The Absolute (arm)Pits

Squirming wimp; that's a role I seem to play really well, trouble is I'm not acting. The multifarious manifestations of dis-ease have really found a fresh discomforting expression this past twenty-four hours plus. That sensation when one finds it impossible to discover, or maintain, a comfortable seated posture; if I was simply observing my wriggling activity I'd swear it was a bad case of worms. [Fortunately, that's an ailment that's escaped my attention.]

What has returned with a vengeance is that aching discomfort in the armpits, the one where I have to squeeze my arms tightly to my side in a first attempt to regain a tolerable posture, before placing my hands beneath my thighs as I sit back; a griping sense of nausea then takes over. A short while later, the giddy light-headedness returns and the legs start to feel like they're made of some gelatinous lead alloy.

No sooner had we arrived at the local takeaway, last evening, than ma belle had to escort her pale faced partner back home. By the time she'd returned to collect the ordered meal, any inkling of an appetite had disappeared from yours truly and, the smell of food made me turn green around the gills. One thing I can never be found guilty of is doing things by halves - my disorientation is a complete happening.

Later in the evening I regained my composure and managed a portion of the (microwave reheated) food. By bedtime had arrived, I found myself relaxedly wide awake for the total bed-rest period. Late morning I went up for a little rest, discovering that laying on my left hand side allowed my torso to feel more comfortably at home in the world.

Sunshine and Blanket Stitch

Many people seem to worship the sun, so much so that they'll travel halfway around the globe to find a suitable place to spend their holiday sunbathing. Others, like me, have difficulty coping with very hot weather and, only on a few occasions have exposed my torso to the sun's rays, primarily at the time in the seventies when as a mature student I had a regular vacation job doing gardening. There were a few later occasions when I allowed my body to be exposed to the rays for a couple of hours, nothing out of the ordinary I would have thought, but it was only many years later that various warts and moles began to make their presence noticed.

An abundance of solar keratoses started to mar this fair skinned torso and, at times, a little cryotherapy was deemed necessary to remove the more troublesome of the little critters. Then, having noticed blood on a T-shirt which I'd been wearing the previous day, and during an enforced overnight stay in hospital, I asked my GP to take a look at my back and she immediately referred me to the dermatology clinic.

In earlier blogs, I've already commented on that referral, and the generally excellent treatment proferrred by the much maligned NHS. The basal cell carcinoma (rodent ulcer) was removed last Wednesday, at which time I was informed that there's a good possibility of a further rodent ulcer occurring within the next few years. Just by way of warning my readers of the deleterious effect of UV rays on fair skinned people, I decided to post a couple of views of my back, including a fine example of the surgeons blanket stitch (which has to remain in place for 14 days)

As stated earlier, I've never been much of a sun worshipper but, were I ever to consider exposing any part of my body to the sun's rays my minimum protection would be a high factor block (SPF15+). My beloved has been instructed on the importance of observing / detecting changes to any of my disfiguring growths.

 "Mad dogs and Englishmen ..." may "go out in the midday sun" but this mad Englishman will do his darnedest to avoid it.

exercising caution

Cautious, that's the only word for it; last night every move I made, as I lay abed, was carried out with an excessive degree of caution. It's not at all unusual for me to spend many hours lying awake, frequently changing my position, rolling over from left side to back, back to right side, arms stretched out, arms used as a prop for my resting head - the possible postural permutations are immense. Last night, however, I attempted to restrict any stretching movements, as my freshly sutured back felt rather stiff and necessarily unwilling to stretch.[At least I was able to enjoy listening to 'Through The Night' (BBC Radio 3) between 2am and 5am, as I lay awake; Brahms, Mozart, Haydn, Bach, Verdi and,a new discovery for me, the Croatian composer Lhotka, provided a relaxing background to my restlessly creative thoughts.]

Yesterday I attended the Dermatology clinic for the excision of a basal cell carcinoma from the middle of my back. The operation turned out to take more time than the norm, extending beyond forty minutes. At least I was able to chat with the consultant as he performed the surgery.

The tumour was somewhat larger than anticipated, the hole from which it was excised having a diameter in excess of a 50 pence coin and, a little arterial bleed required a considerable degree of staunching, sundry blood vessels needing to be tied off and / or cauterised. By the time the operation was completed, my chest, back, hair, beard and hands all needed cleaning; amazing how far and wide a 'little' bleed spreads its message. A considerable stretch tension exists around the sutures, owing to the size of the wound, and we've been told to expect a bleed. My understanding is that the sutured wound is about 8cm in length.

The importance of keeping the wound clean, clean vaseline being applied twice daily (in ideal circumstances). At this point I have to point out that my beloved can be quite squeamish, already evident as she was called into the surgery to be told how to keep the wound clean, but regrettably, it's impossible (where it's situated) for me to treat it myself. If I'm to take a shower, vaseline has to be applied both before and afterwards and, I'm also somewhat doubtful that it would be wise to remain seated in the shower for my normal duration. Admittedly I don't always have the stamina to cope with taking a shower, even when I feel a bit more able to stretch.

It's important that I remember to avoid lifting and any strenuous activity during the first four weeks as, any stetching of of the wound can affect the healing process. I'd have loved to have had that reason / excuse to avoid games, and the attention of our sadistic PE teachers, in my schooldays. Perhaps it's a blessing that, since succumbing to M.E. in 2003, I've already been forced into pacing myself and (whenever possible) avoiding any strenuous exertion.

Suddenly, I find myself taking stock of my activities / capabilities once again; just a few days ago I was lugging around compost and sacks of wild bird feed. I'm even going to be careful about watering the tomato plants in the greenhouse as the plants positions necessitate a good deal of stretching; I've a feeling my beloved may choose to perform that task for the duration.

It really is amazing how much we take our body's daily exertions for granted; only when caution has to be applied, prior to any action, do we become truly aware of our routine practises and capabilities.

Aspects of a wind groomed Garden

just a randomized reminder of yesterday's brief amble in our wind stirred garden

Website Update

I've just posted an additional selection of poems, by yours truly, on our New LUV4SINNERS Website under the inspiring title of 'More POETRY by Malcolm Evison'

This day the Lord has made

I've really been enjoying this day the Lord has made; at least I've appreciated it all since my belated (11.00am) emergence into the new day. My beloved had headed off to chapel at least an hour before I overcame my soporific stupor. Speaking of soporifics, the aid to sleep prescribed by my GP doesn't seem to work in the expected way; the recommendation is that I take the dose one hour before bedtime so, I try to take it somewhere around 10.00pm but the effects, if any, rarely kick in before the early morning hours. By the time my beloved emerges from her restorative nights sleep, she usually finds a heavily drowsy shattered partner slipping in and out of daytime awareness!

As today's service was a farewell to her minister, ma belle drove home after the service to collect me in time for the farewell lunch (described by ma belle as "A Farewell" on her 'Bright Light' blog  for Shaun  

It was good to see Shaun again, and have a little chat, and I was made to feel most welcome at this special event commemorating his 11 year ministry at Wesley. Wesley was the chapel attended regularly by my parents, prior to  circumstances committed them to the care of their respective residential and nursing homes, and Shaun presided at both of their affirmative funeral services.

All in, I spent the best part of three hours at Wesley today; anyone who knows me well will be quite surprised that such socializing endeavour remained pleasurable, rather than an ordeal, for me. I'm as surprised as they may well be! Maybe one of these days I'll manage to pluck up the courage and stamina to attend for a service one of these days.

This evening Helen is out leading worship at another chapel in the circuit, the first of four consecutive Sunday services her local preacher duties are requiring of her, whilst I settle down to watch 'Orchestra United' and 'Amish World's Squarest Teenagers' (both C4).  

how strange the change ...

How swiftly things change, at least on a superficial level. Although the cause of the sundry ailments my flesh has been heir to of late is somewhat elusive, the symptoms have somehow been alleviated by ... unknown!

What a difference a day makes; after yesterday’s ropiest of starts, as the day progressed, my appetite (for food) commenced a restorative process. After days of picky snacking, and with the comforting presence of ma belle, by early afternoon I felt fully able to contemplate a real lunch; the swiftly prepared baked salmon, served with new potatoes, brocolli  and beans, seemed like a real treat and I even enjoyed a post-meal shared pot of Earl Grey without any adverse reaction. By this time I’m beginning to suspect that some of my most recent discomfort has been a reaction to the Amoxicillin prescribed last Saturday but, I doubt whether I can hold that responsible for the mornings flow of tears.

Late afternoon I got in to see the locum doctor, at my GP’s surgery, and he proved to be a good listener – to me the most important  prerequisite for any GP. After a few minutes, having checked my medical history, he asked whether I felt a need to go back on Citalopram or whether something to help me regain a reasonable sleep pattern would be most appropriate. I settled for the latter as, quite honestly, with the exception of those spontaneous re-active outbreaks like that experienced yesterday morning, my general disposition (even allowing for the aggravating dis-ease I’ve been experiencing of late) is pretty positive.

To assist with my sleep he has prescribed Trazadone ( which I notice is an anti-depressant) but only in a very low dosage, one 50mg capsule to be taken an hour before bedtime. After the first dose I haven’t noticed much change but, at least I had no recourse to wee small hours radio listening. Although my beloved had left a glass of water at my bedside, before she left for work at 7.30am, it wasn’t until 9.30 that I was sufficiently awake to utilize it as I swallowed my cocktail of lansoprazole, tramadol and amocxicillin. Removing myself from the duvet lair, at around 10.00am, I felt really quite refreshed – a relatively unfamiliar early morning sensation - and by shortly after 11.00am had corralled the necessary stamina to manage a quite brisk walk down to 'Open Church'.

When my physio visited, earlier this afternoon, after a while spent in conversation she applied the acupuncture needles in positions most conducive to aiding relaxation and recuperation.

and today the tears

And today is the day the tears start flowing. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, a tingling around the eyes and a sense of melancholy. I brush the tears aside, take my courage in both hands (and legs) decide to try a little walk up the road. For the last couple of days such efforts have proved abortive but, it's worth a try; anything's worth a try just in an attempt to overcome this randomly imposed suffocating sense of isolation.

I suspect that the antibiotics, prescribed on Saturday, are having an adverse effect on my already bothersome intestines; even attempting to consume a hot beverage seems like a (time) trial (of the how long before I start feeling nauseous variety). Yesterday seemed somewhat better than the previous day, less of the floatingly giddy light-headedness and, managing infrequent snacks as and when the desire arose. So, things are improving but, after a better night's rest, I've sunk into this pit of moroseness. As I write this, I'm laughing at my pitiful self; in attempting to express how despairingly low I'd started to feel my spirits are somehow lifted.

I'm sure some of the cause is the waiting game, waiting for the gastroscopy and then for the results, awaiting notification of when I'll be in to have the rodent ulcer excised but, most importantly, like a BP CEO I'm wondering when I'll get my life back! The fact that I've scarcely enjoyed a really restful nights sleep, since my overnight hospitalization five weeks ago, certainly doesn't help.

Anyway, I set off for my brief walk and met an old friend. Immediately the "how are you" question was asked the tear ducts shifted into overflow mode and, I had no option but to amble back home. Called my beloved on the telephone, as she was putting in a few extra hours at work - Wednesday being her usual day off - and thankfully she just finished off her current task in hand and headed homewards. Ma belle has arranged, and will be chauffering me to, an appointment at my GP's this afternoon. I feel as if a bit of reactive depression is setting in, a response to the sundry ailments, and probable reactions to medication, that have beset me over the past several weeks.

At least with ma belle by my side, and the old faithful walking stick in my other hand, I gathered the confidence to stroll up to the local shops, the furthest I've ventured for the past few days, without feeling too overawed by the entailed exertion.

Tomorrow my physio is due to visit me to administer the therapeutic needles and, I'm hoping that will aid the relaxation process both physically and mentally.

Salvaging The Wreckage

I quite honestly don’t know what’s going on; much as I hate visiting doctors, and hospitals, my body seems to have a contrary impulse which makes such visits essential.


The most recent such visit, after another little setback, was to the GP out of hours Clinic at the District Hospital on Saturday afternoon. I’d suddenly found myself overwhelmed by a head-spinning giddiness coupled with a griping sense of nausea invoking bloatedness. To add to this discomfort, my lower limbs simultaneously took on a leaden rubbery sensation, stubbornly refusing to be comforted by any re-positioning I attempted. The now familiar gnawing bruised sensation in the lower ribcage and abdominal region once again reasserted itself.



I have to admit though that it was the head-spinning giddiness that caused me the greatest concern. When I went to lie down, a feeling of nausea forced me to return to a seated position but, within a few moments, I needed to lay down once more to prevent the room spinning giddyingly out of control. I generally just felt crap, alternating between clammy overheating and cold shudders.



Having telephonically contacted the out of hours helpline, a doctor suggested that I get my OH to drive me down to the clinic at the hospital. The clinic seemed extremely busy, the best part of two hours passed before I got to see a GP. Having checked my blood pressure, which proved normal, he examined my eyes, ears, nose and throat. His diagnosis was severe sinusitis and an infection in the left ear and, prescribed a course of antibiotics and directed us to the nearest dispensary, which happened to be on the route home. In this instance I have to admit that the diagnosis made complete sense of sundry recent symptoms, acknowledged primarily by my attempts to ignore them.



It did seem rather odd that I was experiencing an extremely unpleasant variant of the symptoms that I would, normally, have blamed on smoking too much; having not smoked a cigarette, even lacking the desire to do so, for the past four and a half weeks that sort of unreason could no longer prevail.



Since succumbing to ME, in 2003, it’s easy to attribute any sense of dis-ease to that wretched overall condition. Whilst awaiting a gastroscopy, an investigative response to my various digestive tract problems, I’ve now developed a tendency to blame any other ailments on my intestinal abnormalities. It’s not only medical professionals who have difficulty in looking at the whole person; it’s proving tricky enough to switch my own focus away from the currently dominant site of dis-ease!

A Change of Perspective

Yesterday was one of those days of which I don’t wish to be reminded whilst, simultaneously, it reminded me of just how far I’ve travelled from the regular aches, pains and general discomfort that seemed to be my daily lot for several years.

Just what went wrong isn’t possible to answer, apart from the fact that, after a dramatically un-restful night, I decided to get up early. This decision was made in the belief that forsaking my usual lie-in, denying myself my normal 10 – 12 hours bed rest requirement,   would somehow ensure that the following night would prove much more restful!

By early afternoon I was struggling to fight off that light-headed nauseous feeling of total exhaustion whilst my body somehow refused to let me have the necessary nap. Concentration was at total zero, the radio played away in the background and I found myself wrestling to grasp any meaning from the words being uttered. I shuffled myself about, desperately seeking a comfortable posture in which to relax but, the effort seemed in vain. That’s when the griping clamminess began as I alternated between overheating and shivering.

 A sharp stabbing bruised sensation danced around my chest cavity, left right, centre, top and bottom randomly alternating as recipients of the phantom knuckles blows.  The bottom of the ribcage sought detachment from the throbbing ache otherwise known as the abdominal region, it felt as if it should be decorated with perforation marks allowing one to remove it at will.

On several occasions it was as if I could positively feel the colour draining from my face, although having said that I began to wonder whether one can ‘positively’ feel a negative! In the evening as my beloved applied emollient cream to my back my skin and flesh seemed ultra-sensitive, the lightest touch producing a nauseating discomfort but, later in the evening as she applied steroidal cream around the periphery of the rodent ulcer this queasy reaction had fortunately subsided.

The night proved much more restful than had the preceding one, although in the wee small hours (from approximately 2.30AM) I enjoyed a relaxing listen to Radio 3 for just over an hour before drifting back to an intermittent visit to the land of nod.

Having visited my GP, for a pre-arranged appointment, on Tuesday she contacted the hospital to arrange a endoscopy. By yesterday morning an appointment had already been arranged for this to take place in four weeks time. Once again I’m impressed by the NHS. The doctor’s hoping that I’ll be able to reduce my ppi’s (currently lansoprazole 30mg twice per day)switching me to ranitidine 150mg twice daily for a fortnight before the endoscopic investigation takes place.

After yesterday’s extreme discomfort and agitation, my regularly familiar aches and pains seem quite simply to reflect what it means to be in the very best of health!

taking stock

When you've been feeling somewhat below par, for any period of time, it's amazing how much, with only a marginal improvement or remission in one's condition, one begins to really appreciate some of the simplest everyday activities. A walk up to the bus stop followed by a short bus journey, without any sense of unease or discomfort, feels quite wonderful; even shopping for groceries becomes more of an enjoyable experience.

It never helps to think about how things were before one's health took a serious nose dive (some seven years ago in my case); it's far more important to celebrate a present ability to feel positively human. My current portion of discomfort is much reduced from that which has, far too frequently, intervened between myself and  the best of health.

thoughts on evolution

Whilst watching 'Wild Wales' (BBC2) I couldn't help but note how wonderful nature is, in all its variety. The thought then suddenly struck me that nature also contains Tory cabinet ministers. Being a forgiving kind of chap, I prepared myself to acknowledge the possibility that lower life forms may evolve at a much slower rate!

And today it's dermatology

I seem to be a quite regular client of the NHS these days, what with visits to A&E, overnight stays in hospital, various appointments with my GP, visits from the physio to administer acupuncture. What a privilege it is to have this wonderful service; one can only trust that the service will be protected / preserved from the worst ravages the ConDems hope to commit upon it.

Just 12 days ago my GP referred me to the Dermatology clinic which I visited this afternoon. The consultant immediately diagnosed a rodent ulcer (basal cell carcinoma) and is arranging for it to be excised, under local anaesthetic, sometime in the next four weeks. Meanwhile he has prescribed a steroidal cream to be applied to an inflamed area on my back surrounding the ulcer. I find it truly impressive the speed at which arrangements are falling in to place; the National Health Service, freely available to all, and so easily taken for granted, is a gem to be cherished and protected.

Mal's Picturebox and identity crisis!

I've just posted a few snapshots, taken in the garden this afternoon, on 'Mal's Picturebox' . I've been unable to identify the wildflower in the picture below and would be grateful if anyone could help. There is no basal rosette to this flower.

click on image to view larger copy

swift setback

The comfort referred to in the previous post proved rather short-lived; last night was one of the most discomfortingly restless experienced since last weeks night in hospital. My chest felt as if it was being sharply knuckle punched from the inside followed by a numb dull bruised sensation; these sensations, alongside a sense of fragile hollowness, discomforted me for many nocturnal hours. At other times, and alongside this, an invisible band seemed to be applied tourniquet fashion around my upper abdominal region; pillows were frequently re-arranged in a somewhat futile attempt at finding a more comfortable posture.

A visit to the GP was in order this morning and, it was decided to double my dose of lansoprazole as she felt that much of the discomfort could be acid related. As she examined the abdominal region she was somewhat surprised by how excruciatingly tender much of that locale seemed to be. Anyway, I have to go back and see her in a couple of weeks to see if any further investigations may be in order. It has also been arranged for me to visit the skin clinic as a particular warty growth on my back has turned angry and needs to be checked out; basically, it seems, I'm just falling apart.

On the positive side, an additional dose of lansoprazole taken late-afternoon helped some of the afternoons more excruciating symptoms subside - even the sense of giddy wooziness has gone into hibernation!

still snacking after all these years

Difficult to know whether I'm recovering, and what I'm recovering from; I'm certainly feeling a little more comfortable than I was at the beginning of the week! Muscles in chest, shoulder and lower limbs still feel rather achily tender but, definitely more comfortable than they were at the weekend. I'm really feeling relaxed after this afternoon's acupuncture session, though not in any spaced-out sense and, actually enjoyed a bit of grocery shopping with ma belle before we dined this evening.

Doesn't the word "dined" sound rather glamorous, much more romantic than "had something to eat"? Actually it was a very lazy re-heat job, a Waitrose Indian meal for two - chicken jalfrezi, chicken makhani, aloo sag, naan bread and pilau rice. Although I often devise my own curry dishes, I rarely bother to make more than one variety (usually a hybrid one) of curry at any particular time, the extra variety in these lazy banquets is a rather enticing experience - like a super snack! Much as I enjoy cooking and occasionally - emotional stamina permitting - dining out, at heart I'm much more of a snacker than a substantial meal type of guy.

Now doesn't that all sound somewhat boring - even that's just the kind of guy I am!

Mammon - a poem

tetchiness abounds

Chest and shoulder muscles are really playing up, the pectoralis major more achingly griping than the deltoids and, as the day goes on I become increasingly tetchy. The heat of the day certainly doesn't help, 28 centigrade at present, as I've never been a hot weather person. Currently we're sat in the back room, curtains drawn, revelling in the cooler air current proferred by an oscillating fan. It's quite strange really, this coolly refreshing synthetic breeze serves to keep me reasonably alert, whilst aching muscles, minor digestive problems, and a muzzy head, keep reminding me of the need to rest.

I've just been trying, to little avail, to catch up with received e-mails but the least distraction from what should be a minimal concentration endeavour makes me feel quite stressed. 'Tis better just to float - wish I could be as laid back as a lot of people think I am - but, for some reason I just tend to keep swimming against the tide!

Attempting to relax is such a wearying business, leaves one without sufficient stamina to simply be. 

I know the garden is the place I should be, the place where I am truly me but, prevailing temperatures militate against my participation in such enjoyable diversions.

surrounded by lights - kept in the dark

It's truly amazing how much, or how little seeming like so much, has happened in the past week. After the gardening exertions of the previous week, everything seemed to be going so well, not even a hint of post-exertional kick back. Sunday morning, woke up and robotically began to apply dermatological cream to my lower limbs when a snapping twinge locked my back mid-rub. Yep, I'm always aware that my back's rather vulnerable, herniated disc and all, but it always takes me by excruciating surprise when it un-elastically responds to the meagre stretches that I've imposed on it.

I swiftly sought the assistance of the old faithful walking stick, for additional support, as I headed downstairs. Extra doses of tramadol were required for the next few days, an essential supplement to the efficacious application of ibuprofen gel. Care had to be taken not to remain seated, for too long, in any particular position, not even on a supportive high back chair, in order to avoid a painful lock down.

Wednesday evening things took a slightly more dramatic turn, around 9.20pm, having spent the evening listening to the radio and catching up with the latter stages of that day's epic Wimbledon set, I was feeling quite shattered. Decided to have a cup of Decaff just before going to bed, took a sip and suddenly felt sick. Simultaneously it felt like a vice was closing in on my chest, right from top of ribcage down to the floaters. A sharp bruised sensation made it difficult to catch my breath and,of course, the more frightening the experience became the more difficult it was to get my breath. I turned simultaneously clammy and totally drained of colour. The paramedics took ecg's and simple prick test to check my blood sugar level; ecg's seemed fine but they could sense my general discomfort and thought I should be checked out at the hospital.

Arrived at A&E just before 10.00pm, had my blood pressure taken a few times and further ecg's. The duty doctor consulted further and decided that I should be admitted for observation. Eventually a bed was found in the acute ward and I was transferred there just after 2.00am, and they  immediately strapped me up to a monitor and told me to get some rest; now that was a tall order, within five minutes blood pressure and temperature were being taken again. By 3.00am the house doctor, from cardiology, came to examine me and told me that I would have further blood samples taken at 9.00am and, if the test was OK (meaning negative) I could go home. Shortly after this visit I was asked whether I'd mind changing to a different bed, an offer I greeted with enthusiasm as the one I was in was most uncomfortable. Around 6.30am, had a visit from the cardio consultant (along with one or two acolytes) and he informed me that he would want a further ecg taken after the blood sample and muttered something about a treadmill test. The noise, lights, and being kept in the dark about what exactly was going on were certainly not at all conducive to restfulness.

Blood samples were taken just after 9.00am and, a further ecg done at around 10.15am, the rest of the time was spent hanging around not knowing exactly what was going on. I'd got out of bed to have a little breakfast but, felt unable to note everything about the environment, or my fellow inmates, my vision being minorly impaired as I didn't have my spectacles with me. My sandal clad feet, and ankles, were getting extremely cold and I had no socks with me to warm them up at all. Come lunchtime, the food was absolutely disgusting - I'd settled for the salmon & dill potato bake in which the miniscule flakes of salmon looked like the scatterings of an infants overfull mouth bonded together with what looked like and had slightly less flavour than wallpaper paste.

Visitors had been arriving but, no sign of ma belle, I thought I'd be heading home at any moment. All this anticipation of imminent reprieve became increasingly frustrating as it failed to materialize. When ma belle arrived, at 3.30pm, she was already aware that my reprieve wouldn't be until the afternoon as she had contacted the ward (twice) earlier in the day, although I hadn't been informed of this. In fact, I only discovered that the blood test was negative after pursuing my own line of enquiry; strange how the staff had plenty of time to chat to each other but no time to communicate necessary information to the patient. Once it was known that the blood test was negative they were able to release me from the monitor leads.

Suddenly. whilst ma belle was visiting, they informed me that I was being transferred to another ward which came as something of a shock, as I was still anticipating an imminent leap into freedom. By this time I was getting ultra-tetchy, bothered by the lights, noises (on and off stage), and the general sense of being left in the dark; to placate me an annoying light was switched off and I enquired about discharging myself from the hospital. The staff on this ward were really helpful and chased up the coronary unit to speed up my treadmill test; rather than waiting for a porter to take me down (five minutes later) I was accompanied by one of the staff from the ward. I'd determined to exert myself to the nth degree on this test, although well aware there would be some slightly delayed post-exertional consequences, as I would risk anything to gain my freedom from this internment!

By 5.30pm, Thursday, I was on my way home, leaving it to the hospital to forward my discharge papers to my GP rather than incur any further stir craziness by waiting for same to be prepared. The post-exertional effects had really begun to hit home by Friday evening, followed by a very restless night with sharp aching pains being felt in chest, shoulder and leg muscles, along with my old familiar foe of intense discomfort in the armpits. The general feeling is one of a rather disconcerting fragility, a generalized discomfort; this post-exertional-malaise, unwelcome as it may be, is easier to deal with in the free world than it would be within those formidable clinical walls.

Growing Pains

Transplanting weeds / wildflowers (delete according to preferential term) can be a time consuming business but, fortunately, I have an OH to do the uplifting, from an inappropriate location, whilst I occupy myself with the re-planting. Not everyone welcomes the growth of weeds / wildflowers the way we do in this household, many would have difficulty in appreciating our excitement at finally having a healthy nettle patch developing in the wildlife friendly area of the garden! The rapid growth of the teasels is really something to behold and, I can just imagine the local goldfinches eager anticipation of their reaching fruition.

It's difficult to believe the amount of cultivation required to ensure the right kind of poor, reasonably well-drained, soil in what could all too frequently be a partially waterlogged area. It then took quite a while to develop the knack of disturbing the soil (in this meadow-type area) just sufficiently to encourage wildflower growth. Mind you, even the more traditionally cultivated areas of the garden contains somewhat random groupings of flag iris, even intruding on the lawn, whilst crocosmia merges with fuschia and rose of sharon in one bed whilst, elsewhere, other varieties of crocosmia happily rubs shoulders with rosemary, sage, and thistles

The mini, patio, and fish ponds all proffer a rich variety of aquatic and marginal plant growth, a rich habitat for insects and frogs. Red-veined docks, originally a minor introduction to the pond marginal range, have established themselves in various areas of the garden. The increasing number of avian visitors is a real treat; amazing how rapidly news of our feeding stations, and abundance of insects,  has travelled via the feathery grapevine. As I write, sparrows are rapidly flitting between the lantern feeder and their fledglings lined up, in eager anticipation, on an adjacent fence. The rain, which temporarily dissuades me from venturing out, is certainly no deterrent to these enthusiastic juveniles.

Just being and observing is a great source of contentment for yours truly!