remembering Maggie - her legacy lingers on - poetry

 

ConDem Nation

 

 

 

First we eliminate

all job security -

ensure

 

all contracts

can be terminated

on a whim.

 

 

Knowing

that work makes free

we guarantee

 

the long term unemployed

will do these jobs

unpaid

 

 

 

Malcolm Evison

7 November 2010

 

 

 

MAMMON

(creator of social divisiveness)

 

 

Behold the god of lies

taker of lives

maker and breaker

 

of dreams -

creator god

who captivates

 

the mind -

spins webs

of treachery

 

replaces hope

with greed

installs himself

 

in all the highest places

proudly proclaims

there is no god but me

 

and we

fall for the party line.

 

 

 

 

Malcolm Evison

2 May 2010

 

 

 

  DOLEFUL BLUES

  (Just One Of Maggie’s Victims)

 

 

He seeks and fails to find

the semblance of

his once bright hope.

 

The family sleeps, he lies

awake, perhaps

a few untruths could make

 

an honest man of him.

Purveyor of unwanted skills,

he sifts through all

 

the cut-price vacancies –

prepares to swallow principle

as well as pride.

 

 

  Malcolm Evison

  14 July 1987

... and the usual suspects

Things seemed much brighter, as I benefitted from the cumulative effect of two acupuncture sessions in relatively close proximity, but these gains in terms of stamina level and lower levels of pain weren’t destined to endure.

 

 A bout of toothache, responding to touch and vibration of a toothbrush but not to either heat or cold, quickly faded only to return a couple of weeks later. The return was certainly with a vengeance as the ache extended through my jaw right up to the chin. An emergency appointment with the dentist led to one extraction and a course of antibiotics for a deep rooted infection. Whereas at one time I would have taken these things in my stride the effect has not been to dissimilar to that of a ‘Mickey Finn’.

 

So, Friday afternoon found me in the dentist chair and Wednesday saw me take the final dose of amoxicillin. On Tuesday morning I had to emerge from the duvet lair long before my usual hour of bravely facing the (fairly) new day; my appointment had finally come around at the Dermatology and Lesions clinic. The clinician confirmed the basal cell carcinoma on my chest and suspects that the lesion on my leg is Bowens so, within the next few weeks I’ll be having the bcc excised and a biopsy taken of the suspected Bowens.

 

All in all, these events have left me feeling a little more shattered than is my norm but, at least I’ve been able to enjoy a few rare glimpses of sunshine in the garden as I watch the birds devour whatever treats we’ve placed at the sundry feeding stations.     

from the frontline

Sometimes it’s difficult, if not impossible, to describe the exhausting ache of self-questioning, veering towards a sense of guilt for being ill and hence, a burden or embarrassment to those who you really care about. I must be honest that even this preludium to a post doesn’t really express the underlying frustration that prompts it; at root, the knowledge that even the best of days carries a stamina rating of perhaps 20 - 30% of my pre-illness norm.

 

What I was really wanting to say is that the relative paucity of postings, arising from a desire to communicate (with and for whom I know not), bears little distinct correlation to my present levels of pain, discomfort, joy or plain normality. There are times when I wish to write but simply lack the necessary energy to place the written words in any meaningful order; at other times I am positively glowing with the enjoyment of spending time with my beloved, excited by the variety of avian visitors to our sundry garden feeding stations, or even the refreshing joy of a brief brisk venture out into the bracing air, can fill me with such glorious images which, were I to write them down, would sound like an overblown description of some utopian paradise.

 

An evening cocktail of tramadol and amitriptylene tends to curb the night pains, even though sleep is invariably of a restlessly intermittent unrefreshing variety. In the morning I continue to take a low dose of sertraline which seems to control the reactive depression which this disease can so frequently carry in it’s wake. Currently I am also taking mebeverine (3 x daily) and lansoprazole (2 x daily) in an attempt to ease my IBS and gastro-oesophageal reflux problems.

 

I am extremely fortunate to experience a fair number of days where pains and muscular spasms are quite simply a faint background hum, futilely struggling against my enjoyment of the day. Unfortunately, at night, as my body strives for rest the fitful pattern of sleep leaves one more vulnerable to these pernicious nauseating pains and spasms.

 

This afternoon, my far too familiar nausea-inducing nagging pains, emanating from the armpit and apparently gnawing through bone and muscle down through biceps to wrist, vengefully returned. A combination of painkillers and splint type wrist supports eventually alleviated this as I rested on the sofa. And so I come to post this, in the hope that at least some of my words convey their intended meaning.

 

Communique ends.

Easter Greeting

utilized day but what a night

And yesterday I was gifted with a little extra stamina and, I also felt capable of correctly pacing my utilisation of this resource.  Took advantage of this little power surge to top-up and refill the sundry avian feeding stations in our garden; meal worms, sunflower hearts, black sunflower seeds, suet treats etc. most of which swiftly attracted a miscellany of birds ranging from starlings, blackbirds, finches, blue, coal and great tits, collared doves and the odd wood pigeon were all ready for some superior dining experience. I swiftly realised that all the birds’ watering stations needed de-icing so heated up some water.

Already my halo was shining and, I felt totally in control of my physical stamina resource. Mid-afternoon was time to sort out the main aquarium, changing 30 litres (out of the tanks 180litres) and changing nitrate removal filter and a couple of others. Proud of my achievement I relaxed a little before par-boiling a few potatoes, ready for roasting alongside the already simmering casserole which I’d prepared on Sunday.

That’s when the tiredness hit but, fortunately, not uncomfortably so. Come bedtime, I started to feel that I was being punished for the day’s moderate exertions. Perhaps I’m not handling my pacing all that well. Tenderness of the glands under my chin and in the armpits seemed to be sufficiently calmed by a fairly light dose of painkillers but, obviously I’d been deceived again!

Having joined my beloved au lit, decided to watch a diverting little sitcom on TV before snuggling down.  Within about ten minutes of attempting to settle down, the peripatetic clog dancers decided my lower limbs were an ideal place to practice. The duvet felt as if it was scrubbing the skin off my toes as a nausea inducing bruised aching feeling ambled from calf to thigh and back again. Whatever angle I positioned my legs bent or straight, stretched over the end of the bed, hung out over the bed side, the disconcerting ache continued. At one stage I half fell from the bed, my right calf resting on the rug whilst my left lower limb remained in bed, a real groin stretching experience. I can assure you that this posture wasn’t the result of any voluntary action.

Next thing, the old familiar nauseating aches in both arms began to do their darnedest; applying wrist support splints initially seemed to make little difference. I found myself unwittingly whispering, and occasionally screaming, profanities against the Gethsemane night, alongside whimpering like a lonely puppy. Many hours later I started to enjoy a little post-dawn sleep.

Reluctantly, I emerged from the duvet lair, and returned morning greetings to the bright shiny sun!

TRYING TIMES

And suddenly I’m swamped, drowning in the muddy wastes of isolation. It’s not that I’m alone, nor am I not loved; the problem is the endless nagging of sundry aches and pains, the loss of contact with those I once considered friends as if it’s some kind of punishment for being exhaustingly unwell. Where once I was a social and political activist of a somewhat gregarious disposition, attending clubs, concerts, theatre, cinema, I’m now trying hard (although it often comes quite naturally) to be content with a lifestyle where all my entertainment has to be served at home, and campaigning becomes virtual via the internet.

I must admit to the blessings of TV, radio, CDs and mp3s but, they never fully compensate for the more participative experience of actually being present in the theatre, cinema, concert hall or jazz club. For much of the past ten years I’ve had neither sufficient stamina or confidence to think of attending / coping with the duration of a church service, although previously a regular attendee and house-group leader, especially if there’s a reasonably large congregation.

Much of the time I manage to accept these health imposed limitations without too much grieving, at others – such as today, a sense of frustration and despondency verges on despair. Perhaps the frustration really began when I didn’t feel really up to dining out with my beloved and her daughters; a sense of guilt swiftly ensued as I felt, albeit needlessly, that I was being anti-social. At times like this, I start to feel that I’m a burden on my beloved OH and family, although they reassure me that I’m not!

As I write my own report card the familiar words, “must try harder”, take on a marked significance. It’s so easy to be trying, even when it’s difficult to try.

sunshine and celebration

Sometimes it seems as if the day is almost over before I even get started. In one way this is good, it’s generally a sign that I’m appreciating each waking moment, so much so that it’s sometimes a real struggle to stop myself resenting the earth’s rapid orbit.  Recently we’ve been sighting a bright glowing orb in the sky, bringing a little warmth and elevating one’s spirit; after weeks of dull wet days the sunshine has proved most welcome.

As my beloved took a few days off work, around the time of our wedding anniversary, time seems to pass even more sweetly as we enjoy each other’s company. Visits to Café Culture, for a cuppa and cakes, and Al Bivio Ristorante helped heighten the sense of celebration. We also paid a visit to the garden centre at Otley where I acquired a new bird feeding station for the garden, finally using the vouchers that I’d received for my birthday last June; although the centre is less than ten miles away this was the first time I’d really felt up to spending a little time there browsing around. I especially enjoyed looking at the reptiles in the centre’s pet shop.

Meantime, I’ve acquired 5 more golden and 5 white cloud minnows which, having first spent ten days in my quarantine tank,  have now been added to the Main aquarium.  It’s really quite strange that, having introduced my beloved OH to blogging. I have to check out Helen’s blog to see what I’ve been up to!

On Wednesday I had an appointment with my GP, a lesion on my leg, which I’d been attempting to alleviate with a 1% hydrocortisone preparation, wasn’t showing any improvement (quite the opposite in fact) so I was going to see the doctor who specialized more in skin disorders. He was quite baffled by this particular sore spot, it was quite unlike anything he was familiar with, definitely not discoid eczema or Bowens etc;  so he prescribed a potent topical corticosteroid (Mometasone Furoate) which I’ve to apply once a day for a fortnight. He also checked a small occasionally weeping lesion on my chest which he says is a basal cell carcinoma and has duly referred me to the District Hospital. [I’ve had previous experience of having a bcc excised – see ‘Sunshine and Blanket Stitch’] If the ointment applied to my leg hasn’t healed the lesion he suggests I also have the specialist look at that when I have my appointment for the bcc!

Another positive outcome of the visit was to confirm that the recent X-Ray of my hips, following a quite prolonged period of chronic pain, apparently emanating from the right hip, showed no abnormality on the right hand side but, it did show that I had arthiritis on the left-hand side. Fortunately, after copious doses of tramadol & co-codamol the pain had eventually abated!

I received a further acupuncture treatment on Thursday and, I’m no longer averse to expecting resultant miracles. Life goes on and I’m determined to enjoy it – if only I could discover some refreshing sleep all manner of things would be well!   

for this ordinary day ...

What a relief; today I feel much more my usual “better-day” self! Yesterday was the kind of day one always hopes to avoid; from waking-up, after a familiarly intermittent non-refreshing pattern of sleep, and throughout the whole day and evening I felt numbingly exhausted, despite the fact that the excruciating pains in my hip and left limb were quite markedly in abeyance.

 

Last night, as I [un]settled down to sleep, that once far too familiar painfully hollow sharp bruised ache in my left arm took over. Having already taken painkillers, I duly applied a wrist splint which seems [occasionally] to alleviate the nauseating discomfort. A nausea inducing dull tenderness in the armpits soon became apparent; I had to remove my [not at all tight fitting] pyjama jacket which began to feel as if it was constricting armpits, upper arms and shoulders.  

 

The minor setback followed eight days in which I had felt the brightest I could remember for a considerable time. Concentration, alertness and general sense of wellbeing were on a, far too rare, high consequent upon the acupuncture treatment received on 31 January.

 

I feel really blessed in having visits from a physiotherapist, trained in both Eastern and Western models of acupuncture, who has considerable experience / understanding of ME [Myalgic Encephalomyelitis] both as a practitioner and a fellow sufferer. Being enthusiastically athletic, it must have come as quite a blow when she succumbed to this wretched neurological condition. Working as a physiotherapist, she had noticed the detrimental effect that exercise was having on some of her clients; at the time I doubt whether there was any inkling that this could become part of her own experience.

 

Today has been a wonderfully relaxed time in the company of my beloved, exchanging sweet nothings, and catching up with some recorded TV programmes. For this ordinary day – I give thanks.

Reposted on Mal's Factory

The Leicester car park skeleton having been positively identified as that of Richard III, the last Plantagenet king,

I deemed it appropriate to repost the poem

'Mission Betrayed' [Redemore 22 August 1485],

on 'Mal's Factory'

and I'm feeling fine ... ailments excepted

Oh, the sheer delight of a nice warm shower; there are so many things we tend to take for granted, thus depriving oneself of that real appreciative thrill. I admit to having gone through quite a long period of avoiding too frequent a shower, having found the effort involved far too enervating; by the time I’d towelled myself dry I needed a further bout of bed rest.

The acquisition and installation of a secure shower seat alleviated some of the more dauntingly exhausting aspects but, even then, when I stand up my sense of balance (within those steamy environs) is insufficient for me to feel at all secure. Fortunately, my beloved OH is there to proffer assistance at my now more usual, although spasmodic, evening shower time.

******

Anyway, last evening’s shower proved especially beneficial; a most recently acquired acute pain extending from the neck and upper spine across the shoulder blade had made it difficult to even put on my shirt as I rose from my bed. My beloved applied generous amounts of ibuprofen gel all around the affected area. An attempt to lay back down proved even more painful so I persevered with getting dressed as, in any case, ma belle chauffeuse (aka Helen, ma belle, my OH, my wife, my lover, my bestest friend) was preparing to take me to the hospital for an X-ray and blood tests. The shower certainly alleviated the shoulder pain, even though it rarely seems to help sundry other painful ailments.

It seemed strange hobbling into the X-ray room posture made awkward with the shoulder pain, as the area to be photographed was my hip! What’s the connection, you may well wonder; so I proffer an hypothesis. On Tuesday evening, the night before last, ma belle et moi ventured out to the branch labour party meeting at the Catholic club. The meeting was due to start at 7.30 and, we duly arrived in good time on a blustery rainy evening. Unfortunately the doors of the venue were not due to be opened until 7.30 so we had a little time spent exposed to the elements. By the time we’d got in and sat down, my hip and lower limbs felt extremely uncomfortable, so I had to keep shuffling around to try to get comfortable; I suspect the changing postures involved, in  these hip-pain alleviating manoeuvres, were responsible for unusual stresses on the shoulder.

******

This afternoon the physio arrived chez nous to apply the magic needles. As I relaxed a beautiful warm glow seemed to permeate my limbs, after which I experienced a wonderful carefree rest in my favourite supportive high back armchair. Over recent years acupuncture has proved a great source of pain reduction and stamina boosting for me, a convinced sceptic until I tried it!  

And, I’m feeling fine!

ailing and rejoicing

It seems really strange how quickly the days, weeks, months and even years, scurry by! I often think of how little I manage to do each day, and yet, time still manages to pass almost too quickly for comfort. Even on days where my sundry ailments are crying havoc, and I wish the pain and discomfort would quickly pass, I can never wish the day to end as I look forward to my OH’s return from work. I wish the ailments would disappear but not the day.

 I appreciate every moment of my existence, the piscine activity in aquarium and pond, the birds visiting our garden but, most importantly,  the more time I can spend with my beloved the better; each moment of life is to be savoured and I give thanks that I still have the ability to appreciate it.

As I write I’m sitting in comfort at the fireside, listening to Berlioz’s Overture to King Lear (courtesy of Radio 3) and, casting an eye over the garden; I never thought multi-tasking was something I could manage! My furthest ventures out in recent weeks have been to the local shops and, on one occasion, the extra few minutes trudge to see my doctor.

Even after 8½ years, since succumbing to this illness, I still find it difficult to accept that I can no longer take a “proper” walk! I can at least manage many things better than was the case in the not too distant past. As long as I remember to PACE myself, take appropriate medication, and feel and express gratitude for all life’s blessings (including the ministrations of my physiotherapist – herself a PwME – as she applies the acupuncture needles ), I do experience reasonably long periods when many of the symptoms appear to have gone into remission.

I am currently battling (unsuccessfully for the past six to eight weeks) with acute, although spasmodic, pains in the hip and left lower limb joints and muscles. Externally applied Ibuprofen gel had barely any effect. A thorough examination by my GP, who I saw once these symptoms started interfering further with an already erratic pattern of unrefreshing sleep, left me feeling rather more bruised and battered. He prescribed 2 x Co-codamol 15/500 to be taken (in alternate doses) with my usual 2 x 50ml tramadol and the usual pre-bedtime amitriptyline.

 So far the results are not at all promising but, tomorrow I’ll be going to the District Hospital for a hip X-Ray and blood tests, and the possibility of a further scan.

Although I initially thought it may just be a bout of sciatica, rather than a recurrence of my herniated disc problem, I’m no longer prepared to self-diagnose.

As I continue writing the Red Kite has entered my field of vision, circling just beyond our garden boundary. I’m quite surprised to see it today as conditions are wet and blustery. At lower level, blue tits, coal tits, and a robin have been visiting our feeders.

This evening, emotional and physical stamina permitting, I’m hoping to attend the AGM of our local Labour Party.

I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.

simple pleasures and a heartless regime

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Sleep Perchance ...

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

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

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

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

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

*********


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

it was thirty two years ago today - 8 December '80

This poem was an impromptu response to hearing the news:

        

IN MEMORIAM

 

They say imagine

no more humane songs

and this at Christmas –

 

the fir trees baubles

weighted many-fold

like lead. He finds

 

his final peace

through this destruction –

no longer shall he ache

 

for universal love.

Crushed like a beetle

closer to Colorado

 

than his scouser’s home.

 

Perhaps gun-toting Reagan

will sleep in peace, relieved

at another “pinko’s” demise.

 

             Malcolm Evison – 9 December 1980

Rare day

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

And that was my day … so far!

normality may be resumed ...

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

I really must count my blessings!

Poppy Day Dilemmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

***************************

 

This post originally appeared on 10 November 2010

of bugs and fishy business

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

A Breach of Composure

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Progress or Regress

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

 

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

 

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

 

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