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Day 721

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“Befriending has saved thousands of lives in Britain. My job now is to organise it all over the world, until suicide becomes unimportant as a cause of death.”
– Chad Varah, Founder of Samaritans.

He made his debut as a vicar by burying a 14 year old girl who’d killed herself when her periods started because she thought she had a sexually transmitted disease. That had a profound effect on him.

In 1953 he set up Samaritans. Ten years later there were 41 branches of Samaritans in the UK and Ireland. Just three years later there were 6,537 Samaritans volunteers based in 80 branches and calls to Samaritans have continued to go up every year. The number of branches is now at 202.

It all started in 1953. Chad strongly believed that those in crisis should have access to a number they could call at any time. He coped with callers with the help of his secretary for some weeks in November 1953 but then useless amateurs began offering to help. He bounced off the ones he didn’t like and graciously allowed the ones he found agreeable to run errands for him and keep the clients amused while waiting to be ushered in to his presence.

It soon became evident that they were doing the clients more good than he was. Everybody needed befriending, only a minority needed his counselling or referral to a psychiatrist. By 2nd February 1954 he called these amateurs together and said, “Over to you Samaritans. Never again shall I pick up the emergency phone, nor be the one to say ‘Come in and have a coffee’ when a client taps at the door. I shall select you and supervise you and discipline you and sack you if necessary, and see the clients who need something more than your befriending, and I shall make the decisions you are not competent to make. But you are the life-savers, and one day everyone will recognise what suicidal people need.”

Isn’t it a great pity that suicide had not yet become an ‘unimportant’ cause of death!
Sadly that day has not yet arrived when everyone recognises what suicidal people need.

Day 720

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Back in London, I notice the filthy water of the Thames, the inescapable stenches of various kinds emanating from nooks and corners on the streets, the stress of the daily commute and the demanding work environment. Patients demanding to be treated like ‘customers’ who are always right and managers trying to get results unachievable with the realities and limitations on ground. Me, finding myself stuck in the middle of the two. One patient, who was denied a separate room that she demanded for no valid reason said that this is the National Health Service but their ‘customer service’ is very poor.

Many nurses and doctors feel demotivated and exhausted by constant firefighting and not having the time to actually do the work they want to, taking care of patients. This leads to earlier burnout and sideways movement of highly trained staff away from frontline work to more lucrative and glossy management roles.

Stress is the biggest killer of modern times. One of the definitions of stress is, not living up to one’s own expectations. With fewer job prospects, growing number of ‘zero hour’ contracts, rising property prices, longer working hours and rising living costs, it is not surprising that young people find themselves not achieving as much as they are capable of.

The latest figures published by the Office for National Statistics highlight that young suicide in the UK is at its highest for the past 10 years. In 2015 1,659 young people under 35 years took their own lives; an increase of 103 more than in 2014 and 58 above the previous highest recorded figure (1,631 in 2011).

Suicide is the biggest killer of young people in the UK and tragically the figures continue to rise. It is a national crisis yet far from prominent on the government’s agenda.

 

Day 719

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Here, one bus goes every hour and that’s good enough.
There, 20 buses go in one hour and that’s not good enough.

Here, if a shop is closed, someone will tell you which door to knock on to get what you want even if they don’t speak your language.
There, no one knows and no one cares.

Here, the air is so clean, it feels like inhaling freshness right to the tips of my toes and fingers.
There, I breathe smoke and dust, less air.

Here the sun shines generously all day long.
There it is often hidden by strange expanding aircraft trails.

Here people walk and talk and laugh.
There they rush around, avoid contact of any kind and laugh only while interacting with an electronic gadget.

Here, time is in abundance.
There it’s gone before you know it.

Here, we can feast for 12 quid.
There it buys a modest take-away lunch.

Here is all about simplicity.
There is all about exclusivity.

Here is a poor, infamous, much maligned cousin of There.

After a few days here, we are on our way back there.
I am done with There.
I think I would like to live somewhere like here.

Day 718

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For 6 years I’ve been thinking about it. Fascinated with tribal, scripted and patterned decorative band-like tattoos on arms and forearms, I’ve got myself temporary ones whilst on holiday but haven’t had the guts to get a real one.

At work I am often amused to see big huge biker type, heavily tattooed men, claiming to be needle-phobic. One of them last week had his life story written all over him – kid’s and grand-kid’s names and dates of birth, many birds and butterflies, some pretty girls, hearts and crosses and even the football team he supports!

This morning I woke up with a resolve. Today is the day I get a tattoo on my left arm. The tiny city centre of Lagos has 3 or 4 tattoo parlours. I got a recommendation from the yoga instructor and went along to see John. He opens his shop from 3-7pm only. So cool! Initially I thought I would like a row of elephants going around the arm. That would be in line with Saagar’s elephant tattoos. When I really thought about it, I realised that all I wanted was ‘Saagar’. Although his soul is formless and nameless, he exists as Saagar, my beautiful son, in his and my earthly life. I love him and always will. So that’s what it was going to be.

Luckily I was the only customer in the shop and had John’s full attention. Luckily he asked me no questions about the set of letters. Very professional! We went through a range of fonts and patterns, sizes and shapes, colours and widths, styles and embellishments. It was a tough choice as I wanted something which brought together Hindi and English scripts, given he was a self-confessed ‘coconut’ (brown on the outside, white on the inside). Something really simple.

It was painful. Especially the first 10 minutes. In all it was three quarters of an hour of trying not to scrunch up my face with pain, of maintaining a slow, regular and rhythmic breathing pattern, allowing myself to be distracted by unfamiliar music playing in the shop and tapping my right foot to the beats while keeping my upper body absolutely still. Once or twice I was completely overwhelmed by the pain but managed to keep it together, just like when I was in labour.

It is simple and sweet.
He is always with me and always will be. Love you my darling!

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Day 717

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Sunday lunch at the start of autumn on a warm day of blue skies and a warm sun, sitting under a wise old carob tree with supported branches and multiple dried brown beans hanging from a wide umbrella of dark green leaves with friends and strangers making introductions followed by conversations, smiles and laughter, references to this and that, occupations, travels and hobbies, daughters and mothers, food and wine, so on and so forth …. as if straight out of a film set infused with a sweet subtle smell of eucalyptus.

All of it completely meaningless, empty, futile, feckless, inane and pointless. Words, words and more words! Exhausting! I had to get up and walk away with my i-pad and take pictures of something. Anything.

In 2 weeks time he will be dead. Around this time 2 years ago he was scoring max on his depression scores and he gave it in writing to his GP in the form of a PHQ-9 form but got no help. No escalation of care. No attention. No mention of ‘suicide’ to us and yet holding a firm belief that a safety plan was in place. Sent home with the suggestion, “It will get better. Give it time. Rome was not built in one day” and a piece of paper.

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It was early autumn then and it is early autumn now.
I lived in what I thought was our world then.
I live in a world of my own now. It sort of overlaps with this one in places but most of this one is irrelevant to me.

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