Double Talk?

On NBC’s “Meet the Press,” Obama's Defense Secretary, Robert M.Gates, said that under the plan, 100,000 American troops would be in Afghanistan in July 2011, and “some handful, or some small number, or whatever the conditions permit, will begin to withdraw at that time.” The intention, it now appears, is that the transfer of security responsibilities to Afghan forces would only be starting from that date.

This sounds, to me, like a different message than Obama's West Point address last Tuesday, when he said that his administration would “begin the transfer of our forces out of Afghanistan in July of 2011.”

ME and my body

Yesterday morning, right on time, received a 'phone call from my GP. "It's good news and bad news", he said, "first, the blood tests showed no abnormalities". A mixed blessing that, at least nothing sinister has been spotted but, I'm no wiser as to the cause of my current downturn in the health and stamina stakes. "The chest X-ray was clear", once again a sense of relief as I start wondering what the bad news is. "It seems as if the symptoms you're experiencing are part of your ongoing condition. If things don't improve or, get any worse, don't hesitate to contact me but, there's nothing I can offer you at the moment".

The problem, and indeed danger, when suffering with a chronic neurological codition such as M.E., is that one tends to assume any extremely discomfortingly exhausting ailment they experience is simply part and parcel of the overall condition. One becomes so used to living with pain that their pain threshold is increased and, excruciating symptoms that would have previously been a cause for alarm are accepted as "normality". (This was very much the case around this time last year when, for far too long, I assumed that the extreme pain emanating from a herniated disc was yet another manifestation of my underlying condition).

Periods of remission are by no means unusual and, when these occur, the greatest danger then is to push oneself and, as a (sometimes belated) result find themselves once more painfully out of it. These are the times when I find concentration diminishing, tetchiness increasing and, that old (sadly familiar) enemy, sensory overload, recurring. The most frustrating thing of all is the impossibility of knowing if one is "ill", beyond the parameters of the resident disabling condition.

This Sporting Life

Whilst listening to the tragic story of a schoolboy who took his own life after years of bullying, in both physical and cyberspace manifestations, I couln't help notice a reference to the boy's dislike of / disinterest in sports. My thoughts initially turned to the bullies, loosely disguised as P.E. teachers, at one of the schools I attended. More generally, my mind wandered off in the direction of all the bullshit we hear in terms of sport being character building and teaching the value of co-operation and team building.

To me, the most noticeable characteristics of sportsmen are competitiveness, aggression and the bullying and taunting of those less able. For some of the smaller boys, at school, it seemed essential to develop a dual level of protection from bullying. Apart from cultivating a few tougher protective friends, it became necessary to learn the tricks of dirty fighting. A well aimed knee (or even foot) to the groin and an adept use of the head butt became an essential part of their armoury. Although dirty fighting was nothing to be proud of, it was in no way as disgusting as the behaviour of the bullish sporting dinosaurs.

Sporting activity may well build up confidence in those participants of appropriate physical stature but, simultaneously, it only serves to diminish this same attribute in those not physically equipped to handle the sports more rigorous aspects. The Loughborough school of bully-boy P.E. teachers, who forced one to do press-ups beyond their natural ability / strength, in the process deliberately showing them up in front of their peers, fully earned the contempt which I reserved for them. Unfortunately, many of the hearty sports lads seemed to inherit their pernicious perverted tendencies. Co-incidentally, I could never quite understand why these he-men felt an obligation to keep an eye on the boys in the showers!

Dis-ease and Pleasantries

Within an hour of my previous posting I was, once more, caught unawares in the health and wellness stakes. This time I was truly frightened. I was sat watching an entertaining DVD episode of Ally McBeal, with ma belle, when suddenly, my body seemed to be grasped in a vice, limbs and torso felt achingly crushed whilst my head felt like a bruise floating in a zero gravity chamber.

Eventually, having lifted myself from the chair, all I could manage was to stumble up the stairs and roll myself into bed. A triangular supporting pillow, on top of the other two pillows, was called for to find anything resembling a semi-comfortable posture. Even my familiar low energy reserve seemed to have drained away - an achingly nauseous void swapped places with my body. Had it not been for the frightening sense of dis-ease, I would have described the condition as numbness. Twelve hours later, I remove myself from the duvet lair and, to my surprise, I feel reasonably alert.

After a caffeine fix, chores to be done, I head off to the local post office and then to the bakery. As I walk along the road I meet up with a couple of acquaintances; to the first one, in response to the "how are you" question, I respond with the customary "fine", the expected pleasantry. The other enquirer receives a more honest response and, I then find myself wondering whether I'd correctly understood the nature and purpose of the enquiry!

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.

Prompt Attention

A thumbs-up for the NHS in RE-ASSURANCE, today's posting on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Normal Out Of Kilter Wellness

I'm woken with a start; on this occasion the doorbell seems to have gained some decibels. My head spins giddily. I try again to lift myself but my torso's having none of it. A heavy thump; it's obvious whatever was to be delivered has now been duly deposited. Amazing how wide the letter box jaws can extend; my head falls back those elevated few inches onto the pillow. Look at the clock, the digital display reads 10.30. It certainly doesn't seem like twelve hours since I retired to the bedchamber. I have scarcely a memory of my beloved departing for work, even though she never goes out without a kiss and a cuddle but, that will have been three hours ago.

Ma belle is blessed with the gift of sound sleep, as opposed to my fitful variety. It requires a definite effort of will power to remove myself from the duvet realm and, in response my lower limbs refuse to obey me, as if some alloy of lead and jelly holds back my attempt at free movement. The leaden jelly feels sharply bruised alongside their hollow emptiness. My ears ache and pop, my eyelids resist the attempt to keep open but the show must go on.

I manage to put on shirt, pants and slacks before the effort exhausts me; I almost feel sorry for myself as I lay back on the bed.Trouble is, with any chronic illness, it's hard to tell whether this is simply part of my normal out of kilter wellness or am I unwell. Generally, I'm enjoying a pretty good remission from some of the most disabling aspects of M.E. although far from regaining my former levels of comfortable healthiness.

I'm now a little puzzled about why I bothered getting dressed as I cross the landing to the bathroom, put on the wall heater and ready myself for a shower; that's when a fresh bout of nauseous giddiness kicks in as my lower limbs go into a kind of spasm. Steady myself against the sink, switch off the heater and cancel my plans to take a shower. Sans shower I feel grimily burdened but, I realize a general sense of disorientation wouldn't be a good shower companion.

Hopefully the painkillers will soon kick in against the spasmodic discomfort in torso and limbs, apart from that, it's just another normal day and there's a life to be lived. Good morning rainfall, I'm coming down to visit you!

Summer Memories

I've just posted a couple more photos on 'Mal's Picturebox' - a reminder of Summer days!

Mal's Madeleine Moment

It really is proving quite refreshing to listen to some dirtily muddy recordings, 1964 vintage, by The Downliners Sect, ex the live EP 'Nite in Gt. Newport Street', now included amongst the bonus tracks on a re-issue of their first album 'The Sect'.

The sound really was quite muddy, when listening to them in the low-ceilinged basement 'Studio 51' (aka Ken Colyer's Jazz Club). Back in those days I used to go and listen to the New Orleans style jazz at the same venue. Nostalgia just ain't what it used to be. In those days I had the stamina and enthusiasm to haunt various venues purveying R&B, modern jazz, trad et al. The handiest venue, five minutes walk from my then residence, was 'Klooks Kleek' at 'The Railway' in West Hampstead where the not infrequent highlight was The Graham Bond Organization - Bond (organ), Dick Heckstall-Smith (sax), Jack Bruce (bass), Ginger Baker (drums). I have special memories of an occasion when Phil Seaman - a modern jazz drummer, one of Ginger Baker's influences I suspect - turned up. At other times, Long John Baldry's Hoochie-Coochie Men were the guests, apart from Baldry a young Rod Stewart also provided vocals. Rod's version of 'Stormy Monday' was quite simply sensational.

At other times I'd venture down to the 'Flamingo' to hear, on different occasions, Georgie Fame's Blue Flames, Zoot Money's Big Roll Band and Chris Farlowe & the Thunderbirds. Whenever I wasn't engaged in my political and social-activism I just had to be out somewhere; I didn't like my own company much in those days and, despite having friends scattered around various parts of North London, I had never in my life experienced such loneliness as I did after my move from the sticks to The Smoke.

Suddenly, all this stuff comes pouring out just from listening to a few CD tracks. I wouldn't want to change anything in my life, highs or lows; life is just too precious to have time for regrets.

When I think back, it's quite amazing how puritanical the various left-wing political sects, with whom I was affiliated, were; in fact it's surprising that my disagreements were generally on points of dogma rather than my somewhat beat lifestyle!

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!