attempted exorcism by written word

It’s almost as if the legions of gremlins are on the warpath again, some kind of vendetta against me. Sometimes I’ve found that expressing my hopes, aches, pains and fears in a quite open way, laying myself vulnerable, affects an amelioration of the conditions which drive me to this confessional mode.

Now, having opened up about my wimpish nature (see previous post), it seems as if my upper limbs are once again veering into nausea-inducing aches and pains, alternating between wrists, elbows and armpits. The armpit aching discomfort / tenderness seems to be the nausea inducing quotient so, in an attempt to alleviate this, I’ve removed all garments from my torso and applied tubular bandage and elastic supports to my elbows, along with wrist and palm supports.

I admit that typing on laptop pc is made more awkward by simultaneously having to press and hold my upper arms tightly against the torso’s sides but, it’s almost as if by some kind of magic I hope to drive these hellish aches and torments away. A kind of exorcism.

The weakness of my faith in this kind of exorcism is demonstrated by the fact that I’m also awaiting the ameliorating effect of 100 ml of tramadol taken some forty minutes ago.

one helluva night - with tears to follow

Well that was one helluva night! No, I don’t mean it was brilliant or enjoyable, indeed the opposite would seem to apply. For a large section of the night, which should have been spent either at rest or asleep, excruciatingly discomforted aches, pains and jarring niggles, exceeded there usually capacity to catch me by surprise.

What started as the all too familiar ultra-sensitivity of my toes, swiftly became an all-consuming ache of limbs and torso. Throbbing knees and aching hips, joined aching wrists and elbows in some kind of exotic fandango. Between the familiar aching pains, sudden jolts, as if an electric charge had been applied, seemed to run through torso and limbs before resolving to a generalized heavy ache with only occasional jarring painful explosions.

Supports applied to wrists and elbows seemed, at first, to alleviate the intensity of the discomfort but it only took a short while before the discomfort intensified once more. Similarly, lavishing my toes with moisturizing cream proffered temporary relief. After about 1½  hours, which seemed like an eternity, I was able to settle down with a vague hope that sleep would soon overwhelm me.

Come morning, I was pretty much my usual sleep-deprived self but, I managed to doze off for a few daylight hours. At first I didn’t seem any worse for the extremely disturbed rest and sleep pattern of the preceding night but, later, became quite weepy and tearful, to the extent that I developed an intense fear regarding the procedure (arthroscopy) to be carried out on my right knee on Saturday. My thoughts ran wild in anticipation of worse than usual debilitating pains to further detract from my quality of life.

At heart I’m a total wimp, I only cope with quite regular pain, discomfort and, occasional bouts of brain fog, because I’ve not been granted an opt out clause. My sense of ill emotional ease intensified as the morning went on; both my beloved and Piper attempted to console me even though I strived to reject their consolation.

Not Praying but Hoping

It’s just been another of those days that a sudden flare of aches, pains and discomfort caught me unawares; why it should be unawares is I suppose a reflection of that hope that today, or any day, is going to be one where I can evade the promised threat of intense discomfort.

I often find myself blaming the aches and pains on my own trivial actions. Maybe I shouldn’t have held the newspaper for half an hour as I skimmed through it’s pages; perhaps surfing the web put too much strain on my fingers, wrist and/or hands! One can’t spend their time expecting the sudden onset of nausea producing aches and pains, even though I can’t remember the last time when I had a day free of these sudden onset, usually temporary (thank God), debilitating occurrences.

I’m increasingly resorting to the application of supports for wrists, shoulders, elbows, back etc; rather than succumbing too regularly to opioid relief: sadly it’s more common that I have to resort to physical supports and opioids in tandem!

Sometimes I’ve found that when the aching tenderness in the armpits (axillary lymph nodes) begins, the application of tubular bandages over the elbows can alleviate the nausea-inducing aspect of the discomfort. Maybe it’s some kind of lymphatic massage, I don’t pretend to understand it! Whatever the cause I invariably find that the most comfortable position I can find is to press my upper arms as tightly as possible to the torso, and strapping up my wrists. It also helps, when I’m not having to stretch my forearms behind my back for relief, to tightly clasp my hands.

No, I’m not praying, even though it is something that I do subscribe to: in this instance I’m quite simply hoping.

Of HEALTH and TAINTED VIRGINS

I’m currently re-discovering how an element of anxiety exacerbates, to a considerable extent, the symptoms of a chronic illness. On this occasion the anxiety is caused by the inept and dilatory response of Virgin Media to a known issue which is preventing us from receiving incoming ‘phone calls on our landline; the telephone is not only a lifeline for me but, there are several vulnerable elderly people who depend on my beloved OH for lifts. These vulnerable people only have our landline number as they are not mobile phone users. As for myself, the mobile phone is scarcely ever used, as I’m rarely away from my own house and garden and, therefore have little cause to switch it on.

We are still able to make outbound calls and, it was only by accident we discovered that friends and acquaintances had been unable to contact us. Other ‘phone users are also affected by, and may still be unaware of, this glitch.

The VM website online phone-tester reported no problems with our ‘phone, and we were also informed the line was engaged. I spent considerable frustrating multitudes of minutes on their help-line and, even there they suggested no real problem. Eventually an admission was made that someone else on the same exchange had reported the same problem, namely that callers only heard a continuous, high pitched whining drone when they dialled our number.

During the first phone call, I was frequently put on hold whilst my ear-drums were blasted with an execrable noise (which they maybe call music) for what seemed a like a multiplicity of eternities. Eventually, I was assured that the engineers would have the problem sorted by the end of the day. Of course this didn’t happen so I contacted them via social media with my complaint in reply to which I was informed that they had assisted me: the assistance I seemed to be proffered was to be told that there was nothing they could do via social media.

Later that day I had a webchat with VM, the outcome of which seemed positive. The positivity was short lived; the time in the afternoon, by which I was assured the problem would be resolved, swiftly passed with no action having been taken.

By the evening it was back to the 150 phone-line to enquire what was happening. At first having tapped in sundry digits in response to the robotic voice I was on hold for at least 20 minutes, my eardrums once again assaulted by shouted words & excremental instrumental accompaniment. When I got through to tech department I was at least able to quote a reference number for the issue but, was told that he couldn’t find any evidence of there being an issue so, he would put me through to network problems. Once again my eardrums were assaulted by a demonic cacophony whilst I awaited the transfer department.

Maybe I was getting somewhere. I was informed that it was a known issue, something to do with ported numbers (i.e. numbers which were originally BT numbers) but for decdes our line had been via Cable & Wireless which became NTL which became part of Virgin Media. Although they knew exactly what the issue was/is they are unable to say when it will be dealt with. To put it simply – THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING.

As I said, at the beginning, these events & frustrations have certainly had a deleterious effect on my already shot nervous system. Not only did I undergo more sustained, sleep depriving, pain last night but it also does few favours to my emotional well-being. A tainted Virgin and a chronic illness / chronic pain partnership could so easily become lethal.

EASTER GREETINGS

Easter Dance

Greetings - Easter Dawn

Easter Greetings

iolo SYSTEM MECHANIC ACTIVATION PROBLEM version 16.5.2.214

For the past couple of days I’ve been attempting to reactivate iolo System Mechanic 16.5 premium. I first installed it on two old machines in February then, more recently, on a newer machine where it seemed to be working fine.

Then came update patch 16.5.2.214; since that time I’ve been unable to activate my key. Let me re-phrase that: it has regularly informed me that it has successfully activated and will fix any problems. Immediately when I press the FIX NOW button I’m asked to submit & confirm my e-mail address or enter activation key. The circle keeps on rolling round and paid for System Mechanic remins inactive.

On twitter, @iolo_technologies suggested that my problems would be resolved by installing patch 16.5.2.214 which contained a “bug fix” for people who had a problem with activation keys on version 16.5.2. 212! Apparently some lucky buggers who were having similar problems, to my current ones, have been blessed with a fix which makes mine inoperable.

I’ve even downloaded and installed a fresh copy of version 16.5.2.214, rather than from my IOLO CD, and guess what. I’m still unable to activate this supposedly useful product. I’m currently regretting having paid for a premium version.

and ache becomes pain - literal & metaphorical

and ache becomes pain – literal & metaphorical

I wrote, quite recently, about the difficulty of defining / distinguishing an ache from a pain. This morning, sundry expressions of the former were, rather rapidly, transformed into examples of the latter.

Sudden onset nauseating aches in fingers, wrists, elbows, knees and armpits soon had me curling up on the sofa, upper arms clamped firmly to my side, fingers tightly intertwined and the heels of my hands clasped firmly together.

At the same time, the heels of my feet were drawn up close to the buttocks and, my forehead pressed onto my clasped hands; the initial ache was temporarily subdued by my adopting this unusual posture but, within a further ten minutes, the aches transmogrified into acute sharp searing pain which manipulated lacrimal, salivary and mucous glands into overdrive.

A sore grating feel to the throat, such as may signify the onset of a cold, provided a counterpoint to those other aches which by now had become a real pain!

Lost for Words

It’s one of those times when language seems to be somewhat limited, lacking in pertinent words to describe a particular mode of being. What I have been experiencing, earlier today, is an intense discomfort that not only induces nausea but, also brings me down into a tearful state. This sensation, however, feels to me totally distinct from anything that I would normally describe as pain; more like a dis-ease with the way my flesh and bones fit into their enveloping skin.

Quite out of the blue, whilst doing a bit of catching up (on e-mails, twitter feed etc.) on the laptop, my elbows suddenly began to throbbingly ache in response to simple tapping on the touch-pad, a sensation of tenderness in the axillary lymph nodes followed with only a minimal delay; the nausea induced by these events meant I had to immediately desist from any laptop activity. In response to this sensation I swiftly donned my elasticated elbow supports to help alleviate the discomfort.

As I attempted to relax / recline on the sofa, I suddenly became aware of a discomforting ache in both knees. Next step was to don my elasticated knee supports. At this stage, I would still describe what I was experiencing / undergoing as an intense discomfort rather than pain; perhaps what I would describe as pain is more the experience of a sustained sharply stabbing irritation rather than the initial chronic dull throbbing ache of discomfort and dis-ease.

There are times that the simple donning of supports eases the nauseating discomfort but, on other occasions they prove less efficacious. As the discomfort moved more towards my pain zone, time seemed appropriate to resort to pain-killers (100mg of tramadol); within half-an-hour the discomfort and impending pain began to dissipate.

I’ve got to admit that the moment when discomfort (chronic discomfort) and pain (acute pain) merge or transpose is extremely hard to define, or even recognize. Sometimes, words quite simply fail me and, the cussin’ swiftly takes over.

A Susceptibility to Faith

This post originally appeared on another blog of mine in 2005, based on some earlier scribblings of mine in an (unfriendly/hostile) online Christian Forum



A Susceptibility to Faith?


After undergoing an evangelical conversion experience at the age of 19, there followed a spell of fervent evangelising (perhaps alienating rather than helping the victims of my outreach!). On experiencing the more conservative social values of my evangelical peers, I was forced, by the more "mature" Christians, to choose between Christ or social-activism.

At this point I tried hard to reject my Christian faith, even to the point of asking God to reveal the unforgivable sin to me! An involvement in political activism, an investigation of Eastern religions, and a later dabbling with drugs, somehow never managed to fill a God-shaped void in my life.

Eighteen months of born-again Christianity was followed by many years in the wilderness. Various apparent coincidences led me back to a Christian faith, sensing the prodigality of the Father's love as he came out to welcome me despite my aversion to many of his ardent followers.

My journey this time was via existential & linguistic philosophy, literature and biblical criticism, subsequently by degree and post-grad studies in Theology.

The secular homophobic attitude of many evangelicals saddens me, a reminder of the social conservatism that forced me to seek de-conversion nearly forty years ago. Although evangelicals now recognize the need for committed social action, their intolerance and fear of peoples sexuality can blind them to many real injustices in society at large.

Isn't it strange that issues of militarism, party politics, usury etc. do not bring the threat of schism to the Anglican communion! Arms dealing and legalised extortion are obviously insignificant when compared to the issue of gay clergy!

My theology is now more liberal /radical than formerly yet, I still read and study (contextually) the same scriptures, follow the same Lord and am prompted by what seems to to be the same Holy Spirit as my evangelical brothers & sisters.

Is it a psychological weakness on my part, that I need FAITH, or is Faith my necessary means to overcome the apparent impossibility of deriving an ought from an is?

Jesus and Me

originally published on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog in September 2005

Jesus transformed my life but, perhaps, in turn I changed his. His

story has been transmitted to us via faith communities and, to

some extent, each believer adapts this person to their own needs.

The power of symbols is simply amazing. One time, I entered into

a personal relationship with Jesus and, my God, was it hard. It’s

strange how he expected me to take on the comfortable lower

middle-class lifestyle of my peers in the faith. Some of them knew

no better, they’d grown up with him as had I but, they’d never seen

the need to rebel.

Rebellion, now there’s a pain, one may even have to start asking

and, even worse, answering questions! Me and Jesus got along fine

for quite some time, we shared all these intimate conversations but,

no … he wasn’t prepared to back me whatever I chose to do; the

pastor knew best on that score. God, how I loved Jesus social

conscience and his love of the company of outsiders to the faith but,

according to the pastor, it was only because he was divine that he

couldn’t be tainted. It seems that somehow we poor fallen

creatures couldn’t take that risk so, we had to set ourselves apart.

It wasn’t long before we parted company, at least the church and

me; I don’t think the Jesus symbol ever let me go! My journey took

me a long way round after that, via Eastern religions, Trotskyist

politics, and experimentation with various substances, asking

uneasy questions and collapsing along the way.

All this time I remained under the spell of this divine symbol Jesus;

in him I found a voice and image of inclusivity, his demands may be

hard but ultimately that became part of the attraction. If no

demands were made how could one possibly grow? This time, the

demands weren’t to do with opposition to my working class status

but, more to do with caring about the people it was necessary to

challenge.

On my return to the fold, even in a transitional state of charismatic

fervour, I was far less inclined to “preach at” non-believers; the

most important thing was that they should realize that I was there

for them. For some time, strangers would turn up at my doorstep

or, I would be granted an insight into someone’s need to be

befriended.

It took so long for the realization to grow that, the most important

thing was quite simply to be there. Although full of doubts and

questions, regarding the Christian faith, the symbols of the faith

have well and truly grasped me. I am acceptable, tetchy human

that I may be.

FAITH Matters

This posting was first published on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog in January 2007

Faith Matters

FAITH is that set of values, and ultimate questions, by which we lead our lives. Questions and doubts are an integral component of faith, if we are not to become stuck in a rut of blind belief. I have been grasped by certain concepts and values of community and compassion, and much of the reported teachings of Jesus (acclaimed by many as the Christ), throughout my life, both those in which I have been unwittingly indoctrinated and, those which I have arrived at or returned to through a prolonged period of questioning.

It has always seemed a major mystery that some people seem to "need a faith", some "seek a faith" by which to measure their life’s course whilst others are quite simply "grasped" by an ultimate concern which they have neither sought nor been aware of a need for.

In my personal journey, I have at times embraced (or been embraced) by each of these modes yet, a deep rooted scepticism has proffered me a deep rooted intellectual and emotional resistance to making room for such a faith. That same stubborn resistance also occurs when anyone attempts to fob me off with multifarious scientific hypotheses disguising them as facts. I suppose I’m slightly averse to ‘fundamentalisms’ be they secular or religious.

Perhaps, with my low level reserves of physical and emotional stamina, I do not pro-actively fight for my beliefs as much as I should, but the mystery of LOVE (almost) always compels me to accept a transcendent reality.

I am "grasped" by the person and work of Jesus the Christ yet, am unable to accept much of the dogmatic doctrinal baggage with which he has been encumbered. Some emphasize his humanity, others his divinity, fully God and fully man proves a bit of a conundrum yet, in this myth of the Christ  many, including myself, have found the strength to challenge the social and economic injustices of our day.

In spite of my deeply rooted sceptical nature, it is far easier to accept the existence of God (all the flawed ontological/ teleological arguments for His/Her/Its existence notwithstanding) than it is to understand how it is possible that so much bigotry, intolerance and, upholding of the status quo can possibly be carried out in the name of Jesus Christ. It’s as if the ideological baggage of state blessed Christendom has blinded us to the truly radical nature of the Christ.

Sat to please

                            SAT TO PLEASE

Piper gently whines missing his mistress, and (the now back home) recuperating Beth; no matter how he laments these absences, regardless of duration, they never seem to affect his appetite. The prospect of a treat brings out his sunnier disposition, and his heart melting gaze of adoration; a non-stop supply of food would be his idea of paradise!

I can frequently be a miserable bugger, feeling totally emasculated as physical and emotional stamina rarely seems up to (e.g. furniture shifting / re-arranging) tasks that once would have been a doddle.

No matter how much I appreciate those activities that I can (and do) manage, an aggressive and anxiety laden self-pity, far too often, takes over. Our wonderful hound quite frequently alleviates these more morose moments, just by his close proximity and his readiness to please.

Just A ... Day

The day started with a generalized non-specific ache, nothing major this time, aching rather than painfully discomforted. Part and parcel of these aches is a sensation as if an arterial infusion has embalmed one into a state of physical, spiritual and emotional shatteredness, a temporary shutting down of any apparent future light. I manage to upset my beloved OH as a result of my wimp inspired tetchiness, a fear of being alone, a fear of physical collapse.

As the day went on, utilizing a 7" tablet pc seemed to put too much stress on my arms; an ache in the elbows transmogrified into a sensation of bruised tenderness in the armpits and down the inside of both upper arms. The application of tubular bandage and elasticated support to the elbows seemed to alleviate the most nausea-inducing element of the discomfort although, by this time I was already donning knee-supports in preparation for the dog's evening walk.

Add a touch of IBS and a throbbing headache to the equation, and what do we have? Just a(nother) perfect day.

new post on Mal's Factory

I have posted a new poem (or maybe perhaps a poem in progress) on 'Mals Factory' entitled "in the moment"

REFRESHED or NOT

To sleep, perchance to dream; no that’s not it, I dream that I may once again experience a sense of refreshment from my sleep. I have, quite simply, lost track of how many months, or even years, have passed since I last remember having felt really refreshed after a night’s sleep. The one thing that’s for certain is that I now require at least eleven hours of bed rest per night just to function quite modestly.

What has brought this state of affairs to a head is the (apparent) payback I’ve experienced the past couple of days, a result of having an early appointment at the local hospital on Monday morning. By early, I’m talking a 9.20 appointment which incurred my curtailing my bed-rest by just over two hours; that experience may, perhaps, demonstrate that I do in fact receive a certain amount of refreshment from my normal extended bed rest, hence the payback yesterday and today.

Yesterday was the first time, for a while, that I was totally unable to tackle the short evening walk with Piper; a sudden onset giddiness alongside unsupportive (de-boned sensation) lower limbs. Today, I started the evening walk but was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of breathlessness / gasping for breath accompanied by a not unfamiliar discomfort in the upper abdomen, alongside a bruised tenderness in the armpits (axillary lymph nodes).

Apart from the sleep deprivation (early appointment), the hospital visit went well; I saw consultant, went for X-Ray, saw consultant again and, in spite of having heard an apology for delay in the clinic, was back on the road home, with ma belle chauffeuse, within 80 minutes of the clinic appointment time. I now await an appointment for an arthroscopy of the right knee.

The excitedly enthusiastic welcome home from Piper, our delightful hound, was overwhelming; he re-acted as if he’d missed the pair of us (ma belle et moi) for at least a couple of weeks. Of course my excursions away from the immediate vicinity of the homestead are quite rare occurrences so, the simultaneous absence of both his people may prove a little unsettling for our boy Piper.

CHANGING NOCTURNAL TRADITIONS - (one man, one woman, and their dog)

Last night, once again, was of the somewhat discomforted variety, regardless of a pre-emptive dose of amitriptyline and tramadol. It was rather difficult to clamp down on the moans & cusses that seemingly forced their way out of my mouth; my beloved responded by cuddling me tight (until she was overwhelmed by sleep) but then, the cuddles were followed by a gentle patter of feet, approaching the bed, as our beautiful hound came to add further comfort, stretching his forepaws across my upper arms and his head across my shoulder, and onto my neck as he lay along the edge of the bed.

You may well think that Piper, our beagle–podenco hybrid hound, was very clever to hear, and respond quite swiftly to, my moans upstairs, when his bed is in a room, behind a closed door, downstairs. Up until a few short weeks ago he did indeed sleep downstairs, usually on a sofa in preference to his quite de-luxe bed. Matters changed when Helen had a bad coughing fit, at night, to which the solitary Piper responded by whining, barking and finally banging against the living room door.

After this sustained barrage of sound we succumbed to his whiles / concern and allowed him to run upstairs. That night he settled himself on the duvet, creating his own cradle in a ridge between the recumbent bodies of Helen and myself.

After a couple more evenings he had decided that he needed to keep an eye on us, sneaking through the living room door in the time it took to switch off a light. He soon decided that he didn’t like being alone and commandeered the bedroom armchair, equipped with an old blanket and towel, as his customary nocturnal roost.

Come morning, he pays a visit to our bed, as if to check we’re alright and still there. If he outstays the welcome of his inspection routine, he can generally be persuaded to go back into HIS chair!

Marking Time

There are moments when time weighs so heavily that the prospect of longevity seems like a cruel joke; at other times life seems far too fleeting. The heavy weight is especially apparent when ones achingly exhausted brain and body seem to resist any appropriate onset of refreshing sleep; the light-footed moments are those spent in awe and wonder before nature and ravished by the miracle of love.

It seems to me that sundry aches and pains, regardless of excruciating degree, are far better coped with in daylight hours than in sleep denying darkness. Nothing against darkness per se, I used to love the experience of being out in the countryside enraptured by a star sprinkled blanket night; these days physically discomforted, bed restrained, night can seem a desperate time of isolation as much needed sleep drifts, remorselessly, just out of reach.

The close proximity of my beloved, even though frequently deep in slumber, serves to alleviate the worst excesses of my despairing self-pity, without her these momentary lapses into a sense of grievous desolation would be even more unbearable; even so ma belle frequently deludes herself into thinking that she’s unable to help me!

un-Common Cold and Burning Toes

 For the first time in many years I’ve succumbed to a full blown cold, hardly surprising, one might say, as my elder step-daughter Beth who stayed with us at Christmas, and my younger step-daughter who had her Christmas dinner with us at the end of December, were both ‘full of cold’. This time the whole caboodle, complete with headache, neuralgia, sinusitis, sore throat, coughing and sneezing, has taken possession of me. Quite strangely, since succumbing to M(yalgic) E(ncephalomyelitis), a full blown common, or even uncommon, cold has scarcely hit my radar; it’s almost as if the bodies dysfunctional immune system mysteriously managed to ward off these additional ailments.

Those many cold-free years seem even stranger as, in the run-up to my major ME collapse, flu-like symptoms seemed to be permanent squatters chez moi (see item STUMBLING THROUGH in ‘Mal’s ME Jottings’ PDF - https://www.scribd.com/document/193365025/Mals-ME-Jottings-Extended-Edition

Last night, although I felt desperately tired, and in need of recuperative sleep, that was not to be; additional forces militated against this necessity. Having dosed on sundry analgesics, at intervals throughout the day, I later took my regular amitriptyline prior to anticipated sleep-time alongside a small dose of tramadol; it was an irksomely familiar ailment that served to prevent any efficacious slumber time. A sustained bout of ultra-sensitivity, a sensation of tingling, throbbing’ burning toes, at whose base there seemed to be an invisible ridge which couldn’t tolerate the touch of bed linen, and even the weight of the air at the duvets edge became unbearable at times. This found me struggling to mute my anguished cries and cusses of discomfort, and even an additional dose of tramadol failed to alleviate the pain.

DISTURBANCES

Today has been one of those where sundry, apparently minor, ailments decided to stamp their cumulative presence at the forefront of my consciousness. Earlier in the day, after an all too familiar restless and discomforting night abed, nothing troubled me more than my familiar nagging aches in limbs and torso but, by mid afternoon, cold-like symptoms in palate, sinus and gravelly throat moved dramatically to the fore. Quite early in the afternoon I’d felt rather light-headed, as the room became giddyingly hazy, moving in and out of focus, and I felt rather nauseous; although the experience was reminiscent of when I suffered with labyrinthitis, on this occasion it dispersed rather swiftly.

Unfortunately, a couple of hours later, as I prepared to take Piper for his evening walk, the light-headedness returned with a vengeance and I had to reach out to the hall wall to prevent myself falling. Strangely, I’d been considering whether I should once again resort to use of a walking stick, to support me on my gentle perambulations. My OH helped me back to the lounge where I rested on the sofa feeling pitifully sorry for myself and indescribably fearful. It seems that too many consecutive nights of un-refreshing sleep aren’t too good for one’s sense of well-being. Never mind though, I should by now be more accepting of the state of unwell-being that has accompanied me for the past thirteen years.

The persistent detonation of fireworks, by persons known and unknown, preceding and subsequent to both Bonfire Night and New Year’s Eve / Day have at times turned our outgoing rescue dog, Piper, into a quivering heap seeking sanctuary in corners, under cushions and, squeezing into previously non-negotiable spaces, besides, between, and behind the seated forms of ma belle and myself. On New Years Eve he, meaning Piper, ran up to the bedroom and snuggled into the bed behind my beloved, and as the erratic explosions continued well into the early hours, eventually burrowed under the duvet to settle down between the recumbent forms of his people.

Fortunately for ma belle, very little disturbs her slumbers and, even after the aforementioned disruption of the nights’ more usual routine, she still emerged bright and early to give Piper his morning walk before going out to lead worship and preach at Harlow Moor chapel. As for me, my fitfully erratic sleep pattern was only marginally more disrupted than is the norm.

UPROOTED

A general mode of tetchiness rapidly transmogrified into an explosive compound of anger, frustration and despair. All of a sudden, slow oozing droplets of distress became a raging torrent of tears. The trigger for this outburst was the conclusion of Zadie Smith’s “NW”, as dramatised for lasts nights transmission on BBC2; the drama itself had plenty of pathos, quite brilliantly portrayed, but much of this, though moving, still left me as an involved observer of the characters lives but, far from an emotional wreck.

What really led to my emotional eruption was the closing scene where Natalie and Leah, regardless of their present more prosperous middle class status and location, almost yearn for the life and companions of their far from glamorous early lives together with their friends from that era. That early life was in Kilburn, an area with which I was quite familiar when I lived in NW6 in the early to mid-1960s. Even so, it wasn’t even the specific location that triggered my emotional collapse; their awareness of having roots in a community where friends and acquaintances retained significance.

It was almost as if a curtain had been raised on my social and emotional stage, a platform on which I stood alone and rootless. Having been born in Canterbury, where doodlebugs celebrated my nativity, I have absolutely no links or memories of this place. My parents moved us on a couple a couple of times in my early preschool childhood in Sussex and Hampshire, there was little chance of having or retaining any significant friendships. My clearest memory of our time in Bournemouth is playing with a toy red lorry whilst shouting out “mackerel, fresh mackerel” and misguidedly crunching an acorn or two. I also recall being in isolation hospital, together with my big brother, and seeing my parents on the other side of a glass screen, and also simultaneously remembering the excitement at having my very own tin of dentifrice.

From there, we moved to the industrial north, to parts of Lancashire, West and North Ridings of Yorkshire, and county Durham all before leaving school at the age of sixteen. Shortly after leaving school I travelled alone to the Sussex coast for my first temporary employment, whilst in the meantime my parents had moved to rural North Devon where I subsequently joined them and found further employment until I was able to start nurse training in Exeter. Since the age of 14, whilst a patient in hospital, I’d known that nursing was my ideal job but, sadly due to an inability to adapt to nightshifts it didn’t work out so, a brief return to N Devon preceded my move to London NW6 to work in Ministry of Labour HQ. Once again, whilst residing in the big smoke, my parents had moved on, first to Staffordshire then, three years later, to a small market town in rural Lincolnshire.

Having burnt the candle at both ends, indulging an appetite for various intoxicants and exotic substances, a mental health breakdown ensued and, I visited my parents for a few weeks rest. This rest swiftly took on another form as a cocktail of beer, spirits and sodium amytal, led to me putting my fist through a few windows before being picked up by the local constabulary, and a consequent period of sectioned containment in a psychiatric hospital on the edge of Lincoln. Ten months later I emerged back into the real world, returned to London, only to discover that I could no longer cope in that environment and, a return to Lincolnshire was in order.

From Lincolnshire we moved to a village in West Yorkshire from where I decided to apply for university to study Philosophy and Theology as a ‘mature’ student. Having received four acceptances, purely on the basis of interviews, I decided on University of Hull and one year after graduation pursued post-graduate studies in Sheffield.

I have lived in my present part of North Yorkshire since the late 1970’s but, it took considerable time before I took on any sense of belonging, eventually attaining a wide circle of friends and acquaintances through both my arts related and, subsequent, church related employment. My social life expanded greatly from the eighties of the twentieth century through to the early noughties of this century. Meeting ma belle Helen in  the last year of the old century, and marrying her early in the first year of the present century, has been by far the most wonderful event in my life. My love for her grows with every passing day but, I still manage to upset her with an angry tetchiness that simmers just below the surface of me.

Since succumbing to moderate ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis), late 2003, all contact with (apparent) local friends, indeed the friends themselves, have evaporated from my life. From being quite gregarious, I was transformed into a semi-housebound sad-happy git; no longer able to venture out to (or cope with) gigs, theatre, jazz venues or church services, even visiting the town centre (in the company of ma belle chauffeuse) can turn into a most daunting venture.

Where are my roots? I don’t seem to have them!

The church, where I had latterly worked as caretaker/ steward, turned its back on me because my illness, which lead me to an abrupt termination of employment, was interpreted by both vicar and curate felt as my deliberate letting them down. Indeed, when early in the illness I managed to attend a service, John the curate suggested to me that I was brazen/ had a nerve to show my face there. The only lay  member of the church, at which I had been a housegroup leader, a group leader on the Alpha course etc., came to visit me was to invite me to be another bum on a seat for Back to Church Sunday. Localised secular friends have been equally negligent, since the illness took hold of my life.

Isolation, loneliness, is the baggage that seems to accompany the onset of this dreadful illness – Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.