades me from venturing out, is certainly no deterrent to these enthusiastic juveniles.

Just being and observing is a great source of contentment for yours truly!

Dis-Concentration

My ability to concentrate is currently somewhat erratic; this has been an intermittently recurring problem during the past six or seven years. Exhaustion affects one mentally as well as physically but, it also appears to be unrelated to any exertion, or lack of same, on my part. Having had considerable periods of remission, from the more disabling aspects of my illness, has resulted in an increased level of frustration when stamina levels take a dive; this sense of frustration, in it's turn, seems to militate further against my reserves of concentration.

Quite remarkably, alongside this frustration I'm feeling reasonably content with my situation, when I'm able to hold back on tetchiness! I feel blessed in having such a loving and caring family, a comfortable home, good food and drink; what more could I wish for? Although the question's rhetorical, it would be wonderful if I could reduce my bed-rest requirement without feeling shattered mid-way through the remaining hours of (what I would like to be) active life.

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.

 

Thanksgiving

Yet again, on this Sunday, we once more are blessed with glorious sunshine, accompanied on this occasion by a gently refreshing breeze, a day for true thanksgiving.

 

Needless to say, although I still persist in saying it, the love seat beside the garden pond became my abode for most of the afternoon. As we sat there, the cheerful chattering of the house sparrows in a nearby shrub proved a real uplifting balm to the spirit; I seemed to be transported away from the sharp shooting pains emanating from the sciatic nerve, my constant companion over recent days (and nights).

 

My beloved (that’s Helen, not the sciatica) soon felt the urge to do a bit of gardening, with me in the role of passive observer. Obviously her stamina levels had been refreshed by the Harvest Service at her chapel this morning.

 

**********

 

I suppose that this posting is a natural sequel to yesterday’s posting, Flutterby Visions, on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’.

Long-tailed Delight

Just as the needle swings towards, and hovers around, the compass point of self-pity, I shift myself towards the kitchen door, take out a cigarette and inhale deeply. Not that the nicotine alleviates the symptoms but, it does serve as a temporary distraction from my calves apparently laden with heavy toxic waste and the hollow sensation in my upper limbs.

 

No sooner have I drawn deeply from the chemical laden coffin nail than my attention is drawn to the congregation of birds around our various feeding stations. It’s truly delightful to see more than half-a-dozen long-tailed tits amongst the other visitors. We’ve always had plenty of coal tits around and, regular if somewhat spasmodic visits from blue tits and great tits but, previous sightings of this particular variety have tended to be of one bird at a time. It’s quite strange that many of these common birds seem to give the garden a miss, no matter how well we try to cater for their needs.

 

Today, this sighting proved a real godsend. It’s so wonderful to revel in observing nature on ones own doorstep. The traces of self-pity swiftly dissipate, as I immerse myself in a joyous creation! For the moment, the debilitating aches and discomfort can be left to take care of themselves; at least I’ll try my darnedest to ignore them!

Give Me The Simple Life

Oh the pleasure of simple things. Although my beloved wasn’t sure whether the groans I emitted, whilst sat in the shower, weren’t those of agony, I hastened to reassure her that they were definitely not of that ilk but, neither had I quite entered the realms of the ecstatic. It was a simple shuddering joy; the joy of being alive and luxuriating in the steamy heat, the superficial alleviation of the aches in shoulders, hips, thighs and calves, even a temporary farewell to aching sinuses.

It really is amazing that we can so easily take these little luxuries for granted. Although, at times, I still lament the dramatic reduction of physical and emotional stamina since those, seemingly distant, pre-illness days (pre-2003), in the course of the past couple of years my gratitude quotient has increased dramatically. A walk down to St.Marks for coffee and a chat at ‘Open Church’ almost invariably proves a rewarding event. The delight I take in the garden, just pottering about, watching the fish in the pond, filling up the various bird feeders, (even watching the grass grow) is something I couldn’t have imagined in the more active phase of my life.

The garden seems to be an oasis for blue tits, coal tits, great tits, collar doves, tree sparrows, dunnocks, squabbling starlings and wood pigeons. How privileged I am to have the time to simply observe the avian goings on.

Of course the greatest privilege of all is my beloved, Helen, who brings so much light, love, joy and fun into every day. It’s strange that for so many years I was afraid of commitment, being tied down, only to realize in later life what an abundant freedom is to be found in a committed loving relationship. It is truly a cause for thanksgiving that in each other we are able to find ourselves!

A Delicate Balance

Although I’m frequently aware of the close proximity of contentment to complacency, it’s only on rare occasions that the narrow margin between contentment and frustration comes to my attention. Alongside the health improvements of the past twelve months, I have developed an acceptance of those limitations, compared to my state of being five years ago, which drastically curtail so many of those activities which were once part of my daily round.

For at least 75% of my time I dwell in contented acceptance but, a sudden (albeit short-lived) reinstatement of some of the more debilitating aches, pains, and mental numbness, dissolves this sense of modest well-being, replacing it with a general sense of alienation from all that is ‘normal’.

Last night, as I struggled to make it up the staircase, I was reminded of how things were in my darker days but, alongside a feeling gratitude for recent improvements, a sense of frustration creeps in. Rather than being grateful for the relative state of comfort that I live in, a strong current of anger overwhelms me as I consider all the violence and injustice that surrounds us on planet earth. Perhaps this is a righteous anger but, if all I can do about it is sign a few petitions, make a small donation to some of the charities I support, rather than manning the barricades, its effect can be rather negative like resentment.

In one sense though, it is a relief to recognize that the anger is not that of self-pity; the discomforts I face are so paltry, compared to the daily struggle for existence that confronts such a large proportion of humankind.

I am content but not complacent, frustrated but not in despair.