it was thirty two years ago today - 8 December '80

This poem was an impromptu response to hearing the news:

        

IN MEMORIAM

 

They say imagine

no more humane songs

and this at Christmas –

 

the fir trees baubles

weighted many-fold

like lead. He finds

 

his final peace

through this destruction –

no longer shall he ache

 

for universal love.

Crushed like a beetle

closer to Colorado

 

than his scouser’s home.

 

Perhaps gun-toting Reagan

will sleep in peace, relieved

at another “pinko’s” demise.

 

             Malcolm Evison – 9 December 1980

Of (Arm)Pits and Pendulum

A private resolve, to refrain from further postings until I felt more upbeat (on the health / well-being front), has now dissolved; I’m afraid that you’ll just have to take me as I am! I have no particular desire to be / become a moaner but, nor do I see any point of omitting mention of the sundry aches and, occasionally searing, pains ones flesh is heir to. For good or not so good, I am the result of all my life experiences whether chosen by or imposed upon me.


You may have previously gathered that this has not been one of my better years, any kind of relapse is unwelcome but, I still remain grateful that I have not had to plumb the most excruciating depths this wretched illness (M.E.) can deal out. I am most fortunate in only being a moderate sufferer but, even that moderation has at times proved quite intensely disabling.


And now, for the fifth or sixth time in as many days, I return to this same page in ‘Word’ in the hope that a sufficiency of stamina and a release from having to clasp my upper arms tightly to my torso (to alleviate the intense discomfort emanating from my armpits in normal free flow positions) may coincide to enable the completion of this posting.


The sharp nauseating ache and throb in the armpit is a tactile equivalent to chalk “squealing” across a blackboard. At other times an unexpected sound, not even necessarily of sufficient decibels to call a noise, can seem to sear through my flesh and crush the ribs. It’s almost as if my nerve-ends, in attempting to tread carefully on eggshells, all too startlingly draw ones attention to their own discretionary priorities.


I must admit to some uncomfortable guilt feelings in, once again, being / feeling unable to contemplate a few days away whilst my beloved has a break from work; to be honest, I even have to steel myself to cope with trips out to locations within ten or twenty minutes drive from home.


On the plus side I did manage a visit, with ma belle, to a local garden centre on Thursday and, we really enjoyed a visit to ‘Brio’ for a delicious meal yesterday afternoon. In the evening we immersed ourselves in Almadovar’s movie ‘All about My Mother’ which we’d recorded from Film 4. At lunch time today, accompanied by Cathy, we popped around to Café Culture for a little light lunch before returning home to wallow in the emotional riches of ‘Toy Story 3’.

A Delicate Balance

This has been a week of teetering on the edge, a time when both persistently nagging, and spasmodically intermittent, physical aches and pains have been accompanied by a lack of refreshing sleep. This unsettling routine has really started to play havoc with my already fragile state of emotional stability. One would think that as months and years pass by it would become increasingly easy (and certainly necessary) to come to terms with / accept the health-imposed limitations upon ones ability to socialize. For much of the time, this has seemed to be the case (for me) but recent days have found me frequently erupting into unprompted floods of tears, probably in response to an excruciating sense of exhaustion alongside a more vaguely defined sense of futility.

It only requires a small trigger to set these eruptions in motion, especially when one spends far too many hours enjoying / enduring one's own company. Yesterday afternoon should have seen a visit from my physio, to administer the acupuncture treatment but, late morning found me awoken from my somnolent state by a 'phone call from this practitioner to re-arrange the appointment as her fresh supply of needles had not arrived. Had I not already been feeling discomfortedly vulnerable I wouldn't have given the matter a second thought but, on this occasion, it simply served to exacerbate my physical and emotional frailty. My beloved returned home from work to be greeted by a blubbering, sleep-deprived, emotional wreck, and persuaded me to try to arrange an appointment with my GP.

This morning, just as ma belle was preparing to drop me off at Open Church, the doorbell rang and it was a pleasant surprise to find my friend Katie there. Katie and I went down to Open Church, for a cuppa and a chat, whilst my beloved set off for the Acorn Centre (where she's a volunteer helper on the computer course). Just the fact of being with company has a certain healing power and, Katie herself had just been feeling a similar need for company and a change of environment. This morning's event served as a beautiful counterbalance to yesterday's upset over the cancellation of my acupuncture appointment.

A Special Friend

I've started this post several times but, whatever I started to express seemed somehow irrelevant. It's not that any of my postings has much intrinsic merit, only that which a particular reader may put upon it alongside its utilitarian value, to the writer, as a discipline which places some kind of order or value on the (recorded) aspects of their everyday experiences.

No matter what I set out to express or recount this time, one primary event seemed to overshadow it. After a few rollercoaster years of brain tumour induced ill health Kate, Cathy's lifetime friend , finally lost her battle shortly after her 30th birthday, and nine months after the birth of her wonderful son Joseph. There are times that I consider myself "good with words" but then at others, on occasions like this, the appropriate words just won't fall into place. Come to that I can't even wrestle them into place!

I can't see how anyone who ever met Kate could fail to be touched by the warmth of her smile, a heartwarming smile which she could still display, even whilst undergoing some of the most distressing and disorienting effects of her illness. At times she seemed to defy the expectations of the doctors who treated her; a sturdy determination underlay a vulnerable frame as she once more fulfilled the desire to be back home with her husband and son, rather than laying in a hospital bed.

Cathy feels as if she has lost a part of herself; this is a loss for which there can never be a replacement, a very special friendship - that of kindred spirits - since pre-schooldays. My thoughts and prayers go out to all her family. The world is a poorer place for her passing but, the community of saints has been greatly enriched.