Different kinds of wires crossed

Clare took the car into the garage this morning, as the same fault affecting the central locking system and electric window on the driver's side has returned to haunt us. It's a puzzle. Something has worked loose or perhaps damp is affecting the wiring loom. It'll take a while to find out so it's just as well we have no need of the

I was surprised to receive a phone call from the Cardiology department at the Heath Hospital after breakfast calling me in for an ultrasound scan. Surprised, as I'd been told in a 'phone call Thursday last that the anaesthetist didn't consider I needed one for my postponed operation to be performed. I asked if there were crossed wires again in hospital communications and was reassured the initiative arose as a result of the pre-op, as one of the heart consultants reading the report noticed that I was overdue for a heart check-up.

My GP referred me for this after I complained of palpitations, which turned out to have been triggered by drinking too much coffee, or perhaps something digestion related at that time. The cardiologist at that time gave me a clean bill of health, stating that my heart condition was normal and healthy for my age. He said he'd I'd get another check in two years, and that was that. But when did it happen? I couldn't remember, so checked back through old blog entries, only to discover that it's three years since my first scan. 

How time flies! Has the checkup system been slow in catching up with me? Or did the cardiologist say two years when he meant three? It's a mystery, but now is as good a time as any for a follow up check, so I have an appointment booked for Thursday at eight forty. It's early to be out and about as I'm usually needing a change of wound dressing around breakfast time, but we'll figure out how to manage this. As the car's unlikely to be returned before then, and buses to and from the Heath in heavy traffic are unreliable. I have walked the distance in about forty minutes, but the weather may not be in my favour, so I'll need a taxi to get there.  At least I won't have to wait long so early in the day, and the scan only takes twenty minutes. Here's hoping.

Finally, a letter giving me a date for surgery on Valentine's Day, a month from now. Here's hoping there'll not be another cancellation. I don't know how I'd cope. Diagnosed as needing surgery on 18th October, it's taken three months to get this far, and four to the op - for minor surgery they call it?

  

A church farewell, photos and memories

A quiet Saturday came and went, marked only by another walk into town, as far as Canton Bridge. We stopped at Pettigrew's Tea Room in Bute Park Gatehouse for tea and cake before walking home. For the first time, we went to a table upstairs, where I discovered the walls were line with paintings by Kevin Strong, the husband of Julie, the CBS administrator. Many of his paintings are of places we know well, in and around Cardiff, beautifully done, but he also paints Tenby and Newquay Cornwall,  a gifted artist whose affection for familiar scenes is evident in the way he portrays them.

This morning, we walked to St Luke's church for the United Benefice Eucharist, it was Fr Mark's farewell celebration with the Benefice he has served for the past twenty years, overseeing the union of three Parishes into one. It was one of those occasions when we ran out of hymn books and every seat was taken, about two hundred people present in all. The two most recent Saint Padarn students placed in the Parish for the in situ element of their pastoral training, Fr Dominic and Fr Dylan, both now deacons in St Asaph diocese, assisted at the altar along with Team Vicar Emma. St Catherine's choir, augmented by members of the Elizabeth singers (Fr Mark's daughter's choir) led and enriched the singing of the liturgy with anthems and additional hymns. 

Fr Mark presided and preached with his characteristic warmth and gentle humour. It was lovely to hear him speak thoughtfully on all that his ministry entailed during his time here. He said something which struck me about ministry which I'd not thought of before. "However settled a priest may be in any job, clergy by nature of the vocation have no fixed abode." Yes, this was true in my experience of forty years of work, and although having a permanent home now in Pontcanna, it's still true of much of the work I continue to do as a voluntary priest. Churchwarden Hilary made a presentation and gave a concise and thoughtful speech at the end of the service, summing up aspects of Fr Mark's ministry most valued by fellow church officers. I'd like to believe that both of them spoke in a way that would give much food for thought to many rank and file members and newcomers.

I took my old Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX5 along with me and got consent to take photographs throughout the service. It's not something I'd want to do often. It's as active a part to play as is assisting in leading worship. You can join in all the prayers while your attention engaged with the visual aspect of the liturgy as well as its familiar words. It's important position yourself quietly without getting in anyone's way or disturbing anyone. You don't interact with anyone as you move about. Being unobtrusive requires some concentration, and not worrying about what people think! 

Back in 1980 when St Agnes hosted a televised Sunday Mass in the aftermath of the St Paul's riots, a TV cameramen asked if could receive Communion during the service, as this he would have been doing if he hadn't been working on a Sunday. When and how, at the beginning of the procession of communicants or the end? I asked him. He couldn't, however leave his post, as the broadcast director might call on his camera for a shot just then. So, just as one would take Communion to someone immobilised in their seat, I went to the camera and gave him Communion. Simple. He said that for him being on duty at a service was a matter of worship mostly with the eyes, doing what he did best. It made sense to me. I didn't forget this, and thought him as I did my best with a camera.

I bought the LX5 in the John Lewis January sale in 2014. Already two years on the market, it was a quarter of its list price and quite a sophisticated camera for its day, albeit a little old fashioned in its design, with a physical lens cap. It's slightly bulkier than a pocket camera, so I haven't used it as much as my succession of longer pocket zoom cameras. Its wide field of view has been useful for town-scapes and I've taken over four hundred photos of the Cardiff Central Square redevelopment project with it, out of about three thousand. I'm using it more, now that my trusty Sony HX50 is dead. It produces sharp photos in many setting even if it's less responsive than a more modern camera. I've thought about buying one of the recent Panasonic travel cameras, which have the same build quality, but the Sony range still has the edge in terms of pocketable size and weight.

St Luke's church hall was arranged with tables for a Parish Lunch after the service, and I popped in to greet someone I'd noticed at the surface but not seen in the crowd afterwards, but we had decided not to stay for the meal, being unsure how long I'd be able to sit it out. Clare got chilled due to the lack of heating during the service, and left immediately to get home and warm up. I went home by way of St David's hospital where I had a nurse appointment. Later, Clare went off to her monthly study group in Bristol, and I busied myself editing and uploading fifty odd photos from the service, some of which were quite pleasing, though not all. The trouble with more up to date cameras is that you soon get used to their improved performance, even in small ways, and see photo quality differences you were hardly aware of a few years ago.

I had an email this evening for someone called Brendan Skelton, who seems to be engaged in a St Paul's area local history project relating to the Festival, My predecessor Fr Roy Blake was one of its founders, and I took part in some of the planning committee work, though it wasn't as big a priority for me as my involvement with black led churches and inter-faith inclusion activity. His questions set me off thinking about those days for the first time in decades. The process of remembering is a bit like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. But first, you must look at the picture, if you can find one, to see the whole scene.

I think there are some slides from a 1980s Festival, but I haven't dug these out of storage yet, let alone digitized them to review, so I really had to work my memory hard to produce a reasonable response. It made me realise how much I rely on eighteen years worth of digital photos to prompt recollection of times and places past. Before the millennium, there are photo albums, but these are far from being comprehensive, as there were years when the pursuit of photographic interest apart from family snaps was unaffordable. Nowadays the challenge is to update and organise my ever growing archive of digital images, before they become as jumbled as the space in my head filled with three quarters of a lifetime's memories.

Movie night with friends

A routine visit to check in with my GP this morning, and tell the tale of the past few days. He had a couple of very young looking medical students on placement with him. I said how, despite all that's happened, the nursing care I've been receiving has led to a improvement in my overall condition. Also with the medication change, my blood pressure average readings resemble much more what he is happy with, after a long spell of being elevated worryingly. Nursing care or pills? Both, I reckon. Then back to the Riverside Health Surgery in the afternoon for a dressing change - every other day, now things seem to be a bit steadier.

We went to Chapter Arts Centre to see a movie this evening 'The Favourite'. Described as a black comedy in the ethos of the Restoration period, relating the story of eccentric Queen Anne and her women lovers. It was superbly filmed period costume drama with brilliant acting and direction, no doubt destined for high filmic honours. The script was coarse, witty, sometimes funny, but I found it lacked any content to uplift or inspire me. There's nothing new to learn about being from the details of decadent lives notable for unabated vicious intrigue that I feel I need to know. Royal voyeurism as entertainment? We stoop so low. Are we so bored with ordinary decent lives? It's not for me. A wasted evening, as far as I'm concerned.

We met choir friends Claus and Anna on our way into the movie theatre. We sat together, then after the show, invited them back home for 'Abendbrot' - bread cheese pickle and salad washed down with a bottle of Pflazer Spätburgunder from Lidl's - a favourite light red for all four of us. Anna told us of her programming plans for the next concert series. Unusual music, promising to be challenging and fun to sing. I hope I shall be able to rejoin rehearsals this time around. It would be a real tonic.

   

Chaos over, a dead camera and more waiting ahead

I slumbered fitfully, propped up on pillows for fear of waking up covered in blood out of a snatch of deep sleep, and stayed in bed dozing tiredly until late. At ten, Debbie phoned to say she'd had no success getting a response from the surgeon's secretary, yesterday or this morning, but she expressed determination to get answers using all skill and clout as practice manager.

In the afternoon, Clare and I walked into town and had tea in John Lewis' upper restaurant. On the way, down the Taff footpath, we caught sight of a heron on the east bank, and then a jay, taking off and flying across from west to east. It the first sighting of either this year. I got two heron photos at maximum zoom range, but the Sony HX50 is now malfunctioning so often due to a mechanical fault when opening up, that it's become too unreliable for used. That's after five years of use and ten thousand photos.

I called into Cardiff Camera Centre where all but one of my cameras have been purchased and confirmed my suspicion that it's beyond economical repair after a longer than usual lifespan for a consumer pocket camera, very well travelled. I'm now looking at getting a HX90 to replace it with, when I get back to my usual level of regular photo snapping. It's something to look forward to. The HX90 is a bit more sophisticated, even smaller and just as capable. Better still, factory refurbished cameras with full Sony guarantee are available at 27% discount, when I'm ready to buy.

As we travelled home on the 61 bus, a call came through on my mobile from an administrator at UHW, who to had been given the thankless task of calling my to explain and apologise for the past day's chaos. It seems I was misled about the requirement to have another ultrasound scan. The good news is that the anaesthetist who'd read the pre-op report is apparently satisfied that I'm fit to be sedated so all's well on that front.

The bad news, however, is that the day's surgical schedule for 17th Jan has been cancelled altogether, heaven knows why but that's how it is. I have to wait for another five weeks until St Valentine's Day to have this dealt with.

Well, it's a relief to know I'm not lost to the medical system, and tough to have to wait even longer, for Clare as much as me, but there's nothing that can be done. And for the moment, I am in a stable enough state with regular life simply on hold.

A small parcel arrived for me in the post from Kath. I'd asked her to find me a novel in Spanish that was short enough for me to try reading and not losing heart, with so many dictionary calls needed to clarify the narrative, when getting the general drift isn't enough. Good practice! She bought the book before leaving Tenerife on Tuesday, and says its un regalo, love her. It's Crónica de una muerte anunciada (Chronicle of a death foretold) by the Colombian Nobel Prize winning author Gabriel García Márquez. It's in Latin American Spanish rather than Castilian, but as DuoLingo is more Latin American oriented at intermediate level, it's not as foreign as a novel in Valenciano or in Catalan might be. It's something to keep my mind active while I'm on hold, it will do me good.

Last night we watched Steven Spielberg's move masterpiece 'Bridge of Spies' about the negotiated swap of U2 pilot Gary Powers for Soviet agent Rudolf Abel in 1960, something I remember well from my teen years when I was fascinated by state of the art aviation technology and knew a little more about the hush-hush U2 spy plane's existence. Abel is portrayed as a placid stoical guy, who when asked if he was worried about the prospect of capital punishment or a life sentence would simply reply: "Do you think worrying would make any difference?" It's a great line, an attitude to aspire towards.

The thought of being forgotten, lost to the system was a terrible blow yesterday, but worrying achieved nothing. I have to get used to waiting without worrying, and trust in the amazing care I am getting already. After all, it could be so much worse.

 

When things fall apart

Today is six days since my pre-op assessment visit to UHW Heath hospital. Still no news of an ultrasound heart scan, so I thought I would ring the colorectal surgeon's secretary and enquire about progress, as this was said to be a precondition of the operation taking place, and I had been advised to enquire in this way.

The person answering the phone wasn't the one whose name I had been given. I was told she had only started work on Monday as the previous secretary had changed jobs, and as a newbie was not yet familiar with all the details of the work in progress. Nothing on my case file referred to the required scan, I was told, also my name was not on the schedule for operation on 17th January. She said she would have to enquire further and get back to me. Somehow the account of my pre op assessment seemed to have vanished without trace and my case unexpectedly cast into limbo.

My heart sank, and it's just as well that wound pain and discomfort was minimal. The impact of this brief conversation caused me to feel as if I had been physically assaulted. Clare was shocked and equally bewildered, but what do do?

Well, I went to the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's, needy for the normality of routine prayer and worship, and traditional memorised words. I wasn't expecting God to magic a way through this bureaucratic nightmare, I wanted consciously to let myself be carried to wherever this situation is meant to take me.

From there, I walked to the wound clinic for a dressing and inspection appointment. Nurse Emma was there, the first to see my sorry state on Boxing Day, and on two subsequent days. She expressed satisfaction at the way it had improved under the right care. At least the deterioration has reduced in the past fortnight. The wound condition, although undesirable and unhealed, is stable for now. One less thing to fret about. I think the two nurses present were also shocked at the news, but I suspect not that surprised. It's all part of the NHS running battle to juggle resources against demand.

On the way back, I called in to our GP surgery in the hope of having a brief word with a doctor at the end of morning appointments, to flag up the problem. Instead of a doctor, after a half hour wait, Debbie the practice manager came and spoke with me in a by now, empty waiting room. I think she recognised that I wasn't my usual self, and asked what was the matter. She was astonished when I told her what I'd learned. Having gathered relevant detail and checking this against the hospital's  intranet, she promised to get on the case and report back as soon as possible.

After an unsettled evening in front of the telly, I had a nosebleed as I was getting ready for bed, the first since September. What a crazy unsettling day!

  

Domestic and digital chores

We went to the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's yesterday morning. It was Fr Mark's last appearance there on a Sunday, as next Sunday there's a united Benefice farewell service at St Luke's, then he'll be moving house. At the end of the service the children and parents from Sunday Club came into church, all bubbly, over twenty kids from toddlers to junior school age. They presented him with a big pot plant, decorated with messages wishing him well - a delightful moment.

Kath and Anto have been sending us a series of photos of WhatsApp, taken at last night's fiesta de los Reyes in Tenerife, where they're having a well deserved respite from work. Meanwhile Owain is discovering all the minutiae involved in setting up home from scratch in his new flat. It's not yet in sufficient order for him to be willing to send us photos, but we look forward to that, as it may be a while before we can travel over to visit his new abode.

I had to get up quite often in the night, although I quickly fell asleep in between time, but maybe my sleep snatches weren't long enough to really refresh me despite nine hours in bed. After I got up, had breakfast and said morning prayer, I dozed off again for an hour. I felt I could have slept for longer, but had another visit to Riverside Health surgery for a wound inspection and dressing arranged for this afternoon. I felt better for walking there in the fresh air, and wasn't lacking in physical energy. It could be that my body is making up for months of continued stress and uncertainty. The wound is now stable and for the moment not deteriorating further, thanks to the Christmas gift of nursing care in situ. Each day this is the case, I'm most grateful for.

After the surgery visit I did the week's shopping before returning home, glad to be out and about. Clare has got used to having a Linux driven computer over the past month or so, but having an old style hard drive, although still quicker than a modern windows machine, I felt it could benefit more from having solid state drive instead. She had complained about the cramped keyboard layout on the Acer I'd replaced her HP machine with. Having already tried and tested the HP running Linux from a solid state hard drive, the easiest solution would be to return all her data to her user area and let her continue to use a device her fingers are more used to. That took about half an hour, copying to and from an external drive.

Then, I fitted another solid state hard drive into the Acer, installed Linux Mint and updated it in about half an hour. It's the second five year old laptop in the house that's running faster than either of the two Windows 10 machines half their age. I'll have to decide what I'm going to use this machine for, and if I really want to bother to install Mint to dual boot on the remaining Windows laptop, now that I've got a secure device I have confidence in, to use for tax and e-banking. Having said that the most used device with a proper keyboard remains the Chromebook on which I'm writing now. While it has some limitations, it's still the lightest and fastest computer I have. How I'd love to have a full Linux version running on this! But that's too big an ask at the moment. Glad finally to have had the energy to compete this digital chore today, good for the morale!

Purchase pondered

I hadn't arranged any weekend appointments, but had an unexpected visit from another member of the District Nurse team this morning. I learned that the team are treating a notable number of people with fistula wounds at the moment. I wonder why? I had a restful night, woke up refreshed, and have had little pain or discomfort again today, and that's great, even if it's not going to improve until I've had the operation. It's nice to know they are on my case.

We walked into town late in the afternoon, and looked at dishwashers in John Lewis' store, as we're thinking about buying a new one. Ours is sixteen years old, and its internal fitments are wearing out with age. We may still be able to get replacements for a long discontinued model, but we've no idea how long the heater or pump will last, even if we're successful. The maintenance people advise us to get a new one. It's something to think about while there are special offers in the New Year sales.

While we were there, I had a quick look at the tech' sale offers on pocketable superzoom cameras, as over the last month my Sony HX50 has begun to malfunction at startup time, requiring several tries switching on and off to work properly. I think there may be particles preventing the lens mechanism from opening cleanly and then generating an electronic malfunction. On odd occasional last year the images produced contained minor blemishes intermittently over a periods of time, symptomatic of dust penetrating internally. Nothing I suspect a good clean wouldn't cure, if I could do it. The cost of an expert repair could well be half the cost of a new camera.

I bought this February 2014, to take with me on duty to Fuengirola. I think I've taken around ten thousand photos with it since then. (Must check my archives!) I could buy a replacement at perhaps half the price I paid then, but the temptation is to buy the upgraded improved version - the HX95 - for much the same original price. Well, maybe. Let's see if what I can do about a cleanup first.

This evening, there was nothing much on telly that interested me or Clare, so I watched two episodes of Dr Who on BBC iPlayer catch-up instead. Interesting to note the high moral tone taken by the Doctor, interacting with all kinds of fearsomely dangerous alien life forms, even if the plots are mostly bizarre gobbledegook.
  

A landmark day

No two days are the same at the moment. Although I slept well, and wasn't much bothered by pain or discomfort, I felt very tired, though not weak. I walked to the GP surgery for an appointment, and when I got back, I returned to bed and dozed until lunchtime. Then I walked down to the Riverside Health Surgery for a wound dressing where I met another of the District Nurse team. I learned today that the team is twenty strong and covers a large area of central Cardiff. I think I've met six of them over the past nine days.

I discussed this tiredness with the nurse, and she said it was to be expected after yesterday's outing to UHW for the pre-op assessment. It's a matter of allowing for extra down-time to recover in between bouts of activity of ny kind, while the body copes with an open wound. OK, fair enough I suppose. I'm just not used to this! Thankfully, by mid afternoon, the tiredness wore off, and I enjoyed another half hour's walking when I went to collect a new prescription from the pharmacy.

Owain takes possession of the keys of his new flat today. A friend has helped him set up by taking him to IKEA to buy a new items of furniture, as he has none of his own. He'll be moving in all his goods and chattels over the weekend. We're so pleased for him, as the misfortunes of his work life have left him unsettled for the best part of a decade. He's not alone in this, given the state of the world wished upon us by our economic overlords in this new century.

Medical meetings

Yesterday morning, I walked to the GP surgery for a blood test, then to Riverside Health Surgery for a dressing change. The nurse recognised my name as the former Vicar of St John's City Parish Church, and quickly I realised I knew her mother, from midweek Communions at St John's Canton, and her daughter who was a leading young member of St John Ambulance when I was there. A remarkably brave and resilient teenager who caught meningitis, had both legs amputated and needed a kidney transplant to save her life, she's now married with a child and living a full and active life out in New Zealand. It was one of those delightful unexpected encounters enlivening my otherwise limited life at the moment.

In the afternoon, I had an acupuncture appointment, my first in more than three years. Unfortunately my previous acupuncturist stopped work, and it's only lately that I have felt the need to find another. Clare found the name of Peter Butcher, practitioner at the Natural Health Clinic in Cathedral Road. I wrote to him yesterday evening, outlined my circumstances and explained that I understood how I might benefit from a few treatments to counteract the impact of successive painful shocks to the system from this ailment, and was pleased to receive a response this morning.

I had an hour and a half session with Peter, some good conversation and a treatment which certainly put the spring back in my step and cleared my head of the sensation of being mildly stunned, which seems to come and go with pain and shock. A really good ChiGung workout achieves the same for me, but what I can do is a bit limited at the moment, and I was confident a treatment would boost my Chi energy levels, and it helps ward off infection. I don't know how this works, only that it does work and that's what counts. A couple more sessions are planned before the operation takes place.

All in all, this meant that I had a pretty good day, two days in a row, with little pain or discomfort. Gratefully received.

This morning, however, despite a good night's sleep, I had a setback, with some acute wound pain. It didn't escalate into another attach of inflamed vagus nerve, which makes a change. While I was dealing with this I had a phone call from UHW surgical pre-op unit to book an appointment for an information session - this is about me giving them information on my medical history and present state of health, to assess my readiness for the operation. Apparently every medical department you visit for treatment takes a full medical history and none of this record is shared with other units. I suppose they have their reasons for this, but to me it seems antiquated and unnecessary. As there was an afternoon slot available we agreed to take it although I was still in pain and finding it hard to sit.

Clare drove me to the Heath Hospital, where I was interrogated for over and hour, and had another blood test, plus an ECG. Information is needed for the anaesthetist's risk assessment before the operation can take place. It seems I may also be required to have an ultrasound scan of my heart, as it's two years since I last had one. I wait to hear when.

By the time this process was concluded, the pain had subsided and I was able to sit down again with much less discomfort. The rest of the day was much the same as the two previous ones.

A positive New Year start

I woke up from a comfortable night's sleep, apart from needing to change pyjamas soaked with sweat again at about four. If got used to sleeping in short bouts, and rarely dream or lie awake, unless there's something on my mind. But then I use the wakeful time to pray, with as few words as possible. Nights only seem long if there's worry pain or discomfort, and despite my condition, that's not often, thankfully. 

After a lateish breakfast, Clare and I walked to St. Luke's for the Mass of the day. It's the Feast of the Naming and Circumcision of Christ, but also, traditionally Covenant Day for Methodist folk. When people gather to renew the faith commitment called for by discipleship to Christ. As part of an Ecumenical Parish setup in St Paul's Bristol which involved a Methodist Church, I participated in annual Covenant services and love the prayer at the heart of the occasion.

I am no longer my own but yours.

Put me to what you will,

rank me with whom you will;

put me to doing, put me to suffering,

let me be employed for you or laid aside for you,

exalted for you or brought low for you.

Let me be full, let me be empty,

let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things

to your pleasure and disposal.

And now, glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

you are mine and I am yours.

So be it. And may the covenant made on earth 

be ratified in heaven. 

Amen.

Given the uncertainties of Brexit and equally unpredictable weather, and my own health, wondering what will 2019 bring, the notion of re-iterating the Covenant Prayer quietly at Mass appealed to me. I felt I really wanted to make the effort to attend, and was glad that it took less effort than anticipated, as I felt better, and less troubled by my affliction.

There were eight of us present plus Emma, now in charge of the Parish as Mark is off duty, packing for his house move. We chatted afterwards for a while, then I strolled slowly along an almost traffic free main road to the treatment room at St David's medical centre. Here I met another of the District Nurse team, who inspected my wounds and changed the dressing. The new plasters continue to help reduce the swelling and dry out the lesions noticeably, which explains why I am feeling generally better than I have for quite a while. 

For me this is a positive start to the New Year. I couldn't hope for more while I await the operation.

Not with a bang, but a groan of pain a sigh of hope

Despite waking in the small hours for a second time in a row, with bedclothes and duvet drenched in sweat, with almost no pain, pulse and temperature normal, I had a fair night's sleep and felt better. Clare went out early and secured a necessary GP appointment, as promised to the doctors of the 'out of hours' service yesterday. The appointment was in good time for me attend the appointment booked at Riverside Health Surgery clinic. After examining the wound, my GP acknowledged my reasons for resisting a long wait in UHW A and E at the busiest time of year, and was happy for me to continue with the antibiotics, monitoring any change of condition, calling for an ambulance in the event of any further deterioration. She is resolved to write again to the surgeon and express concern over my condition, and ask if reassignment to another team or NHS hospital is possible. Hope against hope, maybe, but such a relief to know our local medics and nurses are on the case!

At the Riverside wound clinic I then met another of the District Nurse team, who treated me with the same expert confidence and good humour as the others. She observed that the swellings seemed to be draining well the new type of wound dressing as hope for. The GP practice nurse had observed that I was walking better too. Those with a trained eye notice things. I too think I've been walking a little easier since both the recent mini crises - but for how long?. A modest gain with all that pain, I suppose is something to be grateful for.

Clare and Owain were playing Monopoly with Jaz when I got back, and just after we'd had a big dish of soup for lunch made from carrot, swede, parsnip and beetroot, which I helped prepare with a lot of veg dicing, Jaz' step-brother Pete arrived with his wife Jodie and two year old Sam, to collect her and take her to Newbury where she'll stay over New Year until her dad and step-mother arrive back from Venice to take her back too Arizona. People visiting from the States get to see lots of people and experience lots of  parties and treats, it's such an intense time, so exhausting. Hopefully a few twelve hour nights of sleep chez nous will stand her in good stead for the days to come.

The rest of the day was spent reorganising ourselves to resume life as a two person household. Being quite tired, we gave up on the idea of seeing the New Year in and went to bed early. Later that's been a change in pattern for both of us, driven by just about coping until operation day.

Apart from the horror of British political incompetence and the continued rise of far right wing politics in a world which seems to have failed to learn  the bitter lessons of 20th century history, there were lots of good things about 2018. Time well spent in Malaga and Montreux in the first half of the year. Seeing Owain get a permanent job again and find a place of his own to rent and move into, days from now. Seeing Kath flourish with the continued success of Wriggledance Theatre. Having Rachel perform live in our own locality, for the first time in over a decade. Seeing our lovely grandchildren gently crossing the threshold from girlhood to womanhood. In the second half of the year, things my illness has overshadowed everything and narrowed our world, but introduced us to a world of wonderful caring people whose daily job is getting others well again.

NHS workers I salute you! Not quite so sure about the managing classes and medical elites, however. And in three months, the curse of brexit falls due. Or not if the whim of Parliament or even the electorate think otherwise. I hope and pray for a change of heart, mind and will on all sides.

  

Jaz comes to stay

Another visit from Emma for a dressing change this morning, then in the afternoon a twenty minute walk to the Riverside Health Clinic to check in with the team and collect a batch of wound dressings in a couple of large plastic bags without handles, quite difficult to carry. Clare rang while I was out to say that Jasmine had arrived and they were out walking, so we met at the King's Road Co-op, where we could buy a few things we needed, and buy a big 10p carrier bag to offload some of the half dozen dressing packages with obscure brand names on them which I'd been given, to carry them home.

Jaz and I met in the shop doorway and hugged each other with delight, causing a momentary traffic jam. We set out for a walk around the park, but drizzle soon became a deterrent, perhaps more for us than for Jaz, coming to us from an arid climate with its occasional dangerous torrential downpours, so we went home and helped her to settle in.

She's on the verge of adolescence and not yet had a growth spurt, still a beautiful unselfconscious  child with a lovely smile. It takes a little time to tune into her natural quick talkin' Arizona accent. How lovely to have a few days to spend time with her again. It's been a whole year for me.

Later on, we watched the third and final Royal Institution Christmas lecture. It was perfect for an hour's entertainment before an early bed. Jaz has done a lot of travelling and partying since she arrived in the UK eight hours ahead of home so a soft bed in our attic room was just the right place to lay her head.

A scientific take on being human

For the time being, although these nasty interludes are physically distressing, once stability returns, I recover and can carry on as normal after a rest, as if I'd just done a punishing workout. So, when I woke up I felt confident I could officiate at this morning's funeral, and so didn't need to ask Fr Mark to take over, as we'd agreed, just in case.The service was at Pidgeon's chapel of rest, followed by a burial in Western Cemetery. I was quite mild for the end of year at the graveside and the sun peeked through the clouds briefly, not that the grieving family would have noticed.

Another visit from District Nurse team member Emma for a dressing change. was arranged for when I returned. She said that she'd been in touch with my GP surgery to advise them of what happened Christmas night and request a referral letter to the District Nurse Team and Riverside Health Centre, to join up all the dots administratively. This makes sure I come off the emergency nursing visit list and one to the one for regular in-surgery treatment. This is a relief, as it means I'm getting checked out daily up to the operation date, to forestall any further problems, and can be treated there afterwards as well. This takes the anxiety out of waiting and coping. What more could I asked.

The children took their leave of us after lunch, leaving the house rather quiet and empty. Clare set about the task of seeing through and hanging out several loads of washing, on the outdoor line while there was daylight, and indoors, wherever she could. I feel as if I'm not pulling my weight at the moment, as I'm needing to sleep more to recover from the last minor crisis.

I watched on BBC Four this evening the second of this year's series of Royal Institution Christmas Lectures - presenting scientific subjects to audiences of school children. The Beeb has broadcasted these on TV since 1966, so I remember them from that time and have watched occasionally since. 

'Who am I?' is the subject for this year, with a mix of Genetics and Paleo-Anthropology to tell the story of human evolution, and our relationship to the apes and other animals. It was beautifully and engagingly done, playfully involving lots of children in experimental demonstrations. This year's lecturer is a biological anthropologist, Professor Alice Roberts, and tonight's guest co-presenter Professor Aoife McLysaght, from the Genetics Society. In addition to being a carefully thought out science educational programme, it was a powerful public statement about women in science.

There's been a lot of concern expressed in recently about the disparity of proportion of women in every branch of science and engineering, despite some of our best and most senior scientists now being women. What better way to attract young girls to the adventure of science than two superb role models? Both of them don't talk down to kids, have a great sense of fun, only incidentally are they stylish dressers, the opposite of geeky sartorial dullness. Scientific investigators are all too often shrouded in uniform protective clothing, telling nothing about who they really are.

Christmas down-side

As I feared, I  suffered from having sat so many hours yesterday. The pain got worse after I went to bed. From midnight until four I passed the small hours on the toilet, my pulse racing. 

It wasn't due to an excess of food or drink, nor a stomach bug, but the impact of inflammation on the vagus nerve, running in the vicinity of the perineum. It's happened with this intensity before and resembles a panic attack with added physical symptoms. It's enough to make you anxious about bringing on a stroke or a heart attack. After a couple of hours I called the GP after hours service for advice.

I had to wait for a call back from a doctor. This came around four when I was away from the phone in the bathroom. It didn't ring long enough for the answering machine to activate, and desperate for sleep, I resigned myself to just coping. The phone awakened me around eight. I had dropped off to sleep at five. The on-call doctor was helpful and reassuring, ordering a house call from a local District Nurse later in the day to assess and give some help with wound dressing.

Nurse Emma arrived at midday, and ministered to me with an expert hand and eye. The team she is part of works from Riverside Health Centre, a ten minute walk from home. In addition to a wealth of hands-on expertise, this team has state of the art wound management resources. She not only made me feel safe and comfortable, almost painlessly, but left me a kit of temporary dressings to use in case I needed to change before her next visit tomorrow afternoon. Apparently the materials now used are good for up to a day's use without needing a change. 

From Friday, I can visit a specialist clinic in nearby Riverside to get nursing attention. It means I get a regular eye on this precarious condition, right up to the operation in three weeks from now, and thereafter when even more careful attention will be required until propert healing is finally well under way.

When I told Emma I was a cleric and had worked at St John's City Parish church she said with delight, "It's our family church, I was christened there, and a couple of my kids later!" Small world. She also has a daughter with the same birthday as me. This visit restored my spirits in more than one way.

More time in bed recovering rather than out walking with the family this afternoon. I have a funeral to officiate at tomorrow, and must be fit for purpose. Emma's ministry to me helps me believe I can, rather than having to hand this back to the hard worked parish clergy at the eleventh hour. They too need rest and recuperation. 

In the evening we sat down en famille and watched another movie on Netflix 'The Grand Budapest Hotel' about which I knew nothing. It  was a sheer surprise and delight, funny, thought provoking and theatrical, as it told the story of a five star central European resort hotel through the most turbulent years of the twentieth century through the eyes of a hotel concierge. 

The script was outstandingly well written in its eccentric use of an erudite literary style for its narrator, from start to finish. This was enough to keep you laughing all the way through. It looked back to an era when conciergerie was a lifelong vocation to care for others with courtesy, loyalty, discretion and pastoral knowledge of every guest, transient and returners alike. It portrayed a secular self effacing kind of priesthood, always there, facilitating, never attracting attention. 'Among you as one who serves', and reveling the art of true service. I found it hilarious and inspirational, and it certainly made up for the horrid night preceding it.

   

The Family feasts

This morning I had a bout of acute pain, perhaps because the wound didn't drain much yesterday. As a result I didn't have the energy to return to church for the 10.00am Eucharist, in fact, I had to go back to bed after breakfast and rest to recover in time for lunch. This ruled me out of the usual group activity of cooking and laying table. I had to settle for listening to the sounds of Christmas music and happy banter in the background, and not stand around hindering the process, getting in the way.

By lunchtime the pain subsided somewhat so I was able to sit at table for our beloved banquet of the year, albeit perched uncomfortably trying to avoid pressure on my perineum. We ate and drank well (for Rhiannon that meant a pizza!), but I couldn't help noticing that everyone consumed less and rejoiced just as much, it wasn't only me who wasn't stuffing themselves with food. We're all getting older, eating habits are changing, to ensure we continue to enjoy the good health we have.

As the sun was setting we sat around the tree and exchanged presents, in a ritual presided over by Rhiannon, who also had a separate Santa ritual at daybreak with her parents upstairs. She hasn't yet grown out of this, teenage sophistication notwithstanding

After supper, we spoke to Rachel in Arizona, and watched the 2018 Netflix seasonal Santa movie together on TV , 'The Christmas Chronicles' - thanks to our children who are subscribers. We watch so little telly we couldn't justify the outlay. We invest in live performed music events instead. And so to bed at eleven, regretting having sat for so long without exercising today. I may pay for this.

 

Christmas comes

This morning I walked to our GP surgery, for another brief check on my vital signs and wound status. Owain went to Ashtons in Cardiff Market to collect the salmon Clare ordered. I went to R J Berry the Butcher's shop to collect the turkey she ordered  plus a dozen 'pigs in blankets' and streaky bacon to enhance the roasting thereof. There was a slow queue, but nobody was in a rush. On the streets I was noticed more people smiling than usual.

At three, Kath Anto and Rhiannon arrived, laden with presents, and preparations for supper began to the sound of Christmas favourite CDs of popular songs and carols. Time stands still as we relaxed with a glass of wine and caught up on each other's news. Teenage Rhiannon has developed since I saw her. She's not as quiet and introverted as was for a while, more talkative at ease among adults. Her schooling is enabling her to grow in confidence, and find her path.

The children went out visiting friends in the evening. Clare and I went to Midnight Mass at eleven. The Robin Hood pub was in the course of closing and there were some loud talking young women in street outside, plus a man who had thrown up, the fallen down and hit his head, drunk. I felt sorry for the neighbouring residents. No police in evidence to keep the peace. I'm not sure if the incident had been called in. We walked on, slightly late for St Catherine's. Clare was slowed down, impeded by an unexpected pain in her ankle joint.

St Catherine's was attended by about sixty people. Julian, who works in the local Co-op was seated behind us, wearing a santa hat and pullover. His white booted prosthetic lower left limb was decorated with a string of white Christmas lights. Mid-year he had a therapeutic amputation, and with true grit, was back at work in a wheelchair at first, and now using a walking stick to get about. I love his positivity! 

Tonight, I was glad to relax in the pew and enjoy the celebration as a plain worshipper. Emma preached thoughtfully. I was happy not to be pushing against tiredness, discomfort and low level pain, although getting home two hours after my current bedtime didn't do me any good.

  

Family festive season under way

At some time over the past two days this blog had its quarter of a millionth hit. That's eight years and eight months worth of retirement writing, in nearly two thousand three hundred posts. 

I started a separate blog to record my first long locum duty in Summer 2012, and another to record the December I spent in Sicily that year. Altogether that's another 13,800 hits. With hindsight, I regret doing that. Having that set of posts all in one place would have meant passing the quarter of a millionth mark about three months ago, but never mind. I wonder how many of those page hits turned into pages read? The diagnostics of that are too complex for me, though its nice to think that it includes a proportion of hits from all over the world!

We went to St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning. Peter, our newest St Padarn's ordinand on placement preached thoughtfully about Mary, at the center of today's Advent theme. Getting started as a preacher is a bit of an ordeal, but I think he was enjoying himself, and will continue to do so as his ministry develops.

Clare has spent a lot of time lately carefully preparing for Christmas, cooking preparations to reduce the workload on the big day, and decorating the tree yesterday. I haven't been a great deal of help,  with my affliction dominating life at the moment, except for cooking lunch, a few trips to the shops, and taking care of the Christmas letter and greetings, both digital and snail mail. After lunch today, she set up the crib scene in its customary kitchen window space, using the figures our children made when they were in primary school. We seem to have lost a shepherd or two over the years, and the angel is chipped, but never mind it's a small domestic treasury of happy memories.

Owain arrived in time for supper, glad to relax after a high pressure month of work. He moves house just after Epiphany and is fretting about furnishing his flat. But nothing more can be done until the New Year. At last a place of his own. He's more happy than worried.

Kath, Anto and Rhiannon arrive tomorrow, then the day after they leave, Jasmine, over from Arizona with her Dad, arrives to spend New Year with us. Unfortunately the two cousins can't meet this time around, but Uncle Owain will return next weekend after a day on call at work, to spend time with her. He's fond of his nieces. He'd make a lovely Dad himself. We live in hope of this happening one day!
  

A revealing archaeological experiment

This morning I completed work on next Thursday's funeral order of service, having written a eulogy and got it approved by the family yesterday. There's nothing more to do except relax and enjoy a family Christmas with no services to take and no sermons to write. It's the first time since 2010, the year I retired and we spent Christmas in Canada with Rachel.

I finally got around to an expedition into town to buy Clare and Christmas present this afternoon. It was very crowded and queues to pay were long, but I got for her just what I wanted.

Grand daughter Jasmine arrived last night in the UK to spend Christmas with her Dad's parents. We didn't think we'd see her this time around, as our ability is travel and bring her to Wales  is limited at the moment by my condition and Clare's poor eyesight. John, however is bring her down to stay with us over New Year, and we are delighted to have her for a few days. We'll have her to ourselves as the rest of the family, unfortunately, will leave us just before she arrives.

Tonight the last double episode of 'The Sinner' was on BBC Four, full of tragic twists and turns to the end, all of which revealed that the accused woman was utterly traumatized by being sinned against rather than being 'The Sinner' of the drama's title. It was a very thought provoking subject, and the acting was very good, even if it was harrowing and perhaps needlessly close to being pornographic on times, for my taste. Nevertheless, it retained the interest in both characters and story throughout, in a way that American crime dramas tend not to. Worth watching.

Before it there was a fascinating documentary on More Four called 'The Real Noah's Ark', based on the discovery in Iraq of an ancient cuneiform tablet containing detailed instructions for building a boat big enough to carry people and animals, similar in content to those found in the Genesis story of Noah. Biblical scholars have for the past century recognised the similarities between some of its stories and ones that are part of Babylonian ancient history. This text was used to inform the construction of a giant 13 metre diameter coracle, a large enough to hold and protect a household and its livestock in time of floods. Two meter wide coracles were made and used in early 20th century Mesapotamia, but this tradition has since died out.

The Mesapotamian river plain through which the Euphrates and Tigris rivers run has long been known to be prone to seasonal flooding, and even occasional catastrophically huge ones. Recent archaeological surveys of land have disclosed that the contemporary flood plain is smaller than it was two to three thousand years ago. Ancient Babylon was served by a network of river fed canals, and although now an arid region, was certainly subject to great floods in times past. So there is every good reason to understand that the story of Noah, whoever wrote the biblical version, was borrowed from Babylonian storytellers, and may have been taught to children in schools there at that time.

As an archaeological experiment, a giant coracle was successfully built in South India according to those ancient instructions and sailed on water, as proof of concept. Historical speculation put to the test with projects of this kind provide us with insight into the ingenuity and skill of our ancestors, and show how technically sophisticated their engineering could be without the materials and tools which industrial era people take for granted. It's a salutary lesson from history for a high-tech world.

   

The start of an era re-visited

After an unnerving time this morning coping with a sudden, unexpected and inexplicable burst of sharp pain from my new wound, I felt like I'd just survived a car crash, tingling with adrenalin and then feeling drained. This kind of pain must resemble that experienced by torture victims, though not comparable when you think of the cruelty and malice of the perpetrators. It's something I have thought about a lot recently.

After lunch I had a bereavement visit to make just a short walk from home, for a funeral two days after Christmas. It's a tough time for the family, but when we talked about the service, it was clear they were deriving much consolation from remembering the years of life shared together. It's ever a privilege to be entrusted to tell a departed husband and father's story. It's bound to be tough for them.

Later, I visited the surgery again, for another GP check on my condition. They are as troubled as I am about recent developments, and insistent on making sure that an infection doesn't creep in, even though I have started my fourth course of antibiotics. I've been booked in for another check-up on Christmas Eve. Brilliant.

There was another Lucy Worsley historical re-enactment programme on BBC Four tonight. This one re-visited the wedding of Queen Victoria and Albert, scrutinising every aspect of its planning and execution, as it was a prototype of the grand scale Royal Wedding as public event, against which all others have been measured since then. We learned about the cuisine, and the seating arrangements at the service in the Chapel Royal at St James' Palace and the banquet which followed. All al these things were apparently planned carefully by the Queen to make a series of bold defining statements to her family, entourage and subjects about the modernising reign she envisaged with Albert at her side. She was a remarkable young woman in so many respects.
   

A disappointing setback

Last night was distressingly painful as the new wound opened further as I sat updating my blog, and then discharged even more when I came to get ready for bed. I wasn't sure how to handle this sudden change and phoned NHS Direct. Shortly after midnight I was put through to a nurse practitioner who quizzed me thoroughly before reassuring me that I was doing the right things, and visit my GP as soon as I could.

I slept badly, the way you do on a dreaded long haul overnight flight, and Clare very kindly went to the surgery and secured an appointment for me. The time clashed with my arrangement to say Mass at St John's for Fr Mark. He'd delivered his set of keys yesterday evening, and at five o'clock, I had one of those 'what if?' moments and emailed him to say I wasn't sure I could make it - which turned out to be precisely correct. Clare delivered the keys back to  the Rectory after visiting the surgery, while I slowly got up and got ready to appear in person. It was raining, but I felt better for being out in the fresh air. 

Having taken note of my vital signs, she saw that the surgeon's letter of response to GPs concern expressed, offering me an appointment, was already readable on the medical network. The surgery, like me, has yet to receive a paper copy. The doctor suggested a third visit of this week to the UHW Surgical Assessment unit. I explained it would possibly entail a long waiting time when I would unless I got lucky be obliged to sit in discomfort on a hard waiting room chair. My vital signs would be recorded again, it would be explained to me yet again that emergency surgery wasn't preferable to an operation planned to deal with the complexity of the problem. In their general terms of reference, despite the pain and stress I'm coping with, it's not sufficiently life threatening enough to warrant a 'quick 'n dirty' response. I just have to keep living with this and coping.

Anyway, she was quite understanding of this and prescribed for me another course of 'deep tissue' antibiotics which seemed to make a difference last time around. The nature of the new wound makes me more at risk of infection, so this is a preventative measure, that will hopefully see me through Christmas and New Year. I was advised it'd be unwise for me to travel with Clare up to Cheltenham for this evening's Carnival Band concert, in which she is singing with a scratch choir. I've hear her practicing her parts daily for the past three months. So sad not to hear it all come together. We had an overnight hotel stay booked as well, which would have given us an opportunity to look around and do some shopping before the return journey. Kath will be there to hear the concert, but I have to languish here and try not to feel too sorry for myself.

Painful learning and Banksy strikes again

Thankfully there was only slight and intermittent rain today, so it was good to walk to St Catherine's and celebrate the midweek Eucharist with half a dozen regulars. The level of pain and discomfort I had yesterday continued all morning. It wasn't quite bad enough to prevent me from functioning, but once again, it was a challenge to remain relaxed and focused while leading worship. 

This is a fairly rare experience for me. Over the years there were odd times when I suffered chronic back pain, when I was waiting for a hernia operation, and when I ripped a cartilage in my first year of priesthood. Standing at the altar on that occasion was difficult. I remember having sit down to preach in order to concentrate on what I wanted to say. The only time in my ministry! Celebrating was tricky, but easier. 

I've been blessed with a relatively pain free life until the last six months. I don't approve of ascetic practices which induce pain for the sake of self-mortification, but realise something can be learned from living as well as possible while coping with pain within the healthy bounds of reason. I think I'm learning not to take life so much for granted at the moment, savouring and valuing everything as a consequence what I've endured so far while waiting for this operation. 

The wound continues to get worse, though thankfully it's not infected, hence the recent increased pain. I've written yet again to my GPs with an update to pass on to the surgical team. It's not in a state to heal properly until surgery has been done. I have to wait another month, so they need updating if there's to be no nasty surprises on the big day. There's little help or advice about how to manage this condition or the pain being offered by medics. One way or another however, I'll learn to cope and live as normally as I can. Funnily enough, writing about it helps keep things in perspective.

This afternoon an news item about graffiti maestro artist Banksy came on line, about his latest art work on adjacent garage walls in Taibach, Port Talbot, not far, as brother in law Anthony says, from where Richard Burton was born. You can read about it here.

It's yet another hard hitting political and social comment ironically entitled 'Season's Greetings'. A child stands out in the snow, except that it's a snow of polluting particles from rubbish burning in a skip on the wall at right angles. A dark modern take on the ancient diptych visual format. Location is significant too. According to the World Heath Organisation, air in Port Talbot is the most polluted in Britain. The steel works, the M4 and Balgan oil refinery are close. Decreased average life expectancy goes with the territory too.

Despite its daunting urban industrial environment people who live and work in the Port Talbot area are proud of belonging there, as the street theatre production of Michael Sheen's Passion Play testified back in 2011. Banksy's work is already being 'curated' by protective locals, and attracting visitors. I believe people will be delighted that the artist understands what they live with and in his own way is championing their daily concerns.

   

The risk of over depending on the Cloud

It rained all day today, so I couldn't get out for a walk and didn't much feel like it anyway, as my affliction was more painful and energy sapping than usual. I spent some time writing, and backing up data from my newer Windows 10 laptop, to prepare for a Linux Mint installation and making it into a dual booting device. I am so fed up with the the length of time it takes to reach a browser or a word processor page I want to work on, often between three and five minutes. In spite of keeping it fully updated, this continues to be the case. 

The laptop's UEFI firmware makes Linux installation a bit tricky. If this fails, I have the option to get rid of Windows 10 altogether. I have a Windows 10 desktop PC, for guests to use, or if I need to run a one of the few proprietary Windows only programs I use occasionally. For the most part, apps I need are part of Linux and accessible so much quicker. Also Linux on a PC isn't at all reliant on Cloud data storage, unless you want it to be. Sure you can set up a Windows 10 account which doesn't rely on OneDrive storage, but device registration and essential information from it are still extracted and stored on line, and not always used in ways that are easy to determine or control. 

Whilst the Cloud is a useful resource, this is the price to be paid for having your data accessible on all kinds of devices. It risks taking too exclusive a hold on my information and workflow, Windows 10 relies on a decent internet connection to work as designed, and this slows things down, to my mind. Ever since local data storage became affordable, I've kept backups to hand. It was insurance against unreliable PCs in the old days. The more reliable Cloud storage is however, the more risk there is of losing the discipline to back things up. Then, if the worst happens - total loss of internet, Cloud storage access catastrophe, ransomware etc., you lose out, especially on recent stuff you've been working on, often things you most need.

Chromebooks are even more dependent on internet access, leaving you quite limited in what can be done off-line. It is however far quicker and less insecure than any Windows set up. I'll be better off with Linux, as I can control where and how I store the data I use, and maintaining backup habits that don't rely on the Cloud. It's a matter of getting around to tackling the installation procedure I've been rehearsing and putting off for some time. 

Mysterious Wisdom

An email reminder arrived this morning to pay next year's TV license fee. I did this later in the day It'll be the last full year to pay, as in 2020, unless the government changes the regulation, the license is free. I'll be over 75. Well, I think I will have to pay for the year, and then get nine months worth refunded. A bit odd really, and so strange to think I'll be that old.

Our Christmas tree was delivered this morning. It'll stay in the shed until next weekend, when the candles on our Advent wreath are nearly finished, and the family gathers for the feast. Then the crib will come out and the tree be decorated. Meanwhile, Clare hangs cards on ribbon along the dado rail our old house is still lucky enough to have, but that's all. We enjoy the contrast of domestic Advent simplicity, and don't at all mind the Christmas trimmings appearing in other people's front rooms, in church, and in the public realm. I may hate the long hours of darkness and overcast skies, but this season of waiting for the coming of the Light, together with Passiontide, rank as my favourite times of year.

I received details this morning of a funeral Fr Mark has asked me to do on St John's day. This week I'll be covering the weekday services at St Catherine's. Despite the periodic misery of my condition, I am still fit and well enough to continue leading worship and preaching. I do so with gratitude and joyous enthusiasm. Nobody wants to suffer but mysteriously it seems to sharpen the experience of just being alive. Friday last was the feast of St John of the Cross. The Breviary reading for the day is  taken from his own commentary on the 36th verse of his 'Spiritual Canticle'. It's quite suitable for this, the seventh day before Christmas, traditionally referred to as 'O Sapientia'

'Would that we might at last understand that it is impossible to attain to the thicket of manifold riches of the wisdom of God without entering into the thicket of manifold suffering, making that its consolation and desire! And how the soul which really longs for divine wisdom first longs for suffering, that it may enter more deeply into the thicket of the cross.' 

'Thicket' is an odd word at first glance, a wild dense place of biodiversity full of surprises and almost impenetrable even untameable, or at least only with great care. It expresses the idea of inexhaustible variety to be discovered - this is 'mystery', as understood on the opposite side of the Mediterranean.

  

Sunday surprise and delight

There's a lot to be said for medication packs which print the day of the week to be taken on the foil cover of each pill. Not all prescription medicines bought in bulk offer this, as it's more costly to print this information trivium. This morning, I came to the end of one pack of blood pressure pills, then retrieved another pack from storage, and absent mindedly took a second dose after extracting the long multi-lingual information sheet to consign to the bin. 

Yes, I know, it's Sunday. I don't have trouble remembering which day of the week it is. Occasionally, I may omit the pill for the day, or maybe end up taking it twelve hours later than usual. I don't think I've ever before taken a double dose. The medication information sheet, hastily retrieved by Clare from the bin, spoke of contacting hospital emergency services if you overdose. Oh no! Not more hours waiting to be officially told I don't need pumping out. I can, after all, take my own blood pressure readings and act if it plummets catastrophically. As it is in any case, higher than the GPs consider desirable currently, I decided it's not worth the fuss.

As I was checking my blood pressure after breakfast, finding it was within the acceptable range, the doorbell rang. It was Reverend Emma's husband Nick, asking if I could cover the St Catherine's Eucharist at ten thirty. Naturally, I agreed, and immediately set about preparing a sermon. Well, I had to raid my Year C archive, and edit/update a used text. Often, Advent Three, of not Four is a Sunday when a Sunday School Nativity Play is performed in the service, instead of a sermon, so I didn't have many to choose from in files committed to the Cloud since returning to the UK in 2002. The one I adapted  for today was fifteen years ago!

Mid-Advent is a time for ordinations, and Advent 3 aka Gaudete Sunday has ministry as the theme running through it. I was delighted that the choir sang 'Gaudete, Christus natus est as their anthem of the day. We used to get a Bishop's Advent letter for today about ministry and vocations to read out or issue but the occasion for this moved, even though the Collect for the day hasn't. I can't remember where it's been relocated in the Calendar, I'd have to look it up. Fifteen years ago, reflecting on the teachings of John the Baptist from today's Gospel led me to consider not ordained ministry, but the ministry towards post millennials seeking baptism and confirmation, unfolding not only through Alpha and Cursillo programmes, but also the European New Catechumenate movement.

Later standing at the Communion rail, a couple of dozen Sunday School children came up for a blessing along with half a dozen adults who also bowed their heads for a blessing, either because they weren't confirmed or maybe not baptized. In times past, parents would quite likely stay seated at the back and send their kids up for a blessing, if they came into church at all. The Benefice has worked hard on nurturing its Messy Church and Sunday School projects, and it's lovely to see that parental participation is one of the fruits. What I preached about seems as relevant now as it was back in 2003. What else can we do I wonder, to enable these adults to engage and grow in faith?

Early evening I returned to St Catherine's for the service of Lessons and Carols by Candlelight with Sunday School Nativity tableau as part of it. There was an augmented choir, which sang a number of modern carols using poems I didn't know that caught my attention. There were over a hundred and fifty present altogether. The choir and sanctuary are decked out with potted red poinsettias as well as a Christmas tree for the festive season, making it look homely and welcoming. The children, nearly all under sevens, were charming. Baby Jesus didn't stay in the manger for long as one of the toddlers wandered us and extracted him for a cuddle, not to be easily parted with by low lying adults, keen to avoid howls of annoyance. This happened more than once. Everybody smiles. It's a live instance of 'Godly Play' after all.
   

Not the date I hoped for

I went to the GP surgery this morning to have my blood pressure checked. It was high enough to put a frown on the nurse's face. I'm not surprised, and expect this to continue until I have recovered from the operation to come. It's always lower at home. As I have plenty of time, I take a series of readings and record the average. Displayed on a chart this data has the form of a classic hockey-stick curve. The first few readings are high, then they decrease and level out. Whether I include the first few or rule them out, the average is lower than the few readings a practice nurse has time to take. 

High readings are often explained away as due to 'white coat syndrome', the stress being in a surgery. I believe it's the poor quality of medical observation which gives only an impression of a person's condition. It's amazing to think what statistical conclusions are drawn by epidemiologists on the basis of such data reports. 

Medics acknowledge that a person's blood pressure varies according to environment and activity level. The way in which it is measured is bound to be a factor, and individuals will vary in response to having an inflatable cuff on an arm, which unintentionally produces discomfort and pain which impacts on the blood pressure reported. This is why I favour taking a series of readings over a period of time, whether over a day or in succession over half an hour, and then averaging them. For me the critical issue is how cope until the operation is done, without blood pressure putting me at risk.

Today the surgical team is meeting to plan operations and mine is on the list. I called the colorectal surgery unit to find out if a date had been arranged. My concern was that if it's early next week, as I'd hoped, the appointment letter might arrive after the date. This has already happened to me once recently, a result of the bizarre mail out practice of the Local Health Board. Mail from UHW Heath goes to Llandough Hospital before it's dispatched, and sending something on a Friday may mean the letter doesn't reach the sorting office until the following Tuesday. GP surgeries can and do use SMS and email to inform patients and remind them of appointments, but not hospitals. It's crazy!

Anyway, I spoke to one of the surgical consultants' secretaries, who was able to find information on my case. A letter had been prepared for sending, which she read to me. I was shocked at first to hear that surgery had been booked for 17th July next year, and expressed my incredulity and distress. On a second reading it turned out I had misheard her. The date is 17th January, more than a month from now. Any hopes I had of having this cleared up before Christmas were dashed. I just have to keep on coping and hope that my general health doesn't deteriorate in the meanwhile.

At least I know where I stand, at last, three months after my return from Montreux.

  

Sta Lucia fiesta

I attended the Eucharist at St Catherine's yesterday morning, and afterwards was asked by Fr Mark if I could celebrate at St John's this morning, which I was glad to do. Today is St Lucy's day, which had me remembering my stay in Taormina, and the ecumenical evening celebration in the pro Cathedral, followed by a banquet of local speciality fish dishes washed down with Prosecco.

Lucy was a native of Syracusa on the south eastern coast of Sicily. The festival of her martyrdom has been celebrated there for seventeen centuries. She was the daughter of a wealthy widow, and a Christian who wanted to dedicate her life to the service of the poor. She was killed for refusing to marry a local gentleman who didn't share her faith. By inference, her inherited wealth would have been her wedding dowry, but she wanted to be free to share it with truly needy people. 

The church has in Lucy's case, as with other virgin martyrs, celebrated her purity and chastity. I'd like to think that nowadays, a feminist reading of her story is more appropriate - interpreting her impulse to retain independence and freedom of spirit to serving others, as inspired by the Gospel.

This evening we went to Russell and Jackie's pre-Christmas soirée, with about twenty other guests, many of them friends and colleagues involved with Cardiff Steiner school. As is customary, before supper, we sit together for an hour's seasonal readings, carols and reflections before lighting the candles on the Christmas tree and singing 'Silent Night'. It's a lovely occasion

This time, Clare and I jointly contributed on the theme of Sophia/Wisdom in relation the incarnation of the Word, and Fran's Sophia icon was given pride of place in the room. As we were preparing, I wrote this poem to help gather up my thoughts.

Out of the Unknown depths of pure divinity

The Logos once uttered calls space and time

to burst into being

sowing the seeds of light and substance

incohate, uncontainable,

yet yielding to Sophia’s gentle touch

ordering and blessing all things

with purpose, form and destiny.

See how all things are made, very good!

See how the child born to dwell among us

makes visible both Logos and Sophia,

becoming one of us, one with us.

The last time I wrote a poem was in June two years ago when we were on the Danube cruise. Until I checked, I didn't realise it had been quite so long.

A glimmer of hope?

I finished off editing and uploading the concert videos yesterday, despite experiencing more pain and discomfort than usual. I contacted the surgery late afternoon, and spoke to a GP, who said that if this persisted overnight, I should come and pick up a referral letter and take myself back to UHW's surgical assessment unit. There was no improvement overnight so I went to the surgery at eight and obtained the first 'book on the day' appointment available with the GP I'd spoken to, two hours later. Then, Clare drove me to the hospital, where I spent the next four hours. It was even more crowded than on Friday, and it was fortunate that the Nurse in charge and the triage nurse remembered me and were able to access my notes and re-examine me.

The upshot of this was a blood test which showed I'm still infection free, and a meeting with the colorectal surgeon I was examined by before being sent for the MRI. He told me that Friday's visit report had already been seen by the surgical team leader, and would be the subject of this Friday's operation planning meeting. He said that the condition was complex enough not to warrant making an emergency surgical intervention, as there was a risk that such a measure would not be thorough enough to prevent further recurrence of the condition. I suspected this might be the case, and it was good to hear this from a team member who had previously examined me and was familiar with all the issues. The team is making to clear their operation backlog before Christmas, so there's a modest hope of being treated before then. I may be walking wounded through this festive season, but really I can't envisage a better present than seeing an end to this nightmare.

I walked back to Tesco's, where I stopped to buy two new SD cards and some more Nero d'Avola. Clare came to meet me there, and hunt for chocolate decorations to hang on the Christmas tree. This year she's been unable to find them in other stores. It was good to get back home, have a shower, a change of clothes and eat a late lunch at teatime, before relaxing for the evening with a couple of old episodes of NCIS, running while I took phone calls from people asking how I got on.

  

Early Music videoing

We attended the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning, and then after lunch returned to church after lunch for the Fountain Choir concert in which Clare was singing. If it hadn't been for my current condition making rehearsals problematic, I would have been singing too. I made myself useful however, by taking photos with my HX50 and videoing almost all of the performance with my HX300. 

I'd intended to set the camera on a tripod and leave it to run but there were two snags, the first being lack of a blank SD card. Fortunately the card in the HX300 had enough space, despite being half full of pictures. The spare card in my wallet was full. I had forgotten to buy a replacement. Secondly the tripod adjustable platform mounting to which the camera is attached is unstable and won't rest in a horizontal position. I can't work out what's gone wrong with it but a repair or replacement is needed, so I ended up shooting each song hand held, and moving around, which actually gives more variety.

The choir sang a variety of Early Music pieces, and was joined for several of them by the Roath Recorder Consort, a quintet featuring the full range of recorders, as befits the music. I was pleased with the result of my efforts, and delighted that the concert went as well as it did. Hopefully some of my videos will find their way on to YouTube, and be used to publicise this musical collaboration on the next occasion when a joint performance is planned. 

Needless to say, I spent the evening learning yet again how to edit with Windows Movie Maker. It's July since I last needed to, making videos of Rachels' gig at the Apothecary. The laptop running it was Windows 8 and almost five years old. This program belongs to the period, and not to the era of web apps now forced upon us. As it happened, while editing there was a spell when we were without internet, but as it's a stand alone program, I could keep working, which is more than one can say about many current app offerings.

Binge watching

I slept well, perhaps a little more relaxed and at ease with myself following my afternoon in the hospital surgical assessment unit. I caught up on some writing and finished off getting the Christmas cards ready for the post box. I didn't take them out as it rained all day and I didn't want them to get wet, but I went out for a walk around Pontcanna Fields in any case, and got wet. There was a mild but strong breeze blowing as well, and the exercise invigorated me. Clare got back from Bristol just before I reached home, feeling the effects of a dodgy tummy after eating a takeaway meal with rice last night, so we didn't get around to eating together.

I caught up the fifth episode of Doctor Who on iPlayer, finding Jodie Foster's take on the role interesting to see develop through the series as far as I've got. The storylines are promising but fall down, as much of the dialogue is gobbledegook, delivered too fast. It's full of implausible ideas with a few thoughtful ones thrown in occasionally for good measure. OK, sci-fi requires suspension of disbelief to succeed in engaging and stimulating the imagination, but when it's just ridiculous and confusing, you end up wondering why you bothered to watch it. Once more the ending of the tale was rushed. Is this kids TV written with adults in mind, or adult TV with kids in mind? I believe there are generations of older fans who grew up with Dr Who, so it has as many if not more adult viewers than children, like comic superhero fantasy figures, but is it really worth the mental effort, trying to keep up with it?

Last weekend saw the start of a new American psychological crimmie called 'The Sinner' on BBC Four, while we were dining out at Stefanos. I caught up with episodes one and two tonight before watching episodes three and four. Although that meant three hours continuous watching a slow developing plot, it held my interest and attention throughout. It revealed the hidden life of an vulnerable young woman, kidnapped and drugged for sex and exposed to violence in two months of her life which she cannot remember. In a tragic incident of post- traumatic stress disorder psychosis, she kills someone and admits her guilt although she has no idea why she did it. She has however regarded herself as 'a sinner' since childhood due to an emotionally abusive childhood in a pious family with a toxic spirituality. She'd been sinned against all her life, yet felt nothing but guilt. It's a sadly familiar story, coming to light in our times for women and men from religious homes. It's quite chastening to watch.