Stroke anniversary reflection

Overcast and drizzly today. I had a good night's sleep and stayed clear headed, even after taking the meds. The newly consecrated Bishop of Bangor, Manon Ceidwen James led 'Sunday Worship' on the radio, reflecting on vocation and pilgrimage.

Clare stayed with Kath while I went to the Parish Eucharist. It's twelve months tomorrow since the stroke ambushed me at the service on Holy Cross Day. Fellow worshippers came to my aid when I stumbled at Communion and became disoriented, more aware of what was happening than I was. The first symptom wasn’t a trapped nerve in my neck as I thought. I had trouble recognising where I was outside my own house. The morning after, I was grateful to Fr Rhys for driving me to UHW A&E and checking me in. There and then began a precarious journey of recovery including an adverse reaction to medication precipitating a heavy nose bleed at home a few days later. I was grateful to Nigel who drove me to A&E for a second stay involving surgery to repair a damaged vein in my nostril. Sixteen days after my first admission I was released to continue recovery at home.

I was much blessed by sacramental visits from parish clergy through this critical period. It brought home to me the mysterious reality of being sustained by the prayers of the church. The consultant who examined me when I was first admitted declared eight months later I was in good health making a good recovery . I’m grateful I didn’t lose strength and balance making it possible to continue walking ten thousand steps a day. Visual impairment stopped me from driving. It’s a relief to be spared the stressful necessity of driving and maintaining a car. We rely on public transport and occasional taxis instead.

The world I inhabit is smaller now, learning to live with limitations unforeseen. Life as a pedestrian in the slow lane allows me time to look and listen, to appreciate and give thanks for the beauty of creation in the passing seasons. For how many years did I rush through life, trying to pack in as much as possible, no matter what the impact might be, as my body aged without me realising? I gave up contributing weekly to Daily Prayer on WhatsApp, when it became too stressful to maintain a regular schedule. I'm not doing anything creative currently to replace this. I have good days and bad days. Fatigue is never far away, mental and physical, and the medication seems to make things worse not better. Being fit and active is a gift and a blessing for much of the time. Restorative rest and sleep are a gift and a blessing too.

There’s no point regretting what I can no longer do, or had to let go of in the interests of a less demanding life. I’ve been given time to think about and understand occasions of failure and error in my life and entrust myself to God’s mercy and pardon. How precious is the Jesus prayer in this regard. I miss leading worship, reading scripture, preaching in church. I may think I still can, but reliability of commitment when there’s no certainty of whether it’s going to be a good day or a bad day, must come first. I accept that after fifty seven years in public ministry, all I have left to offer is thanksgiving. I hope to learn instead from listening to others, and experience the Gospel from a perspective different from the habits of a lifetime. 

Having had such a rich and fulfilling life, illuminated by divine grace and mercy all the way, I have so much to thank God for in all I remember and experience now. One of the earliest sermons I ever preached reflected on St Paul’s statement.“It’s not ourselves that we proclaim, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Christ’s sake.”  This isn’t just about my annus horribilis, it’s about Him at work in the ministry we have to each other in the Body of Christ.

Kath returned to Kenilworth after lunch. It's been good to have her with us this particular weekend. She's been a great practical support this year with problem solving of several kinds, including bidet plumbing. I walked for an hour before tea and another half hour after tea. My right ankle is still giving me trouble and benefits from modest spells of careful exercise. This happens intermittently and may be something to do with my gait, but I've yet to figure out what's happening with ligaments, tendons and cartilage around the painful area.

I spent the evening after supper watching the first episode of 'Kabul' a drama about the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, and the 'Ludwig'. And that was enough for the day.

Carnation mystery

I slept fairly well and when I got up Clare and Kath were up breakfasting on Saturday pancakes. Amazing that Kath was able to find out so much about the painting so quickly. With Clare's help she hung it above the dining room table. It's an imposing feature, like having a new member of the household with us. Kath then set to work fitting the new bidet attachment she sourced to the bathroom toilet. Both she and Rachel are confident, good at reading instructions and prepared to have a go at basic DIY plumbing jobs. I would be anxious about making a mistake and breaking something I can't fix. I'm in awe of my capable practical daughters.

After an early lunch we walked to the Big Top tent set up in Sophia Gardens for the latest show by No Fit State Circus entitled 'Carnation'. The troupe of young athletic performers excels at a range of circus arts including juggling with flexible rings, vertical rope work, trapeze, tightrope walking, tumbling, and use of a see-saw to launch performers into gymnastic aerial stunts. It was fast paced and impressive to watch, but difficult to follow the narrative thread or make sense of it. The accompanying musicians and singers were excellent though rather loud. Six months ago I would have been unable to tolerate the noise or intensity of the stimulus and felt compelled to leave. Evidently I have made progress since then!

When we returned home after the performance I cooked a veggie pasta dish for supper, then walked in the dark around the block for half an hour afterwards for some fresh air before bed.

Art detective work

I woke up from a good night's sleep to listen to the news on this 25th anniversary of the attack that destroyed the World Trade Centre in Manhattan killing three thousand people. 'The Reunion' programme on Radio 4 interviewed many witnesses with first hand experience remembering the events, and replayed audio from that tragic day. 

We were living in Monaco back then. I remember well it was a hot and humid day. We sat down to relax after lunch and watched the news coming in with live footage of the second plane crashing into the building, while the camera was focused on showing the fire started by the impact of the first plane. It didn't seem unreal or like a fake news item as it happened. There was genuine shock and horror in the news commentator's voice which no actor could convey.  

It was stunning to witness this, even at a great distance, trying to imagine what it was like for those caught up in this tragedy. A strong contingency of Americans lives in the Principality. That evening and over the days that followed I kept St Paul's church open and stayed around in case anyone wanted to talk or ask for prayer. Few people entered, those who did were lost for words. I guess most people were keeping vigil in front of the TV news or trying to contact family and friends in the hours that followed. By the weekend, the Diocese issued a special order of prayer for the victims, and all touched by the catastrophe for use in public acts of worship and a service took place at St Paul's. Those bleak sad days are a blur in my memory. There's nothing in my sermon archive to suggest I preached. It was a time for silence rather than words. It was already clear the world would not be the same again after such an atrocity, but in what way? Nobody could guess back then.

I went out to buy veg from Jason's greengrocer's before lunch then  started cooking without realising we're meant to be eating a cooked meal this evening when Kath arrives for the weekend. Crossed wires unfortunately. Sometimes my attention to detail fails due to the medication slowing my thought processes. I see things I may be looking for but not recognise them for this reason. I noticed this morning that my weight has dropped by four kilos. I'm convinced this is to do with the bad effect  of the medication on my digestive system. Will I convince the medics concerned with reviewing my medication that it's less beneficial to my health than they think?

I went to the pharmacy just after five to collect the prescription meds ordered on Monday and the place was shuttered at five twenty four, despite a notice in the shop window and on the website stating closure is five thirty. And it's not open again until Monday. It's the second time this has happened to me on a Friday. I was so annoyed.

Kath arrived at supper time, bringing with her a bidet device designed to sit under a toilet seat to attach to the bathroom water supply. Also Kath brought with her a large framed portrait, one metre tall by half a metre wide, of Clare's godmother Esther Ellen Skelton known as 'Auntie' Betty, her mother's cousin. It was painted by an artist named F Morelli when she was a child about seven years old. I recall seeing this on the wall in her dining room  when we visited her house sixty two years ago. She left the painting to Clare in her will. Her nephew Adrian acquired the painting when her house was cleared after her death in 1987, but he now lives in New Zealand. It's taken many years to reach us on a journey which started in Surrey, went to Wolverhampton after her death, then to Owain in Bristol last year. Kath picked it up from Bristol and delivered it to us. 

It's a beautiful work of art in a romantic impressionist style. The face has a recognisable family likeness to it, to judge from my recollection of the old woman I met fifty years  There was a sticker on the frame giving Auntie Betty's dates, and the painter's signature in red is in the bottom left hand corner. Kath fed a photo and the few details we had into Google and identified the artist as  Francesco Morelli a French-Italian painter who specialised in depicting scenes of rural life, but earned his keep from portraits of people commissioned by wealthy families. What a surprise!  By the time all this was revealed it was time for bed.

Real life drama

A good night's sleep, but yet again it hasn't prevented me from being slow thinking and feeling drowsy all morning. I slept in an awkward position as my lower back was painfully stiff. It meant proceeding cautiously all day, consciously correcting my posture to avoid a trapped nerve. Clare went down the Bay to book tickets from WNO's up-coming performance of 'La Boeme' and I cooked lunch.

A fine piece of BBC Radio 4 afternoon drama was broadcast, so tense there was no chance of me dozing in my arm chair after the meal. In 'Welcome to Defiance' a former air traffic controller tells his Nine Eleven story, when all air traffic over America was ordered to land immediately at the nearest airfield following the hijacking and crashing of four planes, with the aim of exposing any other hijacked planes not yet identified. There were 4546 planes in American airspace at the time. 

The play re-enacted the dialogue between the control tower at little used Defiance airfield and ten commercial aircraft queuing in the air to land, as it was the nearest landing strip they could reach. The airfield had no radar and relied on visual contact once a pilot requested clearance to make an approach to land. It was fictionalised account of events giving a vivid impression of what it must have been like to be caught up in such a crisis and what it takes to respond successfully in such an unprecedented situation in total reliance on training, discipline and trust in the working partnership between pilots and ground crew.

Late afternoon my head cleared so I went out for an uncomfortable walk around Llandaff Fields in drizzling rain. For once, I didn't complete my daily distance as I didn't want to make too much demand on my stressed back muscles. After supper I watched another episode of 'Marbella' before turning in for the night.

A monster of our own creation

Another night when I slept fairly well but not for long enough, leaving me drowsy and light headed before I took my medication. After breakfast I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. There were a dozen of us this morning. At Clare's request I called at Linda's house after the service to see if there was anything I could do to help deal with her compromised email account, but nobody was in. Linda called later, email panic over thanks to troubleshooting by BT. 

Alarm is being raised about the dangers posed by Artificial Intelligence devices so sophisticated they not only solve maths problems hitherto considered unsolvable, but can act independently of their authors to hack into secure systems and conceal their processes and solutions from those monitoring them. Experts are seriously concerned these devices, alarmed that are quickly self evolving and may pose a 10% risk of gaining control over everything digital the world depends on, with catastrophic consequences, to the point of exterminating humankind. What is happening is being compared to designing an aircraft without safety features and expecting people to travel on it. There are no guarantees that safety and security policies and features built into AI algorithms are adequate to prevent humans from losing control of their creation. In simple terms, there's no 'kill switch' built in. Already trillions of dollars are invested in AI data processing centres world wide consuming an immense amount of resources and impacting on our environment. Greed and ambition have conspired to create a monster threatening to destroy us, one way or another.

I bought smoked mackerel for lunch on the way home and cooked veg to go with it. After eating I dozed for a while, then walked in Llandaff Fields for about an hour before supper. Afterwards I watched another episode of 'Marbella'. It's a crimmie about the wheelings and dealings of a dodgy lawyer who also presents himself as an observer of underworld life in the Costa del Sol and the city in particular, whose comments resemble the discourse a social anthropologist might deliver. Curious but entertaining.

Illegal occupation denounced

A good night's sleep, waking up to sunshine and clouds. Clare's study group arrived after breakfast. I sat in the lounge and finished my stroke anniversary reflection. Clare was busy cooking after they left while I was still writing. After lunch I dozed in my armchair for half an hour then went out shopping for groceries.

In Parliament this afternoon, Jewish MP David Milliband denounced ethnic cleansing by Israeli settlers in Gaza and the Palestinian Territories condoned by the Israeli government. He proposed economic sanctions banning goods from illegal West Bank settlements. Strong language about illegal occupation as well as the sanctions has provoked a furious reaction from Israel. Diplomatic repercussions include the closure of the UK Consulate in East Jerusalem. Other European nations are adopting the sanctions, but Trump's regime won't. The Chief Rabbi is concerned sanctions will lead to an increase in antisemitic attacks on Britain's Jewish communities. It's a serious worry as there's so much anger and desire for revenge in every direction. Where can reconciliation begin when so much evil has been done on all sides?

I went out again after supper for a sunset walk up and down Llandaff Fields. The sky was fairly clear so the light didn't fade as quickly as last night, but the wind was colder. I could have done with a pullover or a warmer jacket to keep the chill away. 

Clare's friend Linda rang up in a panic as she had unwittingly compromised her BT email account. He address book had been compromised and it was now sending out toxic spam. I advised her as best I could over the phone, and urged her to call BT to rescue her account, and warn all her contacts by Gmail. Such a distressing occurrence for someone with limited technical understanding.

Rachel sent us a video clip of her new apartment, piled high with boxes from her weekend move, and then a second one showing the progress she's already made in making a living space for herself, with Zeke miaowing us a welcome greeting. I can sleep easier knowing that Rachel's relocation to Cottonwood is now safely behind her and a new way of life lies open for her.

Reviewing the year

I didn't sleep well due to pain in my lower bowel keeping me awake, then when I got up, diarrhea associated with the medication, so a slow start to the day. Thankfully the bum wound continues to heal. Coincidentally I had a message from the GP surgery to book an appointment to discuss my recent referral - but which one? I hope it's about the medication. I phoned to arrange one after breakfast and will have to wait a fortnight to find out. 

A walk to the shops before lunch to buy swabs and a Cayenne pepper refill. Clare bought Cayenne pepper on her shopping trip, another co-incidence.

After lunch, I went to the Kings Road pharmacy with a prescription renewal request for blood pressure medication. It won't be ready until Friday. I remembered this in good time with a week's supply in hand. Renewal of various meds aren't synchronised, so I need to be vigilant about stock taking. 

Next Monday it'll be a year since the stroke. I wrote a reflective piece on the life changing nature of the experience and the end of my public ministry, to post on the Parish WhatsApp Daily Prayer thread. I don't know if anyone will read it. So few actually listened to my contribution on YouTube that I often wondered if it was worth doing just for its own sake. Servants of God's Word can never be sure if anyone has been listening to them, let alone understood, but it's what we're called to do no matter what the result. That's the nature of giving witness to the mystery of God with us.

Clare went to choir practice at supper time. After eating I completed my daily walk in Llandaff Fields as it was getting dark. Being out at this time of evening awakens memories of the early weeks of living with the stroke when I went out and walked at dusk in an effort to establish how limiting the effect of visual impairment would be. Despite my apprehension I risked the possibility of getting myself into trouble, losing my way, falling or banging into something un-noticed and injuring myself. Only once did I bruise my left arm, bumping into the projecting edge of a gateway parapet. 

I found a Spanish crimmie to watch on Walter Presents, a story set in Marbella showcasing its reputation as the capital of the 'costa del crime'. A bit far fetched, but I enjoyed listening to the dialogue and being able to follow most of it.