Unrefreshed

Last night, I once again pursued a pattern of erratically intermittent unrefreshing sleep; the primary evidence that I slept at all is the vague memory of awaking from rather fraught dreams. Of course there’s always the possibility that the memory itself is a false one.

That old familiar sensation, of sharply bruised aching discomfort emanating from the armpits, returned with a vengeance and, I was forced to remove my (not overly tight fitting) pyjama jacket to escape a sense of torso choking strangulation – armpits replacing the neck as the constricted airway. At this stage even my PJ trousers seemed to become an instrument of torture, the groin area coming out in sympathy with the armpits, and so were duly removed.

Unfortunately, as a result of the restless night, I lacked sufficient stamina to attend the funeral / thanksgiving service for a friend of mine and I am struggling to prevent this non-attendance adding to that burden of guilt about which I wrote yesterday.

On a more positive note, my beloved is finally starting to show signs of recovery from the events of last Monday and was able to attend the service along with Beth.

The Guilt Thing rears its head!

Just wish I could get over this guilt thing, it's getting worse if anything! For health reasons the majority of my social and political campaigning is done online, rarely do I have sufficient stamina to get out to attend vigils and / or meetings and, each time I receive notification of such events the guilt intensifies. It's almost as if I feel guilty for having a chronic health condition.

Of course it was with a great sense of relief I attained state pension age in 2009; having been dependent upon receiving benefits, for which one had to crawl and squirm through prohibitive hoops and obstacles, for a few years prior to that (following on from a reasonably productive period of working life which started when I left school in 1960) it was refreshing to receive my pension entitlement without having to perform such degrading gymnastics.

My greatest pleasure is derived from the familiar environs of home and garden, managing to do a little painting and writing when physical and emotional stamina permit as well as taking photos and videos of the garden's flora and fauna*. Stamina levels are frequently sufficient to manage the cooking, a wonderful creative outlet, and I am also fortunate in being able to cope with infrequent brief visits into town and even, on occasion, enjoying a dining out experience.

I suppose the guilt has intensified over the last few days, when I have become more aware of my limitations whilst attempting to care for ma belle who has had a rather rough week health-wise. If she hadn't been so unwell, there's no way that I could have persuaded her that she wasn't fit enough to go to work, or attend a church executive meeting; her great ability is to push through the barriers of exhaustion in order that she should not let anybody down.

 Admittedly, there was a time when I could quite happily burn the candle at both ends, whereas I now find the same candle frequently splutters itself out whilst so much remains to be done.

Most recently, I'd really love to attend the midnight vigil, being held this Saturday at Menwith Hill (USA spy base) just a few miles from our home, to mark 20 years of conflict in Iraq (1991 - 2011). Recent days have found me in bed by half-past eight in the evening, emerging from the duvet lair some 14 or 15 hours later, so attendance at this vigil is far from being practicable.

An attempt at a minor task of DIY, erecting a small bracket on masonry in our new porch for a Solar Sensor Light, resulted in the most frustrating failure. If I can't even manage to drill and plug a couple of holes succesfully, even being wearily overwhelmed in the attempt, my presence at any event is unlikely to be felt or missed!

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* PS new visitors to our garden this week included Waxwings and Fieldfares - unfortunately both species proved a little camera shy (or maybe I was just too slow getting off my backside)!

An Unexpected Turn

 

Sometimes events take a turn far removed from the familiar; today was such a case. This morning I managed to get myself down to ‘Open Church’, for the first time since my pre-Christmas collapse there. Wrapped up in a warm overcoat and armed with an umbrella I boldly strode my way and, once there enjoyed some really stimulating conversation.

On my way back home I called in at the bakers to collect the wholemeal loaf so, there I was, open umbrella held in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, heading for home when my mobile begins to ring. To be honest, this was one of very few occasions that I’d bothered to switch it on; I’ve never understood the necessity of holding telephonic conversations whilst ambling down the road. It was quite a juggling act to transfer the instrument from coat pocket to the proximity of my ear, encumbered as I was.

The voice at the other end, my elder step-daughter Beth, tells me that she doesn’t want to worry me but my beloved has been rushed to hospital. She’d apparently been taken ill whilst at the dentists. I knew that she was going to try to make an appointment, having been woken in the night with really painful toothache from an area where she’d lost a filling about a week ago. Although quite wiped out, energy-wise, she’d travelled over to her work in Wetherby, early this morning, where I subsequently discovered, she’d already begun to feel sick before arranging the appointment with her dentist back in Harrogate. The dentist had taken an x-Ray, and informed her that she would need a course of antibiotics to tackle an abscess, before she came over really ill.

Beth picked me up and ran me to the hospital where I found an atypically flush faced and cold-handed Helen. Her blood pressure had sky rocketed, once again very unusual for ma belle who traditionally has a remarkably (but healthily) low BP. Fortunately the ECG results showed no cause for concern and sundry blood samples were taken before she was sent for an X-Ray of the jaw. Whilst I waited with ma belle, Beth, with assistance from Cathy’s partner Ken, was able to get into town to collect her Mum’s car and deliver it back home for us. As a non-driver, I was of little use in these circumstances. Helen subsequently saw a consultant in the Maxillo Facial Surgery who made a few incisions and prescribed two lots of antibiotics.  

On several occasions, in the past couple of years, ma belle has had to come and hold my hand in A&E; today the tables were turned. I so frequently worry about the burden my ill health imposes upon my beloved, realizing how mutually dependent we are; today my concern was how helpless I may be if the burden of care shifted the other way. It was so fortuitous that Beth happened to have some holiday days this week and so, was available to perform such a valuable chauffeuring and messaging duties.

Once again I must express my gratitude to the NHS, especially the staff in A&E at Harrogate District Hospital. I only wish that the Health Service was in safer hands than those of the Tory ConDem coalition.

is it or isn't it?

If only it was possible to tell whether a symptom / ailment is that of a different illness rather than a further manifestation of the ongoing chronic condition! A cohort of gastro-intestinal, gastro-oesophageal, excruciating muscular and glandular aches and pains, brain-fog, orthostatic intolerance, sensory overload, chest and upper-abdominal pains, post-exertional malaise, cognitive dysfunction, can all be part of the underlying ME whilst, at the same time, any of these states could be symptomatic of another dis-ease or condition.

At what point does one call a GP or paramedics, without being considered a time-waster, as certain of the symptoms produce a distinctly different and disturbing awareness of one’s general condition. Frequently tests for a specific ailment or symptom come up with a negative result, rarely is a more holistic approach taken regarding one’s state of (well)being.

In recent months I’ve had several health scares, some that could be dealt with via surgery or medication whilst others have no apparent cause! The frustration of uncertainty tends to rebound against one’s residual wellness – a vicious cycle.

Sorry, I don’t mean to be on a downer; I’m just a bit fed-up of not feeling well.

 It’s now well over seven years since I last felt really well but, at least I’m grateful that I’m only a ‘moderate’ sufferer. At least I’ve been blessed with a considerable portion of remission days, for which I give thanks, and  a wonderful wife and lover (who happens to be one and the same person)!

Atherton Walking Day 1950

Atherton Walking Day (24 June 1950)

Atherton Walking Day (25 June 1950)

Having just uncovered these two photographs, releasing them from their glass and passepartout frames, a sudden surge of nostalgia overwhelmed me ( memories of mugs of black peas during Wakes week in  this Lancashire town - came to the fore!).

On the back of the makeshift frames, my father (who was at that time a pastor with the International Holiness Mission - soon to be taken over by the Church of the Nazarene) had written the dates as shown above. I know that the 24th June was a Saturday so, I suspect that is more likely to be the correct date.

Church walking days seemed to have been a strong tradition in the North West of England but, I've been unable to confirm the date of such walks in Atherton. My first instinct was to think it would have been a Whitsuntide walk as such events were held in some of the other chapels, scattered around the country, that I attended during my childhood, but that would have been at the end of  May (not June). I have subsequently discovered that different churches in different parts of the North West held their walks on different days.

Just hoping that, on an off-chance, someone reading this may be able to answer my question regarding the date of this walk.


Incidentally, the David arrowed in my crude annotation is my elder brother.

(clicking on either image will take you to a larger copy of the picture)

Customer Dis-service

A RIGHT LOT OF BANKERS

Several weeks ago, part way through an online transaction - transferring money from a savings account to the account of my wife (with the same bank) - I was suddenly denied access and, informed after a prolonged telephonic confrontation that my access would be restored within 48 hours.

Less than twenty-four hours later my access was restored. On this occasion, part way through my visit I was met with a screen displaying the following information:

Service Interruption

One or more of our systems are temporarily unavailable.

This means that you will not be able to proceed at this time.

We are aware of the problem, and hope to fix it soon, so please

try again later. We apologise for any inconvenience.

On each subsequent attempt to access my accounts, my password and security questions having been accepted, I am greeted with the same message. This bank holds one of our joint current accounts, as well as individual savings and credit card accounts but, I am unable to access any of these.

Meantime, my wife has no such proble accessing our joint and her personal accounts but, unfortunately has no access to my individual accounts. I have tried using different pc’s, laptop and desktop, and using different browsers – all this effort to no avail. Even during a ‘phone call to the bank’s helpline, I was encouraged to attempt to sign in using my wife’s laptop and once more met with the same screen message. A ‘phone call, made by my wife this evening, to try and sort out the problem proved less useful than the proverbial chocolate fireguard.

Even if I enjoyed better health I would be totally exasperated, as it is the situation serves to make me feel even more unwell.

Wishing You a Happy and Healthy New Year

That was then - Here's to a New One

Truth be told, I've had better years but, thanks to the love of ma belle I can still end the year loving life. On the health front things have been a bit hairy to say the least and, politically, the un-mandated Tory Democrat government can be seen as deleterious for almost everyone except the wealthy (and they can rest assured that all their tax avoidance schemes will remain unchallenged). The bankers brought about the periodic crisis of capitalism so, with pre-formulated ideological dogma to the fore, an attack must be made upon the poor and the "nanny" state which bailed out the titanic banks. 

Before the election I'd come to regard LibDem leader Clegg as a Tory so, I shouldn't have been at all surprised when he accepted the thirty pieces of silver to betray all those who were truly socially liberal. At least this recognition led me to re-join the Labour Party, after my wilderness years despairing of it's neo-Thatcherite agenda, even before the election.

If only wage slaves could demonstrate the kind of solidarity the merchant banking public school fraternity so clearly display, how much better off our society would be. The ConDems call for cutbacks - I yearn for fightbacks!

The paramedics have rushed me to A&E on more than one occasion this past year (each time in association with crushing chest pains) and, I also received excellent prompt attention from the NHS when they diagnosed and excised a basal cell carcinoma. Already the waiting time for appointments in the department that made the diagnosis has trebled since the new governments policies have started to be enforced.

I've not had a cigarette since June 23rd, when I was hospitalized overnight; in the first place I just felt so grotty that the prospect of inhaling any substance was totally unappealing. Subsequently, I've just not bothered to smoke - it's not that I've quit. It proves reassuring to have several packs available in the house, rather than falling into the 'panic' trap when one rushes out to buy a pack, in response to a stressful event, which one then feels duty bound to finish. To be brutally honest though, it feels as if my health has suffered as a result of this period of nicotine abstinence.

As I suggested at the beginning, of this post, my life would be so much the poorer if it wasn't for the love of ma belle Helen. My only wish is that everyone could experience such a joyous, loving, sharing, fulfilling relationship; as it stands, I just can't help feeling how privileged I really am.

As always, my wish for the New Year is that we may move towards a world dominated by values of justice and compassion, where the needs of all are met and the greed of many is seen as an asocial vice!

Wishing my readers A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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.

A Little Overdone

The effort is just too great, the inboxes of each of my e-mail accounts groan with attention seeking missives; the bulk of these missives are ones that I once sought, groups and individuals with whom I wished to retain contact. Several of these on-line groups served as a real lifeline, at a time when I became predominantly housebound, a support network, at a time I had felt that my particular set of ailments were so unique no other human being could possibly understand.

After a while the politicking began to wear me down - each campaigning group so totally convinced that only their understanding was correct! At the same time, it seems so obvious that the combined might of pharmaceutical and insurance companies have a vested interest in retaining a psychological interpretation of a WHO recognized neurological condition. The powers that be preferred a meaningless waste basket definition, covering a multitude of disparate illnesses, rather than getting down to valuable necessary research into particular conditions. Any fatigue, it seemed, could be classed as chronic fatigue and any sufferer of chronic fatigue assigned a chronic fatigue syndrome tag. Strangely, although fatigue is not necessarily a significant symptom of ME, the two names became interchangeable.

Many sufferers seemed to follow a path of being initially diagnosed with some kind of depression, generally incorrect except in a re-active form, before a further diagnosis of PVFS (post viral fatigue syndrome) and later chronic fatigue was made, only occasionally being elevated(!) to the status of ME. There are so many tests applied that produce negative results and, it is frequently only by chance that one realizes that their own particular set of sudden onset (but protractedly lingering) symptoms coincide with one set of clinical guidelines for a specific diagnosis.

Anyway, all that's a bit of a digression, as some of the inbox filling messages are of specific political, tribal, literary, computing and blogosphere information. At certain times I've managed to keep on top of all these sundry communiques, diligently sifting out the wheat from the chaff but, over the past couple of months I've been so lacking of sufficient emotional stamina to even get beyond a skimming of the messages opening lines. The past couple of weeks some 60% of all incoming messages are ticked, marked as read, and deleted without even a passing glance from yours truly!

I once again seem to be suffering from some kind of acutely painful sensory overload, the crinkling of a plastic bag can prove sufficient to put the whole nervous system into shrieking cringe mode. Perhaps I'd overdone things by spending more than a couple of hours out of the house on two successive days.

Last Friday, after an early (a couple of hours before my usual emergence from bed time) dental appointment, I suggested to ma belle that we may as well do the grocery shopping as we were in the proximity of Waitrose. That evening was the Christmas Dinner at the Acorn Centre, where my beloved works as a volunteer tutor; I actually managed over two hours at that event before exhaustion overwhelmed me. The following day, after my familiar lie-in routine, went into town with ma belle and visited one or two shops where the odd purchase was made. We returned home for lunch before making a swift visit to an out-of-town retail park to collect a further item from my long-standing shopping wish list.

On return from the retail park we discovered that our DVD recorder had suddenly expired mid-recording of a programme, blaming the fault on the disc. Unsuccesfully attempted to feed the machine with other discs, each being declared "no-read", even the empty tray being declared a faulty disc or "no-read". I suspect the laser unit has gone on the blink. So, further exertion was then required from yours truly, to bring down our old twin tunered "terrestrial" VCR-DVD Recorder and a set-top digi box to enable the recording of "freeview" digi channels. The setting up of a jumble of scarts and aerials induced much panic fuelled perspiration. By this stage, the least audible or visual distraction in the living-room environment became quite overwhelming and a general sense of tetchiness took hold.

Last evening, around 9.00pm an overwhelming sense of exhaustion took over, followed by several emergency visits to the littlest room - amazing how much greater the output can seem than pertinent intake. Gastric upsets are nothing new in my experience but, most importantly an early night was called for. This morning, I emerged from snoozeville at 11.00am and, having donned back and ankle supports, walking-stick assisted, I ambled down to 'Open Church' for a cuppa. As they'd just run out of "real" coffee I settled for the instant variety. Before I'd even managed to finish the drink an excruciating sense of dis-ease overcame me as I shivered and shuddered whilst simultaneously perspiring. I attempted to leave but collapsed back onto the chair; a feeling of fear overcame me as nagging aches seemed to clog dance their way from shoulders to abdomen, to chest and sides. And then the tears flooded out before, David, Anne and Simon helped me into their car to drive me home.

Still in floods of tears, and non-specific bodily discomfort, I phoned ma belle at work to ask her to come home. There's nothing more important to me than the presence of Helen, whether I'm in high spirits or low, and the knowledge of her imminent arrival enabled me to feel a bit less fearful.

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This post also appears on Mal's Murmurings