gratitude

Day 364

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She is 30 years old and ready to start having babies. She notices a bit of pain in her tummy and is told by her gynaecologist that one of her ovaries is huge and needs to come out. She lands on my operating list this morning.

We discuss various pain relief options and come up with a plan. The operation goes really well. The tumour is the size of half a rugby ball and it’s out. However, afterwards her pain is unbearable! We try out this and that and the other. Wait and wait some more. She starts to get drowsy and sick and we need to do something more to help her cope. Watching someone in pain is distressing. Having discussed the ‘injection in the back’ (epidural) option in detail with her earlier, I now decide to go ahead with it after a quick chat with her.

3 hours have now passed.
It’s time to go home.

15 minutes after the procedure, she is sleeping peacefully. I gently whisper her name to see if she will respond. She half opens her eyes, looks at me, smiles and says, “Thank you! I feel so much better.”
I thank her.
Today I really needed to look after someone and make them feel better. Thank you!

In the past I have thought of myself as a very empathic person. Now I know that there is always scope for more.

Once again, it’s all about love.

“Nothing is lost forever. There is a kind of painful progress – longing for what’s left behind. And dreaming ahead.” – from the film ‘Still Alice’.

Day 362

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A couple of days ago I delivered a talk on ‘Psychosis’ to a group of friends interested in mental illnesses in the young. I didn’t spend much time in preparation although I did think deeply about it. On the day, I was surprised by the expressions that came out of my mouth. I was describing concepts that I had only ever visualized in my head. For instance, if we were to think of a physical equivalent of Psychosis, it would be as if someone was bleeding profusely. Their soul is bleeding. They are suffering great pain from a deep hidden wound. It felt as though I was saying things on behalf of my son, uttering the words that he could not, speaking authentically from experience.

When asked for feedback from the audience, there was silence for about 10 seconds after which someone said, “Mesmerising!” I was not bothered about the fact that I was ‘performing’ and was definitely not worried about what anyone thought. I just wanted to share my experience and understanding of psychosis so they could identify it when they saw it and know what to do about it.

Terry Pratchett has said, “Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom”.

It seems as though I am being remoulded by my experiences. It makes sense and feels natural to be doing these kinds of things. It is like being in a fresh new clearing in the forest.

Day 359

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A little boy and a little girl sang with me :

“Twinkle Twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.”

My crazy diamond! Isn’t it strange how everything I hear and see, speak and sing, smell and touch, has relevance to my love for him and the connection between us? My life is a string of memories of him and blessings to him. The kids now know as do I, that whenever they look up at the night sky, the brightest star they see, is he.

The mind shouts at me,” YOU let him down!”
Time after time. Again and again.
I listen.
Trying not to agree or disagree.
Just listen.
Not add or take away anything from it.
Just listen.
Do my damndest hard to ignore the bark of a mad dog.
Stand back from it.
Just watch it like sound waves coming off drum membranes.
Observe the noise without joining in.
No defence. No attack. No judgement. No advise.
With no desire to fix anything. Or change anything.
Just listen.
Wait for the noise to fade, giving in to compassion ….. for myself.
Not absolving or blaming myself.
Just being.
With what is.

Knowing this to be an opportunity to extend my love not just to one person but through him to the entire universe – the stars, the sea and the clouds.
That is what this is about.
It is certainly not about me. I just happen to be.
I am incidental. In this place.
I am nothing, yet my nature is vast!
I am just a hollow and empty space.
At this point in time. In the here and now.

Day 356

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The Infinite

This lonely hill was always dear to me
And this hedge too, that keeps so large a part
Of the ultimate horizon from my view.
But as I sit and gaze, interminable
Spaces beyond it come to mind, unearthly
Silences, and deep, deep quiet – and for
A little while my heart lets go of fear.
And as I listen to the wind storm through
These branches, I compare its voice to that
Infinite silence; and eternity
Comes to my mind, all the dead ages, all
That lives and is, and all its noise. In this
Immensity my thoughts drown, and it is
Sweet to me to be shipwrecked in this sea.

  • Giacomo Leopardi

Day 340

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As I watered the plants in the garden yesterday I noticed that nearly all the lovely flowers on the rose bush have turned into little brown bulbs and deadheads. On attempting to tie some of the branches together, it was obvious to me that all the thorns are still there.

It suddenly dawned on me that holes are already starting to appear in my memory. The roses are fading but the thorns are still very much present. I need to turn that around and keep the roses alive. The beauty and passion of the roses will hopefully keep the thorns in the background.

My son and I are foodies. He could never fathom how anyone could like avocados. They taste like paper, he thought. Similarly, almonds and walnuts in cakes and deserts annoyed him a lot. He thought they just tasted like ‘sticks’ and were highly avoidable in smooth and luscious desserts such as rice or semolina pudding.

Last evening a young girl on the underground train was chomping away at a granny-smith apple. She reminded me of him. He loved those. I always had them in the house when he was around.

We loved going out for meals. It was our way of spending time together, uninterrupted. We could have proper long conversations and a few heart to heart exchanges.

He was a light hearted young man who felt everything intensely. His frustrations and his triumphs. His melodies and rhythms. His love and his struggles to control, understand, analyse, frame and make sense of this crazy world.

He was my muscle boy. Especially proud of his triceps. He held his secrets close but sometimes a crooked smile with a twinkle in his eye gave it all away.

He enjoyed reading Kafka in German and Voltaire in French. And also owned a Holy Bible – a pink one.

He was sweet. My drummer boy.