ACHES and GAINS

Just when you think you’ve recovered from the roller-coaster ride, a sudden smack of reality makes you realize that you’ve stepped onto the ferris wheel and this time it’s supercharged. Stomach and oesophagus have never felt so close, a moderate underlying nausea takes on a more prominent role. The head feels giddy as if too much time has been spent on the ‘waltzer’, and knees, ankles and elbows throb as if stray balls from the coconut shy have found fresh targets.

You’ve maybe guessed it, I’m talking payback; a reasonable period of (partial) remission had almost persuaded me that life had been restored to normality. As I’m now into the fifteenth year since my collapse, succumbing to ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis), one would think I’d know better than to miscalculate my reserves of stamina. I’m not talking of any undue exertion, just twenty minutes of mowing the lawn with an electric powered mower seems to have knocked me back. Mind you, this additional exertion came at a time when I’m just coming to the end of a course of antibiotics and antimicrobials.

These additional medications had been prescribed as a result of a visit to A&E at the district hospital last Thursday evening, following a flare-up of diverticulitis (and probably gall bladder as well). There have been many occasions recently when I’ve felt as if my moderate ME had turned to a milder form but then, brainfog, alongside excruciating discomfort in upper and lower limbs, and nagging pains variably dispersed around the torso, randomly exert their authority.

Putting those ailments aside, I am fortunate that I am still able to enjoy listening to a wide range of music (via CD, radio and vinyl sources) and am generally able to accompany Piper (our beagle – podenco  rescue dog) and my beloved OH Helen on short evening walks. A few years ago there were occasions when it seemed / felt like an effort too far]just to walk the few yards to the corner of our road. I really miss it when I’m not able to manage these short walks but the love and attention, received and given, by Piper compensates more than a little, and I’m still amazed at the therapeutic value of this charismatic canine.

An additional source of joy is provided by not infrequent visits from our grandson Alexander, now in his ninth month of bringing and receiving an abundance of smiles to the house. Piper is intrigued by Alexander, even though he’s never sure of how to take the infant’s reciprocal interest; the boy stretches out to feel / stroke Piper but has already managed to grab his tail on one occasion as well as being drawn to his ears (always a sensitive part of the pooch’s anatomy).

HOUDINI HOUND - The PIPER Chronicles

HOUDINI HOUND brings on payback but provides much therapeutic HEALING – the PIPER chronicles

Wednesday night was a time of moderate payback for the additional (voluntary) exertion / exercise I’ve been taking since the adorable Piper came into my life. Generally though, the dog is proving almost miraculously therapeutic, enabling in me a calm which I’ve not experienced in more years than I care to remember, as well as taking longer walks than I’d been able to manage in the preceding 13 years.

The form the payback took was not at all conducive to sleep, not even of the far too prevalent non-refreshing variety. A simple flick of the bedsheet across the top of my toes, or even an individual digit, caused an unwitting flailing of lower limbs and a hard to suppress need to scream out a string of expletives. Big toes were overwhelmed with a throbbing ache, whilst the full complement of subservient digits tingled with what felt like a potent electrical charge.  During Thursday I experienced a not insignificant degree of confusion and reduced power of concentration.

To be perfectly honest, I’m quite relieved that the payback has remained relatively mild! Our little Piper seems quite sensitive towards my de-energized state of being, leaning in to me rather than demanding a deeper rough & tumble commitment.

I’m constantly amazed and charmed by Piper’s character and personality, especially the winning way in which he commands one’s attention and affection. The sudden burst of energy which emanates from an apparently dormant canine must cause terror in any feline character that dare trespass on his territory, his home patch. The vigorous way he wags his tail, when greeting his people, is a sight to behold – more like a full body shake. I’m pretty certain that a simple greeting, from Piper, expends far more energy than any (so called) long-life / heavy duty battery could ever produce!

His late night bounds into the garden will occasionally produce a basso profundo woof that belies the originators size! Sometimes it may be a feline intruder, which swiftly flees from his territory, at other times he’s somewhat bemused by the little sphere of spikes which appears as he approaches a strolling hedgehog. The boy seems to have an inbuilt hedgehog sensor and, as a result we’re discovering that our long term efforts at developing our garden a wildlife friendly environment is proving successful. On one occasion I observed a couple of juvenile hedgehogs, snuffling along, at one edge of the longer grass area whilst Piper found another source of interest at the opposite side of the same area. Quite remarkably he responded to my wilfully distracting call, made to lead him away from the juvenile ‘hogs path, as he came and trotted by my side, tail held aloft, back into the house.

After he’d found it possible to utilise a garden bench as a springboard, to surmount a quite high fence into our neighbours garden, an immediate re-siting of the planter laden bench was essential. The amazing thing is that he gave us a demonstration of how easily he’d managed this astounding feat shortly after returning home from the scene of his accomplishment.

The day following the great escape, Piper demonstrated, to yours truly, that with a clearer run-up to that section of fence he was already close to making another leap to freedom. Immediate DIY work was called for, as an old Mothercare fireguard was quickly dis-assembled and it’s component parts utilized to add additional height to that particular section of the fence. Our bundle of boundless energy has certainly brought much added colour and joy into our lives.

       

                             Piper tries out his new bed

Times they are a changing as the Piper calls

A time of change; as all things turn, there is always a return made, an apparent centring to what has been a slow created essence of one’s being! Quite why I scribbled down that opening line, I’m a little uncertain but, I am aware that certain changes, so rapidly, assimilate to one’s sense of place that they swiftly seem as if they had always been!

We have swiftly adapted to the revamped home, following the many weeks during which the extension work, chez nous, took place. Somehow it seems as if the adaptations had been made to accommodate our family’s latest arrival. As yet we await confirmation that we will be able to adopt our foster boy ‘Piper’.

Piper is a beagle and (assumed) Labrador cross, he certainly has many of the traits that are typical of beagles, always following scents of potential prey wherever he goes, and he has an insatiable appetite for food. The beagle trait is unmistakeable in the head and his colouring is quite like a less saturated version of a red fox Labrador.

Having spent five years in a pound in Spain, where he was bullied and attacked by other dogs, he has a slightly nervous disposition but, has settled in wonderfully into our household. At first he seemed to have a wariness of homo sapiens males, much preferring the female of the species but I was surprised how quickly he accepted me. Piper is definitely a people dog, and has swifltly re-organised the days for ma belle et moi. He’s just so endearing!

Ma Belle generally takes him for morning walk before he has his first meal of the day, so she’s getting the most exercise she has had in quite sometime, sometimes I accompany them both, for at least some of the time, in the evening! Thursday evening I actually managed the longest walk that I’ve had since 2003, and only had minimal payback in terms of a minor degree of shatteredness. Admittedly the back support came into play last evening, as I’d sprained the muscles on the left hand side of my back, probably caused when competing for space in my favourite armchair!

In the morning it’s wonderful to be greeted by the bounding energy ball, that is Piper, as he races upstairs and pounces upon the duvet,  expressing his joy in being here to share my life. Usually a quite boisterous greeting but, this morning, as if acknowledging my back-aching jadedness, he just flopped beside me, forepaws placed gently over my arm.

We are fortunate in having a reasonably well secured, sizeable garden which he always enjoys exploring, in his preparedness to see off any trespassing felines. Just like us he enjoys a reasonably sustained chilled out flop, between bouts of exercise and/or feeding.

In the eight / nine days he has been with us I’ve not needed to resort to wrist, elbow, or shoulder supports, nor have I needed to increase my pain-killer intake. If being part of our family is as therapeutic for him as it is for me, we are both well and truly blessed. My step-daughter Beth who lives, with her four cats, across town is totally smitten with the boy and happily proffers her dog walking services for Piper.

FRUSTRATIONS of a Medical and Medicinal Kind

This post also appears on 'Mal's Murmurings' under the title 'CONSULTATION FRUSTRATION'

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It shouldn’t really be like this; anger and despair turn out to be the result of a visit to the GP. Having finally yielded to my beloved’s advice, I got around to arranging an appointment with my local doctors practice. My reluctance to make this appointment is the knowledge that they’re only equipped, or allowed the time, to deal with a specific singular ailment, not a complex multiplicity or whole people.

First annoyance came when he (being the doctor) stated that the medications I was on had a tendency to conflict / counteract each other to some degree. Considering the length of time I’ve been on this assortment of potentially self-conflicting cocktails, I begin to wonder why the practice had been oblivious to this over the course of the past couple of years.

When conflicting advice, between medics in the same practice, as to whether certain meds should be used pre-emptively or only when absolutely necessary, adds a further quandary for the patient as to the efficacy of using the practice at all.

Anyway, a couple of the prescribed medications are no longer to be used; they are replaced by a single different medication. Worrying for me is the following statement, on the Patient Information leaflet:

 take special care if you:

suffer from conditions like abdominal pain, muscle weakness, mental confusion.

[there are times – regularly for the first two, occasional for the latter - when I can tick all those boxes]

The doctor further suggested that I should use co-codamol instead of tramadol, even though I’d had to stop using co-codamol, because of the effect it was having on various abdominal organs, a few years back. Tramadol, thankfully, remains on my prescription.

Next came the little prep talk suggesting Graded Exercise Therapy would help, even performing the same limited exercise on ‘bad’ as well as ‘good’ days. Obviously he has no understanding of what a PwME’s (even moderately so) ‘bad’ day is like. I explained that even the visit to the opticians, a limited amount of exercise involved, was sufficient to cause payback, his response was that obviously was too much exertion!

Well, it seems that I’ll have to stick with my own pacing regimen which essentially curtails any exertion on bad days and, ensuring that I always have some spoons in reserve when I exercise on good days.

The preceding events, at least their physical & mental toll, necessitate a temporary postponement of my visit to hospital for further blood tests

I’m quite proud of myself for refraining from the use of expletives during this little rant; expletives remain in my personal domestic space for the time being

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Malcolm Evison doctor even told me that there's no connection between overload of pain stimuli and the corresponding nausea that I experience !!!

back to NORMALITY?

So much of our lives are spent simply letting regular life experiences wash over us. Passive recipients of what ever opportunities life offers us we, of necessity, avoid reacting to most peripheral events. Life goes on as normal but we may suddenly be ambushed by limitations to what has, so far, been our normality. On many occasions the limitation may simply be with regard to the specific situation, in which one finds oneself, for which we have had no prior experience or necessary practice. 

Variety happens but, it does not always seem to add spice to life; as a matter of fact much of the variety may be of an unwelcome kind. Health-wise it has been a case of swings and roundabouts; just as one celebrates alleviation of a particular neurological symptom they seem to stumble upon a variant manifestation of the same underlying condition.

This morning, my body reminded me of the limitations imposed by a combination of neurological illness and the general aging process. It is almost as if there are (at least) two distinct normalities, that of the mind and spirit struggling with that of pure corporeality.

 It is several years now since I first had to learn, experientially (the hard way), how to pace myself; having reluctantly accepted that I must now function on/from a lower plateau, than was my earlier norm, I still feel a sense of shock when any jolting reminder of this limitation catches me out.

As the sun was shining, I set out this morning, with a walking-stick supported spring in my step, to collect a prescription from my GP’s surgery, a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk. The Surgery isn’t any  more than a seven to eight minute walk (even accounting for my limitations) and the bakery and grocery stores are passed en route. That would seem to be a little light exercise but, I hadn’t accounted for meeting up with a couple of friends during this restricted travel. I stopped and spoke to my first friend J for two to three minutes and a couple of minutes further on in the expedition encountered  friend C with whom I had a little chat. 

On arriving at the Surgery’s reception I had a couple of minutes wait before I picked up my prescription; by this time I was feeling quite light-headed and aching limbed. What I’d forgotten was that, as part of my current ‘normality’, standing to chat seems to reduce my stamina levels more swiftly than the brief walk itself! It was with great relief that I was able to sit down for ten minutes at the local pharmacy, in the same parade of shops as the grocery and bakery shops’ whilst they dispensed my sundry medications. By the time I got back home I was feeling achingly shattered!

*****

I suppose that this ‘shatteredness’ shouldn’t have been so surprising, considering that the previous couple of days had been quite eventful, even incorporating a visit to A&E and a consequent overnight stay in the hospital.

Saturday morning, at about 2.30am, a sudden sharp bruised pain down the left hand side of my rib cage, accompanied by an acute stitch-like pain emphatically (horizontally) underlining the breast bone. The pain seemed to ease as I clasped the painful area with my right hand and, it eventually disappeared after about fifteen minutes. So far, so good but, the bruised aching pain kept nagging away at regular intervals in the course of the day. Around 8.00pm, the pain returned with a pallor inducing vengeance; a hollow giddiness occupying head and torso left me feeling quite disembodied. At this time my beloved repeated an earlier offer to take me down to A&E and, this time, I instantly accepted.

The receptionist (at A&E) thought I needed to sit down and said that ma belle could log me in. Although my blood pressure went soaring, I was relieved that the ECG showed normal coronary activity. When the doctor examined me she suggested that I had a chest x-ray and blood tests but, as a follow up blood test would be required in the middle of the night, had me admitted to hospital. The doctor had inserted a cannula in the back of my hand which unfortunately, and somewhat dramatically, fell out as I moved into the X-Ray department leaving a splendid crimson blood trail on the floor. The nurse swiftly grabbed a pad to which I applied pressure to stop the flow from the distended vein, whilst he swiftly mopped and disinfected the contaminated floor area.    

Eventually a porter wheeled me up to Bolton Ward where they initially set me up on a heart monitor. Everyone with whom I had contact on this ward made me feel like a person, rather than a client, leaving me most impressed with their friendly and efficient attention to their duties. The clinical support auxiliary very swiftly, and without any fuss, cannulated the median cubital vein; nursing staff always seem to perform these tasks better than doctors, presumably because they have more experience.

My second lot of blood samples were taken at around 3.00am on Sunday and later the doctor told me that the tests were negative. Once this was ascertained a nurse came and removed the heart monitor. By 10.50am my discharge papers had been prepared and, I only had to await ma belle chauffeuse to whisk me back home. I was assured by both ward sister and the duty consultant that, even though the pain was musculoskeletal rather than cardiac in origin, ma belle had done exactly the right thing in taking me to A&E.

It was wonderful, and seemed extra special, to share Sunday lunch (which I had partially prepared the previous afternoon) with my beloved but then, every moment shared with my better half is very special.

the best laid plans

After that wonderful Early Bird morning and subsequent day, ( bird talk – not quite up with the larks ), I fully expected  a decent nights sleep to follow. My hopes and expectations were drastically thwarted; I remained resolutely awake and alert throughout the nocturnal hours, sleep only arriving after 8.30am and, spasmodic at that. As a result, my emergence from the duvet realm (yesterday) did not occur until 11.30am; the rest of the day witnessed little action from yours truly until mid-afternoon when I gathered a few windfall apples, raked and grazed the ground (including the longer grasses intrusive moss underlay) in the more wildlife friendly area of the garden and, gathered a few tomatoes from the greenhouse plants.

The evening was spent basking in the company of ma belle, listening to some music before watching ‘Doc Martin’. By 10.00pm I was most decidedly shattered, even omitting the teeth cleaning ritual prior to hitting the sack. Almost immediately upon my head sinking into the pillow I was wrapped in slumber. Sound sleep, with a few intermittently vibrant dreams, ensued until after 7.00am. Post 7.00am   I slumped back into sleep until 10.00am, the cup of coffee, left on my bedside table as my beloved departed for work, remained untouched and well and truly chilled.

One would have thought that an early venture out of the house, following such a good apparently refreshing sleep, would have found me with an extra spring in my step but, that was not to be the case. As I headed off along the road, my lower limbs felt as firmly supportive as a pair of loosely rolled-up towels. My left arm felt like an achingly hollow lead tube.

About a third of the way towards my goal, Open-Church at St Marks, I mentally yielded to the message from my exercise resistant limbs and, after the briefest of pauses, began the slow saunter home; and now, a few rested hours later,  my body finally seems to be waking up.

Back To Normal

i seem to have fallen back onto the ailment roundabout, fortunately it has not yet transmogrified into a full rollercoaster ride at this point. Persistent irritations, of the over production of acid and mucus variety, still make their presence felt alongside the, probably related, ache and bruise sensations (with the occasional sharp nudge) around the chest and lower ribcage area.

Now the leaden ache of the lower limbs has reaffirmed its presence, as has a gnawing ache in wrist and armpits which seems to have re-appeared on a whim and then hangs around for indeterminate / unpredictable periods of time. Even as I sit and type this I'm finding it necessary to take breaks wherein I place both forearms behind my back and push my shoulders firmly back on the comfortably supporting high back chair.

Having had a little stroll down to Open Church, this morning, my legs began to ache as if I'd been on a marathon trek; to be honest they weren't really painful, just more of a gnawing discomfort. The thought occurred that maybe they needed a further stretch so, with the aid of my trusty walking stick, I set off on a brisk walk around the block. Please note that I "set off on a brisk walk", I can't make any claims to having sustained any degree of briskness beyond the 100 metre mark. I thought at least it would prove good for the morale and, it hasn't made the gnawing ache any worse or better.

By late afternoon, an additional dose of lansoprazole (to cut down on acid production) and a couple more tramadol capsules served to alleviate the more extreme edge of discomfort. That extra bit of relief allowed me to get on with preparing a meal in time for my beloved's return from work, and even enabled me to enjoy accompanying ma belle for a grocery shop at Waitrose post dining!

Frustration Rules

A generalized sense of shatteredness has replaced much of the familiarly painful discomfort of the past few years yet, simultaneously, the tetchiness of my achingly disoriented days has returned with a vengeance. I suppose that, on one level, I feel rather guilty about not doing more with my time; after all, I have periods of a few hours on most days now when I feel totally alert but, even many of my e-mails remain either unread or superficially browsed through and my best intentions remain just that, intentions.

At least when pain was being experienced at excruciating levels I felt that was genuine reason for not getting off my backside and committing myself to some positive action or endeavour, manifest in either literary or painterly output. Currently, I find myself exhausted when I go to bed (at a time I once would have considered early), restless through a goodly portion of the night and, spasmodically sleeping through a goodly part of the morning, once I've discovered a suitably comfortable posture. It's rather strange being neither a night-owl nor an early riser; where once a few hours bed rest ensured an adequate energy resource, many hours of rest don't seem to leave me with much of an energy reserve at all.

Before anyone jumps in with a solution, I must emphasize that whenever I forego my lying-in period a totally mind-numbing, muscle bruising, fatigue overwhelms me before the day is out. Any self-enforced increase of exercise seems to have an intensely negative rebound effect on subsequent days.

Frustration rules!

The Morning After (the days before)

After yesterday’s bout of mat wrestling**, a fitful nights sleep is hotly pursued by an achingly battered and bruised Sinna Luvva’s emergence into the grey light of day. Lower limbs feel like they’re struggling through a vat of leaden sludge, and that’s simply the effort of releasing themselves from the duvet lair.

There’s no need to pinch me to check that I’m awake, rather than dreaming; every muscle and joint cries out to affirm the fact. I ache therefore I am.

At least every other day, for the past fortnight, has found yours truly engaged in performing some minor horticultural task. It’s quite surprising really, how much nurturing goes into the establishment and nurturing of the wildlife friendly area of the garden; even the transplanting of inappropriately self-rooted wildflowers, from cultivated to a more suitable site proves quite time and effort consuming.

On more than one occasion I’ve managed to overdo it; pacing isn’t quite as straightforward as I’d wish it to be. Although I recognize my limitations of physical and emotional stamina, it’s almost as if a little inner demon assures me that any perspirational endeavour that proves enjoyable can’t possibly have an ill effect.

Although I should know better, I still fall victim to the demon’s ploy. The spirit may be willing but, it’s the weakened flesh that pays the price. An increased tetchiness, and fog-befuddled thought processes, sits uncomfortably alongside the pains and aches that flesh is heir to.

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** for those readers who don’t follow / click on hyperlinks, I hasten to assure you that I have not taken up a new contact sport. The link is to my posting ‘The Heart Of The Matter’ on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’

A Matter of Chance?

No matter how much we may think we freely choose the time and place for our actions, there are times when a specific action (in terms of time and place) quite simply had to be. Yesterday was a case in point.

Regular readers of my blog will realize that so often my decision to go out, perform a certain activity etc, is determined as much by the vagaries of my resource of physical and emotional stamina as it is by my will to do so. Yesterday afternoon I had determined on a certain goal but, a choice had to be made as to whether ma belle and I would walk there (a venue slightly further than my usual brief brisk walking range) or go in the car.

The day being beautifully sunny, and noticing the pond had survived the winter with an absolute surplus of oxygenating weed, I was almost distracted sufficiently to abandon the aforementioned goal, tidying up the pond instead. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I decided it would be better to walk to the pre-planned venue rather than do any work on the pond. It was definitely decided that we should walk, rather than use automotive power for this little errand.

A couple of hundred yards down the road, a voice called out “Malcolm, Malcolm”. We turned around and, at first I didn’t recognize the lady who was calling out. As we chatted, she told us of her worries and anxieties and that she’d lost two stone in weight through the stress of recent events. She seemed close to tears as we chatted and asked if we would like to call around to her place for a coffee and a chat.

Having performed our little errand, we called in on our way back home and sat and chatted for a couple of hours. Although it was quite an exhausting experience, well past my usual socializing limit, it was also most rewarding. By the time we left it was really great to see her smiling. The problems she’s been facing seem some way from resolution but, at least the problems have been shared.

The timing and direction of our little venture seems almost to have been pre-ordained. Yes, I had to make the choice to venture out but, I had no idea that the exercise would prove so fruitful.

Quasimodo and Esmeralda

The past few days have witnessed a hobbling Quasimodo climbing up into the tower to look after an ailing Esmeralda. Crookbacked and crablike I’ve ventured up the stairs, trying to tempt my beloved with a few hot drinks and the occasional poached meal. My Esmeralda’s complexion seems to keep ringing the changes between flushed and drained, as she shivers whilst simultaneously burning up. I actually find it quite disturbing when ma belle is reluctant to take on board either fluids or solids, yet at times she’s even finding it difficult to quaff sufficient water to aid the swallowing and absorbing of the paracetamol. In more normal times I suspect that the reservoirs must have difficulty in providing the copious volumes of liquid consumed by my good lady.

On the positive side, although I’ve not ventured outside of these four walls, I’m getting plenty of exercise – against my backs resistance and legs reluctance – as I tread the stairs. My beloved keeps saying that she shouldn’t feel so rotten because it’s only a virus; meantime, I keep thinking a virus is only a bug that the medicos fail to understand and are unable to deal with!

Spasmodic doses of co-codamol, together with rubs of ibuprofen gel, seem to keep the worst of my back pain in check, though neither supplies an adequate counter to the occasional locking of the spine.

Mechanical Breaks

Saturday morning was a time to break the relative silence of the garden with a bit of mechanical intrusion. Both strimmer and hedge trimmer, which share a common electrical lead, fortunately making it impossible to wield both simultaneously, were brought out of hibernation, the more efficiently to perform the decapitation of meadow grass, trees and hedgerows. Actually decapitation is not quite the right word, rather a productive mutilation.

Only later were the loppers brought into action, as I started to prune back some of the topmost prolific growth on the largest of our fruit trees. To my own surprise, and that of my beloved, I had actually started this travail at a time, 10.00am, when I would normally still be ensconced in the duvet lair.

It’s always something of a mystery that, the cutting back of vegetative growth should in fact enable stronger and fuller growth the following season. A couple of hours of exertion and perspiration later, I decided (to my wife’s relief) that it wouldn’t be very wise to attempt more. Even that couple of hours, I was later to discover, was sufficient to cause a (relievedly) minor setback; this “pacing” game is never as easy to manage as one would suppose. I so frequently make the mistake of comparing my current stamina output with that of a few short years ago. I’ve got to admit that the exertion initially makes me feel good, and I do so enjoy looking after the garden, but I never like the repercussions.

When one has spent a considerable amount of time in a numbingly aching fatigued state, it makes a pleasant change to be able to blame a particular bout of activity for some of the more extremely painful exhaustion. Fortunately my bounce-back time seems more efficient these days; the pacing is working after all!

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This budding remote control helicopter pilot continues to make progress, replacement propeller blades being less frequently required. Training is temporarily on hold as I await the delivery of a couple of tail-frame assemblies, the current one being fractured in four places. It’s amazing how many obstacles one has to try and avoid within the confines of ones garden.

A Tale of Aquatics, Compost and Comestibles

After a not so unusual sluggish start to the day, incorporating bacon and eggs delivered to the bedside by ma belle Helen, I eventually entered the active world. Early afternoon, we ventured down to the local Brewer’s Fayre for dinner before heading off to the garden and water-garden centre.

Having purchased a container, described as a terrace pond, which we’ve located amongst the planted containers in the gravelled area of the garden, I set about transferring a couple of lilies from the garden pond which was becoming somewhat overcrowded. I appreciate that it’s not really the appropriate time for such a transplant, two flowers having just passed their best but, both plants have new shoots under way.

Aquatic tasks completed and adrenalin still surging, I sought out further garden tasks (admittedly there’s never really a shortage of gardening chores) whilst flesh as well as spirit both seemed willing. I’d thought for a while about re-siting the compost bin and, after a brief struggle (ably assisted by my beloved) managed to remove it from its entire contents, the ripest compost to be dispersed around various areas of the garden. Having re-sited the bin, the residue of its content was duly returned along with an adequacy of worms.

Once I’d demolished a nourishing supply of sandwiches, for my tea, a little rest time was called for but, by 9.00pm I felt inspired to set about preparations for Sunday dinner. The resultant dish is a rather special chicken curry, utilizing my own individual selection of spices; of course I’m trusting that the finger lickings from the griddle pan, in which the bulk of the meal was prepared, are a true and honest reflection of this impending delight!

Outpacing Myself?

Why should I feel a sense of failure when I resort to pain-killers once more? I don’t know that there is an answer to that question but, I’ve always been reluctant to consume these items.

I’ve never particularly liked cocktails comprising paracetamol, codeine phosphate, ibuprofen etc and, it’s with the greatest reluctance that (as a result of the renewed cyclical dance of nagging pains in wrists, elbows, hips, knees) I had to admit positive thinking is not enough in and of itself.

Perhaps the lack of acupuncture sessions, my last two appointments having to be cancelled, has contributed to my present dis-eased state of being, or maybe my positive outlook has led recently to my overdoing things.

The problem is, I always feel that I have my ‘pacing’ under control and, attempt to finish, or at least draw to a temporary halt, any task I undertake whilst I still have a little energy in reserve.

Unfortunately, the shattered-ness only appears after many hours (even days) delay.

Why should I feel a sense of failure when I have to resort to painkillers? A simple answer could be my failure to fully appreciate how little exertion my body can cope with, no matter how much rest it takes!

Catching Up

After a familiarly sluggish entry into the world of the awake, yesterday was all go. Of course, the phrase “all go” has to be taken as a comparative expression, weighed carefully against my normal idling days. My first venture of the day was a moderately brisk walk, down the road to Open Church, for a time to chat over a cup of coffee. Having been sat for the best part of an hour, the elevation of oneself from chair to purposefully standing pose required a major effort. The return journey was more of a gentle waddle!

I wandered up to the garden pond, immediately on my return home, to feed the goldfish and apply a necessary anti-blanket weed treatment. A nagging little voice, inside my head, repeatedly made note of the fact that it was a suitable day to mow the lawn. I duly obeyed.

Unlock the shed at the house end of the garden, retrieve the extension power cable from the general detritus, stepped cautiously over sundry obstacles to reach the power point and began a steady unreeling process. Next step, hunt down the key for the shed at the far end of the garden and, retrieve mower and grass collecting box. Track down the garden refuse recycle bin and then, set to work on the mowing, remembering of course to alter the blades height as I approached the wilder end of the garden. There always seems to be a little more needs doing but, I restrained from over exertion on this occasion. I lost track of the number of glasses of chilled water consumed, during the process, but one needs to counter the effusive perspiration such effort gives rise to.

After a short respite from my labours, the aquarium was the next item calling for my attention. I prepared adequate water, appropriately treated for a partial water change, replaced the carbon filter, rinsed out one of the foam filters in suitably tepid water, and duly carried out the deporting and importing of fluid from the mountain minnows home.

After all my endeavours, no marked ill effect; please note the emphasized word, we’ve got to keep it real! This morning, however, I was back to that totally shagged out sensation, you must know the one, that sense that it’s too much effort to turn over in bed to find a more comfortable position. Still, I struggled through and found a better position, face suffocated in the pillow, arms crossed and stretched over the head to grasp the mattress, legs forming a figure 4 … and, in that apparently uncomfortable position, I managed to doze off once more.

It required a considerable effort of will to remove myself from the duvet realm but, by the time my beloved arrived back from an early morning trip into town, an arisen and dressed Malcolm was a wonderful spectacle for her to behold. The prospect of taking a shower had proved far too daunting so, a quick visit to the washbasin had to suffice.

By lunchtime we were ready for the off, to keep my appointment at the Chronic Fatigue Unit. It didn’t take long for Julie, the occupational therapist, to realize that I’d let my “pacing” slip a little, but then, as she was quick to point out, “if that’s going to happen to anyone, you’re the obvious candidate!” There are occasions though, when the reward/pleasure of taking a special day out, followed swiftly by a trip out closer to home, can outweigh the rather dispiriting aftermath. I promise to be a good boy.

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a little bit more on my day can be found on Bright Light, my beloved's blog.

We Are Such Stuff .. as irreconcilable differences are made of

Cuba, Iraq, the Middle East, Eastern Europe, the ‘Big Bang’, evolution, faith and, intra-religious squabbles. What could all these items have in common?

Each of these topics was touched on in my chats over coffee, at ‘Open Church’ this morning, alongside the usual formal niceties and small talk. Oh, how easy it is to find a simple solution to most of the world’s problems but, how lacking is any kind of political will to practise them!

On the one side we have self-centred, greed fuelled ideologies, which provide freedom for those who have the wherewithal and, a graduated scale of misery for numerous others; on the other hand we have those ideological positions upheld only by a degree of repression, partially the result of having to resist external malevolent forces, and yet, against the odds, manage to produce a better quality of universal health-care and education than that proffered by some more affluent neighbouring ‘free’ societies. To be honest, if you’re at the bottom of the heap, it doesn’t help to ‘know’ that one is free, if all that freedom entails is the right to be trampled on, and snubbed, by an uncaring greed-motivated minority (and their many sheep-like minions – the men who like to “rattle their chains to show that they are free”).

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Yet again, a rambling posting spews forth from what was supposed to be a simple comment on my morning. The intended report would simply have said: “Once again, I managed to kill two birds with one stone. A visit to ‘Open Church’ entailed exercise (in terms of the walk to and from) and socializing (conversation over a cup of coffee). The walk back, after having been sat for fifty plus minutes, seemed to pace itself at about 60% of the speed assumed on my outward journey. Apart from my usual drowsiness after such exercise and, the return (since yesterday evening) of a discomforting numb tingle, from little finger to wrist on my left hand, my general decrepitude casts few shadows on my enjoyment of the day.”

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A further posting today, 'A human voodoo doll once more', can be found on Hirsute Antiquity (Malcolm's blog on My Space). On Mal's Murmurings a new posting 'The Avian Feline Connection' can be found.

Anticipation Mounts

A relatively inactive day, surfing the web, grabbing the odd snack, spending a little while in the garden, passed remarkably quickly. It seems strange saying ‘relatively inactive’, I even ask myself “relative to what?” OK, I admit it; just a typically inactive day has passed smoothly enough, the only exercise being a little hand-in-handing walk with my beloved after her return from work. There’s always something special about these shared exercise periods!

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A week today, a friend from my university days, who I’ve not seen for the best part of thirty years, will be coming to stay with us for a couple of nights and, judging by the occasional e-mail he doesn’t seem to have changed much. [“I should say my needs are very small requiring only a] A toilet b] a Cup of Tea c] A good pub or something similar. I could even bring a sleeping bag if required.”]. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who, after a drink or two, could recite copious passages from Jack London’s ‘Call Of The Wild’ verbatim.

I’ve always suspected that the character of Geoffrey in the series ‘Coupling’ could well have been based on our impending visitor, for reasons too uncanny to detail; a lot of people would consider that an insult but, I trust that those who knew NG would treat the comparison with the same spirit of affection as that in which it is proferred!

After all that build up, I just hope that my beloved won’t be disappointed with the resultant visitor.

An Exceptional Day

Yesterday was quite an exceptional day for me, in terms of utilization of my somewhat maudlin reserves of physical and emotional stamina; I even managed to flex my concentration muscle a little in the earlier part of the day.

Firstly, I managed to spend a full twenty minutes reading a book, before releasing myself from the duvet cocoon and, although I slightly overstayed my allocated period of bed rest, I still managed to shake the haze out of my brain, and the fog from my field of vision, by the time I’d grabbed a bowl of cereal. To actually have shoes on my feet (shortly) before 11.00AM made quite a change too.

Next I chivvied myself to take a brief stroll to ‘Open Church’ to share coffee, biscuits, and a natter with some of the regulars and, renew acquaintance with others. After a short time there, I veered into one of my legendary hot-flushes, thankfully in a reasonably moderate key, but Isabel (an octogenarian veteran of these coffee supping occasions) was quick to say, “hot flushes Malcolm … is there a big secret you’ve been keeping from us?” As if to, perversely, emphasize my masculine pride, I told her that my hot flushes could outshine the best my beloved ever came up with!

Forty-five to fifty minutes later, I hit the road again, for a leisurely stroll back home. After a little rest, I entered the cyberspace surfing realm, checking e-mails, friends postings on ‘MySpace’ and, a cursory skim through the lead items in various online newspapers. A time of drift followed, to the accompanying strains of (BBC )Radio 4 & Radio 3 until my beloved returned from work. Having prepared a little transcontinental pasta, eagerly devoured by the two of us, more exercise was to follow as we wandered off, hand in hand, into the sunset for a 35 minute reasonably brisk walk.

Neither the degree of exercise, nor the socializing, was even on my agenda in the early part of the year. It truly was an exceptional day!

Today has remained lower key; my furthest venturing has been from bedroom to living room, living room to kitchen and, the odd ambling move to the garden pond. My earliest visit to the pond, this morning, resulted in the gentle eruption of a new poem; the poem ‘Morning Song’ can be read on Mal’s Factory or at Hirsute Antiquity.