Its five thirty on Saturday morning and I am up. My symptoms of disruption to my urine flow have sneaked up on me again. no blood but soreness. I did not drink much yesterday so I am up early and on to my second hot water of the day in no time. I’ve taken my meds with three biscuits and had an early co-codamol to stave off pain, I’m desperate to be okay for the arrival of my grandson and his parents later this morning. I do what I always do when I get into a corner, I write. This is not a pretty poem or an easy one, or one to lift the spirits, but its how I am at five thirty in the morning when not doing okay and that is what this blog was and is intended for. No one needs to ask how I am or ask the awkward questions.
386
I am trying really hard
not to be a nuisance,
endeavouring not to add
to the general pain.
Every way I turn those I love
are battling oceans of storms.
It is as if the world
has filled its self with illness
without cure or palliative care.
I really am trying
but its hard to deny my decline,
those subtle, sore signs
that things are getting worse.
My head weaves benign explanations,
makes up logical explanations
for this and that
ache and ague,
each difficulty and soreness,
but deep down I know
I’m on a slippery slope.
I tell myself that this is
a negative mind set,
that I am making things worse,
that being chipper and up beat
would help, but I know it’s not true.
I’ve either been or being ground
fine in the grindstones of my disease
and finally, it’s found its way
to bring me down.
I really am trying
to be brave and not cause a fuss,
I’d just like a hug,
but so would everyone else
in the midst of their travails.
It’s a busy world of pain
And there is no time
to stop, just rest when opportunity arises
and then start all over again.
I realise we are all trying hard
and the silence of my loved ones
is a different kind of unbearable,
a mute gagging on the expected
loss and perception of the ebbing
flow from those they love.
I’m trying really hard
in my way to carry on,
but the mirrors I look into
show me failure, decline and
worst of all the aloneness.
No one else but me can do this,
this standing, looking over
the landscape of my life
and putting away my feelings
knowing there is not enough
care or love to take away or slay
this singularity.
I am trying really hard
not to be a miserable old git,
the downer in every one’s day,
the grandfather and father
who is no fun anymore,
just the old guy who has to be asked,
“are you okay”?
I miss being loved,
I miss the no strings attached affection,
the delight in me,
like some immortal,
an everlasting thing of joy.
A shiny object with a future
and more fun to come.
The Real World swallows us whole
and love becomes duty,
obligation and a chore,
a world devoid of its core.
Is this depression,
is this the manifestation
of some chemical imbalance
or is this life in its later form?
I do not know
but I’m trying really hard.
Trying really hard to be okay,
to ignore my longings and to
get on.
To that end I’ll take the drugs
and hope at least the pain subsides
long enough to give another hug.
I’m trying really hard.
Perhaps my next collection will be called
“Self Pitying Bastard”
I think I’m trying really hard,
perhaps I’m not;
not hard enough.
386 04-05-2024
By seven thirty I’ve blogged just as a way to keep me occupied while the drugs kick in, my partner is up and showered and making toast, now the day starts in earnest and I need to get going to be ready for my grandson to arrive. It is all hands to the psychological pumps.
Post toast I am struggling and although I manage a shower I’m not functioning well. Although I’m not experiencing haematuria I am in some discomfort as I frequently visit the bathroom. This is how I am when my youngest daughter , her partner and my grandson arrive late morning. He is a delight and is gurgling and smiling happily all the way to lunch time, when we all make sandwiches and indulge in cake. I help to clear away and load the dishwasher while the family prepare to go for a walk in Bradgate park. They drive off and I settle down to rest and watch some football and rugby noting that my symptoms are decreasing in frequency if I stay reclined and quiet. This is how my afternoon goes.
The family return and dinner is prepared, the grandson fed and prepared for bed and then the family eat. I cannot face it, I just want to rest really, but eat I must and spend the evening with my family. I make the effort knowing there is co-codamol to fall back on. Its what I do, having watched a film with the family I take my night meds, finish the blog and take yet more co-codamol, vowing that if I am not improving tomorrow it will be time to call 111 again. What all this does do is prompt me to email the Americans to begin to haggle over the price of my next two collections. I’m very tired.
