So close, and yet so far - a true story in many parts - a very short part 5
It's Christmas Day; I am still homeless; I am still as sick as a parrot, but I am surrounded by family and friends, and I am happy to be alive.
In part 4 of this blog, I recounted how, in a weird turn of circumstances, I effectively became orphaned, and a soon-to-be ward of Her Majesty Elizabeth's Court in one fell swoop. My rather limited family at that time consisted of my elderly grandparents who lived on Jersey, a second cousin in Harrow, and a dachshund that went by the name of 'Stumpy'.
As it is a festive occasion, I think I should like to enliven the tone of my mini-missive by sharing a joke which involves a dachshund:
A dachshund and a great Dane meet in the waiting room at the veterinarian’s office. The great Dane asks the dachshund, “What are you in for?”
“Well,” the dachshund begins, “My owner has a shag-pile carpet, and when I walk across it, it rubs my belly and I get all excited. The other day, I got so hot that I ejaculated on the rug, so now I’m here to get neutered. What are you in for?”
“My owner is a beautiful woman,” the great Dane replies. “The other day, I was sitting on the bathroom floor as she was drying herself off after a shower. When she bent over, I got so excited that I jumped up and mounted her right then and there!”
“Wow,” says the dachshund. “So you’re here to get neutered, too?”
“No,” says the great Dane. “I’m here to get my nails clipped!”
The eminent psychologist, and humanist, Carl Rogers, is reported to have commented that laughter is part and parcel of an effective therapeutic process; Patch Adams reinforced this attitude towards healing, and self-actualisation with his own special brand of work at the Gesundheit Institute, and if I can attribute anything in particular from my own experience, I should say that, after Barry's death, whatever semblance of sanity I managed to maintain, as my world became a very lonely place, was, in great part, due to seeing the funny side of both life, and death.
And now, fifty-odd years later, I seem to have been consistent in allowing a change of my perspective through good humour, no matter how dire circumstances might appear. Today, my (six) grandchildren have been fantastic company, and a joy to behold - most especially, they have helped me redirect the focus of my attention away from the discomfort I feel. The pain in my midriff is getting worse. If it's not the pancreas, it's my umbilical hernia, and the seemingly constant scratching ache, like a perennial period pain around the liver. I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place 'cause the doctor says she can't prescribe strong painkillers (aside from f-ing paracetamol) due to the possible side-effects on the liver.
I have had some experience of people who have lived with liver disease -- my estranged wife, Sandra, being a case in point. Sandra and I speak regularly, and I am pleased to share that a revitalised friendship worthy of note seems to be blossoming as we transition from live-in partners to the current long-distance dynamic. At any rate, after years of HIV+, Sandra was diagnosed with AIDS in 2009, and, as a result, much of my free time, when I was not working the land on our farm in Switzerland, was dedicated to researching alternative therapies for approaching and dealing with issues such as compromised organs, the immune system, and the central nervous system. So, you could say that nowadays we compare notes, and Sandra gives me suggestions as to possible herbal or Ayurvedic remedies.
And on that uplifting note, I shall close by wishing the reader a happy New Year.