Himalayan tragedy

Up at six thirty to take an antibiotic, and manage the buttock wound at the trickiest time of day when my bowels empty. Thankfully Clare is at hand to sanitize it and apply a dressing. I slept fairly well, but not long enough. Tiredness is inescapable as I can't relax and sleep well enough while I'm in this condition. 

I dread to think what it's like for Nepalese people and their tourist trek guests in the wake of flash floods driving mudslides and destroying villages.  It seems a glacier collapse undermined by melt water and triggered a colossal landslide damming the valley below, building up water until it burst through, spilling rock and mud downhill. Essential infrastructure, roads, bridges hydro power generation and water supplies as well as telecommunications have been hit hard. 1,300 are reported missing and 350 dead.

Clare baked bread this morning and I cooked cod and veg for lunch, struggling with the faintness and swimming head that replaces hunger pangs on an empty stomach. I ate a large slice of banana cake before the meal to fend off the feeling while I cooked and took spoonfuls of kefir yogurt in the hope it would make me feel better. Eventually it did, but the 'toxic head' sensation was inescapable. I couldn't sleep, and walked up and down Llandaff Fields for an hour which improved matters a little. I don't know if it's the infection that makes me feel unwell or the impact of the antibiotic on my digestion, already suffering from the clot busting slow release capsules.

I realised that we didn't have suitable wound dressings in the house not long before the pharmacy was due to close. I didn't have the energy to rush out and buy some, my ankle was giving me trouble. Clare spared me the agony, went out and bought some then dressed the wound when she returned. I meant I could sit in comfort during the evening. My head cleared enough for me to watch a Danish crimmie called 'Nora Sand' on Walter Presents. It features a prize winning crime journalist whose team investigates the background of characters involved in a crime. They show up the weaknesses of Police detectives in advancing the case. It's intense in its portrayal of people involved and the relationships between them, and for that reason it's very slow moving - so much so that I started to doze off at one point. My life is beset with too much drowsiness as it. Time for bed. 

Fighting infection

I woke up at six to take the antibiotic, and had to get up at eight as my bowels were threatening to empty. It was messy as I was wearing a plaster over the burst boil. At a time like this I really miss having a bidet. With Clare's help, I got cleaned up and the wound dressed. I only had a fair night's sleep, but didn't feel too tired, and went to the St Catherine's Eucharist taking my bum cushion with me. As I was leaving, a big heavy bag of fish arrived from Ashton's to fill the freezer. It's a lot of work for Clare to package and label meal portion pieces individually, as she's very thorough. It makes meal preparation a lot easier for both of us on a day to day basis. 

Fr Andrew celebrated this morning with eight of us. I didn't stop for coffee and chat afterwards, but bought a pound of church garden cherry tomatoes from Hilary and left. I didn't feel like talking about my affliction to anyone. I went to the Co-op to buy kefir yogurt and came straight home. The aroma of salmon soup with sweet potato greeted me when I arrived - today's culinary treat. I slept in my arm chair for over an hour after we'd eaten, making up for waking up so early. Then, a circuit of Llandaff Fields in bright afternoon sunshine, at 26C with no breeze, so it felt hot. My feet hurt in a way that reminded me of daily walks after bum surgery, while my body was still getting rid of toxins and medication residue in my bloodstream. Without exercise then, recovery would have taken longer. No matter how uncomfortable, it's important to keep moving without overdoing the effort.

Iran and Oman have agreed to establish a temporary navigational corridor through the Straight of Hormuz although the waterway officially closed until the US lifts its blockade on Iranian ports. Trump persists in sanctioning any country trading with Iran. The Chinese government, a key energy trading partner has denounced American policy Meanwhile some ships are slipping through the Straight with their identifying transponder signals switched off. Trump claims 'a big victory' saying the waters are de-mined and fully functioning, but shipping data shows maritime traffic is severely restricted and well below pre-war levels. Trump's bullying rhetoric and lies will do nothing to boost his plummeting popularity. He's making a fool of himself. Iran claims to be rebuilding military capacity hit hard by American and Israeli strikes, importing weapons as well as manufacturing and rebuilding defence systems. Like China, Russia is there in the background unchallenged. Russia was already sanctioned due to the Ukraine war.

Reports are coming in of flash floods with mud slides in the Himalayas, on the border between Nepal and Tibetan China, with hundreds dead or missing and villages destroyed. Glacier ice melting as a result of global warming is the cause. Alpine villages in the lee of glaciers are increasingly at risk of being lost. It's impossible to predict when localised environmental collapses of this kind will happen, but it's inevitable more disasters of this kind will follow. Industrial world leaders, in their own interests denied there was such a serious crisis coming for too long. Now everyone pays, one way or another.

Boil

A good night's sleep. despite having to wake up and take an antibiotic on schedule at six thirty.  The infected buttock wasn't painful overnight, but I'm not sure what's happening with the small lump which seems to be a boil, and what I should do about it. All I can do is keep it clean and disinfect the area. During the morning the lump burst open. Definitely a boil. Messy but less uncomfortable, essential to keep the afflicted area clear and disinfected. Thank heavens for penicillin at work on the inside. 

I cooked lunch while Clare was out shopping. The combined effect of the antibiotics and regular medication in the hour before eating is hard to cope with, making me feel as if I'm about to collapse. I have to eat something calorific while cooking to avoid an accident.

It's cool and cloudy today, but increasingly muggy with a rare  weather warning for thunderstorms. After lunch, I went to the shops to get plasters from Boots and a mild liquid antiseptic from the Coop as Boots  sells everything apart from what I was looking for. Dettol is widely available, but too strong on sensitive areas, even diluted. Will TCP ever return to the shelves in Britain? The mile walk to the shops and back was a struggle against tiredness induced by the drugs if not infection. Penicillin is not kind to my digestion adding to the ill effect of the slow release capsules.

I went out before supper to post Kath's birthday card and walked until it was time to return for the news and 'The Archers'. Clare cooked a cheesecake recipe found on Instagram of all places, using thick Greek yoghurt  cooked with an egg and flavourings whisked into it. It had a slightly odd texture and I had trouble swallowing a mouthful as the penicillin degrades my digestive system juices ability to dissolve some foods easily and this affects swallowing certain foods. Such a shame.

Clare found a programme on iPlayer of classical music highlights recorded in 2025 and we watched it together. Star performances displaying interesting and informative subtitles to give them context. It was a consoling end to a difficult day.

Déjà vu - Infection

I slept well and was reasonably clear headed. I spent half an hour in the GP surgery telephone queue for an appointment before getting up for breakfast. Clare accompanied me to the surgery where I was fortunate  enough to be seen by Dr Dyban who looked after me when I had the nightmare of the anal abscess back in 2018. She saw the lump on my right buttock as a sign of infection in the surgical wound scar, and prescribed a strong antibiotic, penicillin. My temperature hasn't risen. I don't know if it's infection, or the clot busting medication alone that is making me feel poorly. If the inflamed muscles don't respond I'll have to go to A&E and have it lanced, something I dread. 

We collected a prescription from the pharmacy ordered on-line by Dr Dyban as I left the surgery, then went to the Coop for groceries. I carried them home while Clare went on to the library to collect a new bright red recycling bag. One of the Coop's flimsy recyclable bags burst and spilled its content on the street on my way back, making it a challenge to get the shopping home without losing anything. 

Clare cooked trout fillets for lunch. I was too agitated to rest afterward and went out for a walk to help my blood to circulate the antibiotic through infected muscles. 

Rachel sent a message asking us to send the details of the toilet seat bidet purchase which arrived without the correct plumbing adaptor for UK pipes so that she can raise the issue with the American nanufacturers. Tracking it on our on-line bank statement was as hard as finding a needle in a haystack. Eventually Clare's Amazon account came up with complete details of the order, so I took a screenshot and sent it to her

We watched the Musikverein open air Summer Concert broadcast live from the Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna. Bryn Terfel was the star solist, singing arias from Das Rheingold and Fiddler on the Roof. I was reminded of how moving and powerful it was when this concert took place during the covid pandemic. A carefully rehearsed act of defiance to the plague with all the health and safety measures implemented, to raise the spirits of people in lock-down all over Europe. A reminder to me right now to be very careful in how I cope with this infection.

Unwelcome ache

 A good night's sleep, waking up to sunshine and a clear sky and a fairly clear head. There were as many people in the choir as in the congregation at the St Catherine's Eucharist. Whatever else the meds may do to prevent another stroke or coronary, they dull my brain and impair reactions. The worst thing they do is to destablise my bowels with excessive wind and diarrhea and this has proved painful and bruising recently. My right buttock feels as if I've been kicked hard. The pain and discomfort reminds me of how this area felt when I had the anal abscess. Is this scarred muscle tissue being torn by pressure from emptying my bowels - collateral damage from a so-called life saving drug that ruins my quality of life? If I go to A&E today, quite apart from the long wait, the thought of another spell in hospital and maybe surgery fills me with dread. I haven't fully recovered from the assault on the senses of my last admission. If it doesn't get any worse, I'll go to the GP surgery tomorrow and ask for an assessment.

Clare didn't go to church with me this morning as she wanted to attend the Welsh service in the afternoon, so lunch was ready soon after I returned home. I slept for an hour and a half after the meal, then went for a walk around Llandaff Fields for another hour. Walking boosts the circulation which helps clear the head and ease the bruised buttock feeling. It's worth the effort.

After supper, I transcribed more of the Ulster travel diary. The way I write has changed a great deal in the years since then. I recognise the writer I was in those days, but don't think that I like the person I was back then. While it may read like a journalist's note book of observations and anecdotes, it's opinionated, rough and ready. It wasn't written with an audience in mind. Blogging has changed that for me, although I have never written for any particular group of readers and have no idea who the couple of dozen people are whose page visits are recorded after blogs are posted. It's the sense that somebody may be paying attention which drives me to express myself and my ideas as clearly as possible. I'll never know if I succeed in this. Enough for today. Sleep beckons.

Remembering my father's passing

A refreshing night's sleep, waking to a clear sky and bright sunshine for breakfast pancakes which Clare had cooked by the time I got up. I had a dream in which I was being recruited to join a ministry team at a church in Cardiff which I didn't recognise from the image of it the dream presented. I appreciated the fact the team was interested in having me join them and dreamt I was fit and well enough, but had misgivings I couldn't identify about doing so. Does this echo the feeling that I now miss being an active contributor to the life of the church, since I had to discontinue taking services and offering weekly Morning Prayer and Reflection a month ago? 

The house needed cleaning, as Jorja wasn't able to come and clean for us this week. Having hoovered down stairs I put the batter on charge and detached the dust container for emptying. When I came to re-attach it, I couldn't work out how to do it. It's something I've done many times automatically, relying on visual and body memory. I needed Clare's help to do this. This is symptomatic of the way the medication is messing with my head, slowing down or disrupting completely habitual connections the brain makes.  It was most distressing and frustrating.

We drank our morning coffee sitting in the garden under the sunshade, watching bees and other insects visit the Potentilla bush, covered with scores of small yellow flowers - a reassuring sight. A gentle cooling breeze prevented the garden from being too hot for comfort.

At lunchtime, Clare cooked rice and ratatouille with added smoked salmon for flavour. Then we walked to the Summerhouse café in Bute Park for a cup of tea. The waters of the Taff are low due to the drought, exposing rocks in the river bed and pebble beaches seldom seen. I wonder how the river salmon will fare?

On returning home, I had enough energy and clarity to transcribe a few more pages of my 1974 Ulster travel diary. It records that my father and I talked on the phone on the 19th August, the night before he was due to go into the Heath hospital for the fitting of a pacemaker following a heart attack months earlier. He had another heart attack that night and was taken into intensive care in Llandough hospital where he died on the 25th.  The root cause, an untreated strangulated hernia, very much an industrial injury from a physically tough life for a skilled man. His expertise was working with steel haulage ropes, on which he wrote a technical book and had it published. A remarkable feat for a man who left school literate and numerate at fourteen, and illustrated the book with his own detailed drawings.

My journal detail is vague at this point but suggests we started for home a few days early due to his illness. June was there with him to the end. It wasn't easy to stay in touch with her for updates in those days, long before mobile phones. It all happened too quickly to say goodbye at such a distance, but I remember that he was apprehensive about surgery when we talked on the phone for the last time, fifty two years ago. He met his grand daughters, Kath and Rachel, but Owain, also named John after him, he never knew for he was born four years after his death.

Toxic legacy

On one of the half a dozen occasions I woke up I'd been dreaming of skiing confidently down a long slope on short Alpine skis without using poles, the way you often see young children doing. Something I was never able to do back in the day. It was an unexpected moment of delight in the middle of the night. Then I woke up early and couldn't get back to finish sleeping as much as I needed. I had to make up for it by going back to bed for an hour after breakfast. The medication has caused me to feel drowsy and unwell for most of the day. I feel as if I'm sleepwalking. It's most unpleasant. Is this something to do with the drugs doing their clot dispersal job?

We had trout for lunch filleted in such a way that initially I thought it was a piece of salmon, but it could be something to do with the effect on the medication on my perception. My ability to rely on memory is undermined, not by totally forgetting, but by my slowness of recall. The afternoon was cloudy with brief spells of drizzle, pleasantly cool. After we'd eaten I went to Tesco's to withdraw cash from their ATM and buy some mushrooms. Then I walked up and down Llandaff Fields for an hour, and again for a short while after supper, contending with ankle joint pain which occurs if my leg muscles aren't warmed up enough. 

We watched the second part of Michael Sheen's documentary 'Buried' about the scandalous dumping of toxic PCB chemicals, exposing publicly and formally the seriousness of contamination with a presentation made at a meeting in the Senedd. The appeal for urgent action has been made, but responses from public authorities have been lukewarm and evasive to say the least, so things are likely to get worse. Monsanto Chemicals whose dumped toxic products are the source of the problem, have yet to be called to account and made to pay for clearing up the environment affected by chemical leaks. I hope the airing of this most serious issue will lead to a government response and action. The entry of PCBs into the food chain and in all our bodies is a threat to the health and welfare of all inhabitants and to wildlife. 

On a more cheering note, after this we watched another fascinating edition of 'Fake or Fortune' about the authentication of a couple of sketchbooks filled with drawings and water colours by the young Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. It was partly in French, which made it even more enjoyable to end the evening.