Recovering

Another good night's sleep, waking up refreshed, clear and sharp, though still feeling a bit light headed. A mild, bright sunny day for the autumn equinox. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's after breakfast and bought some church garden tomatoes and courgettes from Hilary at coffee and chat afterwards. It's such a relief no longer needing to be vigilant about taking slow release capsules that upset my digestive system after breakfast and supper. I had a one o'clock acupuncture appointment. It was a rush to get there on time, even with an early lunch. No dyspepsia afterwards!

Peter was pleased to hear about the difference that stopping the dipyridamole prescription had made. He had suggested my reaction to it was due to sensitivity to such a strong drug and that it was worth posing the question to the medics about changing it. I felt less light headed after he treated me today, comfortable in my own skin with a spring in my step when I left him. Although I didn't feel tired I slept in my armchair for a while when I got home, but went out again later and walked up and down Llandaff Fields to complete my daily distance.

After supper I watched this week's episode of 'Ludwig' and rather than watching anything else I decided to go to bed.

A new start

I woke up refreshed from a good eight hours of relaxed sleep for the first time in a year without discomfort from an irritable bowel or bladder awake only for an hour - my first night without aggressive medication working its way through my body upsetting my digestive system. I'm slightly light headed but without feeling faint or drowsy. Clare thinks the buttock wound has closed.  I'll wear a dressing a bit longer as a precaution. Her study group arrived after breakfast so I stayed in the front room and worked on transcribing my Ulster travel diary until lunchtime.

The meditation group Clare belongs to met chez nous this afternoon. I joined the two that came. Two more gave their apologies. I went for a walk after lunch before the session started. It was good to experience an  improvement in open air spatial awareness in the absence of the drug which has had such a soporific effect over the nine months I've been taking it. I didn't go to sleep during meditation and kept focus on the text chosen from Isaiah 30.15, 'In returning and rest you shall be saved, in quietness and trust shall be your strength.' So my concentration is better too. What a blessing, hallelujah!

A tea time shopping trip to Tesco's for chicken, kefir and a bunch of roses for Clare, and after supper a short walk in the dark to stretch my legs and complete my step quota for the day. I watched the last episode of 'Marbella' again as I wasn't sure if I understood how the conclusion was reached, nor for that matter what the point was of the anti-hero dodgy lawyer's apologia for his support role in the glitzy world of organised Costa del Sol crime. Was this comic irony? Re-watching left me none the wiser. Then I watched another episode of 'Ludwig', quirky, funny, very much a British whodunnit. A world of difference.

All too soon, bed time after a drug free day, although I have been straightforwardly light headed. I wonder if this will wear off when the dipyridamole is completely out of my system, or if it's the aftermath of the stroke and the terrible time I had in hospital? It's a matter of wait and see.

Unexpected relief

Waking up after a good night's sleep to a hazy sky and pale autumnal sunshine. St Matthew's feast day today, the evangelist whose story has accompanied and maybe influenced me throughout the years of my ordained ministry. I'm annoyed with myself for omitting to lay the breakfast table before going to bed last night. It's a routine in which preparing the next day's medication is embedded, a discipline to counter forgetfulness, but tiredness got the better of me last night. An odd start to the day for Clare as well. After eating breakfast she started preparing to welcome her study group, thinking it was Tuesday. We're both creatures of routine. How does this happen? If we'd been listening to the nine o'clock news perhaps we'd have noticed the Monday morning discussion programme 'Start the Week' was broadcasting. It was interesting with a philosophic exchange between physicist Carlo Rovelli and poet Lavinia Greenlaw. 

Rovelli's new book 'The Equality of all Things' asks what can we really know about the world around us, whether from observation or mathematical theorising. He remind us of the many angles from which we consider anything and everything - he uses the example of a glass of water, its chemistry and physical properties, the function of water in biology, economics, in cosmic evolution. There are many simple factual ways to describe what we see. A poet's imagination adds more ways of describing how we perceive and understand the same glass of water. Rovelli doesn't speak about the mystery of existence as such, but says that ideas of reality are shaped by a continuous play of reflections illuminating each other. Even so, how we choose to describe things matters. In describing things we interpret them to ourselves, give them meaning and purpose, enter into the creative process simply by observing creation itself. The question is - where does this take us next? And how?

My head was clear until I took my meds, with breakfast. Then light headed drowsiness slowed me down and blunted my perception of everything. I jotted down a few notes about symptoms to take with me to the doctors this afternoon, then pushed myself to work on compiling transcribed chapters of 'Esmeralda and the Magus' into a single Word document. It's a slow task - copying and pasting files formatted on a word processor from twenty five years ago, full of redundant hard spaces and carriage returns needing to be removed. In addition there are small consistent typos running through the text due to a touch typist trained on mechanical machines not fully used to an AT digital keyboard. I'm editing the text as I go. Reviewing it can wait until later.

Clare cooked mackerel with veg for lunch. I snoozed for a while afterwards then walked to the surgery for my appointment. Dr Jordan reported on her discussion with the stroke treatment team. It's acknowledged my sensitivity to the dipyridamole is doing me more harm than good, so I no longer have to continue taking it. I continue taking aspirin. No alternative medication is proposed. I could hardly believe what she was saying, and concluded that as long as I keep taking the statin and aspirin, the risk of another stroke or a coronary after a year is much lower as long as my blood pressure stays under control. I hope that's the case anyway. Such good news, what a relief!

Clare went to a Welsh conversation group after an early supper. I walked for three quarters of an hour in Llandaff Fields. Rachel called me on my way home and we chatted for an hour. She's settling into her new abode in Cottonwood. It's a smaller space that she has all her worldly goods crammed into, but the beauty of the rural setting compensates for this. I'm wondering how recovery from discontinuing dipyridamole will affect me as I go to bed tonight.

Unfinished rediscovered

A good night's sleep again, waking up to hazy clouds and sunshine. Today is the fifty seventh anniversary of my ordination to the diaconate, when I was made a 'Clerk in holy Orders' and wore a clerical collar for the first time. 

I never felt comfortable about being a Minister of Religion identified by a uniform, preferring to be known personally by relationships made as a pastor in the community I served. I gave up the clerical collar altogether when we lived in Geneva where a legacy by-law banning the wearing of clerical garb in public was no longer enforced. It was common for Catholic and Protestant clergy to wear a cross with civilian clothes and that was what I did. As I have withdrawn from public ministry over the past year,  I've not done this. There's no longer a need to make myself visible to strangers as a pastor. I used to feel it was a special kind of witness to advertise myself as an approachable trustworthy person of good-will by wearing a cross, but somehow it doesn't matter now. I'm not ashamed of what I am, or what I was when I dedicated my life to the service of the Gospel and other people, but what have I to offer now with my attention and concentration randomly impaired by the medication I take?

At the end of the St Catherine's Eucharist this morning Fr Sion told the congregation about yesterday's brief encounter and I was given a brief round of congratulatory applause. I felt embarrassed by this. I don't think I've taken a Sunday service since Sion became our parish priest. In that time there's been a turnover in congregational members and young families. Few of them know who I am and vice versa. It's mainly the older long standing members who have been on the receiving end of my ministry. With the passage of time, I become a stranger in my home church. It's also true of the turnover of neighbours in our street. Time passes, people change, things change.

It was one of those days when the medication left me feeling so drowsy after lunch the only thing I felt I could do to overcome it was walking in the park. Our friend Marc was giving a violin recital on Penarth Pier. I didn't feel well enough to go with her.  I didn't think I could sit through a concert without falling asleep, so Clare went to Penarth by taxi on her own. Walking for an hour was an effort physically tiring as if my body was complaining after a night out on the dance floor. Another toxic side effect with the medication. I have a GP appointment tomorrow to discuss my referral for a medication review. I have no idea what this entails as it's not with a medication specialist.

After suppper, I watched another episode of 'Marbella'. Then Rachel called. She told me that during her move she found the original typed copy of my novel for kids 'Esmeralda and the Magus' which Kay the church secretary in Halesowen transcribed into a digital version twenty five years ago. I never got around to combining the separate chapters into one file, but the original digital transcripts have been tucked away on my hard drive archive ever since. Now that's another task awaiting me, combining and editing them into a publishable version. Before I think about doing more I must get some sleep. I'm tired tonight. 

Full circle

A good night's sleep, a damp cloudy morning, pancakes for breakfast. The meds didn't have such a strong soporific impact on me today, Don't know why. I went shopping for cooking apples and cauliflower before lunch. A memory from student days surfaced and surprised me, learning to make a sauce for a cauliflower cheese dish under Clare's supervision on the little stove she shared with others in Manor Hall Clifton, sixty years ago. Some elements of basic cooking I learned at home and in the Boy Scouts. Others I learned as a student when I got together with Clare. 

When I returned from the greengrocer's, I found Clare was making a cheese flan for lunch. While I was waiting to have my gall bladder removed I dare not eat eggs or cheese on their own or in any combination. Eighteen months later, I can eat cheese and even cheese flan without distressing my digestion. I'm OK with eggs in cake and pancakes, but have yet to try boiled or scrambled eggs and omelettes. I'm proceeding with caution, enjoying familiar food tastes anew, as long as I don't overdo it.

I slept for half an hour after lunch, then went out for a walk. Today is the fifty-sixth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood by Archbishop Glyn Simon in Llandaff Cathedral, so I made a pilgrimage there, visited the cemetery and prayed where he and two of his successors are buried. On my way I met Fr Sion and his wife and daughter taking their dog for a walk, and told them where I was headed.

I have so much to give thanks for over those years as an 'Ambassador for Christ' at home and abroad, as an urban missioner in multi-cultural inner city communities in Birmingham Bristol and Cardiff, as a pastor in expatriate congregations in Switzerland, France and Spain, as an itinerant adult educator representing USPG all over Wales. Such a variety of experiences and opportunities in my working life and as a voluntary priest in retirement. And now in my latter years, I'm on the receiving end, back where I started, a member of the laity, praying in the pew, waiting on God for whatever comes next.

After supper, we watched another episode of Kabul, which seems agonisingly slow in its portrayal of panic chaos and menace, as Afghans and expats attempt to flee the country as the Taliban take control of the country. Then, I watched an episode and a half of 'Beck' until it was time for bed.

Ulster visits recalled

It seems like I'm settling into a more consistent pattern of seven and a half to eight hours of sleep a night. It doesn't stop the meds from causing light headedness, drowsiness and slowing my thinking.  For the most part my head is clear enough to enable me to cope with the ill effects, but it frustrates efforts to live at my natural relaxed pace. 

I received a message from my old friend Frank in Puerto Rico responding to a photo I found of Barbara his first wife, taken on our wedding day in 1966. He reminisced about a seaside family holiday they shared with us when our children were young. Barbara was living with a brain tumour which reached crisis point when we were together. She had to be air lifted to London's Guy's Hospital for treatment. We looked after their son Sasha who continued playing on the beach with our girls while Frank was away. Later I assisted at Barbara's funeral. She was Roman Catholic and it was a ground breaking privilege to be invited to take part at that time, soon after Vatican II.

I spent time before lunch transcribing a couple of pages of my Northern Ireland travel diary, in particular a section describing my ascent of Slieve Donard. I didn't have a camera at that time so there are no photos to remind me of the beauty I sought to express in my account. Memories of staying in Northern Ireland are rather vague fifty years on. I did two summer locum stints in Newcastle. Frank, Barbara and Sasha were with us on one occasion, but which one I can't work out. The travel diary is from 1974 so probably it was in 1973, as the 1974 text ends speculating about a return from chaplaincy to parish ministry.

Clare cooked butternut squash and broccoli to go with fish for a potato free lunch. I went Jason's greengrocers after eating to buy some blueberries, then walked in Llandaff Fields. After supper, another episode of 'Kabul', then Ashley rang for a chat, followed by Rachel as she drove to buy an item of kitchen furniture. The signal was so poor and intermittent, it sometimes stretched a gap between syllables in a word. Bizarre transmission latency. 

I stated watching an episode of Swedish crimmie 'Beck', a new season, but it was longer than I expected and stopped half way, as I didn't want to go to bed late.

Stiff fingers

Despite going to bed late I slept well, over eight hours, with the bedroom window open. It gave me a fairly clear headed start to the day, but by mid morning medication side effects closed in on me like bad weather, slowing me down, affecting my spatial awareness, making me feel nervous when on my feet.

In the day's news, Iranian backed Houthi forces have made significant advances, taking control of the Yemeni coastline and the Bab al Mandeb gateway to the Red Sea. The pipeline which made it possible to export Saudi oil using this route is out of action after a missile strike. With traffic through the Straight of Hormuz restricted and vulnerable to attack, the price of oil has risen further with widespread economic impacts especially on fuel prices.

Trump claims optimistically that Iran is open to a peace deal. It's impossible to believe anything he says. He's trying to cheer up voters ahead of the US mid-term elections at a time when his popularity is at an all time low. The US Congress has voted for the third time to halt progress in the war without its approval, with some Republicans voting with Democrats. The war has cost America $38 billion so far and depleted its military arsenal. Unfortunately Trump can veto any war time decision Congress makes, but the longer the conflict continues and inflation rises, the less likely Trump will be re-elected when the time comes.

I made an effort to play my Tatay guitar today. Remembering chords and melodies wasn't a concern but my left hand and fingers are so stiff that it's much harder to stretch them and press down on the finger board to make clean chord shapes and change them in the correct sequence when playing a piece of music I recall. Serves me right for failing to play for so long, not to mention cutting my fingernails. The Tatay is over sixty years old and has a beautiful mature resonant sound. It holds memories of music-making stretching back over my entire adult life. What a treasure!

We had cold pre-cooked sausages and veg for lunch, then went into town together to find a replacement for the broken metal foil in my electric razor. I remember seeing them on sale a few years ago. Neither Boots nor John Lewis had them in stock. Now it seems they are only available on-line. We had a cup of tea in John Lewis' top floor restaurant, and then returned home.

After supper we watched another episode of 'Kabul'. Then I watched the finale of 'Vigil' - a happy ending of sorts, but I'm not quite sure how it was reached as yet another layer of criminal conspiracy was exposed on top of the spy stories embedded in previous episodes - never mind, bed time already.