Dreamscape: Was this old Manchester?

Back to the yesterdays of yesteryear

The wonder of dreamland and what one can discover in almost hallucinatory repose is an interesting spectacle. The other night, I walked by the University of Manchester and landed in a picturesque landscape more than 40 years ago, buildings I recognised and things that had changed.

A distinct Manchester Business School sponsored by a large conglomerate, its hoarding atop the school, so unmistakable, yet I forget. Buildings that have been replaced, old in Victorian red brick or new with the facade of brutalist architecture in stark concrete, I was somewhere I knew and did not know.

A picturesque idyll, I recall

Oxford Road was a narrow and busy tree-lined avenue, looking like a forlorn escape from the city to a remote location that you might only visit on business or purpose alone. A village road with cottages from a bygone time, now lost to the sepia of a picture found in the attic of a long-gone ancestor’s home.

I walked up the nondescript pavement that looked more like a grassy verge, dusty rather than macadamised, dust swept up by the heat of summer, all the way to St Peter's Square that had the semblance of a motor park terminus bustling with the energy of an African city station.

In the wonder of dreams

It was full of confusion, I could not find the bus I needed to board, if I could determine where I was even going. I wandered around listless and thinking about why I consciously felt I had travelled back in time from a more familiar present.

Indeed, Manchester was different back then, before I ever came to live in Manchester, but between my dream and the reality, I cannot vouch for truth in my dreams. I guess it just brought many memories to play and create a dreamscape of a time it was best I never experienced. The power of imagination in dreams sends you to times and places you never knew existed.

Just milking the milk

Excuse me please

After settling down at my desk, I put a teabag of my decaffeinated Earl Grey tea in my mug and made it for the kitchen with half a litre of whole milk that I bought from Sainsbury’s on my way to the office.

People sometimes gather in the kitchen around the instant hot water faucet and the coffee machine, chatting and totally oblivious to others.

At times you must make your presence known, intrude in their space to make them aware that once they have had their drinks or beverages dispensed, they really should move on.

Swift of hand

I placed my bottle of milk on the counter and went to fill my mug with hot water, between doing that and adding sugar to my tea, one of the interlopers, instead of opening the fridge to use the public access semi-skimmed milk, had opened my bottle of milk and poured it in his tea.

When I reach for the bottle, I was surprised it was already open, the seal had been removed, and I do remember seeing the seal intact before I left my desk. What to do? Just ignore the situation and finish making your tea. But what an Artful Dodger he was.

The milks of taste

One of my colleagues later came to get some tea and waited for it to brew before pouring in some milk. I offered the whole milk, and we began the discussion about the difference in taste between fully skimmed, semi-skimmed, and whole milk. Then, we discussed the new range of designer milk substitutes made from oats, almonds, coconuts, or other sources. I have never liked goat’s milk, and I might just fall ill on camel’s milk.

As we talked about tastes, I recalled the explosion of taste I experienced on a visit to Prague, and I wondered if I had already written about it. Well, I had, and I did not want to repeat myself, so I excerpted the section and offered a link to the corresponding blog.

“For years, I had semi-skimmed milk with my cornflakes till I had breakfast in Prague with whole milk - the bouquet, the taste, the wonder of things unadulterated - I never went back to that tasteless half-milk stuff, it only contains 2% less fat than the real deal.” [Ich bin ein Berliner – March 2006] I cannot believe my proofreading skills were that bad in 2006. Anyway, the source blog is fixed.

Meanwhile, the thought alone of when they ran out of milk last week, and it was the milk I bought that kept things going until there was barely enough for my last cup of tea. It literally is a case of my sharing the milk of human kindness. I get what I need, others just take what they see.

Photons on the Prostate - XVIII

Just Can’t Wait

At the culmination of radiotherapy for prostate cancer in early October, apart from the fatigue, I had serious bladder issues accompanied with pain and the regular inability to pass urine. Any time I stepped out of my home, I needed to know there was a convenience about, because I needed one within 30 minutes of leaving home and frequently thereafter.

While I had many conversations with the Macmillan Cancer Support nurses, it was the Cancer Support Nurse Consultant that came through my employer’s insurance services who was the most helpful, in that, she had the time for extensive conversations and the knowledge to deal with issues around cancer, treatment, the management of the side effects, and recuperation.

On her advice, I got the Just Can’t Wait card and a Radar key to facilitate urgent access to conveniences when needed. The times they have been life savers and helping the avoidance of embarrassment are precious beyond expression.

Changing side effects

On one of our conferences when I talked about the changing side effects I was experiencing, she intimated the side effects are not textbook experiences that would occur as indicated in the various medical notes referenced. Some may never occur or would occur at different times for different people depending on innumerable factors. I just had to work through them.

To deal with the pain beyond easing the constriction of my much-enlarged prostate after radiotherapy, I was on Codeine which I later learnt metabolises to morphine in the body. This informed my moderated use of it to avoid addiction.

Rather than adhere to the recommended early dosage of two tablets up to four times a day, I only took two tablets at night and immediately weaned myself of it once the pain had subsided, some six weeks later.

Until recently, I have had no bowel issues, they were slightly irregular, but I had no urgency pertaining to that. Codeine could exacerbate constipation, so, I did take a laxative just to avoid complications. It never really came to that.

Please, toilet, now

However, lately, I think I have been quite daring with my outings, I have had some uncomfortable bowel urgencies that have had me considering how I navigate my city and my outings. Pitifully wielding my Just Can’t Wait Card and rushing to access a disabled toilet with my Radar key while preserving my dignity, is a test of composure without paying much heed to embarrassment. Needs must.

Yesterday, as I attended the Pearson Vue test centre to take a Microsoft Certification examination, I had missed the direct bus to the location, the alternative was a longer walk than I anticipated, and soon I realised, having a toilet nearby would be a great relief.

We are required to register at the reception but there was no time for that, I walked in and emphatically said, “Please, can I use a toilet, now?” The receptionist helpfully directed me to the toilet dispensing with the required formalities until after my emergency.

Today, halfway back from shopping for ethnic goods, I knew I had to find a toilet before boarding my next bus as I was unsure nature would allow me to avoid any embarrassment.

One would think a shopping centre would have public toilets, but what use are they when they are closed? Even as many public toilets have been closed due to cuts and other issues, I am becoming more aware of people with bladder and bowel issues are limited in their abilities to leave their homes.

The large Tesco store behind the vaunted shopping centre came to the rescue, I would not have survived realising they had no toilets and thankfully, the disabled toilets were close by.

More toilets needed

We can wear incontinence underwear or some with even more serious abdominal issues might have colostomy, ileostomy, or urostomy bags to divert waste or urine from the body where the natural organs have been bypassed due to medical issues. [Salts Healthcare: What is a stoma?]

You do wonder if some public action is required to address access to more public facilities without the need to expose oneself to the indignities, we have little control over.

I am thankful the mishaps have been minimal, contained, or have happened so close to home that they have been bearable. Life is not just finding a toilet but knowing that you can find one when needed makes life a little more fun.

Blog - Men's things - XXII

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XVII

The ordeal of another Microsoft certification test

Sorely tested to the testicles

By the time I clicked on the submit button, I was all shook up in an Elvis Presley kind of way. I had no time for filling out feedback forms, I had been stripped of every dignity and confidence suggesting passing this Microsoft test, I was expecting some bad news.

It was 57 questions in 100 minutes, I barely had 90 seconds to spare at the end. Then, I rarely mark questions for review, my first answer or gut feel response is usually my final answer, no point scraping over sores left by finding out that you’re not as sure as you thought you were.

It is just over three weeks ago that I passed another test with barely a week of preparation.

The preparation never ends

I had painstakingly gone through the theoretical stuff for this one, and attended courses from both Udemy and Coursera, I could even run the latter at 1.5x and keep up with what was being said. Practice, practice tests, even AI producing flashcards for revision. It could easily have been 48 hours of serious study in just over 2 weeks.

What other tips I could get from people who had passed or failed the test were best viewed from Reddit, everything filled the spectrum from a full gloat to despondency at multiple attempts without success. You had to feel bad for them and there was a moment I thought I would be returning as a glutton for punishment in a few days to revisit the site of my drubbing.

My initial plan was to try for Tuesday, but I had a health progress meeting in the afternoon. It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that I decided I had done enough, and I booked the test for Friday with hardly any leeway for postponing or rescheduling the test.

Time is not as kind

One new feature of the test is the open book facility, useful for getting exact details, but it could be a time-consuming trap when looking for ideas or processes. I fixated on the documentation section where I needed to and pored through the search results page for clues before clicking on links to dig further. It is helpful, but time suddenly plays like an hourglass; given girth to let the sand through without constraint.

The most important thing is not to panic, get to the direct question asked then walk back to the scenario or setting presented, especially when you are running out of time. Things click better when you know what you are looking for having had a glimpse of the suggested answers.

When the final screen came up, I had not done that well in one section and did much better than average in the three other sections. The most important thing, I had exceeded the passing score, I passed. Amid the shaking and trembling, as I tried to catch my breath, I signed out, collected the printout and called Brian. What a relief and well, it is preparations in earnest for the next certification test.

Making much of my Sundays

My church, a community

My church, the cathedral in my city, serves as a community where I find fellowship and friendship. While I have been a steward, I have not resumed that function since I went for treatment, my energy levels are much better now, not at the stage where I could be an effective steward.

The more public activity is when one does one of the readings, the last time I was scheduled to do the reading, in December, I had to give up my place as I was going to be away in Cape Town.

The first version of the rota published a few weeks ago had me scheduled to read the only reading for Palm Sunday, I carried that in my bosom until I reviewed the updated rota, a more prominent person had supplanted me.

At church with improvements

Whether I had my natural voice back or not, I was determined that I would attend whatever readings I was scheduled for with electronic amplification for my frail voice. Each service I attend shows some improvements, such as not needing to use the conveniences until after the service or being able to fully participate in the standing parts of the sung eucharist.

The more obvious one is that I can walk the distance from home to church and back, whereas before I travelled, I needed assistance because I lacked the strength to do so.

The other Sunday, I arrived as the processional hymn was being sung, it is quite unusual for me to arrive late to church so I sat in a different place close to the children’s corner. What I racket they made; it was impossible to concentrate. Then last week, the Racial Justice Sunday had York visiting, I sat in the same row as his wife and the dean’s spouse. As in the Archbishop of York.

How things are developing

The row behind us as a child and his parents, they chuntered through the whole service, my backward glances did nothing to moderate the disturbance. The same garrulous troupe was there today, I do not know what informed them to move towards the more adequate children’s section before the service commenced.

One of the hymns had quite a discordant tune. I could not follow it until the fourth verse, and it was still a struggle. I sing all alright, but I do lag in the recitations and singing, too. In the end, I plumped for the decaffeinated coffee. Since decaffeinated tea is rarely available, I had to get on a bus for a 30-minute ride to a big supermarket to replenish my stock of decaffeinated Earl Grey tea.

The last Village Church service I met in the middle of the homily, my nap ended a few minutes before the start, and just as I thought of taking a rain check, I got a message from a friend asking if I was attending. I dressed up and rushed out; it was just around the corner from my place.

The Lord’s Prayer in Yoruba, I wrote that out this morning with all the essential diacritical marks, it is what I recite when it comes to the time for prayer. I might be doing that on a recording of it for a week of the recitations of the Lord’s Prayer in other languages at a church event in May.

Church is a community I enjoy.

Àdúrà Olúwa

Baba wa tí ńbẹ ní ọ̀run,
Kí á bọ̀wọ̀ fún orúkọ rẹ,
Kí ìjọba ìrẹ dé,
Ìfẹ̀ẹ tìrẹ ni kí á ṣe ní aiyé,
Bí wọ́n ti ńṣe ní ọ̀run,
Fún wa l'óúnjẹ òjọ́ wa l'óòní,
Dárí ẹ̀ṣẹ̀ wa jì wá,
Bí a tí ń dárí ẹ̀ṣẹ̀ ji àwọn tí ó ṣẹ̀ wá,
Má fà wá sínú ìdánwò,
Ṣùgbón gbà wá lọ́wọ́ bìlísì,
Nítorí ìjọba ni tìrẹ, agbára ni tìrẹ, ògo ni tìrẹ,
Láí Láí,
Àmín.

Childhood: When parents think they know best

Classic inadvertent abandonment

I happened upon a Facebook status at the end of last year, where there was a discussion about some parents sending their foreign-born kids back to Nigeria to apparently teach the kids discipline and resilience along with avoiding any possibility of their kids being dragged into inner city issues like drugs, gangs, and crime.

After reading some of the comments one especially of a parent who had successfully reared kids in America and could not countenance the idea of sending their children into the care of strangers, be they relations, paid guardians, or strict/conservative boarding schools, I offered a perspective of my own experience.

The lifelong consequence

Imagine being sent from a private primary school environment with a majority international pupillage in Kaduna to a boarding school in Sagamu, Ogun State, at the age of ten. It could have been worse as I had admissions to even more remote places.

The lasting effects of that experience apart from feeling abandoned even if it helped make me both independent and resilient, not that it was unachievable at home, but my parents knew best.

As a child, I was quite outgoing, precocious, and inquisitive, with independent views. I have decidedly refused to associate with old student activities at my secondary school, nor do I retain any enduring friendships from that time. The scars are lifelong.

A rash of parental control

I suffered serious child psychological issues just months before I was shipped off and then in the first term at boarding school, that my parents' closest friends pled with them to bring me back home, those appeals fell on deaf ears, as if they had not learnt from the experiences of being placed with foster parents in England, one of such even starved me, much of that, I have blanked out of my mind.

These seemingly benign parental decisions still affect my relationship with them, and they are both octogenarians. There might be an immediate benefit to fostering your children out to strict environments, but the long-term break in the familial bonds would scarcely ever be repaired.

While there are parents who still think the boarding school experience is a rite of passage that is wholesome and germane to child development, if I was blessed with offspring, I would have totally negated some of the decisions taken as part of my upbringing. I know many parents of my generation did not repeat that vicious cycle.

I speak as someone who will be fifty-nine in less than a week. I charted my own course and chose what was good for me in the scheme of things. Some memories are best left unrecalled. [This was drafted before my birthday in December 2024.]

Photons on the Prostate - XVII

All touched in different ways

I will be the first to say that there is life after cancer for those of us who have been fortunate to have some treatment and even a cure for the dreadful disease. Daily, I encounter many others like me who have put the event of cancer behind them and are getting on with their lives.

At the same time, it is becoming more obvious that a lot of people are affected directly or indirectly by cancer. It requires us to talk about it to learn about experiences, not so to give cancer prominence in our lives but for ideas to help with dealing with diagnosis, prognosis, therapeutics, and post-treatment of cancer.

The value of experience

The expertise and the experience of others have helped me a great deal. Colleagues whose parents have had or are undergoing treatment for cancer along with the issues that entail managing the disease all matter for understanding how it affects people and what accommodations might be necessary for their return to normalcy.

In my case, I am now five months after I commenced treatment for malignant adenocarcinoma of the prostate with hypofractionated radiotherapy. The two lingering consequences of the treatment are involved with my bladder, a known side effect for which I am taking medication and a rare and unusual side effect that pertains to the change in my voice.

A good outlook ahead

My GP has been informed by letter to initiate an investigation of the voice with the possibility of an otorhinolaryngologist (ear, nose, and throat consultant) referral.

I know nothing would happen until I make a fuss about it, as I always have to with adverse blood test results. I guess I am more preoccupied with getting back to normal, but if this persists beyond my next appointment with the oncology department in April, I will be agitating for action.

In general, I feel good, I need to adjust my sleeping patterns as I do not seem to be getting enough sleep at the right time of the day as I should. Things should improve rather than deteriorate, the prospects going forward are good.

Blog - Men's things - XXII

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XVI