Of LIMITATIONS and ENJOYMENT

OF LIMITATIONS and ENJOYMENT

Middle of the night and nature called; an attempted leap out of bed became the more familiar slowly lumbering self removal only, this time, with added difficulties. For the past two or three days the back pains had all but disappeared, only the more regular  discomfort remaining in its stead but, now it seems to have returned with a vengeance. It’s strange how one’s own body delights in playing tricks; just when you think it safe, to carry out an effort of moderate exertion, it sends out a disconcerting alarm signal. If only that signal was as transient as that of an alarm clock, disappearing as soon as one taps the necessary button, there would not be a problem but, unfortunately, these signals are not of that peremptory nature which curtails one’s pursuit of the (unwittingly) harmful course of action. These signals always seem to arrive after the harm has been done, swiftly transmuting the alarm call into a sustained aggravation.

So, you may well wonder, what transgression had I committed against my ailing torso? All I’d been doing was carrying out a partial filter and water change in our largest aquarium, changing two of the filter pads and performing a less than 20% water change. I could (almost) swear that I carefully controlled my posture during the entire operation, to minimize the risk of detrimental health effects, but my body makes a different declaration.

Prior to that minor operation I’d made a visit, with my beloved chauffeuse, to the local aquarists to replenish necessary supplies. The journey is approximately 2 ½ miles but, as is becoming an increasingly common experience, it felt like a major expedition; even travelling at speeds which never exceed the legal limit, on primarily suburban roads, can seem  like  we’re exceeding Mach 1 – my body  crying out in reaction to the velocity at which we’re hurtling through space. 

The whole sensory overload experience seems once again, and most regrettably, to be edging its way into taking control of my lived experience. I’m just hoping and praying that I won’t tumble once again into that convulsively shattering realm.

Strange as it may seem, apart from the sundry ailments which posit substantial limitations on my activities, I do continue to enjoy life. The simple pleasure of observing, and encouraging, the flora and fauna of our garden is a wonderful joy bringer, second only to the presence of my beloved. As I’m no longer able to cope with cinema or theatre-going, the increasingly wide range of films available on DVD proves a real blessing. My enjoyment of cooking, provided a fair range of herbs and spices are to hand, is another source of pleasure, as is the consumption of the end product! I must admit that much of the time I don’t really feel unwell, sundry muscular and glandular aches and spasms have quite simply become an accepted component of normality; it’s only when i attempt to stretch my activity output that I’m quite forcefully reminded of my limitations.

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in case you missed yesterday's frivolous posting on 'Mal's Murmurings' I've repeated it here :

A Nation’s Addiction?

A radio news bulletin informs me that we’re becoming a nation of TV addicts, adding “according to a survey of viewers“!

They should try surveying non-viewers, only to discover that nobody ever watches TV in the UK!

 

Mal's M E jottings on New L4S

Apologies for the recent paucity of postings but, at least I've managed to find the stamina to add a new section, "Jottings from Mal's M.E. Log", to our 'New Luv4Sinners Website'

More on 'Mal's Factory'

I have just posted 'A Poem to Secular Jesus', both text and video, to my Mal's Factory weblog

As one door opens ...

Just as one ailment is alleviated another seems to posit itself in the full spotlight of my attention.



It is with a great deal of relief that I can report on the effective suppression of the most disconcerting symptoms of GORD, the combination of esomeprazole and domperidone most definitely curbing the most acute intestinal and oesophageal rebellion. Doses of a moderately potent liquid antacid are no longer de rigueur before retirement au lit.


A numb tingling sensation in left hand and wrist still requires frequent application of a wrist splint to offer a modicum of relief but, proves relatively easy to bear (not that one has any choice in the matter). Last Friday, the dentist extracted an offending molar, bringing with it much relief so things began to look rather bright! Come Monday, I once more found myself needing to resort to the use of a back support, as niggles emanating from the lower lumbar region began to increase in intensity.


On Tuesday morning, stick assisted I managed to shuffle myself down to Open Church at St. Marks for coffee and a little conversation, the latter having seemed in short supply since my beloved's return to work (following last week's days off). Even though sundry niggling health concerns somewhat overshadowed the additional hours spent with ma belle last week, I was surprised to find how much more isolated and alone I began to feel now that her normal work pattern has resumed.


No sooner had I got through the door, on my lunchtime return home from St Marks, than the telephone rang. It was a call from someone at my doctor's surgery enquiring whether I'd received the letter and paperwork requiring a Fasting blood test prior to my next GP appointment (already arranged for the following day). I checked the post that had just arrived and, sure enough, there was the letter purportedly despatched on Friday 18th yet strangely postmarked 21/02/11 at 3.36pm. The spokesperson from the surgery had the audacity to suggest that I cancel the appointment with the doctor as I'd failed to undertake the fasting blood test. This was the last straw, I finally had an appointment with the doctor I'd been asked to see and they wanted to cancel it ( this was a cause for resentful hurt on my part bearing in mind the incident recorded in the third paragraph of my previous posting 'The Opening of the Floodgates').


In the event I attended hospital for the blood test on Wednesday morning before going to my doctors appointment in the afternoon, even though I knew the results would not be available within such a restricted time span. The doctor, however, did not require the fasting blood test results; the results of tests that I'd had the previous Tuesday morning were the only requirement - the fasting test being irrelevant to her investigations. The good news, on that front, is that all the results were normal; once again, I'm reassured to know that my health problems are entirely due to there being nothing wrong!


Last evening the severe back pains further intensified and became excruciating as I attempted to remove myself from the bed, to obey an urgent call of nature. I should have realized that lying down, whether on back or side, is the worst possible position to be in should the requirement to extract oneself from the duvet lair become necessary. The manouevre of rolling oneself to the edge of the bed, painfully letting ones lower limbs slide down towards the floor before one is able to elevate the torso, is neither elegant nor reassuring. Having returned to bed, ma belle made sure that my torso was adequately propped up with both standard and triangular pillows, thus enabling a slightly easier removal of myself from those environs at the due time. An additional dose of 100mg of tramadol served to further ease the subsequent manoeuvre.


At the moment my verbal outbursts, arising from a combination of frustration and intense dis-ease, could (to my shame) pass for coprolalia. It's not that my fuse burns any more rapidly, it's simply been a further victim of all pervasive cuts; hopefully, as ailments subside, a much longer replacement fuse will be found. For the present I just can't help feeling painfully frail, vulnerable and not at all nice to know.

The Opening of the Floodgates

Just suddenly found myself to be a totally blubbering wreck. I've no idea where the floods of tears came from but, it certainly must have performed some type of tear duct flushing. I was quite happily surfing the net when, suddenly, the armpit discomfort forced me into pressing my upper arms tightly against my torso; it was also essential to put on a wrist support / splint to remove the numbingly aching pain in hand and forearm. Having, from necessity, shut down the PC, I went downstairs to join ma belle.

As my beloved will be seeing her friend this evening, she wondered what I'd like for lunch and profferred the suggestion that maybe I'd like to take advantage of the OAP concession at the local chippie. The fish and chips from this particular outlet are really delicious, a wonderful inexpensive treat, so the suggestion should have been greeted with unconditional enthusiasm! Unfortunately, with my haphazard assortment of gastric disorders, the last couple of times I've enjoyed this feast there have been subsequent repercussions. As this thought passed through my mind, the almost hysterical tearful effusion occurred.

At this point my total distrust of the GPs I've visited recently came to the fore; I've increasingly been made to feel that I'm a nuisance and a waste of their time (wittingly or unwittingly I don't know). Since concentrating on treatment of GORD, any mention I, or my beloved, make of my underlying ME-CFS symptoms / ailments, are swiftly brushed aside / ignored. On the last visit I was asked, in an accusatory manner, why I'd been seeing different doctors (from within the practice), ignoring the fact that on several occasions follow-up appointments booked with the same GP, either online or at the surgery, have subsequently been cancelled, via 'phone calls from the surgery, and alternatives have had to be arranged. I'm also dependent on the availability of ma belle chauffeuse, to get me to the surgery, so also have to work around this; the alternative would be a two bus journey each way and, since 2003 I have found this mode of transport extremely stressful.

When I went to the hospital's phlebotomy department yesterday, for sundry samples to be taken, I was reminded that a consultant endocrinologist had informed the practice that certain of these tests, to monitor my condition, should be carried out at least every six months; this has not happened for the past few years (probably since the previous senior partner, who was my primary reason for remaining with the practice, retired from the practice).

Perhaps the fact that I'm currently on antibiotics, in addition to sundry other medications, suggests that I'm at a particularly low ebb. The opening of the floodgates proved difficult to understand, nonetheless, as I haven't been feeling at all depressed (just ill)! Maybe I'm  a little more frail (and vulnerably de-energized) than usual having missed my most recent physio / acupuncture treatment; the physios services were required, to deal with some very urgent cases, by another district within the health authority, which no longer employs anyone in an equivalent position, quite likely a result of the ConDems ideological cuts. 

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P.S. a rather more upbeat postscript to this posting can be found on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog, apropos the floodgates.

Romantic Promise and Actual Practice

This should be a really romantic week, today being Valentine's Day and Saturday being our Wedding Anniversary and, what's more, my beloved has the whole week off work. Of course things never go fully according to plan; this evening we were due to dine with Helen's sister Janet and Graham (her spouse) but unfortunately, owing to the erratic behaviour of my health - with special reference to the digestive tract - it seemed much safer, yesterday, to cancel that arrangement.

So, what romantic treats has today brought. It was wonderful to enjoy more of my essential morning lie-in snuggled up to my beloved, who has usually headed off to work about three hours before my routine emergence from the duvet realm.

Other events were not quite so romantic; a visit to the dentist revealed a dental abscess, for which I'm now taking a course of antibiotics, whilst later in the day a further visit to my GP's surgery was in order.Tomorrow, I'll be headed off to the hospital for a few more blood samples to be taken, prior to a further GP appointment (arranged for next week).

GP or not GP that is the question

and nothing has improved since the previous posting, simply a more sustained discomfort; apart from the spasmodically acute pains in chest and abdomen, yesterday saw a return of my faint giddiness which cut short a visit to Helen's Church (Wesley) for a spot of lunch.

Up until 19 January, apart from my usual tramadol (painkiller), mometasone (nasal spray), I'd be taking 2x30mg lansoprazole (proton pump inhibitor) each day but still needing the odd dose of Gaviscon at night. On the 19th, the doctor I saw took me off the lansoprazole and switched me to a different ppi, namely 1x40mg esomeprazole daily.

On 9 February, I had the appointment mentioned in my previous posting (Worth A Mention?). In his effort to ensure that he involved me in the decision making process, the GP I saw this time somehow decided that I should continue with the esomeprazole (although it was proving less effective than the double dose of lansoprazole - except briefly on the initial few days) but also prescribed 10mg domperidone (a dopamine antagonist) to be taken 3 times a day.

Apart from the increased discomfort, and even occasional bouts of volatile diaorrhea, I once again find myself wondering whether the chest pains are in fact directly connected with my gastro-oesophageal problems. I quite simply had the feeling that the GP just wasn't interested!

Worth A Mention?

strange how medications to alleviate a condition can make that same condition much worse

never sure what's a reaction to new medication and what's part of the underlying condition

Having just "tweeted" the above (apparently trivial) observations, I suddenly realized that they may be expressing a deeper underlying concern

.
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I knew when I made the appointment that it was a follow up to check how a change of ppi is affecting me. Informed GP that for a few days it seemed better, explaining an inadvertent side effect of the extra dosage of the former ppi, but now it didn't seem as effective as I was experiencing a greater degree of discomfort. The GP of course asks me, do I think that my current discomfort, an amplified version of what I'd been already been experiencing, was related to the gastric problem. Having acknowledged fairly recent A&E incidents which confirmed that there was no apparent heart problem, and last years endoscopy finding no obvious cause for my gastric problems, I could only reply that according to previous GP guidance that did seem to be the case.

The outcome was a decision made, with my uninformed collusion, that I should continue with the new ppi but also take a dopamine antagonist 3 times per day. The first couple of days on this new regimen and, I'm feeling markedly more discomforted, in the gastro-intestinal / gastro-oesophogeal stakes, than I've felt for quite some time. The frustration continues. The question is, do I persevere?

Having stated the question, I now return to the larger problematic picture. Any visit to a GP tends to focus on a specific problem and, as a result, other ailments that are part of an ongoing chronic condition are rarely given an airing, in the course of a consultation. The doctor is presumably well aware that I need to take pain-killing medication, primarily tramadol, to treat persistent muscular and skeletal pain but, I sometimes do find myself wondering whether the broader underlying condition could also be responsible for my gastro-intestinal problems.

Unfortunately treatment only seems to be available for specific symptoms whilst the larger underlying picture seems to be trivialised or ignored. Indeed, as an example, there has always been a marked reluctance on the part of the government, and the Medical Research Council, to carry out bio-medical research into the neurological condition Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. One feels, at times, afraid of mentioning the aching tenderness in armpits and under the chin, the sharply bruised leaden hollowness in the lower limbs whilst still abed, a sense of ones skin being pulled too tight over one's flesh, random virulent nightsweats, degrees of orthostatic intolerance, a not infrequent need to don supports on ankles, wrist, back etc in order to cope with the days most basic tasks. 

Don't get me wrong, I've long since learned to cope with the daily onslaught of aches and pains and, I generally manage to pace myself sufficiently to avoid a major crash but, that doesn't mean that life is easy, much as I enjoy it. 

Siskin at feeder

a recent poem ex 'Mal's Factory'

Restless Night


frantic and static
collude
to break the spirit -


the chorussed scream
of roll and stretch
weaves counterpoint


against the searing ache
of stasis -
the chinese burn


of movement
resists
the planned escape



                         Malcolm Evison
                      30/01/11 – 01/02/11

Mal's drifting murmurs

Today's blog post from yours truly, drifting with the flow, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

wonderment and guilt - spontaneous jottings

A strange combination of wonderment and guilt are today's companions. Having allowed myself time to just sit, in the silence of the living room, looking out onto the garden, my mind is once again filled with the question, why is there something rather than nothing? Because there is something, imagining nothing (or a non/state of nothingness) seems impossible - I find myself watching the clouds slowly drift by and, I'm lost in wonder.

To be honest, most of my life these days is spent in some kind of wonderment and, it is because of (rather than in spite of) this appreciation of the wondrous awesomeness of life that I cannot avoid being committed to issues of social justice and hence politics. There must be an alternative to people being bogged down in the vicious cycle of wage slavery and debt; the world has a sufficiency of resources for everyone to be able to enjoy leisure time without being wearied and overburdened about how to acheive even a subsistence lifestyle.

But, you may well ask, where does the guilt enter the equation? It's that old protestant work ethic no doubt - how can I justify stting doing nothing rather than taking some positive action? The straight answer is that I don't need to justify it but, the guilt remains anyway, ignoring the logic of my answer.

Mal's Restless Night

A poem in progress (or perhaps in its final draft), Restless Night, can be found on 'Mal's factory'!

Shattered of a Sudden

That head-floating, gut-wrenching, muscle-nagging shatteredness wraps me of a sudden in its embrace. Yesterday the deeply gnawing muscle spasms, in limbs and torso, felt like a rebuke for having deigned to commit myself to Friday's minor exertions. At times it seems like a game of damned if ... (damned if you do, damned if you don't); accepting one's limitations is an important step towards avoiding a nightmare roller-coaster experience but, in that acceptance one also risks accepting a pretty colourless plateau of existence.

I've always been fortunate in having a rich life of the imagination, and a naggingly active spirituality; this has meant that the health imposed curtailing of my socializing activities didn't lead me into an immediate state of desolation. I have to admit though that the loss of contact with many people, especially those who I'd considered to be my friends, is something that I still find difficult, when I allow my mind to go there, more than seven years on from succumbing to this wretched illness.

At least I understand this early evening's sudden yielding to shatteredness; a connection with last night's discomfortingly disturbed sleep pattern seems pretty obvious! Expressing my dis-ease in words, in some way, alleviates its claustrophobic grip

Testing The Limits

Sometimes the stamina, or at least a small portion of it, seems to have returned along with a lurking fear that it's only a mirage. At first one treats it with caution, only too well aware of the consequence of any over exertion but, one is always tempted to test the limits. I've already suffered a moderate setback, in terms of feeling discomfortedly knocked out (rather more dis-eased than my familiar norm) on Thursday as a result of attending the meeting on Tuesday, even though the actual attendance there proved a great morale booster.

Wednesday found my beloved back at the dentist, her earlier trials and tribulations not yet at an end.

After Thursday mornings painfully aching shatteredness, a fresh influx of stamina seemed to come my way by Friday afternoon and, I actually managed to transfer some of the compost from the bottom of our (compost) bin across to one of the garden borders. The garden always seems to reward us well, in terms of floral display; a disproportionate gratitude for our puny endeavours.



Thursday and Friday both saw an abundance of avian visitors to our garden, nothing new, but a fair cross selection of our familiar visitors, goldfinches, blue tits, dunnocks, sparrows, blackbirds, robin, wood pigeon, collared doves, chaffinch etc but then, today saw only a very sparse sprinkling of any variety. Until this evening I'd forgotten all about the Big Garden Birdwatch so, I'll have to set an hour aside tomorrow, regardless of how representative it turns out to be!

Much Ado about Something

I still wait, in vain, for a stamina infusion but, I'm simultaneously resigned to such a miracle witholding its appearance. At least I managed to attend the Labour Party branch AGM last evening but, didn't have the physical or emotional reserves to hang around for the potentially more interesting ordinary meeting which followed it. It was good to meet some of the other party members and, get a feel for the prevalent mood and spectrum of its activists.



Although physically fairly shattered from this outing, the mental stimulus prevented me from getting a truly restful nights sleep. Actually, having just made that remark, I have to acknowledge that 'refreshing' sleep is, in my case, honoured more by its absence.


My beloved had an appointment with her dentist this morning, to have the majorly offending tooth extracted but, once more the visit took a disproportionate toll. On this occasion part of the problem was that the gum beneath the extracted tooth was still infected, despite the best efforts of a double course of antibiotics and, her dentist was left wondering why the maxillo-facial / dental consultant she saw at the hospital hadn't done more!

Where I Stand

 Last night brought me a better amount of sleep, retiring at 9.30pm and emerging at around 10.30am this morning (with one or two earlier intermittent  interludes of "wakefulness") but, my whole psychosomatic being still feels rather unrefreshed. I've just recently popped out into the garden to replenish the bird feeders and, subsequently witnessed a modest increase in the number of avian visitors to our estate! 

 

As I don't seem to have sufficient emotional stamina, at present, to do a proper post, I thought I'd share a comment I left last evening on one of the blog sites (The Socialist Way) that I frequently visit, as I think it reasonably summarizes where I stand politically.

 

 

Malcolm said...

It's a truism that Parliament will never be the means by which socialism, or any kind of equitable society, can be established - indeed the whole capitalist apparatus is antipathetic to fairness. This purportedly democratic system seems destined to control us, via the dictatorship of business and media moguls, as well as the armed and police forces, for a considerable time yet. Having said that, I did rejoin the Labour Party last year, not under an illusion that they will bring about any kind of anti-capitalist change but, in the vain hope that they may be restored to a party prepared to proclaim the aims of clause 4 part 4, and move (albeit only marginally) towards its enactment. One can but dream! What I've always found even more upsetting than the Labour Party's betrayal of the very people who established the original Labour Representation Committee, is the constant factional bickering between cadres of sundry revolutionary socialist groupings. (I have to admit that I wasted a fair amount of my younger years inadvertently entangled in the resulting schismatics).

 

19 January 2011 21:04

In A Spin

These sudden plunges still prove alarming, no matter how many times one experiences them; it's almost as if I could feel the colour draining from my face. In  an instant an overwhelming maelstrom of gut churning, muscle spasming, head spinning, washed-out giddiness, yields a fearful disorienting discomfort. A pulse racing, nauseating, vertigo veils every semblance of familiarity from one's immediate environment.

Perhaps, this time, it's a belated response to last night's extreme restlessness which was accompanied by randomised stabbing pains in the lower abdomen. My beloved arranged a GP appointment for me this morning; I was about due for a review, in any case, to check whether my current increased ppi dosage was proving beneficial. Today I saw a different doctor from the practice and, she has decided to try me on a different ppi, and has set up a further appointment for three weeks time to check on progress etc.

At the moment, my gastro-oesophageal problems seem to be in competition with other muscular aches, pains and spasms, in an attempt to grab my full attention.

EMERGING

EMERGING

and this morning

still abed  

my legs

are mercury laden

knitted lead

the arms

folded or stretched  

scream out

for postures new

Malcolm Evison

15/01/11

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!

________________________________________

* 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

A Paucity of Postings

Not only a total lack of stamina, but also the distracting neuropathic pain, seem to conspire against my frequent intention to prepare a further instalment of my weblog. The more severe bouts of gastric reflux have been kept at bay by my current (twice-a-day) lansoprazole regime; I only wish the naggingly persistent elements and the more intermittent sharply focussed lightning bolts of pain, traversing the spine to ankle pathway, could be equally calmed! Regular dosages of tramadol and an evening dose of amitryptiline do alleviate a little of the dis-ease and, for that I am grateful.

The recent cold spell has proved totally antipathetic to my more generalized neuropathy; the combination of chilling winds and icy conditions underfoot ensured that I daren't venture outside of the house for several days. The lack of exercise, whilst eliminating any risk of post-exertional malaise, does little to improve ones already depleted energy reserves.

The risk of wallowing in self-pity has been countered by my enthusiasm and pride at following the newly found wave of activism amongst students. Although I am unable to attend these demonstrations against the cuts, tuition fees, and tax dodgers, I am certainly with them in spirit! 

we are such sleep as dreams permit us to acknowledge

I know that I've been sleeping, or at least suspect that to be the case, when I suddenly escape from a vivid (albeit naturalistic) dream. No matter the quality of the dream, be it blissfully arcadian or nightmarish chase, there's always something reassuring about waking up. I must admit that there was a time, in childhood, when waking brought little release from the more nightmarish of dream episodes; I required excessive amounts of reassurance to escape it's fevered shadow. These days, my dreams are usually of a somewhat more gentle nature and, in the dream, I generally possess levels of both physical and emotional stamina that I dare hardly dream of these days.

There are many times when, having finally managed to remove myself from the duvet lair, I belatedly enter the new day in full convincement that not even a wink of sleep has come my way; such is the painfully shattered sense of exhaustion that greets my emergence.Once exhaustedly abed, sundry neuropathic aches and pains do their darnedest to ensure that I cannot sustain any comfortable position for sufficient time to catch even a catnap; surprisingly the (apparent) evidence of my dreams suggests otherwise!

when minor exertion becomes major expedition

The irritation continues; a constant nagging pain in knee, calf and ankle, occasionally lightning bolting its way, in full spasming flow, to hip and lumbar region, is a most unwelcome companion for whom familiarity has truly bred contempt. Sadly contempt does little, or nothing, to detract it from its constancy. A regular intake of tramadol curbs the discomfort's sharpest edge and, is currently supplemented with an evening dose of amitryptiline by way of neuropathic pain control and to help with sleep.

This morning, having trudged along to the local bakery to collect our wholemeal loaf, what would normally have been a ten minute exertion was transformed into a twenty-five minute torturous expedition. Conditions underfoot profferred no truce for bearers of herniated discs and temperamental sciatic nerves. In that short distance, areas of the pavement ranged through crisp firm snow, icy compressed snow and deep grit and salt induced slush. Every few yards I needed to halt and, supported by a stout walking stick, thrust back my shoulderblades in an effort to stretch and unlock the spines nagging lumbar region.

Since returning home, a sustained deep sharp nausea inducing bruised sensation has held my right lower limb in thrall for the past eight or nine hours, the pain being especially acute around the knee and ankle. 

Mind you, the garden under it's blanket of snow was nice to look at!

Thermostatic Quirks and Simple Pleasures

Quite when it happened, I don’t remember; all that I know is that for a number of recent years my body thermostat, though somewhat erratic, tended to play up in such a way that night-sweats, and even passive day-time cool room sitting sweats, have tended to dominate my life experience. The ambient temperature bore little, if any relationship, to my body heat and subsequent seepage of saline solution from pores all around my body, limbs and head.




It has come as something of a surprise, in more recent weeks, as the realization dawned that I’ve started feeling the “cold” to an apparently greater degree than others around me. It seems as if the thermostat has swung from one extreme to the other and, as a result, I no longer (if ever) have any realistic awareness of the ambient temperature. It’s actually quite a positive experience to be rid of the “night-sweats” but, not so the cold shudders experienced when sat in what I would have considered a comfortably heated environment. On the “up” side it suggests that I’m unlikely to suffer from hypothermia but, the “down” side is that we’re definitely going to be confronted with higher energy bills this fall and winter.




Is it possible that this thermostatic change could relate to my having doubled up on my ppi intake; could a reduction in the production of stomach acids serve to reduce my perceived body temperature. Of course, this “cooling down” also coincides with my most recent sustained period of refraining from smoking but, in normal circumstances (with the supposed deleterious effect of smoking on ones circulatory system) one would have anticipated the opposite result.




I could so easily produce pointlessly circular arguments at this point so, a change of topic is called for. And the subject today is …. SIMPLE PLEASURES!




In fact, simple pleasures, in spite of my regular moans, are a dominant feature of my life; I feel truly blessed with an ability, at times, to simply be still and bask in the wonderful phenomena of breathing. I look out of the window and observe the goldfinches, blue, great and coal tits, dunnocks, collared doves, jackdaws, house sparrows, all successfully scavenging for food, both from our feeders and natures natural bounty. I frequently feel quite overawed by the sheer variety of life forms that have evolved on this amazing planet.




Of an evening, as my beloved works on her laptop, whether for service preparation or updating her weblog, sat opposite me in the living room, I find myself quite simply lost in adoration, contemplation, care and concern for her well-being. Just to see her smile, watch her sing along with ‘Songs Of Praise’, even animatedly reading whatever novel or short story currently engages her attention, I just want to reach out and hold her, hug and squeeze her!




These simple things, a source of warm glowing pleasure, simultaneously serve to reinforce a sense of responsibility to look after and protect that / those for which / whom one cares.

Of Pain Creators, Pain Pathways and Pain Killers

 
One almost has to admire the blatant way that the Tories, both blue and orange varieties, demonstrate their disdain for the poor and vulnerable in our society; if only we had a political party prepared to attack privilege, and the wealth stealers, with equal fervour. Problem is these thieves, curiously misnamed "wealth creators", are held in such high esteem by the Tory controlled meejah (which seems to set the agenda for all parties with serious parliamentary aspirations)!

Strange how they have so much respect for the people who'll go to any lengths to avoid paying their fair quota of taxes; surely their readiness to pay up would be a true demonstration of their patriotism. The poor have no choice, patriots or not, the PAYE system ensures that they pay their full whack and, if they have the misfortune to succumb to any illness, or be made redundant, find themselves treated as scroungers and/or criminals, by the meejah, for daring to claim the benefits to which they are entitled.

Rant over for now, indeed it wasn't intended - it just sort of spewed forth but, I'll stand by it. Don't know exactly what was intended when I opened 'notepad', just felt it was time to update my blog!

Apart from a familiar sense of shatteredness, last Friday's exertions seem to have taken their toll on my spine. I don't know if it's possible to re-herniate a disc, one which hadn't given too much gyp in recent months, but I've once again started to experience quite acute (transferred) pain, in fluctuating increments - from about 3 to 8 out of 10, through hip, thigh, knee and ankle of my right lower limb. It began on Friday evening with a sensation of the lumbar vertebrae locking up but, I can't say for sure when the transferred pain in the lower limb began; as a matter of daily routine, I experience painful spasms  emanating (apparently) from an area of the calf muscle immediately behind the tibia.An early morning fix of tramadol helps to control this but, more frequent doses of the same med are only minimally reducing the acutely stabbing pains that seem to travel on a neural pathway from hip to ankle.

Mal's Windswept Abode

Today's post, Gale Force Entrapment, a natural sequel to the previous days posting, can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Mal's Shivering

Today's posting entitled 'Cold Snap - Cold Trap', on a theme of domestic travails, can be found on MAL's MURMURINGS

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.

 

 

Mal murmurs again

I've just realized that a post, Respectable Crooks, that I've just put on my "Mal's Murmurings" blog could almost be considered a natural sequel to the closing lines of yesterday's 'Snakes and Ladders' posting.

Snakes and Ladders

Having spent some time on Saturday morning, ladder and beloved assisted, picking awkwardly out of reach Bramley apples from our tallest tree, I took advantage of the bright dry day to lop some of the more rampant growth from the top of the tree. This task required the use of both secateurs and long handled loppers as one side of the tree is in extremely close, and ladder prohibiting, proximity to sundry thorn bearing shrubs. The shrubs themselves are a valuable part of a wildlife friendly environment so, in spite of their being an obstacle to our apple harvesting / tree pruning activity, we have no intention of moving or aggressively restraining their reasonably free growth. Amazing the contortions that I put my, achingly unsupple, body through during these moments of endeavour.

It's only retrospectively that I realized, in spite of ma belle's (partially ignored) timely warnings, I may have over exerted myself in the process. By yesterday lunchtime, I found myself suffering from an irritatingly aching discomfort and muscle fatigue; a flare up of my familiar digestive disorders did little to relieve an overall sense of dis-ease. As a result, I was in bed by 8.45pm and didn't emerge from my intermittent slumbers until 11.00am this morning. My intention to watch a TV programme, whilst abed last evening, came to naught as my eyes, and other body components, were too achingly exhausted to fulfill the necessary function of concentration. I intermittently caught snatches of dialogue, from the broadcast, as ma belle watched the programme whilst I rested; I'm grateful that she taped the programme for me to catch up with this afternoon.

This morning, having finally released myself from the duvet's warmth, a rapid donning of daytime apparel followed and, I ventured out to the bakery, braving all that the elements cast my way. To my surprise, walking (albeit stick-aided) came easier than I'd anticipated and I hastily strode down to 'Open Church' for coffee, and a little conversation, before returning home via the bakery. Once again the tramadol capsules have performed wonderfully to ease the muscular aches and spasms in the lower limbs and, a bruisingly painful tenderness in both chest and abdomen has eased considerably since yesterday.

As I cope with my sundry petty ailments, my thoughts go out to all those chronically ill people who successive governments, ably abetted by the Tory press, insist on treating as scroungers!

Hot off the keyboard

 A rough draft of a new poem ConDem(natory) Cycle can be found on Mal's Factory.