Castigat Ridendo Mores

 Thanks, everyone, for continuing to be so supportive and good.  You’ve inspired today’s theme, the translation of which is going to be left as an exercise for the students.  I chatted with my older (they will have me flogged out of town if I refer to them as “elderly”) relatives who remind me of the quote that heads this post!  He is a retired Maths lecturer with a notable sense of humour, who adores my youngest sister and uses me only to get and pass information about her.  His wife is easily one of the most delightful people ever to grace the earth and her approach to her physical challenges has been inspirational to me.  I’ve never yet heard either of them bemoaning fate or denying joy, and their example is luminous.  There is also another relative, (older but not elderly) who graciously handled her own cancer diagnosis in such a way that you’re forgiven for thinking that her greatest hindrance was her chronic inability to be ready to leave at a stated time.  I don’t have their permission for many details, except that they have all, at different times, faced some severe health tribulations that would have broken many people.  As they are of my parents’ generation, I came late to understanding how severe their cases were. I did always know that it was possible to be ill and not swamp everyone around you with it.  

My pain doctors are getting better at hearing what I’m saying.  So that’s one battle down.  We are sorting through the doses and I’m sure that by next week we’ll have things settled!  Physiotherapy… they are going to be my dear and close friends, and we’ll be laughing over the slurs I mutter under my breath daily.  I’ve tried using the walker, and I’ve explained that my goal is to manage independently as soon as I can, so I won’t be using the walker in my condo. While that sounds like pride and vanity, it’s a practical consideration as my unit isn’t big enough to efficiently use a walker..logically, one can get to the bathroom door, but then I can’t manoeuvre to use anything.  So I will need to walk freely before I go home. We’ll see how much of my stubbornness can be used to settle these goals!  I’m at the stage of recovery when I’m irritable and edgy because my body has, yet again, found a way to highlight my mortality and frailty.  

I did get irritated with the occupational therapist, when she tried saying, soothingly, “You need to try to gradually increase your time sitting up,” because I felt that she was being patronizing.  Of course I’m increasing my time. Of course I’m trying to improve my strength.  I am trying to expedite my departure while ensuring that when I leave here I don’t return.  I apologize that I’m not recovering on some schedule that’s unknown to me, because that was the other frustration.  I don’t know so many things, and it seems like there are gaps everywhere, so I’m being asked by the medical staff things that I think they should be informing me!

 This, though, loops into my “homework” (I have been accused of liking homework 🤨🧐) and leads to the question of of what it means to be here.  What does it mean? Instead of wishing away my time on everything that I can’t do, what is open to me? Let’s be honest, the glad game is best when it’s hardest - when you have to really search for the spark of joy in your heart. If anyone were to joke about my situation, I don’t think that I would appreciate that!  (And most of us would be justifiably angry about it. So what remains?  I am grateful for my friends who have kept my inbox full of photos of outdoors and flowers.  So I can be gratified for my friends who have kept me involved in daily life, and who arrange little gifts to remind me that I matter.  They have also called and written and been understanding that I can’t always write or talk for long.  While I’m here I can continue to be friendly and kind towards all the many hospital employees that I meet.  Primarily, of course, the nurses, who work 12-hour shifts wearing double masks to care for me and others.  I’ve met so many who I would not recognize outdoors, because all I see is a pair of eyes and some hair above a blue mask.  They can become impersonal automata if I didn’t try to keep before me that they are people doing a difficult, necessary and largely thankless job.  Then add the personal care workers, porters, technicians, food service workers (like my buddy who drops by after service to give me a late night snack), receptionists, phlebotomists and yes, physical and occupational therapists.  So many people who are all committed to looking after me. I’m sure that I’ve forgotten someone!  But this isn’t an exercise in listing all the functions people do in the hospital  I just want to acknowledge that I can envision how many people are involved in my care, and I should be able to outline the “Book of Care” in which I am added.  

I can’t spend my time thinking about what I’m missing, that’s for sure.  But I also can’t let my world shrink to my windowless room.  So what can I do?  I can write, which gives me an outlet, and I hope that you will continue to reply and make me think about other things (like the role of culture in the approach to food, for instance.  Is there a link?  What is it? Is it worth exploring?)  or doing something else, or relearning how to walk and dance… there must be something ridiculous about being here that makes it the place where I need to be. Just as I wrote that, my neighbour began to talk in her sleep loudly; not much sillier than that!  😂  Perhaps silliest of all… I asked for and took a sleeping pill last night around 10pm so I could sleep.  I slept for maybe an hour and I’m still awake, writing this at almost 2am!  Perhaps we should acknowledge that this is what happens and just plan to be here tomorrow at 2?