Comment Column

Changing times

2011-11-01T08:07:00.000-07:00

Oh, I wish I could say something jolly to start off this post. It’s been so long coming…well, I certainly wouldn’t want to depress anyone (not even me should I ever re-read it again!).

I did have a draft detailing all the hold-ups and put-downs that got me down over the past year. And I’d worked so hard on it (as also on, at least, one other blog post, part of a novel and a couple of short story intro’s), all saved on Word. But, guess what? In all the fatigue of MS, the exhaustion of outside inflences, I hadn’t “backed up” for a while…and - you’ve got it! – crash! My eight-year-old Thinkpad had the equivalent of a human heart attack, and died.

Now this was the same week my mother died of a stroke and, before that, I’d cut my hair (well, Tom had!) from hip to ear length.

In the month of September. At the beginning of August: my first live-in carer moved in, gave us all (Lucy, Tom when he was here – he’d had to give up his room – and me) claustrophobia, and re-damaged my left foot (distracted me on way to bathroom; twisted on metal threshold; a year’s healing and physio [my own version], since fall, ruined ). [Note: the carer still gives us claustrophobia. Wish he (!) had his own place nearby. My (?) mistake. We might speak of this later.]

September also demanded I: 1) fill in that wretched – oh, I wrote so much about this in the last draft! – ESA (Employment and Support Allowance) form, and 2) keep an eye on which herbs and supplements the EU’s new licensing laws (April 2011 – see THMPD [Traditional Herbal Medicinal Products Directive]) would still allow us to buy through retailers (i.e. Baldwins, where Tom is manager, and I have bought my herbs for years).

[Notes: 1) my MS nurse helped like mad with the ESA form, filling in answers and writing a report. I was put into the Support group, in the end, after the months of worry about it. And I didn’t get the threatened Medical, after … Thank you, S---. 2) I am happy to report that: at least the herbs in their raw state are available over-the-herbalist’s counter – no brand-name (God’s own?), you see, or medicinal endorsement on back of packaging. And most of the supplements, I know of/use, are still on the shelves…if with their potency weakened.]

Yep, it was a whole bad month. Preceded by a good (oxymoron coming up) bad 11 months or so. Not a good year at all, since that fall.

Just realized I haven’t mentioned my overall physical/MS state… Aha, perhaps that’s because I don’t want to engage with it, dignify it, admit it at all. Sad, isn’t it?

But, okay: I spend too much time in my armchair now; find it harder and harder to force myself out of bed in the mornings; panic too much when I’m on my own (that feels as though it stems from a physical source, and/or is purely because I am worried about being ill alone or, worse, with Lucy so that she doesn’t know what’s happening), and all-in-all, am in a much more feeble state than I used to be.

I have to say though, things might not be half so bad, if only other people were kinder.

And I don’t mean outside people. Not so much. In fact, right here, right now I will say, hats off to Anglian Home Improvements who were great when they were contracted to do home improvements for my landlord. After hearing of my situation their spokesperson wrote me a very sympathetic email, assuring me they wouldn’t contact me again. Anglian Home Improvements really do seem to be the decent lot they are portrayed to be in those “we’re making a film” ads. Thank you, guys.

The same gratitude must now go to Mulalley & Co. builders. In recent weeks, they too have shown compassion and understanding for someone who has chosen to stay at home rather than go into a Home, and who needs their “bubble” to remain calm and quiet. Mulalley: cheers to you all.

The Government, EU, and, to some extent, the local council/RSL (Registered Social Landlord [in other words, bureaucracy]) must take a lot of the blame for the stress-exacerbated progression of my MS (as also for the suffering experienced by anyone having to fill in an ESA form or go without their traditional herbal remedies, etc. ).

But, after all my rantings and dreadings of having to live, again, on a building site (as at my last address for a hellish “Regeneration” three years), at least in this home it’s stayed quiet enough, long enough, for the spiders to still enjoy their freedom to roam. (Don’t ask – but I’m down to about 30 a year!) The “Home Improvements” – so far (!) – have not been a huge problem.

I’m afraid the ‘unkindness’ of which I speak, comes (I wish it was past tense, it isn’t), mainly, from family…but, also, quite a bit, from the present carer.

Even the Care Agency (I chose to give my Direct Payments to!). This little group, which isn’t based in London and does seem to have lots of positive testimonials from clients and their relatives, decided to “punish” me, by not providing me with a “cover carer” when A. (I’ll call him ‘A.’ for the sake of his privacy) was away on his 10-day “break”. Because I hadn’t answered the ‘phone, the day proposed cover-carer rang up (at some un-appointed time). Because I’d “refused” (the word A. used to them) to take the call, as I was writing.

Well, for Heaven’s sake, did anyone listen when I said, days later, that I might have been: on the loo; sleeping; praying; receiving visitors; panicking about something other than a ‘phone call; worrying about someone else (i.e. my mother/son/sister/brother/friend), and that it was against the Law – see Equality Act, Parts 2 & 3, I believe? No, of course they didn’t.

And I probably should have made more noise about it…but, heck, I had to find another carer (which wasn’t easy but was, eventually, managed for day-time - thank you, E------ Care in SE London), and then Tom decided to stay…so we got by that way, and it was sort-of good. At least, we all three got some space!

Maybe I’ll put the name of the bad agency here. They couldn’t sue me for libel, they put the explanation for their “punishment” in writing (clever huh?) and sent it to me (caring, huh?), Umm… Never did go to Athens!

Anyway, I refuse to let this lot get me down. And I have missed my dear blogs so badly.

So, I will be jolly again. And, you know what? I think I’ll put a copy of this post (like the one about the “fall”) on all my blogs, in order to move on: write about different topics with all of this, last year’s nonsense, out of the way.

It might be the beginning of the end as far as my mortal coil (thanks, Shakespeare) is concerned, but, hey: I always meant to go about dying with dignity (do I need to say ‘naturally’?) and a smile on my face, and that’s what I intend to do.

God bless all who’ve spent time reading this.

Virginia

A fall comes before...a long silence

2011-03-29T06:18:00.000-07:00

Last August I had a fall: a slip on the bathroom floor whereby my left leg flew under the shower chair, flipped it into the air and brought it down on top of me. So that I lay there, half on the hall floor, for an hour while I waited: first for Tom to arrive from work, and second – when he didn’t at his usual time – for the panic-button people and an ambulance crew to come and pick me up.

And it was agony. And poor little Lucy (toy poodle - as if you didn’t know!), who was in her own room “resting” while I cleaned up her “mess”, remained nonchalant the whole way through: didn’t even respond to all my shouts into the alarm microphone or when the lady from the council and ambulance men finally came, and with me discovering more pain and damaged nerves (shaking leg) by the moment, caused so much commotion. In fact, I think the only time she perked up was when Tom entered the scene and she heard his voice, smelled his smell: that’s always a precursor to excitement from Lucy!

I spent two weeks sitting and sleeping in the same chair (perhaps I should have gone for x-rays but I didn’t: just smeared arnica oil on everything and took extra herbs), and dear Tom waited on me hand and foot. He had a few days off to help but when he absolutely had to go back to work, left me a coffee table covered in flasks of coffee and herb teas, and cups of tissanes and spare cups…and crisps and biscuits…and, yet again, I’d never have managed without him. What a hero!

[Note: rang social services screaming for help but found out file had been closed and had to wait for “re-allocation”. Not the first time we’ve heard that. Should make a lot of noise complaining about it. But it’s too boring. And I’ve got to think of more positive things. Or go down, mentally.]

Yep, it took two weeks to be able to get back into my profiling bed and then - what a relief -: with my legs raised, the grotesque swelling gradually reduced and it got a bit easier to move: I started staggering – “furniture-walking” with a vengeance (never daring not to be holding something) and life looked a bit more hopeful. I spent about a month buying new and different slippers, online, till I found something I could stick with (literally, to the ground?!) and now, here we are…

Well, I have to admit that fall is still having an effect: I still can’t walk brilliantly; lose my balance a lot more; feel pain where there was none, or a lot less, before and, worst of all, sometimes, feel helpless…

I write constantly but too much gets drafted only to be ignored, through fatigue or depression, and then forgotten - going nowhere… And so there’s a new yardstick: if this piece actually does get posted…well, that’ll be an improvement and maybe the other bits I prepared for blogs can follow. That would be good.

In the end, I just want to say, “I’m sorry”. For anyone else who’s had a fall (and I know there are many - some who are bed-bound as a result and develop infections). You are all in my thoughts and prayers. God bless you.

Virginia

Winner!

2009-12-02T07:12:00.000-08:00

What a joke! Normally speaking, that is, what with the MS and everything…

But, hey, right now. Just for a day or two, I’m celebrating, because I am a winner… I won the NaNoWriMo challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I did it. I’ve done it. And I feel really chuffed!

Oh yes – for all those who read the last post – against all the odds of MS fatigue and pain, drills and hammers as background accompaniment and the usual familial relationships to contend with (you live alone but suddenly a son decides to stay a couple of days!), I – doggedly and with “Think you can stop me?” determination - stuck to my Word document (on my trusty IBM Thinkpad), kept checking my wordcount and b***** well finished the 50,000, three days early: on Friday 27th November, 5pm! So proud!

The thing is: I haven’t finished the story, so through December I’ll be joining with lots of others in NaNoFiMo – National Novel Finishing Month!

And then there’ll be the rewrites - if I haven’t given up with it by then, the plot holes I see now are getting to me! – and, finally, lots of editing (yep, with NaNoEdMo, in March!).

I’m going to try and make it work though. End up with a proper, bona fide novel in the end. Because, for one reason, I’ve grown fond of my characters (one does have MS!) and need their lives to make sense!

So, onwards…

It’s a Middle Grade children’s novel, by the way, and this is the synopsis I wrote for my NaNo profile:

“It’s an ill wind…”

A brother and sister want their separated parents to get back together again but it’s not going to be easy: their dad's an alcoholic and their mum has a degenerative disease.

“It’s an ill wind…” describes how each member of the family, with help from the children’s brainy school friend and a ghost from an old windmill, gets to move on with their lives – and come out smiling.

It’s not a bad ending for the friend or ghost either.

P.S. If any of you have/know someone who has MS (or other degenerative disease/problem) - and you’re/they’re not taking it already - I would urge you/them to add turmeric/curcumin (see also here ) to your/their regime. Even T. (my son who works at a herbalist’s), recognizes the improvement in my overall (physical and mental, especially, cognitive) health, since adding it to my own.

P.P.S. NaNoWriMo is well worth the effort (the Winner’s Certificate is going to look great on the wall!) – I have loved every moment (the forums are friendly and fantastically supportive) and it’s been good for me.

God willing, I’ll gladly do it again next year!

See you soon…

And for my latest trick...

2009-11-18T04:02:00.000-08:00

I’ve got progressive, severe, MS. I’m sitting on a building site (see here and here). And I’m writing a novel in 30 days (NaNoWriMo)!

P.S. Missing writing my blogs [Blogger, can I have my sidebar pics. back, please!] so I’ll post this on a couple of them and hope to see you soon.

P.P.S. Lucy is fine and good company - not a bad muse!

Hope you’re well.

Blog Action Day '09 - Climate Change

2009-10-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

Here’s an irony: I have the beginnings of two novels on Word, both with a main theme of climate change, yet have nothing planned for this, Blog Action Day ’09.

It would be good if I could cite something to do with “global warming” for my distraction, but, unless I repeat myself on MS (multiple sclerosis) and Environmental Illness (see here); or tell you I’m curled up with guilt over my use of fossil fuel electricity (I’ve researched wind turbines like mad and wish I could have one built but, alas, can’t use the roof without upstairs neighbours’ agreement to share [and that’s if we got planning permission] and can’t use the garden, again without planning permission and, realistically, a lot more money than I have) – ‘curled up with guilt’ and/or cold due to it; unless I protest at how my head hurts and MS symptoms are worsening as a result of using mercury-filled light bulbs (only type available now [aside: further weakening of elderly/infirm = more volunteers for euthanasia?]) – plus, their low-wattage (“energy”) is making me colder (cold: stops clear thinking; writing; demands more heating; could cause hypothermia); unless those reasons (all true) are all I give: a) this post will never be done in time, and b) I’ll be writing my novels…

And, therein, lies the crux of the matter: I am personally so worried about pollution and the ruination of our planet that I have become obsessed by studying astronomy and thinking about humanity’s habitation/colonization of another planet to put into these two (one for children) speculative/sci-fi books.

So, ironically and in more ways than one, I have been distracted and kept away from this blog post on climate change, by climate change.

It bothers the living daylights (great pun!) out of me and I want to thank Blogger and all the bloggers, everyone involved in Blog Action Day ’09, for their highlighting of this - most serious of all issues - issue. Let’s hope and pray that our voices (with others’ such as Greenpeace) are heard and our warnings heeded.

P.S. On a smaller note (but giant oaks start with small acorns, right?!): could borough councils work harder at recycling, and every borough council fit solar panels to homes and/or build wind turbines for their community? Just a thought…

Regeneration equals de-generation

2008-02-05T07:50:00.000-08:00

The elderly, the infirm, the sick. Babies. People dying, being born – and living their formative years. Those with goals and ambitions, others who live only for the day – and struggle to survive it. Good people. Bad people. In between people – decent. Hardworkers. The unemployed and many with money problems. Struggling mothers, loyal fathers. School children. Those with relationship issues. And some trying – against the chemical odds – to hold it all together.

All these beautiful human beings are made to suffer when the greed and corruption of local government authorities (i.e. councils) decide to “regenerate”, aka “improve”, their housing stock - to sell on at a later date.

And someone like me (i.e. with multiple sclerosis (MS)) acts as a microcosm of the macrocosm, which is all of the local community. Because someone with MS feels every little nerve attack to penetrate the Central Nervous System (CNS) and exhibits, in exacerbated symptoms, the results of that damage, to be witnessed and recorded for all time.

As human rights are violated ( Articles 3 & 8) by the tyranny of beaurocracy, so an MSer will prove through their own being, the inhumanity of this social scheming.

The torture which is the experience of existing (for there’s no life) each day on a building-site. With the cacophony of voices, vibrations and machines.

It is the soundtrack of Hell ('Pandemonium' in Milton’s Paradise Lost) with Mammon as conductor of the orchestra, Beelzebub, principal percussionist. And you can't get it out of your brain...

I cannot believe this is happening [what, not bad enough the progressive MS?] but it is. Apparently. I am to be imprisoned on a X [borough name] council building-site for the second time in eight years (first time 2000-2003 in last home – was moved because of it and for wheelchair access (good that I’m Catholic and can believe in Purgatory and serving my “time” on earth – I hope most of it!)).

But, as I promised in this house when first it was rumoured (i.e. we all had to vote for a new landlord and this one – a Registered Social Landlord (RSL), calling itself ‘Community Housing’ – won [so they tell us – we voted “No”*]). As I said at that time: if this happpens again and I haven’t managed to leave, then this time with a blog, I will record exactly what it’s like, as it happens. So that governments might in future consider all tenants before they do, their rash, brash, money-mad plans.

What else is a housebound journalist going to do?

Oh, watch out, you minions of Mammon!

*We covered the first of this borough’s sell-offs in the local paper I was on and that result was, I believe, a ‘No’ from tenants but the take-over still went ahead. [This is the same council, some may recall, was a “flag-ship” Assembly in England, with its own, self-“elected”, Mayor!].

Yet I realise some tenants fell for the hype and thought this would be a good thing. Perhaps they decided it was the better of two evils [a lot of that in my life at the moment!] the second option being a Private Finance Initiative (PFI), aka private landlord – in order to get repairs/renovation done. Those, presumably, who now serve on the board of the RSL or, at the very least, have become ‘shareholders’ in their ‘community’. It does sound good.

But, what they’re not seeing are the years – they promise five! – of noise, disruption and filthy mess that will engulf their every waking moment.

And what they’re not thinking of are the rent-increases to come (usually, I believe, after the first five years which are in line with inflation. After thirty say, when they become extortionate and out of the range of working-class people.

When some tenants will have been forced to leave their homes which will then be sold on to the private sector.

That’s what those tenants who voted “Yes” didn’t think of (unless they did and wanted to be in on it!). Or the fact that they might be in the first group of people I described later on in their lives.

The ones who really will suffer from all this: the physical, practical work now. And the ones for whom I speak out.

With them in mind, and having experienced already the horrendous degredation of “regeneration” and developed a phobia against it, I offer this solution...

Before any such action in future, local authorities will:

- build new houses/flats;
- make them available to all those who would rather (or must for health reasons) leave their homes while work being done;
- move those tenants to new properties (giving them the option to stay when previous properties completed);
- carry out work;
- when next estate scheduled for “improvements”, make homes on first estate– now meeting [government] “decent housing” standards - available to tenants on this estate wanting/needing to vacate (if not enough space here, then, again, using newly built homes).

So that you have a leap-frog system in place with all those who really can’t tolerate (i.e. me!) anything louder than a spider climbing up a wall, placed somewhere safe, secure, warm, dry (you know, all those prerequisites for rented accommodation, by law) and conducive to human life.

There, problem solved – except it isn’t! – and end of lecture/panic for now...

DISCLAIMER/P.S. Of course, I am not a politician or lawyer and some of my statements might seem confusing. Please click links so you may be clear.

All I know as a disabled tenant is, the enemy’s gathering forces and there’ll be a bombardment soon.

It’s amazing how something like this can help you empathize with others in the world.

Missing: a father

2007-12-20T06:32:00.000-08:00

We all remember those stories of husbands and fathers who went out one day to get milk/a newspaper/ “fresh air”, and never returned.

Wives and children (I don’t remember women doing this but they may have done) first not noticing, then realising the minutes, watching the hours and finally, counting the days he is gone.

Sometimes there are police searches, hospitals are scoured, hope still thrives in the home.

But, eventually, there is certainty. He is never coming back. He has deserted them. Perhaps he never loved them at all. And the pain kicks in and lasts for many years, if not (especially for the children) a lifetime. The damage is done.

It has been, exactly like that, for me since Father Francis Mary Stone took a “leave of absence” from EWTN (the Eternal Word Television Network).

Now, everyone knows how in these ‘housebound’ years EWTN, founded by Mother Angelica a Poor Clare nun in 1981, has been my substitute, earthly, family. The fathers (priests), mother (Angelica), brothers (Franciscan Missionaries of the Eternal Word). and sisters (Poor Clare’s of Our Lady of Angels Monastery), all based in their [Alabama, USA] monastery homes, and with me in mine 24/7. I could not have managed without them.

So, with thousands of others, it came as a great shock and huge sadness to learn of Fr. Francis’ departure.

But how I learnt was just the way it was for the family above. I didn’t know for a long time and, in a way, tried not to know – to admit what was staring me in the face: our dear, ubiquitous, brother was no longer visible.

Not celebrating Mass, no longer presenting Life on the Rock - a series primarily for young people but popular with the whole family (even this one – Tom would often watch if I taped it and especially liked Fr. Francis.) - and not there between programmes with his videos from Assisi on the life of his patron saint.

I don’t know how I missed it. I would have watched on November 1st. Maybe I was just late tuning in. But anyway, I did miss the announcement. From poor Fr. Anthony (I’ve forgotten his title but he’s now
“superior” in the friars’ monastery). And that’s when, apparently, he read out Fr Francis’ letter. And everybody (not me then of course) learnt what had happened. His family at EWTN, and his family in the viewing/listening rest of the world.

Fr. Francis Mary had been “helping” a widow and her family and found himself becoming too “involved”. He had requested, and received, time away from EWTN to “discern his vocation”. He was, heart-breakingly, sorry and realised the enormity of the impact this would have.

It was devastating.

I cannot bear to think of dear Mthr. Angelica, in her post-stroke silence, hearing this awful news. She had personally invited this brother, when still a layman, to join the Missionaries of the Eternal Word, soon after she formed the Order in 1987. She would be heartbroken.

So there, one week, was Fr. Mark Mary, alone. Gallantly going on with Life on the Rock. Presenting in his inimitable, introverted way, as well as he could. And succeeding. But we all know – because Fr. Francis often made mention of it – that this particular brother would rather have his head in books (a bit like poor Cardinal Ratzinger when they elected him Pope and he became Benedict XVI, our Holy Father). He has done as requested of him but sometimes we feel his discomfort.

One week grew into two and into three, and I wasn’t sure any more, as at first I had assumed, that Fr. Francis was on retreat. Or on holiday with his family. He couldn’t have been ill or in an accident (like poor Fr. Benedict Groeschel the other year). I wasn’t sure of anything. No one was saying anything. And I began to be cross with myself – with my MS – for not knowing. Because I knew, for certain, someone would have said something once (either that or I’d gone insane and he never existed!). I thought of ringing EWTN.

But by last Sunday I knew I wasn’t the only one who was cross. It was as though Fr. Francis had caused, or was in, trouble. Even the opening and closing film sequence of Frs. Francis, Mark and the other brothers playing basketball and mixing at events like World Youth Day were gone. There was definitely something very amiss.

While Tom did his Christmas hang-over bit in bed, I Googled the name: Father Francis Mary – EWTN. And there it was. In all its horrible glory. The whole story. I felt instantly defeated. Heavily, heavily sad. Black. Fatigued. All the exhaustion I cover with an air of optimism and oft excitement at good thoughts. Gone. A member of the family had deserted us.

“Discerning [his] vocation”?! What the heck did he mean, “discerning [his] vocation”? Didn’t he do that, back then? When he started out and then took the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience? He told us he did (quite recently again on The Journey Home with Marcus Grodi, I believe).

So, I’m cross with Father. And I guess that’s the way grieving goes. We must go through the whole process. Sooner or later I’ll cry. If not for me, then for Mother Angelica, or the other brothers, or, maybe it’ll be for Tom – and everyone like him. The youngsters who admired Fr. Francis. and followed his example. Ooh.

When Tom surfaced on Sunday and wanted to start planning an evening meal, he could tell – even on a still afternoon of the Lord’s Day – something more had gone wrong.Upset his crippled mother in the chair. Oh yes, where was Mass today? He hadn’t heard it. Why had she stopped shouting at him? What happened?

I was cross with Tom for his drinking, but this had to be said. I looked him earnestly in the eyes (they were dark!): “If there was one priest on EWTN who had the most influence on you, who would it be?” (I know he knows most of them and it could easily have been Fr. Benedict or Fr. Corapi, another “character”). He answered, without hesitation: “The basket-ball player”. Ah! You see how big this is? And I hated having to break this news to him.

But, then again, he could – and probably would – use it against, not only the Catholic Church but religion in general - and me. This truly was an horrendous state of affairs. And the Devil must be rolling about in laughter. I was beside myself: “Well, he’s left”, I said. And out it all came.

And, shock! That was it: SHOCK! Tom was utterly shocked. And sad. And I think he felt let down too. I was amazed.

And then the whole night we discussed and debated it. And re-read the letter and perused some of the many comments in blogs and on forums that had come in. A flood of emotion and mixed feelings from right across the globe.

There was a deep sense of sadness everywhere – and, not least, in our own home. It pervaded the night air.

So, what’s left? what is my final comment? Well, there isn’t one. Only prayer is left. I imagine for everybody. That’s all we can do – pray. For Fr. Francis, for the widow and her children, for everyone involved. For his fellow-religious at EWTN and all the staff there. For all the youngsters hurt and feelng betrayed. And for ourselves. That our faith won’t weaken as a result, and that our love, as always, will forgive. May God have mercy.

Amen.

This is no way to behave, people!

2007-11-25T07:51:00.000-08:00

Someone I thought I really respected has let me down.

So much so, that I bring it to your attention. Because, sadly, they’re not the first to behave in this way and it should never happen again – not to me or anyone in my position.

The person in question is a fellow-blogger and we’d had reason to cross paths (no need to say more). Well, I’d admired their work, didn’t understand it completely but read it carefully and commented accordingly. There were a couple of emails between us and I was led to believe they had also read my blogs. It made me happy to think there was a mutual respect and I could count this person as a friend (albeit, virtual – they all are now!). But: then came the slap...

Right. Everybody turn right! What’s the first word you see on my ‘Profile’? Under the funny, out-of-focus, ‘phone pic. of my face. Not even in the ‘Complete Profile’. No clicks needed. Right there. I bet many of you have already seen it – Profiles are the first thing I look at when I go to a blog. ‘Housebound’. Got it? The first word.

Well, my “friend” didn’t!

In their second email to me, in response to my praise of their posts, came this penultimate line: “If you’re ever in (place name) be sure to call in at the (something establishment)”. Blah, blah, blah.

You can probably tell, I was hurt. Still am or I wouldn’t be writing this. Tom says (always trying to forgive – which of course is right) that it’s just tactless, inconsiderate. Yeah, but he nearly choked on his drink of water as I told him.

I forgive – but it’s not so easy to forget, and the wound still smarts.

It was a bad thing to say. and people should think (in this case also read!). Otherwise, they hurt other people. And in Christian terms (relevant here), that’s not loving your neighbour.

In which case, I must speak out against it. Heck, I’ll speak out anyway, for everybody’s sake.

This is no way to behave, people!

Remembrance

2007-11-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

It was just a coincidence that in Travels with Lucy my last post, written in November, was called ‘Tom is such a hero’. I think. I often refer to Tom as “My hero!” and often he is.

But, then again, it IS November and the whole of the month is dedicated to prayer for the dead in the Roman Catholic Church: All Saints’ Day (Nov.1) for those who with ‘heroic virtue’ have gone straight to Heaven, and All Souls’ Day (Nov.2) for those who, on their way to Heaven, must first be perfected in Purgatory.

I am, of course well aware of this.

Also, that today is Remembrance Sunday in the UK when we remember all those who were/are caught up in wars and, in particular, those ‘heroes’ who gave their lives in both World Wars (l&ll).

I have to admt that as an ardent pacifist, I haven’t always respected this occasion as much as I probably should have done. But I have always known, and related to Tom as he was growing up, stories of individuals in wartime that have touched me. We may not have always marked the two minute silence at 11am but we have, of course, always shown respect. We are grateful for our “freedom”.

I think a lot depends on family (as with everything!) and how close you are to all members, especially of the older generations. Well, there you have it. We, of course, weren’t – for various reasons. It is only as adults in our own lives that we discover the pains of other people’s existence. Become conscious of the society as a whole. And learn to pray.

“Thou shalt not kill.” (Deuteronomy 5:17) And I will obey. It is beyond me that others, calling themselves Christians (so many of the Remembrance Day services will purport to be), do still – even apart from “wars” they “manufacture” – kill. The unborn, the elderly and the infirm.

I know that we must protect ourselves, and others and so I do understand “self-defence”. But for the rest, oh it is hard.

I remember especially all those young men in World War l who, with no choice as to whether they fought or not, had their lives taken from them. I am grateful to the War Poets* for bringing that home to me (as it were). And I pray for them all. It breaks my heart.

And so I remember.

And I imagine my sub-conscious did before the rest of my MS (multiple sclerosis) brain when I wrote that last Travels post. November is the month to remember heroes – all of them.

And may those gone before us,

REST IN PEACE

Amen.

*Poetry of the First Worl War Published by The Macmillan Press Ltd. ISBN:0-333-26121-6

Environmental Illness (EI)

2007-10-15T12:18:00.000-07:00

(or: “Get rid of the perfume, please!”)

Things aren’t quite as good here as I make out.

“Oh, what a surprise.” I hear some of you say. “All that false bravado. It’s getting a bit tiresome.”

Well, okay. Practically-speaking, I admit it. Not so good.

Spiritually? Oh yes, and, praise God, there is a joy in suffering (see previous posts).

But, on a "this world" level? Ah!

Tom, bless him, wants to leave (who wouldn’t?). It’s getting him down all this MS and being trapped with Mum at 27.

And I don’t blame him. I’m sure he needs to for his sanity (if only MS had a “sell-by” date, as one physio. called death!) but no. Someone like Tom thinks it will go on forever and that’s scary (see last post).

Anyway, it would be fine (in theory!) if I didn’t have Environmental Illness (EI) and could have carers.

But I can’t (oh, I’ve tried – agony, in every way). I’m allergic to them. As to almost everything (chemical; food; material; animal (except poodles who don’t shed!)), etc..

And, while I can conrol what I eat (see MS – My Scene: Anti-Candida Diet), I can’t – no matter how hard I try – rid people (especially carers!) of perfumes.

And they make me so ill. Completely defeat the object (which is “to help” I believe). In fact, they make everything, including my MS symptoms, a lot worse.

Environmental Illness (EI).

Chicken and egg.

I have Candida Albicans (see MS – My Scene), multiple sclerosis (MS) and multi-chemical sensitivity (MCS).

But who knows which one came first? We can’t know.

Research proves only a guessing game in medical communitiies as more and more people report problems to doctors. Sometimes sufferers are forced to give up work/change their lifestyles/live, like me, as a semi-recluse. The search for answers grows ever more fevered as the disease reaches a wider proportion of the population. And, note, it’s not a contagious dis-ease being passed from one individual to another. No EI spreads as the environment becomes ever-more dense with toxins.

When it comes to perfumes – and my particular intolerance apropos “carers” – we’re talking not only about the pretty, flowery/musky self-adorned smells here (and certainly not essential oils in their pure state which are fine but synthetic/chemical ones which cause the trouble), we’re talking: biological washing powders; softeners; (I feel sick writing this!) hair-sprays; deodorants; air-“fresheners”; soaps; shampoos; poodle groomers (!); sometimes new clothes; second-hand clothes; carpet-cleaners; carpets; glues, etc. etc. etc..

[Disclaimer: here I must stress, I know nothing about science and much of what follows is just a synopsis (possibly incorrect) of what I understand from my own reading and browsings on the Net.]

And we haven’t even mentioned petrol/diesel pollution yet (I think I should have said ‘agoraphobic semi-recluse’!) Ah, all the carbon/nitrogen/hydrogen gasses and oxides that go to make up the particulates that suffocate lungs. And the Benzene that causes cancer, etc. - commonly found in perfumes.

All these allergens (they cause the mass of allergies which, with their own complex symptoms form EI (someone like me is called a “universal reactor” i.e. reacts to everything)) must be avoided if an EI sufferer is to feel well.

Which brings me to the main purpose of this Comment.

I have used my own situation as an example of what EI can do to a person and the state of things in our society. But, what if that person doesn’t have a voice? What if he/she is a child? Children are suffering as a result of our foolishness.

How many are described as having/diagnosed with Attetion Deficit Disorder (ADD)?

How many have asthma? Eczema?

All these are symptoms of EI (see below). And the list goes on.

Are the teachers/pupils’ own bodies and clothes free from pollutants. How was the journey to school? (Did their drivers add to the problem or did they walk and inhale? Either way it was dangerous.)

When there is a toxic overload things will explode.

So, as well as killing the planet with all our pollutants, we are killing even those children we “allow” to be born (i.e. don’t abort (see pevious post).

Is this really the world we want to leave for future generations? One where only the strongest (and probably most self-serving) will survive?

Ah, but yes. And then the healthy/wealthy among them can do it all over again, when they take over another planet.

Suspected causes of EI:
- Candida Albicans (yeast overgrowth in the gut (see MS – My Scene: ‘Candida Albicans and MS’));
- toxic overload (i.e. massive dose of, or prolonged exposure to, pesticides, perfumes and/or other allergens).

Symptoms of EI:
- chronic fatigue;
- ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder);
- aphasia (difficulty remembering words);
- confusion;
- headaches;
- mood-swings;
- aggression;
- depression;
- skin problems (i.e. eczema);
- itching/watering eyes;
- rhinitis,
- breathing difficulties (i.e. asthma);
- joint pain;
- swollen limbs,
- etc.

Site helpful to those with EI - here

Blog Note: this is my environmental piece for Blog Action Day (today). I’m sorry it was a bit hastily put together. VP

Redemptive Suffering

2007-09-28T06:23:00.000-07:00

As you will see, if you look at my ‘Complete Profile’, I describe my ‘Occupation’ as ‘Disabled’. And so it is. And so be it. This is how I spend my time: being disabled (see my other blogs - ‘Travels with Lucy’ and ‘MS -My Scene’ for details!). And that’s what I get paid for (sorry tax-payers!) through Income Support and Disability Living Allowance (DLA) – to do it and do it in style, to the best of my (dis)ability. Putting 100% effort into living with this degenerative neurological disease (MS) and making it “useful” for society. (Well, that last bit is not a prerequisite of course, society is judged by how it treats its weakest members and we are, in Britain, (thus far) holding on to some vestige of decency. If not in a Christian way, then at least humanistically, we are bound by that principle to support, in every way, the least “fortunate” among us). No, that’s my thing, to prove my “use”.

Because really I’m being facetious, possibly sarcastic. I am saying to you (some – too many – of you), “Okay, so you think I’m useless, you espouse euthanasia, and you hate me for reminding you that life can be anything but perfect. And I don’t think I owe it to you, but because I know it is the general concensus among you, and now, oh horrors, I know my own son agrees with you (which is what drove me to this piece) I am going to show you why you are wrong and, hopefully, change your attitude – not only to disability but to life in general. It’s not half as bad as you think it is you know!”

You see, I do not want Tom (my son, 27), or any young person to grow up believing life is cheap. Just another part of our throw-away culture.

That babies can be slaughtered while still in the womb, because the thought of their being, was just a little inconvenient at the time of their conception. For abortion/murder to be made acceptable/polite through the verbal engineering of the language we conform to i.e. “human rights” (of mother); “freedom of choice” (for mother), and then, “political correctness” (towards everyone “right” or “wong”), which has us all tied up in knots. We imitate this speech (much of it from the likes of the BBC) at our peril.

I do not want my son to sit idly by, and bat not an eyelid, when another person we don’t hear about gets a lethal injection of morphine. Because a doctor with a smart accent and a God-complex has persuaded kith and kin that their loved one can’t take any more pain.

And I cannot bear that one more person should be the victim of such barbaric murder as was Terri Schiavo (1963-2005) in the Florida Nursing Home when they took away her feeding-tube and intravenous drip. When they starved and dehydrated her though 13 agonising days and nights, till she died. Just because in her, alleged, “post-collapse" "permanent vegatitive state” (arguable), the courts sided with her ex-husband and allowed his choice to end her life.

Even though Teri’s own – Roman Catholic – family had fought to the last minute to take her to their home and tend her for the rest of her natural days.

And all, as our dear Pope John Paul II (1920-2005) – “the Great” – was slipping away to his home in Heaven. Along with his feeding-tube and drip – all the way. To “sleep” with true dignity.

And then we come to “Dignitas” – in Switzerland. Hah!

The secular, “dignified” death of self-willed murder or suicide that the clinic offers you in your own chosen cocktail (or is it a fruit-juice?!) mixed with (I imagine) barbituates!

God protect us from this evil!

I do not want my son to belong, in any way, to this “Culture of Death” as JPII described it.

And so it was that when Tom saw that I had answered ‘Disabled’ to ‘Occupation?’ and queried why I had done so, instead of stating ‘journalist’, as I was, or writer, as I try to be, I was devastated.

Is there something to be ashamed of in being disabled? Something intrinsically degrading? No of course not. But I was repeating myself again. The “lecture” he had reeived, in various snippets and forms, so many times before, had begun one more time.

And I am tired – actually, chronically fatigued – so this time I thought I should write it – as best I can – for posterity!

And for you.

Because it’s good.

Jesus told us (Luke 9:23): “...deny [yourself], take up [your] cross daily and follow me.”

There.

Couldn’t be easier.

As a Roman Catholic I believe that my suffering can be “offered up” to Christ on the cross as a sacrifice. Not only in repentance for my own sins, but for those of the world. That I can unite with His prayers for the sake of the Church and for conversions generally. So that we, as one body, the Church, which is the ‘bride of Christ’ (Rev 21:2), may be beautifully present at the ‘marriage supper’ of the Last Day (Rev 19:9).

Even comatose, people can be living a prayer in their souls.

So don’t ever say to me, “disabled people serve no purpose”.

And don’t ever imagine you have the right to end their God-given life.

One day you might be thankful for their “work”!

RSV Bible online

Celebration!

2007-09-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

It’s a wonderful thing that on the verge of publishing my first two blogs – ‘Travels with Lucy’ and ‘MS - My Scene’ – I have nothing to be angry about here.

Wonderful, but worrying.

Because that’s what ‘Comment Column’ was set up for. I needed a platform from which I could unload all my frustrations and annoyances – my blazing angers – with the world. And, right now, I haven’t got any.

In fact it’s worse than that: I just deleted a couple of drafts I had waiting in the wings. I mean, I guess time has moved on and those initial passions are no longer the burning issues they once were (shows why these things should be completed and put out there immediately!) but they do still matter. Just not so much, to me, now.

I’m just not incensed by anything.

So I should celebrate...

St. Josemaria Escriva (founder of Opus Dei – L Works of God) said: “Why look around when you carry your world within you?” and I think, praise God, that’s what it’s all about.

Here, humanly alone (only my toy poodle, Lucy, physically with me) and at peace in my MS "bubble", it is easy to ignore all the wrongs of our times and focus solely (unintended pun), on the time to come. Life beyond this one.

I guess I’m dying (I know my nervous system is).

But blessed, because it doesn’t worry me. I have time and have had time - years now, housebound by fatigue and pain – to be with God. To carry my cross with Jesus. And to call upon the Holy Spirit for guidance, continually.

I feel the comfort of the arms of Mother Mary. Know the friendship, tears and laughter of the Saints.

And by the grace of God have EWTN to travel with me in this world.

Oh, sometimes I get agitated by the basic business of living: the bladder and bowels; Lucy’s bowels!; having to keep clean (enough to be seen by Tom or a priest - and lice-free!). Sometimes it is as though Tom has pierced my heart with the (unnecessary) pain he can cause. But it’s all love.

I love to be alive to have these things to deal with. I love to be able to “offer them up”, to unite with Christ’s Passion for the sake of the Church. And the world and its hurting. I love that I may be able to help others with my prayers.

That’s what it’s all about. And why I’ve got nothing to write about here – today!

I’m here but also there. It’s hard but also easy. I get angry but I forgive.

And Tom – my precious son – will be home soon.

Amen