In my life, I love you more

You need to know this,
Much as it has been said before,
Lest your wandering thoughts go amiss,
It is you that I adore.

The way you make me feel,
No one has ever come this close,
Lest a jealous thing ever does appeal,
It is you that I chose.

Why must you ever fear?
Assuming so quick you were wrong,
Lest you said something quite so cavalier,
It is you that’s my song.

With you in my life,
Not ever have I felt happier,
Lest you think we are prone to strife,
It is you that I desire.

Love is the matter,
For long I had the thirst,
Lest I could love another better,
Just know you’re the best.

[]

In my life - Songwriters: John Lennon / Paul McCartney

But for the joy of being an antelope

Hours of waiting and waiting

In 5 weeks of events that was somewhat out of my control dictated by my apparent susceptibility to a water-borne infection, it started with my boyfriend noticing in a conversation that I was not particularly myself.

Against my protestations, he contacted my best friend and then a close friend in Manchester, between them, they decided I needed emergency hospital attention that led to an ambulance being called. We were assured the ambulance would arrive in 2 hours whilst the numbing discomfort like a tyre around my waist left me almost slipping into a kind of delirium without passing out.

Over 5 hours after the call for ambulance services, the medics arrived and after checking my vitals decided I was best attended to in a hospital. A GP had called me to assess my condition and her view was I probably needed to be in a hospital. At the hospital, I was immediately seen to and a cannula inserted to my arm. There was another almost 6-hour wait from a doctor could attend to me. I was up all night, arriving at 11:25PM until just before 6:00AM.

Not ill enough to be promptly seen

Sat in the waiting area, we watched the walking wounded arrive and because I seemed to be comfortable sitting down, my situation was not considered an emergency. A patient walked in spilling blood all over the floor and it took over 2 hours before the contract cleaner nonchalantly considered it important to clean up. He ignored the issue concentrating on other mundane things as if he was only going to clean the floor at a scheduled time, regardless of whether the blood on the floor constituted a health hazard.

On seeing the doctor, I was admitted and placed in an assessment room where I was given broad spectrum antibiotics and electrolytes, the prognosis at the time was for a few days of treatment as an in-patient.

Discharged with pills

During my 8-hour admission, I found myself recounting my condition to a doctor, a medical student, and a consultant. Eventually, it was decided I could be discharged with additional antibiotics to be taken 4 times a day, to return on Saturday for a check-up where again, I was put on electrolytes because I had basically lost my strength.

For what seemed a benign condition, the recovery was much longer than I could have anticipated, it took weeks to begin to regain my strength during which I lost about 6 kilograms. My GP ordered new blood tests and an ultrasound scan of my kidneys.

Persistent irritation reviewed again

Meanwhile, what was diagnosed as both an inflammation of my kidneys and a urinary tract infection did not seem to deal with the urinary tract issue. This prompted my visit to a sexual health clinic and another regime of antibiotics for non-specific urethritis, this cleared up the problem whilst no further diagnosis was made.

My recuperation has made considerable progress that for my scheduled ultrasound scan today, I decided to walk up to the hospital, something that would not have been eventful. I walked past a man too engrossed in viewing his mobile phone to concerned about others as he slightly obstructed access to the traffic lights on the pavement. I crossed the road not giving to much thought to it.

A few minutes later, he was in a chase of a thief who had snatched his mobile phone and made away on a bicycle. There was nothing he could do but rue the moment and carry on with the rest of the day, I guess he was a university student.

Steak and kidney not on the menu

I arrived at the hospital early and unusually I was immediately called into the examination room and prepared for the sonographer. The cold gel applied to my stomach gave a slight shock to my system and then I adjusted to the coolness. The sonographer was not giving up anything as I asked whether my kidneys were good enough for a steak and kidney pie. The results of the scan are to come from a consultant rather than the sonographer.

We were done in about 15 minutes before I made for the reception to have the spelling of my surname corrected. In Yoruba, what would normally have translated to ‘being a hero is joy enough’ what the switching of the vowels in the 3^rd and 4^th syllable, became ‘this hero is just an antelope’. That won’t do.

After my hospital appointment, I walked back home on the main road, stopping off at a Starbucks café for about 45 minutes. I guess the results would be back in a couple of weeks, but as the three blood tests, after my admission indicated nothing unusual, I should expect things would be fine in the end. Much of this was made easier to withstand by my friends and I am grateful to them.

Thought Picnic: The stewardship of the Lent

Lent some things

We sometimes do not realise that we are entrusted with a lifetime responsibility of stewardship, the stewardship of time, the stewardship of resources, the stewardship of relationships, the stewardship of purpose and by consequence the stewardship of life.

In a moment of reflection, I thought about the Christian season of Lent, the preparation towards Easter in the church calendar that traditionally pertains to prayer and fasting, a call to restraint, the abandonment of excess, where penitence, self-denial, self-examination, and study is supposed to bring us back to a reckoning of why we are here, for what purpose, and whether we are living to the fulness of our potential.

Lent to know

Yet, the matter of stewardship in my mind derives from a reassessment of what Lent is, for fasting is not something I have developed a propensity for, medical conditions would probably exempt me. Some restraint I have had, maybe moderation or denial, self-examination requires a bit more work even if my best friend says I critique myself too harshly, I hope it makes for having more consideration of my position before I address others.

Then, I have no issue with hypocrisy for as I have said before, it is a knowledge thing that requires action from both parties. If the person with a beam in their eye can see another with a speck in their eye, the decent thing is to inform rather than remain silent. With information, both can probably help remove the speck and the beam from each other’s eyes to see clearly. What would be wrong is to sit with vision obstructed in self-satisfactory contentment.

Lent to do

When Lent as a noun indicating a season in which we might do things is converted into a verb as if we are lent something with which we are to engage in a profitable venture, stewardship begins to make sense. For that, the time we are lent to use must not be wasted, the resources we are lent by providences must be used wisely, the relationships we are lent by accident, association, or engagement must be cultivated with care and consideration and we are lent the opportunity of purpose, we must strive to see it through.

I would be the first to say that much of what I have been lent I have not judiciously used. In my moments of reflection, I wonder about what I could have done better for different outcomes. I try not to indulge in excessive self-flagellation, there is enough regret and ruefulness in the world. My hope is to have learnt something from my failings and find a better result.

Lent to discern

Indeed, there are times I wish I knew things long before I suffered needlessly, that little voice that speaks almost like a prognosticator needs to get more timbre and volume, my clogged inner ears need a good de-waxing too.

The circumstances are testing, the immediacy of need can easily defeat the will, still, one must stand the test of faith, trust, and service to enter into the ministry of angels. Angels as providence, fortune, blessing and grace.

I hope to have made the best stewardship of the things I have been lent, most importantly, the heart of a man who means so much to me, my love is true and my desire is keen for our hopes to be real. That is just the beginning of even greater expectations.

On the gospel of flight

Board and preach

I was amused to find an event on my Twitter timeline a few days ago, a 25-second clip of a man in old-time religion garb waving a bible and preaching the gospel on an aeroplane. From indications on the screens at the back of the seats, it would appear the aircraft was just being boarded at that time.

Can he be deplaned at 35,000ft?
Angels shall bear him up in their hands lest he dash his head against a cloud. https://t.co/U1dqgxIlKQ

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #FBPE (@forakin) February 16, 2020

However, ignoring that piece of evidence, in a fit of pique, I suggested with a twist in the scriptural phrase the following: “Can he be deplaned at 35,000ft? Angels shall bear him up in their hands lest he dash his head against a cloud.” Some did see the humorous side of it, but others took it literally and assumed my comment was both intolerant and violent.

I now remember that I did use a similar suggestion in a blog I wrote almost 13 years ago.

Blog - Eurovision: At 35,000ft - Cabin crew open doors

Preach the bus

In the interest of full disclosure, I am a culprit too. In the 1980s, I felt compelled to preach the gospel to all and sundry. With my clearly non-Nigerian accent, I would raise my voice in commercial transport to deliver my perspective of the gospel without scaring the listeners.

On the Lagos State Transport Corporation (LSTC) buses, I could stand near the front and face everyone to preach until a bylaw was promulgated to stop preaching on those buses at the risk of arrest. Whilst the audience might have been irritated, no one remonstrated probably out of fear of being thought anti-religious in a rather hyper-religious society.

However, with hindsight, regardless of how compelled I felt to preach the gospel and the presumed onslaught of officialdom to curtail a ‘divine’ commandment, I was an irritation and an encumbrance on the personal space and peace of other hapless passengers who probably after a hectic day didn’t need a bible thumper to assault them. Yet, preachers didn’t rise to sell salvation, purveyors of snake oil remedies had goods to sell with humour and encouragement better than preachers succeeded in their aims.

Outreach to each

Back to the preacher on the plane, everything suggests this was the wrongest place in too many respects to wave a bible around in too many respects. For when the plane is boarding, the crew are probably a bit stressed trying to get everyone to their seats, just as passengers are trying to get their carry-on luggage into the overheads bin whilst trying to make way for others to pass on to their seats.

I travelled about 100,000 kilometres last year, some door-to-door journeys including stopovers lasted about 28 hours. The last thing I need on the 2^nd or 3^rd leg of my journey, one of which could last 11 hours, is someone flailing the gospel with foreboding to my hearing.

Breach the peace

Besides, I would not be surprised if certain passengers became uncomfortable to the point of distress and insisted the preacher be taken off the plane out of fear that the preacher is a religious extremist up to no good. They would be right to demand it and the captain might have no other choice. We don’t take suspicious behaviour for granted when flying anymore.

If this happened after the flight had taken off, I would think the preacher would be advised to sit down and fasten his seat belt out of consideration for safety for himself and the other passengers. If that instruction were ignored, the plane could return to the airport to have him taken off as a public disturbance and he will be charged accordingly.

Yet, societies differ in responses to this kind of behaviour. I was not sure if I was amused or intrigued when I saw a preacher on the London Underground, I rationalised, if buskers did get away with it, the preacher though he had licence too.

Impeach the speech

My use of “Angels shall bear him up in their hands lest he dash his head against a cloud.” Could be termed a modern variation of “In their hands they shall bear you up, Lest you dash your foot against a stone.” Psalm 91:12 (KJV)

According to the narrative of the temptation of Jesus Christ, the Devil asked him to throw himself down from a height and quoted Scripture to suggest God will command angels to save him from harm. In my usage, the intention was as the preacher would be a man of faith, if he were taken off the plane at any height, the angels bear him up safer than a parachute to land safely on terra firma.

I had no doubt about this even if there were some expected the worst to happen. All said and done, if you are arrested by the urge to rise to preach the gospel on a plane, I most candid advice would be – Don’t do it! Thank you.

Brian, My Funniest Valentine

Brian with an I and I

Like a dream, I never thought I’ll dream,
I have smiled wider than ever dared I could,
We played like children often do daydream,
With my Valentine, I am good.

I did wonder, if ever this could be,
Then before me, this beauty really stood,
But I feared, it couldn’t be for me,
Felt my Valentine, too good.

To my hearing, some lips did say hello,
Too astounded, to think it was to me,
Then I looked up, could this be Romeo?
Dreamy Valentine, I could see.

From that moment, I’ve lived a fantasy,
Fun and laughter, this loving is so fine,
In each other, we’ve found deep ecstasy,
My funny Valentine is mine.

[]

Our song, he gets so emotional when he hears this song.

I remember the other Valentine blogs I have written all until I found my amazingly, handsome, beautiful, funny Valentine.

Happy Valentine, my love.

Blog - Where is my funny valentine?

Blog - My Funny Valentine, 2013

Blog - To My Funny Valentine

For friends and things we can't forget

A yesterday like today

It feels like yesterday, but it was 10 years ago today, a cold wintry Monday in Amsterdam where I had two things to do. First, it was the funeral of Dick van Galen Last, my dear friend who had passed on 6 days before and then I was booked in for my 7^th session of chemotherapy in the afternoon.

Blog - Seeing Dick Off

The funeral service, which was well attended, vibrant and redolent of the amazingly outgoing personality that Dick was. I then followed the procession to the place of internment but never got to witness the committal to earth as I had to leave for the hospital.

Back to chemo

At the hospital, the cold had in natural preservation conceals all my veins that it was impossible to find a point into which to insert a cannula for my session of chemotherapy. Washing and soaking my hands in warm water could not tease them out. Eventually, the cannula was placed so high up on my arm close to where a phlebotomy would be done.

The 8^th of February 2010 did become more significant as when I when in for the blood test preceding the 8^th session of chemotherapy, I noticed a 10^th session had already been scheduled. My chemotherapy sessions were on a Monday, 21 days apart, however, in the Friday before the next session, I have a blood test to determine the efficacy of the treatment and what further courses should be taken.

My voice considered

I did not know that the more you tolerated chemotherapy; they had a tendency to heap on the sessions rather than reduce them. We had gone from a session to two, then four and now eight. The eighth was to be on the 1^st of March 2010.

On seeing one scheduled after that date, I began a discussion with my consultant. I was hoping to get on with my life after the 1^st of March and I did not think I had the mental capacity to accommodate another session of chemotherapy. At the back of my mind, I remembered a nurse telling me that some patients have endured up to 14 sessions of my kind of chemotherapy.

My consultant listened and opined that he had been thinking about the situation too, my immunity was so shot up, he needed to see it begin to rebuild itself. He promised to have a word with the oncologist. Afterwards, I received notice that my 7^th session of chemotherapy taken on the 8^th of February would be my last. I was in clover.

Life goes on

The prognosis after that was, I needed at least 6 months of recuperation after the ordeal of my treatment. I, however, did not have that luxury. I sent out an email to my LinkedIn contacts explaining my situation. I started work on the 22^nd of March, but the week after seeing how exhausting the activity was, just because of my lack of strength, we agreed that I could have the Wednesdays off.

Yes, it seems like a long time ago, it is one to celebrate for the memories of that time and the passage of time to this day.

It was another year before I returned to St Barbara Cemetery to visit Dick’s grave, for the good friends we’ve lost, there remains more than a memory and a fondness for the times we shared. They are never forgotten.

Dick van Galen Last - A Decade On

In the circle of life

A week ago, I sank into sudden indisposition that resulted in hospitalisation, I am now back home in recovery and regaining my strength back.

In that short week, a lot has happened and much of it forgettable, but that is one subject I want to cover. It was exactly a decade ago that my phone rang with the Caller-ID of my friend, who I was unable to chat for a couple of weeks and too incapacitated to attend his PhD viva voce due to the effects of chemotherapy.

However, he was not the one on the line, but his lodger Ousmane Ndoye, who for the past decade then made a fortnightly visit to my apartment to clean it up and set things right. I was left reeling at the news he had to share. Dick and I had spoken just after Christmas of his non-Hodgkin lymphoma diagnosis, we shared the same consultant and oncologist. I remember saying to him, we might meet up at a chemotherapy session at the hospital.

In the presence of death

Alas, it never happened. The next time I saw Dick after that conversation was in his bed, dressed up and lying there mostly at the insistence of Ousmane that Dick had spent enough time in hospitals. Dick’s many friends had the unique opportunity to visit him in his room to pay respects before he was interred 5 days later.

Dick van Galen Last died on the 2^nd of February 2010 just 8 days short of his 58^th birthday. I had known him for 14 years, we met in Paris in 1996 and when I moved to the Netherlands in 2010, he was the one who welcomed me and gave me board for the first month before I settled in and found my own place.

In hope and remembrance

Dick was many things to many people; on the 8^th of February 2010 when he was interred at the St Barbara Cemetery, there were over 300 attendees who came to celebrate his life and send him off. I could not wait until he was committed to earth because it had to attend what became my last session of chemotherapy.

We last met for a few hours at my place on the 16^th of October 2009, just a week after my 18-day stay in hospital when I was diagnosed with cancer. To many, he was a friend, a helper, a raconteur, a polyglot, and an academic, the legacy of some of his research was republished with editing in Black Shame (2016).

Even after a decade, for this great and true friend, confidante, ever full of life and encouragement, outgoing, benevolent and always generous with his time and means, are the fondest memories.

Dick, rest in peace, always – you’re never forgotten.