simple pleasures and a heartless regime

Sometimes, far too frequently in fact, I forget to count my blessings.

Quite recently I was able to enjoy Christmas to a far greater extent than has been the case for several years past; I actually managed to pace myself reasonably well, with a minimum of twelve hours bed rest per twenty-four. Medications and grace combined to keep the worst excesses of pains, aches and sensory overload at bay; even my limited reserves of emotional stamina held out well for this time of grateful celebration.

In the past few days I’ve crashed a little; sudden bouts of fatiguing exhaustion during daytime hours are (almost invariably) followed by restlessly discomforting nights. At least I’m able to do a bit of reading, even though my concentration wavers considerably more than in days of yore! Most importantly, I’m able to enjoy the activity without it seeming a chore.

I always feel privileged to love and be loved by ma belle Helen, just to hold and be held by each other brings with it a tremendous sense of wholeness, going a long way towards alleviating that sense of isolation arising from a greatly restricted ability to socialise in the wider world since the onset of this debilitating illness.

Sat in a comfortable supporting armchair, I can watch all the avian activity in our garden; in recent days we’ve had plentiful visits from coal, blue, and long-tailed tits, alongside the sparrows and starlings. Their antics are always a delight, as are the regular sightings of red kite, gracefully riding the thermals overhead.

As a recipient of a state pension, alongside a couple of small company pensions, I am fortunate that I no longer have to be dragged through the arduous demeaning benefits medical assessments, that so many sufferers of chronic illnesses – mental or physical – are so unfairly forced to endure, adding further stress to their already vulnerable state of being.

I am truly blessed, having food in my belly, a roof over my head and, we are still able to afford to keep ourselves warm (despite the profiteering greed of the privatized utilities). These things, that should be a right, are increasingly becoming a privilege under a heartless ConDem regime.   

To Sleep Perchance ...

Just what’s going on in my body; I neither understand nor have the appropriate vocabulary to realistically express it. Sometimes I can feel mentally/emotionally well whilst my body feels excruciatingly below par; I didn’t think this was supposed to happen! At other times, whilst my corporeal aches and pains are in temporary abeyance, I can feel emotionally drained. I sometimes wonder if the sundry prescribed medications I take can become part of the problem.

I regularly resort to mebeverine (antispasmodic) to deal with my spastic colon/IBS; at other times a little motility aid such as domperidone (dopamine antagonist) is required. Alongside these I always have to take lansoprazole (proton pump inhibitor) to tackle a major gastric reflux problem.

I have recently been taking a small dose of sertraline daily, to deal with an anxiety/reactive depression issue, whilst at night 30mg amitriptyline is prescribed to assist (theoretically) with sleep and pain management. Currently, I also need to take 100mg tramadol a couple of times a day to deal with muscular and neurological pain.

That little diversion, into a pharmacopoeia, was not intentional; it just seemed easier to scribble down than a description of how exhaustedly crap I’d been feeling in the past couple of days. Sadly I’ve had to forego a couple of Christmas social evenings this week, both of which I’d been looking forward to; mind you, that simply reflects my general lack of physical and emotional stamina since 2003.

When I do manage to sleep, I’ve recently been having very vivid audio visual Technicolor dreams, not infrequently drifting from ultra normal situations, with many familiar faces, into the edge of nightmare territory. In one such dream friendly banter amongst friends took an horrific turn as an ogre broke into the room. The ogre, which I understood to be a “Cam-Moron”, had a smug superior grin as his cheeks blushed with roseate anger. “We’re going to put all you lot down”, he sneered. At that point I woke up to a fuller realization of what the ConDems were doing to the poor and vulnerable! 

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this post also appears on 'Mals Murmurings' under the title 'We Are Such Stuff ...'

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

Rare day

 One of those rare sunshiny bright (albeit chilly) mornings drew me up the garden (lack of) path. Task one was to net out kilos of fallen leaves from the pond, and applying same to garden borders. That task completed, I set to refilling our sundry bird feeders to add a further gleam to my nascent halo!

 

Such was the sun’s effect on my morale that, once back in the house, I forgot to turn the fire on until the chill had begun to gnaw its way into my corporeal being. It wasn’t too long after that when the old familiar aches and pains began to make a negative impression on my sense of well-being. It wasn’t long before the aches in arms and feet induced feelings of nausea. Next thing, a light-headed giddiness hit in as an accompaniment to a sudden, simultaneous, onset of dyspepsia and flatulence.

 

Wrists strapped and tramadol ingested, I rested a while before swallowing lansoprazole and mebeverine in advance preparation for an early evening meal. Thankfully, the intensity of the muscular pains soon settled to a more manageable level and the nausea discharged itself from my psyche.  

 

As the indigestion settled down a little, I ventured into the kitchen and griddled a couple of oak-smoked salmon fillets, accompanied by a gently spiced stir-fry of red peppers, cherry tomatoes and mushrooms (marinated in a garlic, turmeric, tikka and soy sauce concoction) sprinkled with a few flakes of oak-smoked sea salt.

 

And that was my day … so far!

normality may be resumed ...

 

Back to normality; these days I’m somewhat at a loss when trying to describe what is normal for me. At what point on the scale (and intensity) of regular aches, pains and general discomfort, lies my norm? Pain free days are a fondly remembered experience, albeit never fully appreciated at the time but, rather taken for granted.

 

Last weekend, feeling a lot more at ease and alert than I had done for some considerable time, I carried out a few extra tasks on the Saturday and was relieved to have an equally good, although more restful, day on the Sunday. Tuesday and Wednesday were the days I suffered payback, from the weekend’s exertion; almost all parts of torso and limbs took pleasure in competing for the max discomfort trophy. Shatteredly de-energized, all became a struggle; it even seemed to require a tremendous effort of willpower to enable me to partake of a little light dietary sustenance.

 

Thankfully, that more extreme discomfort has eased and I’m now back to that elusive norm, where I’m able to concentrate on whatever I’m listening to, observing or reading. Perhaps that is what I should take to be my norm; those days when the gift of concentration is restored/present; the rest is simply passing time!

 

Watching the Red Kite riding the thermals, in clear view from my comfortable armchair, at times circling low down over the top end of the garden, brought a little brightness to a drearily grey gloomy day. And once again I celebrate the joy of being here and now, privileged in being loved and ready to share that love, in what can sometimes be a cruel and heartless world, ruled by greed and self-interest

 

I really must count my blessings!

Poppy Day Dilemmas

As both a Christian and a Socialist, I always have problems with the celebration of militarism otherwise known as Poppy Day. Whether or not I would have had sufficient strength of character to stand by my pacifist principles in extreme circumstances is something that used to cause me considerable concern but, there are also other issues involved.

Much soul searching was involved, even when I had attempted to renounce my Xtian faith and, subsequently joined a revolutionary socialist organization. Don't get me wrong, I was already a socialist when I became a Christian, and failed to see the apparent necessity of taking on the petty bourgeois pretensions & morality that seemed to be the norm for evangelicals those days and saw communism, in an idealistic sense, as being far more compatible with Christianity than capitalism.

I moved freely between and amongst various groupings of the left, dismayed by much of the ideological bickering; I did manage however to retain friendships, in spite of (doctrinal) difficulties with members of factional groupings other than the one for which I settled.Too many of my comrades seemed to revel in the prospect of a good rumble, one could almost sense them salivating at the prospect of a bloody uprising. I consoled myself with the thought that bloodshed, like class warfare, is generally instigated by the capitalist ruling class and therefore resistance to their unjust power structures, which could only be maintained by the use of force, became a moral imperative.

But what of turning the other cheek; to be honest that may be the only option when confronted with the combined might of military and police, should the true wealth creators, the working class, attempt to fight for a truly just and democratic society where real equality of opportunity for everyone in a society focussed on care for one's neighbour. Bear in mind that I use neighbour in the broadest sense, that of the parable of the good Samaritan not the cynicism of "charity begins at home". To turn the other cheek is an expression of disdain for the values of those who rule by force. I did decide,however, that if I was able to shake off the shackles of my religious faith I would be happy to take up arms in the cause of a workers revolution. At the same time I recognized that there was no way I could take up arms for Queen and country, the capitalist cause. A complex dilemma indeed; the message and life of Jesus had so firmly grasped me that I still felt guilty at my readiness. albeit hypothetical, to take up arms for a revolutionary cause.

I fully appreciate the preparedness of young people, often from socially deprived areas of the nation, to join the armed forces in order to learn a trade and earn a living. Since the politically wilful destruction of our industrial base other job opportunities are greatly restricted. Nor do I doubt that many military personnel are serving in support of deeply held principles, whether understandably honourable or misguided is here irrelevant. For me a major scandal of the Poppy Appeal is that the welfare of those who have served their nation, and it's capitalist cause, should be dependent in any way upon charitable donations. It is the responsibility of the state that recruits, employs and puts the lives of these young men at risk,for whatever ideological motivation, to look after them.

I regret the loss of life of civilians and military personnel equally; I abhor the slaughter of innocents on the imperialist whim of any ruling elite. Should there come a Remembrance Day with no uniformed military personnel or insignia on display, at Cenotaphs and commemorative church services, I would no longer see the commemorations as show of support for militarism but, rather an acknowledgement of the futility of war.

 

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This post originally appeared on 10 November 2010

of bugs and fishy business

Nausea, dizziness, diarrhoea are sadly all too frequently experienced by yours truly; as a result the symptoms have to reach some crisis point before I’ll seek medical help. Such was the case towards the end of last week when a bug really did lay me low. On the Wednesday I’d felt giddily disorientated from the moment I first attempted to raise myself from the bed and get dressed; for most of the day I rested on the sofa and, by mid-afternoon, managed to eat a small portion of poached smoked haddock in spite of the onset of nausea.

 

Later that day I was due to carry out the second treatment of my aquarium for white spot disease but, reluctantly had to delegate this task to ma belle OH. It really is quite a rigmarole changing 36 – 40 litres of water every five days, vacuuming the gravel before renewing the treatment dosage. Fortunately, today, I felt up to the task that being my primary workload!

 

By Thursday morning even sipping water made me feel like retching and just the thought of food was enough to make me feel queasy. My beloved, from her workplace, had ‘phoned my GP practice to see if she could make an emergency appointment. The duty doctor called her back and said that it could be a reaction to the sertraline, which had been prescribed for me on the 17^th October [the day I wrote my “Breach of Composure” post], at first suggesting that I should maybe try half a tablet, but then arranged for me to see a doctor later that day.

 

Having been chauffeured and hand-delivered to the surgery door by ma belle, the doctor I saw thought it unlikely that the reaction to the medication would have been so delayed. Having checked my temperature, blood pressure, and examined my acutely sensitive abdominal area, she surmised that I’d caught a bug and prescribed rest and plenty of fluids. She was more concerned about my lack of fluid intake rather than my lack of appetite (for food), she prescribed domperidone to help counter the nausea. It feels really great to have much of my appetite restored, even though my stamina reserves are even more depleted than usual.

 

 

 

A Breach of Composure

And suddenly the floodgates open, tears stream down my face and, I have to admit that I’ve slipped back into a state of (re-active) depression. A few references on a DVD to Christmas, and other (potentially harmless) mentions of future plans, supplied both trigger and detonator.

 

I cannot cope with planning on any scale; the stress of risking letting others down by not materializing (at the proposed event) almost outweighs the risk of social isolation by avoiding pre-planning. I’ve always preferred spontaneity to planning and, these days, I can only venture out to any function at such time that physical and emotional stamina levels permit.

 

For weeks now I’ve gone to bed wondering if I’ll still be around for my beloved; at other times, during the day I sometimes feel so washed out and painfully exhausted that I’m hoping and praying that I’ll still be alive when ma belle returns from work. I’m sure that the endless hours of restlessness and unrefreshing sleep does little to help the situation.

 

Randomly recurring chest pains, most probably related to my digestive problems, sometimes take on a terrifying aspect, especially when accompanied by a whirling light headed giddiness, racing pulse and sudden pallor. I’d never have believed that one could change from shivering to sweating and back in the course of a few minutes, without any changes having occurred in one’s immediate environs, were it not for my frequent experience of such a phenomenon.

 

A spastic colon and mild diverticular disease tend to optimize the de-energizing  effect of the other muscular discomforts; frequently having to rush to the loo at very short notice (uncertain as to whether it’s flatulence needing release or a more explosive expulsion of organic matter) leaves one with little opportunity to regain their composure.

Progress or Regress

 Over the past few weeks I’ve managed a bit of gentle socializing, a couple of meals out at Al Bivio, lunch at Café Culture, and even a wonderful buffet lunch at Wesley followed by a stimulating talk, necessitating conversation with ones neighbours at table, from the President of Conference.

 

Essential as these socializing occasions are for one’s morale, I once again, misjudged the amount of activity I could manage without payback. I’m afraid my payback threshold is much lower than I’d hoped. Payback rewards usage of reserves of both emotional and physical stamina.

 

Shovelling compost from bin to wheelbarrow, not much more than a dozen shovel loads at that, and hence to a small section of garden border proved several shovel loads too much. Not only the refreshed aches and pains in the lumbar region but, a full torso and limbs spread of irksome twinges, peripatetic clog dancers stomped their repetitive way across and along muscles of upper and lower limbs whilst a vague dull headache gave way to waves of giddiness, as if to emphasise my reward for a job well done.

 

On another occasion, just changing twenty litres of water from my main aquarium was the camel’s backbreaking straw. At least the far too regularly recurring shooting pains in the upper arm (armpit to elbow and vice versa) have withdrawn their attention, in response to a more regularized tramadol habit!

same old pains regaining confidence

A plan to wait for an upturn in my state of wellbeing, before writing another blog post, has had to be withdrawn from my agenda.

 

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Apart from the griping gut churning abdominal spasms, a combination of regular IBS and diverticular problems, there always seems to be something extra to grab the focus of my attention. Flatulence and dyspepsia are so commonplace as to go unremarked; I only wish I could ignore the gastro-oesophageal reflux!

 

I still seem to be undergoing some kind of relapse, intensifying over the past few days, as acute chest, joint and muscle pains, tenderness in armpits and under jaw, join forces with the above mentioned ailments. A recently refreshed collusion between GORD and post nasal drip seems to further conspire against any hoped for sense of well-being.

 

Mid to late afternoon, almost as a matter of routine, that grinding nausea inducing hollow ache in the armpits sets in. On a good day, ten minutes sat with my arms pressed tight against my back alleviates the ache, to some extent; on most occasions it’s also accompanied by aching pains in elbows and/or wrists. Sometimes supports applied to wrists and elbows bring the necessary relief but, increasingly, I find that I need to resort to some strong painkillers.

 

Although I rarely spend less than twelve hours (night & morning) abed, I increasingly have to resort to an hour or more lying down in the course of the day, the need usually prompted by aching limbs and an unsettling aching giddy light-headedness.