Time to say thank you

Mid morning, I drove Clare over to the University Optometry school to get her new set of varifocal specs, her second pair this year, as her eyes have deteriorated further and she needs to make the most of her eyesight while she can, before she is compelled to learn how to use voice recognition technology with the phone and the computer. We called into Lidi's nearby afterwards, where she bought a anti-snore pillow, which turned out to be nothing of the sort - more likely a wrongly packaged standard pillow. Too late to return it once it's been used. 

With a couple of trips to the shops and Post Office, my days exercise was done pounding the streets under a layer of grey cloud - there is visual relief however, from Christmas trees revealed behind open curtains and strings of coloured festive lights, increasingly spread outdoors to front garden trees and fences.

Then I settled down to finish the thank you letter started over the weekend to Mrs Cornish the surgeon. As the wound is now tiny and almost completely closed, I felt it was time. I've been reluctant to write this any earlier, when I might well have done - a bit like tempting Providence. It's now three years almost to the day since I was given an initial date for surgery. I have so much to be thankful for, given the intrusion of the pandemic, and several other delays in between rounds of surgery due to resource shortages. 

I guess if anything has changed in three years it has been not just in staffing, but in improved availability of some equipment, and organisational efficiency. There are still big problems due to lack of functioning wards, shortage of nurses, and lack of home care to enable early patient discharge to avoid bed blocking, but covid has brought a revolution in emergency care and diagnostics, and this makes possible different ways of treating people. 

I heard an industrial scientist on the radio talking about a proposal for a global health monitoring system to spot evolving deadly viruses which could give rise to another pandemic. It would issue a global threat alert early enough to take preemptive action. It would network monitoring technology analysing soil, air, water, especially waste water, relating them to medical and veterinary pathology data. It would require huge investment and political consensus, but save the world from economic ruin and high death tolls in future generations.  

I completed and uploaded to YouTube this Thursday's Morning Prayer video, wrote a biblical reflection for next Thursday's video and recorded the half of the audio. This minimises the amount of preparation I have to do alongside Christmas services and family celebrations. It's going to be a busy week.

Before bed I started watching the movie 'King of Thieves' based on the 2015 Hatton Garden bank vault robbery. It was said to be masterminded and pulled off by a group of retired London East End thieves in their sixties, and starred Michael Caine, Jim Broadbent and Tom Courtenay - a brilliant portrayal of a group of elderly working class males, a non-genteel 'Lunnon' equivalent to 'Days of Wine and Roses

The dialogue was hilarious, mostly comprising old school abusive gangster language, such as you might hear in any rough back street pub or football terrace. Anything but politically correct, so the movie was preceded by a 'health warning'. I had to give up and go to bed before midnight approached as it didn't finish until late, so I'll have to watch the last quarter in iPlayer.

Royal resisters

Already eight days since the operation and despite noticeable improvement each day and diminishing aches and pains, sleep gets disrupted by discomfort, and leaves me feeling tired, although I have enough energy to walk and get on with daily tasks, evening doing without a siesta if I need to. From 8.5-9 hours a night, I've dropped to 7.5-8 hours. Maybe it's summer weather, or maybe an odd anaesthetic after-effect. The main impact is not walking so briskly, but never mind.

We got up late to our usual pancake breakfast. Clare finished varnishing garden table and benches, a job she started a few days ago. I worked on tomorrow's sermon, prepared a funeral service for the week after next and updated my blog, as often happens when I realised there was something yesterday which I only recalled as I was falling asleep. Memory rarely flows in straight lines.

An hours walk before and after lunch outdoors, lengthy phone conversations. After supper we watched a new documentary on Channel Four about the role played by King George VI and Queen Elizabeth in the campaign to deceive and mislead the Nazis over invasion plans. The Royal Family's active role has never before been revealed. When the story of Allied spying and disinformation campaigns was published in the 1980s this aspect was concealed, and brought to light only by recent research into royal archives. 

One small titbit of new information drew my attention. In speaking of intelligence gathering networks and the role of MI5 and MI6, reference was made to the royals' independent intelligence network, due to the historic as well as personal relationships between members of all European royal and aristocratic families. This was a two edged sword, as some royal relatives were Nazi sympathisers. George and Elizabeth made it clear where they stood, once the country's appeasement initiative failed, something they'd approved of, not wanting a war. King and Queen acquired weapons along with other household members, learned how to shoot and carried weapons with them in their cars when the threat of invasion was imminent. And they refused evacuation to Canada for safety reasons, insisting on remaining, at home among their people. It was an impressive story, well worth telling.

Threatening reality

More blue sky and sun today, the temperature rose to 25C right into the evening. The heat relaxes me and made up for not sleeping as well or as long as I needed to. All our meals were taken outdoors. I am still unable to sit to eat, but never mind. I managed to sit for half an hour after supper but pressure on the wound eventually led to painful discomfort. It's still early days. We walked around Thompson's Park before lunch. A heron arrived and stood on the alert in the reeds at the edge of the duck pond. I doubt if there are fish in it, just microscopic creatures and plants which ducks enjoy. Very photogenic.

After a late lunch, we went for another walk, over Blackweir Bridge and down through the woods to the Millennium Bridge and back. I wasn't so tired today, and completed by daily walking quota. Exercise and fresh air did me good, made me clear headed and more alert, countering the aftermath of the anaesthetic. I  had a message from Jan at the Res to ask if I'd cover her absence for a few days the week after next. Tomorrow I'm covering Phelim's midweek Mass, while he's away on a cycling tour of all six Welsh Cathedrals. I can't sit to drive, but Kath will take me to St German's and I'll return by bus, standing in the area reserved for wheeled users.

Public Health England reported zero covid deaths today for the first time in a year. It has happened in Wales too I believe, on a few occasions. But not regularly and consistently over a period. That would be noteworthy good news. The numbers of the Indian covid variant continue to grow but this seems not to have much impact on hospital admissions. The vaccination regime has so far proved effective in limiting the spread though not eliminating it. Experts say there's a risk of a third wave of infection developing which could have an impact, and are appealing for delay in lifting all restrictions. 

Meanwhile the covid death rate is soaring in some countries like Peru where under-reporting of fatalities adds to an already chaotic situation in which hospitals are overwhelmed. How can you plan to tackle the crisis faced with a dearth of reasonably correct information? How many more lethal variants are going to emerge that vaccination cannot stop. It seems to me that unless a way is found to eliminate poverty and inequality around the world, {since these are the breeding ground for contagion} it may be impossible to stop even deadlier pandemics, that decimate earth's population and destroy the present global economy. Tolerating poverty and inequality is sinful, and as scripture says, the wages of sin are death. When will we awaken to this truth that threatens? 

Lying low

I didn't have a good night. Three days on from the operation, although the wound is stabilising, it's been painful and uncomfortable for much of the day. It's a bit like the aftermath of having a big painful tooth extracted. It's such a relief but it still puts you on hold for a while. 

Post-anaesthetic tiredness has caught up with me, but it's not been possible to sleep except in short spells, so I have paced slowly around the house and garden, not covering much distance. This will be the first day in a couple of years when I have fallen well short of my daily target walking for only half an hour instead of at least two  - not that it matters, though I dread stiffening up for lack of exercise.

A lovely sunny day, but I needed to stay home while Clare and Kath went off to picnic on Monknash beach, south of Cowbridge. The roads to the coast were inevitably crowded being bank holiday Monday. For me sitting at all, let alone in a car is impossible at the moment. I'll have to postpone tomorrow's eye test, as I'm unable to sit in a chair. 

In between bouts of walking and resting, I finished my reflection for Corpus Christi, and wrote a sermon for next Sunday. Fortunately my mind is clear regardless of the state of my body. On previous occasions after surgery, down time has been necessary. I wasn't expecting the same impact after the removal of the suture, and wasn't warned adequately of this when the procedure was explained to me beforehand. But I have been here before and will get over it. Just staying in bed all day is no option, with the pressure on my rear end the way it is. Being careful about every move is what counts, and accepting tiredness. That's what I keep telling myself.

This evening there was a fascinating programme on BBC Four with top photographer Rankin tutoring half a dozen promising individuals of different backgrounds and experiences in a variety of different settings, with different kinds of story to be told in pictures - a boxing gym, a wholesale fruit market, a fashion shoot featuring models with disabilities. All of the students were using hefty full frame cameras with an assortment of lenses, mostly Canon, though I think there was a Nikon camera there too. Choice or product placement? I couldn't help wondering. It was the second in a series. Tomorrow I must watch the first one on catch-up. It was amazing to see the variety of expensive high tech kit used in the fashion shoot. The cameras were cable connected to a computer displaying photos almost instantly, big 25-50 mega pixel hi-res JPEG images, ten times bigger uncompressed. How things have moved on since the days of film, and yet for some photographers, film is still the definitive medium for quality and colour. 

I know I take quite good photos on times, and take a camera everywhere, to point and shoot at whatever attracts my eye, but this programme made me realise that I don't really think enough about photos I am taking, and what story I'm aiming to tell with them. Hmm - now that is quite a challenge to sleep on.

Aftermath

I slept reasonably well, if a little less longer than usual, due to the need to change dressings in the night. The wound is open without the suture now, but at least it can heal properly at last. We had our Saturday pancake breakfast early, then went back to bed for a lie in and snooze until eleven. I walked for an hour and then cooked lunch. Today the wound is more painful and inflamed so I need to take several doses of Neurofen and one of paracetamol to minimise discomfort and pain. I've also needed to alternate activity and rest, to use my energy sparingly and not get exhausted. In other words, be sensible. 

When I was briefly awake in the small hours I remembered being anaesthetised and having a tight fitting mask imposed that was gently pushing air into my lungs, moments before I blacked out. I then recalled the same sensation when I was operated upon at the Spire last November - a mask like the one that scuba divers wear. On previous occasions the mask was more loose fitting with a tube into my mouth that was taken out when I re-surfaced. So, I wonder if this reflects the proliferation of the technique for assisted breathing with the oxygen or enriched oxygen mix being pumped in under low pressure, widely used to treat covid patients? It would certainly explain why I wasn't at all groggy when I came to, but felt as fresh and bright as I do when I sleep under an open window our outdoors in a tent. Extra oxygen to aid recovery maybe? A strange thing to be thinking about in between sleeps in the middle of the night.

I rested in the afternoon, then walked to Texco's for a bottle of wine and some olives, as Kath is coming tomorrow, driving their brand new Skoda mini-SUV on its first long journey, having collected it from the showrooms this morning. It'll be great to see her again in the flesh as opposed to on Zoom. Yesterday Clare took part in an all day symposium Kath ran about using dance with early years children. An very impressive piece of work. We're very proud of what she's doing.

Talking of early years work, Mark our violinist friend came around this afternoon to be briefed by Clare about accompanying her when she does her kindergarten eurythmy story telling session in school. It was lovely to see the two of them out in the sunshine on the patio piecing together the performance. Working with kids in this way is a new adventure for him, although he's no stranger making music with them,

This evening Clare had tickets for a Schubert Schwanengesange recital, by Gerard Finley accompanied by Simon Lepper in the Dora Stutzker concert hall at the Royal Welsh College, followed by a Q&A with the artists. I listened lying down on the bed for an hour and a half and then needed more fresh air before bed. For the first time, perhaps since the last operation, I can't remember offhand, I needed Clare to put a plaster over the wound before bed. It's slow drying out now the adrenalin which aids clotting has left my body. There's no escaping the aftermath of invasive surgery. It creates an opportunity for nature to take its course again in a wholesome way, and that's what counts in the end.

Op-day, liberation at last.

I went to bed early but didn't get off to sleep until eleven. I woke from a very short dream in which I bit on a juicy tomato which was tasty and slaked my thirst. It's the first time I can ever recall tasting something in a dream. I'm no stranger to hearing identifiable music, voices and physical sensation while dreaming, but identifiable taste, not just the word associated with a taste is different. And curious.

I was out of bed and having a shower by six fifteen, stepping int a taxi at ten to seven. The driver told his sorry take of being scammed over a smartphone purchase, Somehow a crook intercepted communication between him and him phone company, or else he got diverted to a malware look-alike site. He lost both his new phone and some money, although his bank reimburse some of his losses. I hate on-line purchases and shopping as you have to be so much more vigilant than you do when you the goods and vendor in a real life store.

I arrived at ten past seven, but couldn't get into the building until the surgical staff arrived at seven thirty, so I did a complete 2km circuit of the hospital ring road, and  stopped at a place where there was a view to say Morning Prayer. Later, while I was waiting for surgery, third in Mrs Cornish's list, I overheard the nurses debating the length of the building. One of them googled and learned that Llandough has the longest hospital corridor in Europe, at 1km. 

Mrs Cornish came by for a briefing beforehand, but afterwards a nurse discharged me. For the first time in five operations, I was allowed to walk to the operating theatre now relocated next door to the pre-op ward. The out-patient surgical suite has been reorganised since my last visit for op number three. You no longer have to be taken on on a bed in the service lift to get to theatre. It was one by the time I returned on a bed, more than an hour under anaesethetic, and then another hour before I was discharged by a nurse, once my blood pressure was low enough to be deemed safe. At last I'm rid of the Seton's suture, as planned. I'm on antibiotics for the next five days. Initially, the pain was more than I was expected, but the more I walked about, the more relief from pain I felt.

Jacquie drove me home, accompanied by Clare, who'd gone over to her house mid morning. There was a lovely and much welcome fish soup for lunch. The hospital offered post-op cheese sandwiches only, so I had to make do with a cup of coffee until we got home at three. The hospital wound dressing detached after I arrived. It was a relief, as it was thick and pressuring the wound repair. I wasn't bleeding so I used a much slimmer clean dressing instead, with a couple of ibuprofen tablets to curb the inflammation. This made such a difference that I went out for a walk in the park. 

This helped curb the pain, but drew rebukes from sister in law Ann who thought I should lie down, take it easy and rest, as I was taking too much of a risk by exercising so soon. Well, I felt better for movement, rather than struggling with discomfort unable to sit or lie comfortably without pain. The risk paid off. The concern is something to do with the use of adrenalin in anaesthesia to curb blood flow. When I came round after the op, I felt bright and clear, as if I'd awakened from a long refreshing sleep. This is regarded as an adrenalin 'high'. When it ends it may do so suddenly and cause you to faint. No sign of me fainting! 

I felt relaxed and well enough to watch tonight's episode of 'Rocco Schiavone' live, and felt naturally tired towards bed time, and pain no worse than what I've been used to after too much or too little bowel movement. Tonight I'm feeling quite relaxed, having turned a decisive corner in my two year open wound ordeal. I may pay the price for my 'hyperactivity' tomorrow, who knows? It was worth it just to express the sense of freedom I feel as I turn in for the night

Quarantine day three

How cheering to wake up to a day of brilliant sunshine, mild weather and no wind! As I was closing the bedroom curtains last night , the moon shone brightly in between clouds, ascending just above the terrace rooftop south of our back garden.

I went to bed half an hour earlier than usual, and benefited from this, strangely, with a night of relaxed sleep with just two disruptions. I published the YouTube link to my upload of Morning Prayer and biblical reflection on WhatsApp for the first time before Radio Four's 'Thought for the Day'. Tonight, early bed and up at six to be sure I reach Llandough Outpatients for the op by seven thirty. I do so hope that this will enable me to return to complete physical normality.

Over the past couple of years, I've remained active and fairly fit despite infection, but having a wound at the base of my central nervous system, often irritatingly uncomfortable, thought never painful enough to require analgesics, has been a strange experience. I compare it to grit in the eye or a stone in the shoe, something that incessantly undermines bodily harmony ans hinders focus. I've not been able to sit and relax comfortably without consequence. If I've taken photographs obsessively these part two years, it must be because this is a head and upper body activity for which I need to stand.

I've stopped playing guitar which I've done for the past sixty three years. A guitar is, after so long, like an extension of my body. Sitting to concentrate on playing has proved as hard an effort as coping with rheumatic fingers and wrists. Fighting against the reaction of the nervous system to make the effort to play has felt counter productive. Better to rest, avoid any negative over-stimulation and wait to survive the affliction, in the hope of one day returning to enjoy playing. It's been much harder since Clare has started to learn jazz piano, as I'd relish the pleasure of playing with her. 

Most of my walking today was outdoors, enjoying the sun. I begin to feel normal, relaxed, and not feeling confined by the restriction of a few days self-isolation. My sister June has had a plague of flying ants and ordinary ones on her Wandsworth Common balcony. She was worrying about how to get rid of them, and then the local bird population turned up, crows, magpies, then blue tits and coal tits. It's been a while since we've seen tits in our garden. Or ant plagues for that matter.

In the local news today, a further closure of Blackweir Bridge while work is done dredging out hundreds of tons of stones from the river bed, presumably to improve flash flood drainage and let broken trees that fall in the water float downstream and not block the channel. I hope this doesn't have too much impact on the ecosystems of the riverbed that help sustain fish, and insects on which the birds feed. This past week or so I've seen swallows and swifts feeding on the wing over the river, a lovely sight as summer arrives.   

Thanks to another delivery of fresh salmon, sea bass for the freezer, plus laver bread, supper tonight was my favourite Welsh sea food. Then a couple of hours writing, and off to early bed.

Creative spurt

Thanks to a gentle flow of ideas, I spent much of the day writing my next round of reflections for the Parish WhatsApp prayer group. A letter confirming my surgery appointment arrived in the lunchtime mail. Unlike previous ones it's an morning rendezvous, 7.30am. I'll have to take a taxi to Llandough, as Clare may not be cleared to drive me there, if her field of vision test turns out unfavourably. I had to ring up and confirm acceptance, as the procedure now includes a covid test before three days self isolation. 

Jackie came over for lunch in the garden. She moves house to Stroud in a couple of week's time, and is currently waiting somewhat nervously for the sale formalities to be completed. At 78 she's uprooting for the first time in twenty years, moving away from friends to be nearer family. Quite a challenge.

Later on I walked, first around Thompson's Park and Llandaff Fields before tea, then continued writing reflections, before and after supper. To clear my head before bed, I went for a short walk around the block and realised that tomorrow is rubbish collection day, so I put out the recycling and organic waste bags, a job Clare usually remembers before I do, but tonight she was in the lounge absorbed in listening to an album of Art Tatum playing piano. It's what she needs to do as she gets to grips with playing by ear and improvising jazz. It's great that she does this.

Yesterday she planted some beans in a seed tray and by this evening a couple were poking their heads out of the compost, so I took close up photos with three different  cameras for comparison. It wasn't as easy as I imagined with different lenses. Hand held close ups can be as difficult to get sharp pictures of as distant telephoto subjects. Working at both ends of the lens range may well be more effective with the camera on a tripod using the timer. Lesson learned.

Op date assigned

I was just about to settle down to say morning prayer in honour of St Mark the Evangelist this morning when I received a 'phone call from the hospital. The anaesthetist had already read Saturday's pre-op report and added me to the day surgery schedule for May 28th. Now at last we can plan a week's holiday because we know where we stand. A cottage by the sea, early June in West Wales is what we're hoping to book. 

Another glorious sunny day today, with curried lentils, rice and veg for lunch in the garden. Then I walked into he city centre to take photos on this much awaited day when it became permissible to eat and drink at tables outdoors once more. i can't say that every open establishment was crowded with people queuing for a table, but it was fairly busy, you could say as busy as you might expect on an ordinary Monday. It's nice to have photos that contrast with those take when the centre was deserted for so long due to lock-down.

It's tragic to see the pandemic raging out of control in India, people dying in the streets waiting for treatment at overwhelmed hospitals lacking in oxygen to keep sick people alive. Just as covid deaths are reducing to single figues per day here, they are reaching a couple of thousand a day in India, with a third of a million new infections as day. The country caught unprepared for this huge surge in numbers, and Narendra Modhi's government has a lot to answer for.

I spent the evening watching episodes of NCIS that I haven't seen before from the more recent series. Then there was a full moon to gaze at, brushed lightly with high cirrus cloud. I'm not expecting great things from the photos I took, but it was lovely to look at above the roof tops. It made me remember the three full moons I saw in a crystal a clear pollution free sky last year in the countryside in locked down Ibiza.

Encouraging news

After breakfast this morning I had a phone call from the appointments office in UHW Heath to ask I could take a pre-op assessment this Saturday morning. A delightful surprise and and indication of my surgeon's commitment to resume normal activities as soon as possible. Determination in the face of a nightmare of a backlog of patients needing treatment if news reports are to be relied upon. If all is well on Saturday I may even get an appointment for my final round of surgery.

Recently, in our area many building companies are working on houses. It's consequence of people having to stay at home during lock-down and not spending much, so money saved gets spend sooner or later on jobs needing to be done or major home improvements. A house opposite in our street has been undergoing a substantial loft conversion for several weeks now, taking advantage of the dry weather, and it's nearly complete. The house changed hands a few months ago and couple moved in that until today I haven't seen let alone meet. Pascal is from Nantes and Miriam from Bilbao. She and Clare got to talk in the street because she'd seen me out and about in my Basque beret, bought in Bilbao back to 2009. 

When I got back from my walk of the day, Clare introduced me to Miriam on the street. We chatted in Spanish, occasionally lapsing into English and even French, covering a wide range of subject for over an hour. On my own doorstep, I get to use the Spanish I have learned over the past nine years more than I have done in all my time among expats in Spain. Wonderful! One of God's little surprises, just as I strive to get used to not being able to travel in Spain again.

The new phones we bought last week don't include an answering machine. I needed to get TalkTalk to activate the native answering service. When I visited their website, I discovered that our contract had just expired. I set a phone notification eighteen months ago last time I renewed it, but it hasn't yet arrived. So I did what was necessary, and then tried to find out how to switch on the answering service. I had to resort to usng Twitter's instant messaging service, like I used last time I had a broadband malfunction, and had an exchange with one of their helpline people. The first time I tried, the system wasn't working properly as it was still updating my subscription renewal, but the second time, it did work. That was how I discovered that using TalkTalk's answering service will cost me an extra pound a month. Altogether with my renewed contract, I'll be paying fifty three pounds a month. It works pretty well. Is there better value for money out there? Maybe, but what I have is consistence and continuity where I need it most.

Next up, car insurance renewal at the end of the month. Another tenner on the premium if i pay on-line, but then, I am a year older now, and no matter what my record or how careful I am, the more I am seen as a liability by underwriters. Given how little we use the car these days, using a taxi when we need it would probably be less expansive than have a depreciating asset in need of maintenance parked outside the door.

Long awaited conversation

After breakfast this morning, my telephone consultation with Mrs Cornish was booked for ten o'clock. Minutes after ten, the phone rang. It was a routine robo-scam call about my non-existent Amazon Prime account! Minutes later Mrs Cornish called, with marvellous news. Day surgery appointments re-start on 30th April, and I'll get an appointment on one of the early lists in May. Wales has seen a couple of days with no deaths due to covid. Many people are still being treated in hospital, but with infection rates so much lower now local health boards in Wales are in a position to pick up where they left off, and work through the backlog.

I think I was over the top excited on the phone. I'd been steeling myself for a much longer wait, given the huge number of people needing treatment delayed by the pandemic crisis. Mrs Cornish was pleased with my January MRI scan showing progress had been made after round four of surgery last November. I was able to confirm that progress in healing has continued since then, even if the gradual closure of the wound has led to the loose end of the suture sticking into me painfully. At last the end is in sight!

As soon as the call ended, I dashed off to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. With so much to give thanks for, I couldn't stay away, and only arrived five minutes late. It was lovely to share the news with fellow worshippers who have been so kind and supportive over the past couple of years.

I shared the good good news with Clare when I got back from church. She'd been out walking when the call came. I went out again and collected this week's veggie bag, and then helped cook lunch. It was mild enough to eat outdoors in the sunshine. Sitting there with my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth, listening to sparrows chirping in next door's hawthorn tree, the washing machine finished its cycle and started to bleep. For a moment, those sounds put me back on the terrace of the chaplaincy house in Ibiza, just as vividly as pictures Google Photos pitches me a daily reminder of, a year after they were taken.

I walked around the park for another hour before tea, and spotted the first fully open dandelion of spring alongside on of the tracks I walk on. The two crab apple trees we've harvested fruit from are sprouting leaves. Interesting how some trees produce blossom first and then leaves, while others produce leaves and then blossom. I guess each species plays to the needs and ability of its pollinators, depending on the exact time and weather beneficial to both their life cycles. Lovely to have a mind free and time to take in the exquisite detail of they ways nature works.

Patience, a necessity

Sunshine and clouds again to start the week. I was surprised to find that Mother Francis posted the link to my video of last night's service on the Parish Prayer WhatsApp group, and a few people who weren't able to attend expressed their appreciation for this.

It wasn't such a cheerful start for me however, as the suture has been digging into the wound again, after a spell without trouble. Sometimes the preventative measures I take stop become ineffective. Remedying the problem is never without painful debilitating consequences, as the suture presses on the vagus nerve. It's not just the dull pain, but the way this drains me of energy that makes it so frustrating. It interferes with daily activity. Walking can ease the pressure, though not entirely. It slows my page noticeably - not the pain, but energy drain that accompanies it.

I walked for an hour before cooking lunch and for another hour after a post-lunch siesta. To take my mind off it, I took thirty odd photos of buds and blossoms with my Olympus OMD10 to add to an album from which I propose to make a video slide show, and possibly a photo book. I've asked Mark if he'd like to accompany this with suitable solo violin. It's something he could use to promote his music making and I could use to present the photo book, if I decide to go into production.

I had a good conversation this afternoon with Mark and Fran about the icon video presentation we're to make tomorrow. They sent me a script which we discussed, along with ideas about shots we hope to get, once we've settled on a background setting within the church. I'm excited about working with others on a creative project. I can't remember when the last time I did anything collaboratively.

In Wales from today, supermarkets are allowed to sell non-essential items again, and garden centres can re-open. I suspect they are going to be very busy for the next week or so. Clare is keen to visit, a garden centre, but neither of us are keen to brave the crowds at the moment. She has a hairdressing appointment with Chris for this coming Friday, right at the end of the day. He's so busy that's the best he could do to fit her in.

After supper, I decided to lie on the bed for comfort and watch NCIS episodes on my Chromebook, but it wasn't that comfortable. Sleep seems to be the best remedy for limiting the distress the wandering suture causes. I'm supposed to be having a phone consultation with Mrs Cornish the surgeon on Wednesday morning. Just as well this has happened now, as I won't forget to tell her. Clare says I'm prone to forget to mention bad days when I have a run of good ones. 

I've come to accept setbacks and stay mindful of the slow but overall persistent progress I have made. And that calls for qualified optimism. Set-backs happen, they mess me about, but I've had some experiences of seeking medical help that were a waste of time as the problem called for surgical expertise, and that's simply not there on call when you need it. Unless it's critical - life threatening or psychosis inducing - you have to wait in turn. It's what being a patient means,

Sacred freedom

A slow start to a rainy day with pancakes for breakfast. I don't know where the rest of the morning went, as the next thing I was doing was cooking a veg stir-fry with prawns for lunch. It wasn't quite the success I hoped for, as I overdid the chili. I'm fine with cooking a paella or a risotto, but don't recall solo cooking a stir-fry before so it was an experiment that nearly worked.

Straight after lunch I went for a walk around Thompson's Park for an hour. It was dry when I set out, but two heavy showers left my rain jacket sodden through by the time I got home to shelter. I changed my jacket, and donned rain trousers before resuming my walk in the Fields for another hour. It didn't rain, the cloud began to break up and the sun briefly put in an appearance. I never have rain trousers on when I most need them, and if I put them on, it rarely rains, or stops fairly soon, or so it seems.

The wound remained quiet throughout exercise. After return, I sat down in the lounge to relax befote making a cup of tea, but I sat down on a awkwardly placed neck cushion, which normally provides some support for the sitting bones and relieves pressure on the most sensitive part. This time it was subjected briefly to the full wright of my body, which was excruciatingly painful. As Clare pointed out, there was going to be bruising after the op anyway. But it's taken four days to appear.

After supper I watched TV on my Chromebook lying in bed, rather than sitting up. The last couple of episodes of Danish crimmie 'DNA' were quite complex and not easy to follow as two interlocking story lines with flashbacks came to their surprising resolution. Crimes were committed by well meaning folk, compounding errors and betrayals. A tragic narrative, but the conspiracies weren't the work of organised crime, but pious decent folk whose zeal to do righteous things led them astray. Things aren't always what they seem, or what you'd like them to be when you see the whole picture. Or think you do. 

It seems this is an important message for our time, for religion and society alike in a time when conspiracy theorists speculate around selected facts, and believe their conclusions are 'scientific', and immune to scrutiny. The aim seems to be the undermining of trust and confidence in the disciplined logical processes of empirical enquiry in which frames the questioning of theories and data quality in all branches of science. Better the freedom to doubt than the prison of utter certainty.

The BBC fact checking team has published a detailed account of testing allegations in one example of electoral fraud Trump announced he'd litigate over. A database of dead people voting plundered from public records, disregarding parent and child namesakes, where the child lives at the address of the parent, or a deceased namesake exists in another state with the same date of birth as the one who voted. Faulty data harvesting, faulty method, creating an illusion of certainty, yet treated as if a certain fact by the so-called leader of the Free World. Such foolishness!

Day at the Spire

At last my fourth surgical appointment at The Spire private hospital in Pontprennau, courtesy of NHS outsourcing of a small number of day surgery cases to ease demands on Llandough at this critical time. Clare drove me there for an eleven fifteen start, but we were there by eleven. There's a special 'Green Zone' reception area for those who have completed full quarantine requirement and are infection free on other counts as well. In the entrance lobby there was a staff member with a big thermal imaging device which scans incomers at a three metre distance, before they can approach the reception desk. 

Once I'd been checked in, I was escorted to room 211, equipped to look after individual patients, and then went through the familiar routine of giving my name, address and date of birth to each person who came to interrogate me, first the lady who organises post-op refreshments, two nurses, the anaesthetist, and finally Mrs Cornish the surgeon. All were masked and in uniform and came at intervals over a two and a half hour period before surgery started. In between times, I paced around the room for exercise and to relax during a wait which continued until half past three.

I walked, escorted to the operating theatre to be prepared for surgery, then the next thing I knew I was in the recovery room feeling surprisingly awake. Mrs Cornish came and told me about what she'd done. In our pre-op chat I admitted that my expectations of this one being the end of the affair, as I felt certain the bout of infection had caused further problems, and I was right about that. She had identified a small pocket of infection, excised it, removed some of the obstructive over-granulation around the wound and changed the Seton's suture. 

There'll be another op in three months time, and before that a MRI scan to check if there's anything else hiding within. There's no certainty of complete healing in the long term anyway, but rigorous scrutiny before finally removing the suture and closing the wound improves the odds. The next op is planned to be in Llandough again. I imagine the pandemic crisis has required the hospital trust to improve facilities for day patient minor surgery with its own covid-secure zone and staff.

I was wheeled back to my room on the trolley used for the operation and was able to transfer myself to the bed. I was feeling find, with no noticeable pain, but my blood pressure was still sky high, so I had to wait an extra half hour until it reduced to a less worrying figure before the nurse would discharge me. 

I walked out of the front door at ten past seven to be met and driven home by Emma's husband NIck. Once it was clear that I wouldn't be discharged until after dark, Nick was asked to collect me, and kindly agreed. It was great to have a chance to chat with him. Clare had a lovely supper waiting on the table for me, and some hugs and kisses to welcome me home.

Looking forward to being able to walk in the park again tomorrow, hoping that the anaesthetic aftermath doesn't leave me too tired and lethargic to breathe fresh air again. I may not be fully repaired, but I get a physical feeling that the wound is going to be easier to live with while I wait for round five after today's outing to the Spire.

Staycation round two, day nine

I woke up half an hour before sunrise to a bright blue cloudless sky. It lifted my spirit, and moved me to take my Sony Alpha 68 to the loft and shoot a series of photos as the sun emerged from behind the roof line of the terraced houses beyond the garden. For a fleeting moment I glimpsed a flock of starlings as the made their way from the night time urban shelter towards the countryside to the west. I often hear them in the late afternoon, but seldom see dozens in the sky together. Inevitably, after an early breakfast I fell asleep again during morning prayer. Thank heavens I don't have a schedule to keep these days.

Early results in the U.S. election indicate that Joe Biden didn't get an overwhelming number of votes. It's too close to anticipate a result while votes are still being counted. How long will it take I wonder before enough are counted and legitimized to be sure who won? Again the opinion polls have been wrong, Not enough people are yet sick of political populism and a bullying head of state to declare against him. 

The country seems evenly divided, on the basis of voting turnout said to be the largest in a century. No good can come from all Trump's lies and deceits, until enough people give up on  all illusory promises that end up dividing in order to rule. The world needs consensus and united action in order to survive pandemic and climate change, and at the moment we have neither.

I had to forego exercising in the garden today despite the sunshine. Clare took advantage of the weather to fill the washing line which runs along the path, so all my walking was indoors, listening to Radio 3. When I did pop outdoors, I noticed that the hawthorn tree in next door's garden, now stripped of leaves was hosting a large family of sparrows, nearly a dozen I think, and another family visited but seemed unable to find enough room to cohabit. 

Last week, and on other occasions this autumn, a solitary sparrow perched in that tree, cheeped loudly for ages then flew off. I wonder if it was advertising the space available? Before this tree was drastically pruned about five years ago, it was often hosted a large group of sparrows. Then there were none. This year they've nested in the hedge next door on the other side, and are hanging around much more.

Having taken such a lot of photos of four different cameras since the end of summer, I thought I'd add them to my PC's hard drive archive. It took me longer than expected to file them away in the correct folders this afternoon. Then, for amusement I processed ten sunrise photos into a video clip to send to the family. It's something I rarely do, so it took a while to figure it out first.

The surgeon's administrator at the hospital rang at tea time to check me out, wanting to confirm that my covid-19 test had been booked, and asking if I was well, really wanting to check I wasn't poorly and going down with some sort of sickness - possible even in quarantine I guess, if you ate something that gave you a tummy bug. So far so good, anyway.

Back on hold

The day started with rain and only dried up after lunch, so my daily exercise started indoors only, pacing around upstairs and downstairs. Just before lunch, a phone call from the administrator of the pre-op unit at the hospital, sounding very apprehensive, to tell me that the op has been postponed for three weeks.

Looking at the news these past few days, it didn't come as a surprise, I half expected it and said this to the bearer of the bad news, and said I understood why. She sounded relieved. There'll be others who are sicker, feeling even more desperate than I am, who won't understand, who'll just see it as another NHS failure to meet its duty of care to all citizens and be angry and upset. What a job, to have to explain the reality to all the people whose hopes are being dashed.

Long waits to be operated on, which I have experienced on a couple of occasions, were due to shortage of anaesthetists. In anticipation of the increase in patients needing life support due to the covid spike, surgeons and anaesthetists need to be on standby, clearing diaries to return to the crisis front line. Will just a three week delay be enough? I'm doubtful. 

Having just resigned myself and adjusted to life in confinement, it's back to what passes for normal for the next five weeks before resuming self-isolation. I celebrated with a walk to the shops in search of a small cake tin and a bottle of brandy for Clare - with extra time in home confinement with me, got her started on cooking Christmas cakes, several of them, different sizes. 

Then I went for a walk in the park and took a few photos before tea, and completed my regular mileage quota for the day outdoors again. My legs complained a little at walking bigger distances in a straight line without stopping, just after a few days of being indoors. Adjusting to change, physical or mental, takes longer as you get old, I guess.

In the evening BBC Four celebrated the 80th anniversary of John Lennon's birth, with a showing of the 1964 Beatles movie 'Hard Day's Night'. It came out in the middle of our first year together as a couple. We loved the songs then, and can still sing them from memory, even if lyric details are a little garbled on times. The whole 90 minutes film is chock full of songs, a whole long playing record's worth. Its witty dialogue, comic scenes, superb visuals and editing, are a delight, quite innovative to pack so much in at that time. It's like one long music video, fifteen years before MTV popularised pop song singles videos. 

There were also a couple of documentaries fronted by Yoko Ono, featuring Lennon's post Beatle songs, mostly written after he migrated to the USA in the seventies. Interesting stories and music, either unremembered or new to me. A remarkable creative man, a life tragically cut short.  

Self isolation - together

Yesterday was a day of intermittent rain and windy dry spells, and still rather mild. In the morning, I had a chest examination at our GP surgery, to confirm my cold is really on its way out. Very little coughing now and the doctor said that I'd be OK to spend the next two weeks waiting in self isolation for operation number four. I was also given a 'flu vaccine injection. Clare also had hers later in the day, having booked one at the pharmacy so we're both covered for the winter now. 

After lunch I had a call from the surgeon's secretary to check that all is as hoped for, and that I know what's happening. She told me I'm listed for a morning operation, That means checking it at the Spire hospital for seven o'clock, leaving at a quarter past six to be sure to arrive in good time. It's like that necessary flight departure time - you may hate the sleep disruption to get there as required, but there's no alternative but to put up with it..

The Taff water level was a little lower than yesterday so much of the island of stones in the middle of the river was visible again, Unusually, there were a pair of cormorants and a heron keeping vigil over the waves, hoping to spy and catch a fish. Owing to the gusty wind, there were scores of gulls and crows grounded on the sodden grass. 

We again spent the evening watching another three episodes of 'The Shtisels' It's entertaining but gives a lot to ponder on, about power and control, love and freedom in an extended family striving to do their best to keep their conservative traditional faith and lifestyle. With nothing in the diary for either of us in the next two weeks of lock-down, we can work our way through our collection of videos we've never got around to watching.

Today was the first day of quarantine, wearing a face mask out in the street on the way to the park and keeping at least five metres from anyone passing. And, not touching anything with hands, i.e. opening gates, or pressing the button at the zebra crossing. No visits to shops etc. It's stricter than usual, but not too far from how I am habitually. I spent many weeks on my own with next to no social contact and no physical contact with others or the environment outside the house and grounds, so I'm used to it.

Walking along the river path this afternoon, I saw a flock of crows grounded and a young heron walking about among them, without conflict or disruption. An older heron was keeping vigil on the island of stones in the river, a hundred metres away. It's rare for me to see two in the same vicinity like that.

This evening we watched two more episodes of 'The Shtisels', and decided that we'd keep the final one in the box set for tomorrow night, both of us being rather tired. Yesterday's 'flu jabs seem to have had more of an impact on us this year than previously. Is it just that we're getting old? 

Op prep

A miserable wet day today, with either light or heavy rain from early morning to late afternoon. Clare drove me to UHW Heath Hospital late morning for my pre-op assessment. The unit has moved from a collection of temporary buildings out in the grounds into the south wing of the first floor of the main hospital, where there's an assortment of other outpatient clinics. The area previously occupied is now a large building site, occupying half the original open green space on the 1960 architectural plan. Spare capacity is much needed as this is one of Wales' main teaching hospitals.

The hospital corridors were busy with staff and support workers moving around but less crowded than it was before the pandemic. Normal services are resuming, but more slowly, as patients must be managed mindful of the need to ensure safe distancing, a more measured workflow without queues, and very few people occupying waiting areas. Everyone is scrupulous about hand hygiene and mask wearing. I guess staff are relieved to be able to resume their normal duties and not have their clinics cancelled and be obliged to cover emergencies with pandemic victims. Covid-19 infected patients are met and managed in a separate zone. A great deal has been learned and put into practice these past six months.

After my examination, and discussion with the consultant anaesthetist I received a provisional go-ahead for the operation. My chest is still noisy with phlegm in the wake of the cold, but there are no signs of bronchitis. I'll need my GP to listen to my chest Monday next, to confirm that I am well on the way to full recovery, to stay on the surgery list for the 20th. There's still another two weeks in which to improve after that, two weeks in which Clare and I must self quarantine. I'll get a covid-19 test three days before to confirm that I am safe to work on in the routine manner. Let's just hope there'll be no more infection set backs in the coming twenty days.

The assessment took nearly two hours. It was still raining when I left the hospital, so I gave up the idea of walking home and took a taxi, just after Clare texted me to say that lunch would be on the table for me as soon as I got back as she'd just finished cooking. Later in the afternoon we went for a walk in the rain, and as we walked the rain got heavier and heavier. I decided to turn back, but Clare under her brolly marched on. I sheltered under a tree before setting off, then the rain slackened to a drizzle, so I resumed walking, and we both got home within minutes of each other from different directions three quarters of an hour later. By sunset, the sky was a clear inky blue, and the almost full Harvest moon was mid horizon. There'll be a second 'blue' moon, as it's called in the coming month. Let's hope it won't be an overcast night.

Unexpected light

By the time I got up, I had a streaming head cold and immediately rang the Pre-op Assessment Unit to inform them and ask for an appointment deferral The person I spoke to thought that a delay of four days would be adequate, assuming it was just a cold - that's nine days from now. 

The worst of Clare's symptoms are receding already, so today she got dressed and tackled a few domestic tasks, taking time out to rest as well. After lunch I received an unexpected phone call from the colorectal surgeon's administrator at the hospital. She was aware of the change in my pre-op assessment date, and it seems this risked causing problems, as the team proposes to perform my surgery #4 on 20th October. I was surprised and amazed, to say the least, having expected another delay of many more months after the pre-op assessment whenever this gets done. Then came the big revelation!

The op will be done at The Spire private hospital in Pontprennau. Mrs Cornish is a specialist surgeon on their list, About a year ago I asked if she'd be willing to operate on me there at my expense, I was feeling so desperate. He response was admirably simple - "Sorry but no. I'm far too busy with NHS patients." In order to clear the waiting list backlog, NHS Wales is hiring the facilities and staff there. This is complex to prepare, as all the surgical records have to be digitized and emailed to The Spire for the benefit of the support team as well as Mrs Cornish. This part takes two weeks. The earlier the pre-op assessment can be done the better, in case there are any further pre-op investigations called for, given my recent ups and downs in health. 

So, I must get through this cold, avoid further infection and look for ways to get my blood pressure closer to normal in the coming weeks. It may not be so straightforward, but knowing that I am on track for treatment soon is a great stress buster. Not seeing an end to being stuck in Ibiza when I was so overdue to return home, then getting sick was traumatic, awakening dark memories of the months of waiting without knowing to get properly diagnosed for surgery in the autumn two years ago. It undermines you saps your resilience. For the second time in 24 hours my pre-op appointment has shifted two days earlier, and I'll get a call Monday morning to confirm I have recovered from the cold.

I've got a few more days of nursing myself, dosing with garlic and honey, making the house smell awful and taking life easy, even to the point of reducing my daily exercise, to recuperate, but at some level I am feeling better already. Shadows are giving way to light at last. Hallelujah!

The trials of getting a check-up

So now the government is imposing new constrictions on socialising, in an effort to curb the rapid growth of covid-19 infection. 10pm closing time for pubs and clubs with table service only, compulsory mask wearing indoors, no more than six people of different households to socialise at any time, and variants of this regionally. There are tighter restrictions, prohibiting un-necessary movement in and out of areas with high infection growth rates. As well as the boroughs of Caerphilly, and RCT, Bridgend and Merthyr are now areas of concern. 

How long before Cardiff joins the list, with its huge student population, and almost religious devotion to boozy nights out socialising in the city centre? It doesn't take a lot of people failing to take seriously the present and great danger of careless or indifferent socialising to boost contagion massively. That's what's happened, and may continue to happen unless everyone comes to their senses soon. 

Clare's weekend attempt to book a covid test on-line resulted in a phone conversation with a test 'n trace tracker this morning. It didn't produce an accessible test centre booking however, there was a disparity in the tracking reference numbers she'd been given and one which was against her name on the system. It happens sometimes said the lady, calling from home with a dog barking in the background. Which made me wonder - what happened to the idea of training covid-19 sniffer dogs? 

For the moment at least it's still possible to walk in the parks each day. I'm enjoying cooking and preparing meals. Few shopping trips are necessary, as Clare orders groceries on-line for home delivery. I had to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy this morning, but there was no need to visit the shops apart from this. There are very few chances to socialise. Churchgoing in a strictly distanced and sanitized environment works well. People don't hang around for long afterwards, just long enough to ask for news of each other's welfare and health.

Clare phoned me when I was nearing the end of my afternoon walk to tell me that the Hospital's Pre-op Assessment Unit just phoned with an offer of a date for a pre-op assessment, and I should ring pronto to arrange this. The assessment done in preparation for the final round of surgery in February expired at the end of July, by which time the op should have been performed. There was no hope of that happening this year, so at least my name hasn't got lost in the system, though I expect to have to wait many more months before the last op, unless my condition does give cause for concern. My GP has lobbied on my behalf several times lately for which I am most grateful. 

I called the Pre-op Unit just in time to speak to the person who had called and agreed a date next Monday morning. A few minutes after coming off the phone delighted at this small step of progress, Clare said "Did you mention that I have a cold, that we are self isolating and am chasing after a covid-19 test?" Then my heart sank. In the excitement of the moment, I'd forgotten this and not considered that the mild tickling sensation at the back of my nose that started after lunch might be the start of a cold for me. Or something worse. I rang back to arrange a postponement, but the line was unresponsive. By tomorrow, I'll know if it gets worse. In the meanwhile, lots of crushed garlic and honey.