Falt air a bheàrradh

Dar a sgrìobh mi mu dheidhinn cuideachadh mo pheathar an-dè, cha do rinn mi luaidh air aon rud a choilean i air mo shon: aig deireadh na Samhna, bheàrr i m' fhalt. 'S ann glè chuideachail a bha sin, oir (leis na glasaidhean-sluaigh, leis a' gheamhradh, agus an dèidh sin leis na cràdhan-bronn agam) cha robh e air a bheàrradh bhon Iuchar an-uiridh. Bha e na fhaochadh falt den fhad 'àbhaisteach' a bhith agam a-rithist gu dearbh!

Third dose

As I've already hinted, the aftermath of getting my second chemotherapy dose was horrendous: hypotension all day long (even fainting once), lack of appetite and the consequent continuing undernourishment (today the scales showed 47kg - clad and shod) and diarrhoea, general weakness (had to trouble my sister for going my messages for me a few times) and so on.

(The silver lining was seeing my sister and chatting with her; when the post-effects became milder I also agreed to a visit from my old college friend Black.)

After a few weeks this improved during the latter parts of the days, although mornings continue to be hard: I'd had to postpone the hospital visit last week and only managed it today thanks to Black who drove me there. Anyway, now I've got my third dose. The doctor made it 30% less strong, and prescribed some pills; we'll see how I cope this time.

English spelling

The other day I came across an interesting article about the causes of English spelling being so inconsistent. The author argues that this can't be explained by English being a mixture of Germanic, Romance and other influences: the same or similar is true about other European languages, which however have more or less consistent - if sometimes fairly complicated - sets of spelling rules.

Instead, she claims that the timing of the introduction of printing is to blame. According to her, printing came to England after old spelling traditions had been eroded by the literate elite using primarily Latin. With the nascent return of the vernacular new traditions still had to become established, and various people in the meantime used various spellings for the same words depending on which dialect they spoke. Which was exacerbated by the concurrent Great Vowel Shift. Now with printing meaning that many more than before had a reason to learn to read, then write, then pass their own usage on to others (and in the absence of an institution like the Académie Française), the new traditions developed in a rather haphazard way. In other words, before a literate elite could establish new rules, it stopped being exclusive and the rules established themselves - any old how. Too many cooks spoil the broth, so to say.

Of course, I'm no linguist. I have no way of knowing whether printing (rather than, say, the Great Vowel Shift) really was the main factor. But it does seem quite plausible that it played a significant role.

Às-aithris: Dòmhnall Iain MacÌomhair: An Duine

 

Bu toigh leis a bhith a' dèanamh nithean anns an robh ùidh aige fhèin. An robh sin ceàrr seach nach robh ùidh aig càch annta? Cha robh esan a' smaoineachadh gun robh. 

(td 80 anns an chruinneachadh Caogad san Fhàsach)

Eadhon dar a bha mi òg, cha robh ùidh agam ann an iomadh nì anns an robh ùidh aig mo chàirdean, mo cho-aoisean: ball-coise, càraichean, caileagan agus mar sin sìos. Aig an aon àm, bha ùidh agam ann an grunnan nì anns nach robh ùidh aig cha mhòr duine sam bi eile air a bha mi eòlach: cànanan, Alba, òganaich agus mar sin air adhart. Agus cha do dh'atharraich sin rè nam bliadhnaichean.

Seadh, cha robh 's chan eil e idir furasta aig amannan. Ach a dh'aindeoin sin, cha chreid mi gum bithinn na bu thoilichte, mar eisimpleir, a' coimhead air geama ball-coise ann an telebhisean le daoine eile 's a' leigeil orm gun robh e inntinneach dhomhsa, seach a bhith ag ionnsachadh Gàidhlig nam aonar. Mar a tha an seanfhacal ag ràdh, 'sòlas an dara duine, dòlas an duine eile'.

 

 

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.

Merde

Ouais, d'avoir mal au dos ou ma au ventre, c'est mauvais. Mais il y a des médicaments pour ça. Ouais, l'hypotension est aussi mauvais. Mais il y a du café, et j'ai les béquilles pour ça. Mais il est aussi mauvais se réveiller et trouver qu'on a chié un peu dans son sommeil - et on ne peux rien faire contre ça. Il faut juste aborder les effets.

Quote: George Mikes: How to be Decadent

 

If you have to decay, decay with elegance and grace. 

(p 254 in the How to be a Brit omnibus)

Yes, I should accept that I'll probably never again be able to work full time, walk several miles in a oner, leave this country even for a week's trip, will have to think twice each time before spending any money, take conscientious care of my diet and regimen and so on. But maybe, with a bit of luck, I'll be able to go through the rest of my life without feeling, behaving and looking as a victim of some tragedy, preserving instead my mental faculties and my dignity.

Calum Cille aig 1,500 bliadhna

An-dè, theab mi gun a mhothachadh gum b' e 1,500 bliadhna bhon rugadh Calum Cille. Dh'fhàg sin beagan brònach mi.

O, chan ann gur e Crìostaidh a tha annam. Ach b' e samhla eile den astar a dh'fhàs eadar mise is saoghal na Gàidhlig. Saoghal anns an robh ùidh cho mhòr agam grunn bhliadhnaichean air ais, saoghal air a bhiodh mi a' gabhail beachd cho dian - agus a' faighinn tlachd cho mòr bho sin. O chionn ghoirid, cha mhòr nach robh naidheachdan BhBC an aon cheangal agam ris.

Ach mar a tha mi a-nis a' feuchainn dòigh mo bheatha atharrachadh, ga h-ùrachadh, tha mi a' feuchainn tilleadh faisg air an t-saoghal sin cuideachd.

Quote: Malachy Tallack: The Valley at the Centre of the World

He was terrified of losing everything he had, so he’d convinced himself he had nothing to lose.

(about Sandy's father, p 98)

Maybe that's one of the mistakes I did myself after discovering I was probably exiled forever: having had lost so much throughout my life I convinced myself I'd lost everything, and consequently also lost all interest in the future, carrying on merely out of inertia and remnants of defiance.

Storm Arwen

A few days ago I received a notice that on next week's Tuesday there would be no electricity between about 8am and 4pm. My first thought was how would I survive eight winter hours without warm tea or coffee (and little laptop time). Later I realised that in comparison with people who had to wait for several (some as many as nine) days to have their electricity supply restored I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Cion thoiteanan

Obh obh. Dhiùlt mo phiuthar toiteanan a cheannach dhomh tuilleadh, agus am pasgan mu dheireadh agam. Tha mi 'n dòchas gum bi mo bhrùthadh-fala àrd gu leòr a-màireach, 's gum bi an neart agam am flat fhàgail airson a' chiad turais bhon 18 an t-Samhain, 's ri dhol gan ceannach leam fhìn. Tha mi a' faireachdainn an-dràsta gur dòcha gun soirbhich leam, ach chì sinn.

Advices and Queries - 41

"Try to live simply. A simple lifestyle freely chosen is a source of strength. Do not be persuaded into buying what you do not need or cannot afford."

There at least is one precept I've been trying to follow throughout my life, and fairly succesfully. Maybe with the exception of books, but that I'm told is common to Quakers themselves.

Astérix ; des béquilles

Pour la plupart de la journée (quand je ne dormais pas) je lisais La Grande Traversée, un album Astérix que je n'ai connu pas : aussi bon que les autres. Je l'ai commencé et fini ; apparemment mon français n'est pas toujours complètement rouillé (du moins, mon français passif).

Et au soir ma sœur et mon beau-frère sont venus : ils m'ont apportés des béquille. Nous espérons qu'elles m'aideront à marcher avec mon hypotension. J'ai essayé et c'est un peu meilleur ; mais je verrai dans la nuit.

Fainted

Today was another low. Adjusting the Venetian blinds in the morning I noticed the whiteout approaching, but trying to sit down on my bed either tripped or didn't sit well enough. Anyway, a moment later I realised I was sitting on the floor, with the clothes horse fallen (must have knocked it over when falling) and a pain at the back of my head. Strangely, it felt as though I were waking up from a dream.

There was nothing broken except the skin of my skull, which I must have bumped against the open door leaf of the wardrobe, but as this hasn't happened before it's quite disconcerting. I'm even more worried now each time I have to go the few long, long meters to the loo - and I have to do that quite often.

An additional bad aspect was that of course I had nobody to tell and get solace from.

Fuar

Chan eil am brùthadh-fala ìosal agam cho dona an-diugh 's a bha e fad beagan làithean, ach tha a' bhuinneach air ais, agus airson adhbhar air choireigin, tha mi fuar. 'S mathaid oir bha mi fuar tron oidhche. Fear de na rudan as lugha orm sa bhaile seo, 's e an àbhaist an teasachadh-meadhain (no teasachadh air astar) a chur dheth buileach eadar deich uairean feasgar is sia sa mhadainn. Amadain.

St Andrew's Day

On Friday the first snow of this year: it was falling virtually throughout the daylight hours and untypically settled, rather than thawed immediately or before the next morning. In fact it still remains on the grass and some roofs, with the help of a bit more snowfall on Saturday and today. So everything is that wee bit nicer now. Given that the minimum daily temperature had already been falling close to zero for some time, I think I can proclaim winter as begun, whatever astronomers may think about it.

After all, unless I'm mistaken, meteorologists will proclaim it as begun tomorrow.

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 ...

Bent double

Another major problem is that the combination of belly ache and hypotension forces one into a stooping posture, whether one is standing or sitting. The vicious circle here is that the more time one spends bent double, the more the body gets used to it, seems to need it, so the more time one spends bent double. It's like addiction, in a way.

These days, I can hardly remain with my body straight for more than a few minutes at a time. Apart from the loss of time when walking somewhere or doing something on my laptop, when one stops to 'stoop and rest', this also means I can't have my hair cut or something done about my two incisors which have falled out quite recently (it never rains but it pours), because I couldn't stay in the barber's or dentist's chair for long enough for them to complete their tasks.

Advices and Queries - 29

"Although old age may bring increasing disability and loneliness, it can also bring serenity, detachment and wisdom."

Unfortunately, while the former are now taking an increasingly heavy toll on me, the latter seem hardly to be even beginning to approach.

Wasted mornings

One of my main problems these days is starting them too late. Of course, when I have some appointment, I only get up early enough to be there on time, and after returning and resting after the effort not much of the day is left; that's only to be expected. But even when there is no delay of this sort, I spend so much time lying in bed, whether dozing or reading some book, that by the time I finally find the moral strength to get out of bed and face the day, it's usually already the afternoon. Given how much time I have to spend resting between individual activities, and given that I go to sleep again well before midnight, there is obviously never time enough to eat enough, drink enough, perform all the desirable bodily maintenance and housework, check the news, answer emails, do enough language studies and so on.

As a consequence, despite my being on sick leave, my body continues to deteriorate and my backlog of various things to do is growing, rather than decreasing. Which in turn makes me weaker and more zestless, thus more prone to lie in for too long in the morning, and the vicious circle continues.