Dìthreabhachd 220316

Another busy, busy day: unplanned visit by Black with more info (also leading to my getting some PEG food again, high time too, the tube was getting blocked), planned visit by sister to bring me my washed laundry and prepare more food for me (also leading to a long talk about my attitude towards my parents - as usual, it being in speech rather than in writing, I probably didn't put my thoughts across very precisely), an email from Rob deserving a reply, and of course other tasks (leaving little time for eating & drinking).

[Added the next day: In the end I only went to sleep at 2am - which was good, because just before that I had a smoke on the balcony and heard, probably after some years, the morning chorus again.]

Dìthreabhachd 220314

Another hard day, although not as hard as I'd been afeared. Black (who also restarted my disability pension application) and my sister met at my place for the first time, and we were all met for the first time by a doctor and a nurse (both female) from a palliative care team. Basically they were mostly just learning about me, and the three of us about what can be provided by them and what by others. Doesn't seem all that hopeless, even for later when I'm terminally bedridden. For the time being the main task is eating more - something I've known for months I should be doing; now my sister tries to help me to actually accomplish it.

Dìthreabhachd 220311

Abair latha ... Black began mailing and requesting timeous replies as early as half ten in the morning (when I'm usually still fully or at least half asleep) and kept doing so; there were other mails too; in addition my sister unexpectedly phoned me in the afternoon ... little wonder I had hardly any time or energy left for drinking, eating or laptop in the meantime, mostly just resting in a recumbent position instead. But it seems things are at last moving somewhere, on more fronts than one.

Dìthreabhachd 220303

My sister's birtday so still taking it easy: didn't want to risk her needing, instead of celebrating, to have to take care of me if I finally collapsed. Also, a third day in a row with basically no laptop - had tried on Monday but the moment I sat down to the desk and looked at the screen I got such vertigo I needed to immediately return to bed. (These recent 'posts' are handwritten in a paper notebook, to be transcribed into this blog later.) Still, did a wee bit of tidying up.

Unexpected white Christmas

To be honest, I'd grown used to the idea that the probability of my ever seeing a white Christmas again was minimal. When I woke up yesterday and saw a thin layer of snow on the ground, I suspected it might not last until the evening - and it didn't. The forecast for today said light snow during the day; I didn't cherish much hope. But snow it did - not much, but enough to cover the grass and pavements, partially even the roofs - and so far, it stays like that.

There are still unexpected small mercies to experience. (Another was an afternoon call from my sister, who even claimed she'd personally visit me before the end of the year.)

Thadhail m' athair orm

Abair latha. An toiseach, dh'fhair companaidh lìbhrigidh dhomh dà leabhar Beurla bhon Amazon (eachdraidh na Frainge agus eachdraidh na Nirribhidh). As dèidh sin, thàinig m' athair às a' bhaile aigesan le poca làn bìdh o mo mhàthair airson ama na Nollaige. Agus fhad 's a bha e an-seo, dh'fair posta litir clàraichte dhomh bho Roinn na Tèarainteachd Sòisealta (a' gearan nach d' fhuair iad fhathast pàipearan bhon dotair-teaghlaich agam).

Bha e math m' athair fhaicinn a-rithist, ged nach do mhair an còmhradh eadarainn na b' fhaide na dà uair a thìde, 's nach robh e ro inntinneach a bharrachd (sa mhòr-chuid mu dheidhinn peinnsean ciorramachd a bu chòir dhomh fhaighinn agus rudan co-cheangailte ris), ach bha e taitneach dìreach cuideachd a bhith agam as dèidh nan làithean, agus thuirt e dhomh aon rud inntinneach:

Thuirt e gum b' fheàrr leis caochladh a-nis, dar a tha e ochdad bliadhna a dh'aois ach a' smaointeachadh agus a' gluasad ceart gu leòr, seach as dèidh ceud bliadhna a dh'aois, ach le cràdhan mòra air/no leabaidh-laigheach air/no le seargadh-inntinne. Bha e coltach nach robh eagal a' bhàis aige tuilleadh. Feumaidh mi aideachadh gun robh ('s gu  bheil) farmad agam air - air sgàth an dà chuid cion thrioblaidean cuirp agus cion an eagail.

Reading printed books again

When one door closes, another one opens.

For several years I was reading virtually solely Kindle e-books, possessing less than four prints. Moving flat as often as I had to during my life, it made sense to have as few as possible to move each time I did. However, when I moved, at the beginning of summer, to a flat owned by my sister and her husband, the sitution changed: I could suddenly expect not to have to flit again any time soon, if ever. So I resolved to and actually began anew buying printed books.

Kindle has its advantages of course, but for an old fogey like me, when all is said and done, it's just an inadequate substitute. The bliss of holding in my hands and enjoying 'real' books once more!

Unfortunatelly, I soon discovered that post-Brexit Amazon deliveries into the EU are unreliable (more than once I had an order stuck for a month on the French border, only to be then without any explanation returned back to Amazon), and getting them by post makes the delivery rather costly. I also realised that my sick pay would soon come to an end and I would be dependent on a (much lower) disability pension. So I stopped buying more.

And then my sister mentioned that she still had some books I had stored at hers years ago before one of my moves and quite forgotten about. She then sent me photos of that part of her bookcase with books in English, and I saw there several I mean to deprive her of, or at least borrow for some time. She already brought me the first two I chose.

Looks like I'll be able to enjoy reading prints for at least several more months to come.

Chemo round 2 ... and sister

Back in 2016 and last winter I had hardly any symptoms as a result of chemotherapy. However, I don't bear this FOLFOX one well. It makes me extremely tired and sleepy, and worst of all, a complete loss of appetite meant that during the three days of this round I ate almost nothing at all. But I survived and after having the pump removed yesterday my sister drove me back with three boxes of PEG food, which I began taking today. Hopefully it'll help me gradually put on some weight again, I'm around 47kg right now.

Incidentally I always suspected my symptoms resulting from various diseases were at least 50 per cent psychosomatic. So it's no surprise that after the pump's removal and later a short but pleasant chat with my sister at my place (the first such chat I've had with anybody since August) I felt much better, not just mentally but physically as well, despite the undernourishment and continuing lack of appetite.

I must wangle it so I see her more often. Likewise mail my other friends more often, blog more and become generally more involved on the Web again ...

Paul Greer: Less

 

They might have done, many of them. So many people will do. But once you've actually been in love, you can't live with "will do"; it's worse than living with yourself.

(p 14)

This can be a problem not just with romantic relationships. Of course, like everybody I often do use and even enjoy substitutes for the real thing: e-reader for a printed book, e-cig for a tobacco one, masturbation for sex and so on. But I guess that just as often a substitute is even worse than total absence: an obvious example is the preferability of silence to music one doesn't like, or even music one likes but isn't at the moment in the mood for. And I remember how after my three boon companions in a certain town left it shortly one after another, I began visiting different pubs - on my own, because meeting those left reminded me about the absence of those three more painfully than solitude.

 

Tommy's 30

Incredible. I still remember him as that post-adolescent young man in his early twenties that he was when we were staying close enough to see each other ... Incredible too (but marvellous!) that we still keep up with each other at least by emails after all those years.

Overwhelmed by emails

About a month ago I began, almost suddenly, to receive an unusually large number of emails. Some who often make no contact for months mailed in the way in which people usually text. Some who normally never reply my emails did. There was even one old friend I haven't heard from for about five years who not only renewed the contact, but began writing emails so long they resembled good old-fashioned letters. (I'd naturally reply in like manner.)

It almost felt as if I had only a couple of months left before I died, and somehow the word got round so everybody wanted to enjoy communicating with me while they still could, or to make my last days more pleasant. My mind was going into overdrive as I'm not used to this, and I had to neglect, to some degree, just about every other activity of mine.

But as I expected, it only took some patience to get through. This hectic activity only lasted two or three weeks. It's already business as usual by now: a few days may pass without anybody mailing me at all.

Tadhalan mo chàirdean

Chan eil fhios agam an e buaidh a' bhìorais (le uimhir nas lugha de chothroman aig daoine leis an àm aca a chur seachad) no buaidh na h-aillse agam (agus iad ag iarraidh m' fhaicinn mus am biodh e ro fhadalach), ach bha dà thadhal agam bho chàirdean na colaiste san Fhaoilleach: Black sa chiad àite, agus an dèidh sin Jamie is Falcon.

Iongantach. Tro na trì mìosan ar fhichead roimhe 2021 agus a bha mi a' fuireach san fhàrdaich seo, cha do thadhail ach mo phiuthair orm - aon thuras. A-nis, dà thadhal rè mìosa singilte - agus bu chòir do Bhlack a' tighinn a-rithist an ath-sheachdain, leis an dà eile, tha mi an dòchas, mus deireadh a' Ghearrain ...

2020

I remember that having a New Year's Day stroll twelve months ago I felt it in my bones that this year would be better that the one before. So much for my power of clarvoyance.

Because we all know what happened: Covid-19. Which didn't affect me personally as much as most; instead, I developed a tumour again, oesophageal this time.

Of course, things are rarely all bad. A silver lining of all those lockdowns was that Tommy had much more time to reply my mails. In fact, he began writing comparatively long ones, ones that resemble letters more than social media messages.

And during one of the less restricted months I went again, after several years, on a trip with my friends from college. It wasn't one of the best trips I had with them over the years, yet it was good enough to be a highlight of the year.

And so on. But all in all it was a bad year indeed. Basically I was just going to work, reading books (in a pub when possible - ay, I did enjoy that), struggling to keep up with my language(s) studies, scarcely fulfillling self-imposed tasks faster than adding new ones, and insidiously becoming sicker and sicker.

I don't feel anything in my bones tonight. But mere reason tells me that unless the cancer (or something else) kills me - which unfortunately at the moment doesn't seem at all improbable - the next year can hardly be as bad, let alone worse, than the one which is eventually almost over.*

* it's still not been midnight in my homeland, although it's already past it here in my exile

Tactile deprivation

In Paul Greer's novel Less the main character sadly ponders that while two gays can't walk hand in hand on a street in Morocco, two straights can't do it in Chicago. I suspect that he's right: that in general, the easier it is somewhere for two gays to openly show their love, the harder it is for two straights to show their friendship and not be perceived as latently gay. Homophobia, instead of vanishing, simply taking on a different form.

And between gays and straights ... Even my best friends, who are in every other way perfectly relaxed about my sexuality, would be wary of touching me as freely as they would another straight. For my part, the more attractive I find somebody, the more studiously I avoid touching him. And the less you can touch people you love, the more unpleasant are touches of those you don't, so you avoid that as well.

Consequently, reading about all those people who are so distressed at suddenly being unable, because of the lockdown, to hug their nearest and dearest, it's actually hard to be compassionate and not just grin and think "for fuck's sake, you only have to endure for a few weeks or months something I've been suffering from almost all my life, and in all probability will go on suffering from until I die".

St Patrick's Day / Jockie's 50th birthday

Jockie, my last bedmate, was born on St Patrick's Day 50 years ago. Unless he's changed very much during the two and a half decades since I last saw him, he must have been as disappointed by being unable to celebrate his half-century properly, in a pub with lots of friends, as any booze-loving Irish patriot must have been last week.

A. A. Milne: Winnie-the-Pooh

After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday.

(Eeyore) 

I have around half a dozen friends so close we’re still friends years, even decades after the time we used to meet on a daily or at least weekly basis. The problem is we no longer do, and I have nobody to really talk to more often than every several months or so.

 

 

 

 

(originally posted probably on WordPress)

 

Christmas party

I never liked company parties, but this wasn’t one. This was just a bunch of us oldish guys who’d once studied together using Christmas as an excuse to meet in a pub. And it was fine, although I could only stay for two coffees before leaving for a night shift.

What surprised me most* was that MM, whom I hadn’t seen since mid-90s, changed so little I recognised him immediately. To him the old joke “we’re no longer young and handsome, we’re simply handsome now” actually applies. He’s a year older but looks ten younger than me I guess.

It also seemed to me that, oddly, the guys who, unlike Falcon and me, never needed specs in our college days, were getting presbyopic much faster than the two of us. And that Black and maybe Köln were as hard of hearing as I am these days. (Or maybe I just speak lower than is customary in this country, who knows. The pub was as clamorous as the factory I work in, so we had to resort to shouting as well, and that’s not exactly my forte.)

My leaving was a wee bit frantic, as it would be in a teeming pub I’d never been to before, but never mind. I just hope the next time we meet I’ll be able to spend more time with them.

   

* There was a minor surprise along the way there: the central railway station is fully open again, after just a year or so under reconstruction. I had expected it would last several.

(originally published on WordPress)

James Robertson: To Be Continued

There’s a saying, ‘blood is thicker than water’. […] It’s like that other idiocy, ‘my country, right or wrong’. Blood is an excuse. It’s a reason not to face up to things and it is never a good reason.

(Rosalind Munlochy, p 256)

People sometimes find it hard to accept that several guys I met later in my life are much more important to me than my parents, although I hadn’t had an unhappy childhood. But I believe that how much you have in common with somebody (mentally), and how much (good and/or bad) intensely experienced stuff you’ve been through together, is much more important than mere genetical relation.



(originally posted probably on WordPress)

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Having returned from a back shift I found an email from Tommy in my mailbox. Which made my day as it always does … until I’ve read it. He seems to be more depressed than me at the moment, and being 990 miles away there’s nothing I can do to help him. Except write back of course; will have to mull over properly though what I’m gonnae say and how I’m gonnae say it


 (originally published on Tumblr)

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Tommy’s 28th birthday. So I celebrated by creating this account. 


Note, 19/10/19: This was the first post on my Tumblr account which I later stopped using, transferring the posts here. Partly influenced by the fact that Tommy discontinued his account that I’d been following for years.


(originally posted on Tumblr, then with the note on WordPress)