Tubing Down the Gullet

The Weight of Anticipation

Anxiety is a weight. It sits on your chest and bears down regardless of whether you are lying down, sitting, or standing. Anxiety also signals that the issues of life, though measurable in the brain, are situated in the chest cavity where your heart and lungs reside.

For instance, when you feel confident, you are likely to beat your chest rather than slap your head. Slapping your head, it turns out, is an act of self-deprecation in recognition of one's silliness or foolishness. Anticipation can create anxiety, and nothing quite causes that feeling of foreboding like the hours just before a long-scheduled medical procedure.

Lessons from a Previous Encounter

With hindsight, two years ago, after a multiparametric MRI scan, the consultant sprang a biopsy of my prostate gland on me without first reviewing the results or explaining the reasons. Even so, I was quite well prepared for the encounter.

I asked questions, demanded answers, and only acquiesced to the procedure once I was convinced of the need. The importance of reading up on your medical situation is paramount.

A Portmanteau of Procedures

Tomorrow, I am going for an Oesophagogastroduodenoscopy. I could have sworn that is not a word, but welcome to the world of medical terms that suggest a portmanteau of activities. The word reminds me of German, where portmanteau words are joined up with the letter "S". I would suppose, with medical terms, it is the letter "O", much like when I had that inguinoscrotal abscess last month.

In summary: I am having an endoscopy that will reach down through my oesophagus, past the gastrointestinal junction, to the first and shortest section of my small intestine. I have not deigned to measure that in miles, but it feels like a long way down to places never before visited, rather like the first landing on the moon.

Why This Procedure Is Necessary

This is pursuant to an investigation that presaged my visit to A&E after a choking incident which impacted my ability to swallow anything, including fluids, for hours. I was eventually discharged about five hours into my hospital attendance, after managing a sandwich and a drink. Taken alongside a history of choking events going back decades, and three such incidents since that discharge, this procedure is necessary.

Herewith, the cause of my anxiety: without a chaperone, I can only elect for the most basic palliative, which would be a numbing spray to the back of the throat, rather than a sedative.

Finding Peace

I believe I shall be fine. I suppose it is just part of human nature to be slightly concerned at that kind of invasive activity, and it is not helped by a mind full of others recounting their own endoscopic odyssey.

Shalom! Peace to my mind, peace to my soul, peace to my thoughts, peace through it all.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Thought Picnic: When Support Becomes Self-Insertion

A Childhood Memory

It was July 1977. My father had lost his great-aunt, the wife of my great-grandmother's younger brother. From letters he and his great-uncle exchanged in the 1960s, I could see this man had been a highly respected mentor and confidante. The funeral would take place in our hometown, and we would all attend.

At the graveside, as the priest finished the oblations of dust to dust and ashes to ashes, we all proceeded to sprinkle earth on her coffin. At that moment, I became inconsolably distraught. I began bawling and weeping, overcome with grief. I literally became a distraction. Even as we left the graveside, people continued to console me.

One thing I noted about that day was that no one else, not even the grandchildren, put up such a performance. I was genuinely affected, but others might have wondered why I was weeping more than the directly bereaved.

Learning to Respond

Understanding how to respond to human misery is essential in ways that may not be easily understood. We often mistake our kind of engagement as sharing in the burden of others' misery when it is not.

This became quite apparent to me after my first encounter with cancer. Before that, I had neither the understanding nor the frame of reference to appreciate what people were going through. I could offer a sense of concern, perhaps a lot of sympathy, and possibly some empathy.

On occasion, I have inserted myself into another's misery by narrating my own tale of woe instead of listening to them and offering both comfort and succour.

Nowadays, my experience of cancer, its mental toll, pain, and other life issues makes me knowledgeable enough. Yet I would never suggest to someone in that situation that I know what they are going through, even when I understand their predicament based on what I have experienced.

Finding the Balance

Fundamentally, what is important is not being more affected than those who are truly affected, more distressed than those genuinely distressed, or becoming too ingrained in a situation to which we have no direct connection or relationship. We need to be aware of the degree of affinity, determined from intimate to acquaintance, and further to belonging, whether in a community or through some other sense of identification.

Then again, there is a place for activism on behalf of others. Causes with which we identify can benefit ourselves and others, addressing issues like disengaged officialdom, injustices, advocacy, and knowledge sharing, as I do when informing others about prostate cancer.

However, my prostate cancer awareness activity does not become one where I begin to bear the prostate cancer risk of others. That is not helpful to anyone, and that is the broader lesson: be conversant without becoming absorbed, be understanding without becoming overbearing, and beware of inserting yourself into an issue so completely that you become the issue through how you express yourself about matters for which you have deep feelings.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Bronson Battersby: A case of unneighbourly indifference

You live in a neighbourhood

Think about where you live and the people who live in proximity to you whether in passing or in full acknowledgement you know who they are.

Beyond those you can interact with in terms of communication, they might have children that you have noticed but are too young for your typical conversation, they might also have pets, a cat or a dog, but how would you know if you are not observant and probably curious?

Then, what constitutes your neighbourhood that you notice is out-of-place, unusual, or unexpected? A stranger you have never seen before prowling your street, a usually occupied house that seems deserted or new people have just moved in. Strange happenings that elicit that double-take and enough of that innate inquisitiveness just to assure yourself that things are the way they should be.

Beware of indifferent neighbours

That constitutes a sense of neighbourliness, a general awareness of your surroundings that is both for your safety and convenience as much as it is for your neighbours, an unwritten code of coexistence of everyone inadvertently watching out for everyone else.

What you cannot afford to be is self-centred indifferent that the inclination to be the brother’s keeper or the Good Samaritan is lost to not being bothered or concerned even when some gut feeling suggests you should exercise yourself to the stimuli of events that are not commonplace.

This is what hurts me most about the case of Bronson Battersby, a two-year-old toddler who was found beside his dead father having died of dehydration and starvation within earshot of at least someone for whom I cannot yet find the words to describe as they would be unprintable and still be an understatement. [ITV: Bronson Battersby: Neighbour 'pretty sure' she heard toddler crying days before death]

It just beggars belief

However, that is not the only failing, Bronson was under the care of social services but a lethargic lackadaisical attitude to his plight meant he was not discovered for another 7 days when a little more persistence and concern might have possibly discovered the child barely alive but with the prospect of survival.

Yet, it is the neighbour that attracts the greater wrath, in my view. The news story suggests this neighbour was ‘pretty sure’ she heard a toddler crying. Whether the quotes belong with the phrase is beside the point. If you heard a toddler crying and no doubt one in distress because there was no care for it, it had to have been for a prolonged period, perhaps a day or two, and not just in the daytime but in the nighttime too.

This indifference is evil

Nothing, it seems persuaded this neighbour to investigate and determine the source of this crying. She could not be bothered, it would soon stop, she must have thought, and it did eventually stop at the point where Bronson was totally exhausted, dehydrated, starved, weak, and unable to do anything more, he lay down beside his father who apparently had suffered a massive heart attack days before, and died.

In my heart of hearts, I pray we never have so totally indifferent people as neighbours because they are evil and lacking in any humanity. I have always made it a point of duty to be acquainted with my neighbours and to have at least one neighbour with whom I can share much more in neighbourliness, a set of keys, the occasional visit for tea or a meal and someone to just have general life conversations with. They matter.

Cultivate neighbourliness for your own safety

Neighbourliness is more than just living next door; it is knowing who is there and caring enough to check on them and know that they are okay. Especially as I live alone, the issue of neighbourliness is more acute, my neighbour would knock on my door if she has not seen me for days. When I had chest pains, the ambulance crew met me at my neighbour’s and from there I was taken to hospital, my neighbour sitting with me through the night in A&E for over 10 hours.

Elsewhere, when I was gravely ill in hospital, my neighbours attended to all issues and on returning home, did my shopping, some cooking, my laundry and every other thing I had no strength to do. When I was going away for weeks, my neighbour ensured my place was secure and looked after.

I have a relationship with my neighbour, you are brought together by circumstances you usually would not have predetermined, but you see the humanity in each other to build trust enough to know that you have their back as much as they have yours.

He need not have died

Bronson Battersby need not have died if he had good neighbours, he was crying and he was most definitely heard, it was his only means of communication, his desperate call for help, but he was ignored. However, I say, cultivate good neighbourliness and know that the people who live around you matter for both your safety and security.

Rest in peace, dear Bronson Battersby, you deserved better, much, much better.

Don't walk away from it

From a distance

One is hardly one to cut the sight of a knight in shining armour muscles hardly show nor to biceps present like Popeye after a can of spinach. My walk was much later than usual as I vegetated through the day indoors not bothering to take in the sun of the Bank Holiday Monday.

The lady was walking down a side road in a housing estate where one would expect her to be safe, but some male occupants of a car appeared to be harassing her. She was no shrinking Violet as she remonstrated loudly and refused to be cowed, that alone caught my attention that I stopped to see what was going on.

Check if unsure

The car then appeared to drive onto the pavement where she was that I decided to walk up towards the situation as the driver drove up to the junction as if to turn onto the main road, but then reversed as if they had not had their fill of intimidating the lady. This time, she threw something at them as I called out to see if she was alright.

Noticing me, she said I should take the registration of the car, in the heat of the moment when I should have taken a picture, I was not near enough and could only take a few alphanumerical characters before the car sped off. Obviously, not to distress her any more than she was, I from that distance, I checked that she was alright, to which she answered in the affirmative and I returned to my walk. I hope the men just go home rather than cause trouble for anyone else. 

The art of taking a hint

The cues are always clear

Taking a hint is probably something we get to learn over time and understanding the situations and people we are with. What we probably do not want to exhaust in not realising the best way to react, is the patience and the tolerance of the people we care for.

There are times people just want to be left alone to be consumed in their thoughts, they do not want to talk, they do not want to be pitied, and most importantly, in their vulnerability, that is not what they want to be told of even if that is the truth.

That is the hint, to step away, to give way and to give time; do not make assumptions or place encumbrances of time or place on the person, for the crossover from concern to infuriating is thinner than a gossamer film.

Don’t flood the ears

In other cases, silence is more considerate than trying to find words to express anything that might suggest that you know how the other feels when you are entirely clueless. We can all have the completely same circumstances to relate to and yet find out that how it affects others will never ever be the same. It is a common mistake to even offer the idea that you know how they feel, even if you had cancer compared to the discomfort of their headache.

Space is a premium, people need lots of it at certain times and when that space is asked for, do not wait to asked again, make way, and patiently wait to be invited back into that space that you probably know by right you occupy but have to let go of, just to help the other manage their turmoil better.

It is respectful too

I guess there are no lessons on taking the hint, but if for whatever reason it is not learnt well, more than a breakdown is in store. Everything you notice does not need to be voiced, backing off serves more than stepping completely in.

Stop talking, start listening, there is no need to affirm or reiterate anything, let your silence become a better counsel. In it, you inadvertently show respect for the other person and ultimately, it will be more than appreciated. It is probably what helps any kind of relationship work too before anyone is forced to walk out slamming the doors behind themselves.

Thought Picnic: These Foolish Things

The online memorial

Yesterday, as I am frequently reminded by Facebook and my email would have been the 72^nd birthday of a dear friend of mine who sadly died just before Christmas last year.

For the few friends who had a Facebook page before they died, I now find occasion to visit their pages on either their birthdays or the anniversary of their deaths to leave a bouquet of words of remembrance, of fondness and of that fact that I do miss their friendship and their presence in my life.

I remember John most fondly for being at the end of the line when I made those infrequent phone calls at times when I seemed to have a crisis of confidence in myself, my abilities or some purpose or goal I am trying to achieve.

A beacon in the dark

I could call on his wisdom and insight to give my clarity and direction, rarely by instruction, but by having me look into myself for the strength I have within or by counting my blessings, the blessings of the great and small victories I have had when I have pressed on with what I know to do.

He never once believed I was incapable of anything, must as he could be stern being once a schoolmaster, he was always encouraging, uplifting, advising, supporting and mentoring. He was a life-long teacher to whom I have referred many other friends who seem to have gotten something muddled up or confused in their lives.

He was generous with time, insight and resource to anyone who asked things of him without quibble and that is why he will always be sorely missed by those who knew him.

On some silly and serious things

I find that today I am bothered by many things, wondering what path to take, hoping to recreate that voice of John in my head to give me some guidance on how to project myself better, sell my skills better and even on the somewhat ordinary but significant issue of weight loss and body sculpting.

Even I wonder where all that came from, why I am getting into a situation where I am getting unhappy with how I look, where what my body is and what I want my body to look like is kilogrammes away from simply emptying my pocket?

You find yourself striving to gain some perspective before you begin to lose focus and along with the other things you have compartmentalised to avoid crowding out your sanity, you suddenly realise that it is the simple, silly and foolish things that remind you of who you miss and you smile at how different things might well be, even if they are not now.

These Foolish Things by Ella Fitzgerald.

Thought Picnic: Yet I Celebrate My Handicaps As Signposts Of Thankfulness

The heat of a seat

Vulnerability is what defined today for me, and this to a point that I risked self-pity before I dusted it off as life, and life just happens.

I just about boarded my train and found a comfortable space to seat when the announcement came that the train that had rolled into the platform was in fact not the train I wanted and that another was expected before this left the platform.

There was no need to rush but the crowd had gathered for the other train that the choice priority seats were taken by the able-bodied as is usually the case in London where they ignore clearly labelled seats before they ignore people who clearly need those seats.

At the next stop, people with bicycles got on, four in all, and as the third man tried to fit his bicycle in, you could see he was annoyed that I was sat where I was, completely oblivious of why I did sit there.

Unseen to the mean

Sadly, the pleasure of being picked up in the morning was lost to circumstances beyond my control that I had to queue up for the free bus ride to the office. When the bus arrived, the driver got off to tuck my luggage in the luggage compartment, and as luck would have it, the first seat was occupied by someone who felt the seat next to him was best used by his bag.

No, people with apparent mobility problems are somewhat invisible and thereby not catered for or responded to with consideration or dignity most of the time, so haltingly, I made my way to the back of the bus, where in my more able-bodied state, I would have offered my seat closer to the front to someone who was now how I appeared to get around.

Every excuse to refuse

At the reception, I had hoped the situation would get better but compelling security requirements meant that the receptionist just had every unhelpful excuse even after being informed that I use a cane, I almost waved my cane in remonstration, and my office was on the second floor up two flights of stairs.

Bottling up my emotion, I apologised for expecting any help and eventually lugged my stuff up to my office, and when I closed from work, I did that same again, with effort but maintaining my dignity.

Yet, when we were picked up for our induction session that morning, the leader raced off ahead and by the time I knew it, being the third out of the door, I ended up the last as I quipped, we are never noticed are we? The man ahead of me then considerately decided to take up the rear as we arrive in the conference room, much later than when everyone had settled down.

The day passed without the company of my colleague, but I met up with acquaintances for lunch as I occupied the day with going through documentation and installation until the day darkened.

A bright dot on a blind spot

Knowing I had to walk to the bed and breakfast inn, I left with little light to spare, but I was aware that the road to the inn could be enveloped in pitch black darkness.

I had to contact GoogleMaps to be sure of where to go only to realise that I had to cross a road at a point where cars travelling at speed came round two blind spots that it was more their lights I needed to be out of sight because I really cannot judge distance from me and the approaching speed of a vehicle to be able to cross a road safely.

That was a 10-minute wait, and it could have been longer as I reflected on the favours I have enjoyed and how I could easily find myself in a very vulnerable spot if the help I had before taken for granted was not forthcoming.

For to be seen by the keen

Nevertheless, whilst momentarily, one has scope for self-pity, one still needs to get on because the world just gets on with being the world with or without you.

It was made more palpable when during the induction we were shown a DVD on fire safety which featured a lady with crutches who needed help, but was obstructed by things that had fallen over in her pathway, it took a while for someone to have the presence of mind to help her.

It is important that one recognises what one can do, where there is a danger or the risk of such, know those who would be concerned for more than themselves to be aware of others and their surroundings to lend a hand when needed.

An attitude of gratitude

I can only feel for those who are less able than I am in settings where people are less considerate and in buildings that are not fitted for accessibility. We need to get on with our lives regardless, and these little indignities would hopefully take no greater significance in our lives than as fodder for a raconteur.

We would live as independently as we can, with patience, with determination, with deliberate effort and stoicism whilst being thankful for the thoughtful, the mindful and the helpful. Thank you for your Good Samaritan humanity.

Anyone got a couch?

You’ve heard it all before

It has become a refrain, the monotony of a shrill choral piece ringing in the air that the haunting sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the willow tree in the cemetery at the edge of town.

Strange beds and funny pillows, stranger faces with smiles that reshape the face but have no heart in them, a constant wandering like a nomad in the desert with no paths to follow, no known watering holes, stumbling upon oases big and small but the journey must continue due north to the place where hope becomes reality.

He has fought to live and struggled not to die, but each respite is just like the catching of breath in the swirling turbulent seas where the strength to swim and stay afloat is slowly ebbing away – he is desperately hoping for a rescue or waiting for the last time when the eyes close, the life he has lived swiftly flashes by for one last memory of the best times to depart as if fulfilled.

Please, help me

Thought Picnic: Traversing a wilderness to wonder

Estranged in stranger places

As the morrow comes, I will be seeing two strangers, people who I have never met before but will have enough knowledge about me to hopefully help and care, even though that appears to be what they get paid to do.

However, there is more to it than getting paid to do a job, the sense of sympathy, probably empathy and dare I say compassion comes from the inner recesses of our humanity, it is not what determines remuneration but it can endear the person to whoever they interact with and that is a good thing.

A difference in manner

Even though I did receive a very professional service when I sought help in Wales, there was something quite impersonal about our engagements, the meetings were not properly broken up and even though I received all I asked for, I was left with a sense of uneasiness that I just determined to endure because I could not change the circumstances.

Compared to when I used services in the Netherlands, my consultant who basically is a world-renowned authority in his field, exuded a very comforting bedside manner that always left you at ease, the decisions completely involved me to the extent that I was given choices, information and references.

It’s my body, first

Beyond that, where I was uncomfortable with a course of action, the situation was reviewed for the most convenient accommodation on my side; it determined the number of chemotherapy sessions I eventually had and it countermanded the demand for a neurosurgeon to perform a lumbar puncture I was not convinced was necessary.

I am no medical expert, but there is one inalienable truth, it is my body first before it is a specimen for medical analysis and that was quite well understood, appreciated and respected by everyone I dealt with in the Netherlands.

Let’s see what’s up

Now in the UK, upon meeting these strangers, I will have to determine what comfort levels I will have in allowing these experts to take over my medical care to the extent that they can provide medical, emotional, psychological and sociological succour in the ordinary times and at the less than salubrious times.

I am open-minded though a bit apprehensive going into these meetings, my bloods have told stories, my notes have painted a situation and all need urgent attention.

For the day after looms with wonder and wondering, where will I find to lay my head in peace? And after all that, will I be happy or will I be sad?

Thought Picnic: My laughter and my pain

Laughing through the pain

It was a Sunday evening as I relaxed I realised I was in serious pain, much more painful than usual. I was on pain medication, an analgesic, an opioid and then a Fentanyl patch that was supposed to stick to my skin for at least 72 hours but sometime around the 30-hour mark, it had fallen off and with it came the excruciating pain of cancer that had no description than the fact that it took all comfort away and presented agony with no respite.

The only reaction I could have to this discovery was to apply a new patch and I later learnt I could use an adhesive tape to keep the patch secure.

However, for immediate relief, I began to laugh, deliberately and forcefully until it was like I was delirious, there, my friend thought I had lost it, but the laughter for all that was known about its therapeutic qualities was releasing endorphins that allowed a modicum of pain relief, for me it worked, but I was laughing through the pain.

Laughing off the pain

Then more recently, as I was chatting to a good friend about my circumstances, changes that meant I had no home with little resources and my general means running out along with attendant concerns for the immediate future that included the knowledge that making ends meet will be difficult since my contract had ended, I was sanguine.

I chuckled in expectation and even laughed in hope but my friend sensed that I was laughing off the pain, no so much of insincerity but for the absence of the kind of emotion that expresses depression or dejection, things were not as right as they ought to be though sometimes I wonder what is ought and what is not – I am stretched in what I can believe and yet I believe in the midst of apparent and real lack.

The memory of loss dogs me as the hope for gain urges me on, I am able if I find opportunity but like I noted in a blog I wrote in April, titled Hard Times, my choices have become limited, as are my options and the ability to make bold decisions, there is a constraint that accompanies lack that imprisons you in circumstances that only your mind can dare to free you from and maybe good fortune can provide amazing escape from but until then, the day is long, tomorrow never comes and the laughter is one of deep pain.

Thought Picnic: My mind is made up

Avoiding impending danger

The need to grab myself at the scruff of the neck and determine that circumstances will not become the determining force of decisions I end up making to the detriment of my welfare and well-being is paramount.

It has been a long week of events that have left me determined not to be ruled by the expediency of an offer that places me in the bowels of an organisation that is suffering rapid reputational decline and the flight of loyalty.

Large as that enterprise might be the events of the last week where their main readership product was abruptly withdrawn to stem the tide of opprobrium and righteous indignation means that those who were last in have every likelihood to be the first out and those who have not even started need to check their options and prospects before boarding the Titanic after it kissed the iceberg.

Digging in at home

The Netherlands has a greater draw for me than I realise after 11 years of making home and life here, my health is of the utmost importance and I find that the interaction, engagement, empathy and listening makes for helping the recovery process include a good deal of your involvement.

The prospect the UK offers if not all that great, it can meet the immediate issues for recurrent outgoings but cannot mend the breach that has been created by only having had an effective 8 months of employment out of 26 months – all a result of a long bout of illness and the economic situation.

The strain the prospects for this new job puts on oneself is unhealthy, with not relocation assistance one cannot afford to maintain an existence in two countries and really one cannot close down the existence in the current one in a matter of just 2 weeks.

My red lines and no further

The background checks have gone beyond reasonable requests for information to unpalatable intrusions as detail bank accounts and medical prescriptions it has become the classic case of the worship of cows for the providence of a juicy steak – those are my red lines, they will not be negotiated.

It however gave me the confidence to send a final letter of appeal to my old professional network for which I got a few encouraging responses as well as messages of regret that I might depart the Netherlands for an uncertain and uncomfortable return to where I felt I had given the complete heave-ho.

The visit to my medical consultant was quite favourable and that was followed by my first therapy session where the doctor assured me that I was in no way depressed, only anxious and in need of the opportunity to use professional services to help resolve the knotty areas of confusion, uncertainty, indecision and direction.

Ready for good times again

There are prospects for new opportunities and at least one interview for which I must be prepared to show that I know my stuff and can be very useful.

I suppose my mind is more or less made up and that is thanks to friends who gave me hours of listening ears and very useful advice, my future is here and all I can wish, hope and pray for is for the rains to come to water the seeds and make the times of famine a thing of the past and eventually a quite distant memory.

I could hear myself saying – O God! Help me and I smile as my state of mind changes to accommodate the dawning of a different and worthwhile outlook.