It’s rather strange isn’t it how our lives seem to have phases when one activity becomes less spontaneous (blogging in my case right now), whilst another aspect of our life (like reconnecting with neglected friendships) suddenly feels possible again. Some inner wisdom recognises that it is time to redress the balance and that befuddled brain (that seems to cling to routines and habits as if they are essential to its very survival) is suddenly able to break out of a deepening rut, stumbling and blinking into the proverbial light of day.
Out of nowhere, what seemed impossible the day before is as easy as reciting the alphabet. Whether it be reclaiming the sunny corner of the patio from an army of empty tomato pots or baking chocolate brownies after years of unintentional abstinence. And this, despite the considerable lure provided by countless addictive episodes of British Bake Off. Frustrating or what?!
Rest assured, these first few months of contented blog writing have been enormous fun (dare I say), also acting as a period of introspection, with you acting partly as my motivation and unwitting witnesses.
There’s a fabulous Halal coffee shop in town, a surprisingly quiet retreat from the general vibe of the city. I spent a companionable yet rare couple of hours there recently, with two sisters who live at the bottom of my garden. They are sadly not diminutive spirits of magic and alchemy, being very much of the house-dwelling variety of persons. However, they do share that general good nature, for which I gather gnomes are well known. They are delightful women who are articulate, interesting and funny, making me erupt into fits of the giggles as they share stories and recite facts about the absurdities of life. And in the nature of things, like other ‘good eggs’, their humility seems to prevent them from realising how enjoyable their company is.
We also all share the challenges brought about by persistent chronic pain so have an unspoken understanding. The all too common ‘elephant in the room’ is conspicuous by it’s absence, making their company more comfortable than I expect each time. My memory oddly takes me back to the infamous ‘Don’t mention the War’ Episode of Faulty Towers in attempting to explain what disability and illness can sometimes ‘do’ to people around us who just don’t get it.
But more importantly by far was the day that one of them told me about a brilliant, meticulous and compassionate neurologist based at Queen Elizabeth Hospital who helped her sister understand an illness for which she was not getting answers or support. A year and a half later, after also asking to be referred to him, I got to sit in his consultation room and so began over a year of investigations which lead to some truths that have been hard to accept, but which validate the difficulty of my own journey. At last.
Sitting in our oasis of a coffee shop, we also shared a sentiment – we all admire and adore this amazing human being. And we are sure that many of his patients, as vulnerable as we have been, feel pretty much the same as we do.
It is incredible how many people I have to be grateful for, over the past 17 years or so. In each case, it feels as if they have saved my life or my sanity at the very least. No joke. When one ‘shit lorry’ after another dumps it’s load onto your life, over and over, there’s no crawling out of the mess without a lot of guys (and gals) with pretty large spades. I don’t intend to play down the unfathomable ability of the human spirit either. Those of us unfortunate to have been in the way of said lorries have had to ‘hang in there’, sometimes for what seems like an eternity, in the hope of rescue. We have a lot to be grateful for if we were lucky enough to ‘make it’.
One friend stuck by me as day after day, I phoned her desperate to hear a voice on the other end of the phone as I rotted in a damp, cold flat unable to function or to persuade the delightful landlord to acknowledge problems with his property. For at least 3 years, I fully believed that skyrocketing pain levels resistant to every drug or intervention would finish me off within hours.
After each conversation, my incredibly patient friend said the one thing that removed the shame of behaving in such a needy way, which was “Thank you so much for sharing that with me. You’re an inspiration,” frequently followed by “I’ve been wracking my brains for what to write for my next sermon. This has really helped. Oh, you are so wise. I do love you!”
Whatever you may be thinking, I assure you that if there was an award for the most frustrating version of a ‘poor me’, I would have been in good contention to win it. I was ashamed then. Beyond belief. And would pick up the phone and put it down twenty times for every call that made it through to her. Looking back, I can only be in awe of this friend. If she was as empathetic as I think she is, she would have had a pretty good idea how horrific my reality was at the time and would have been strongly affected by that. Without her, I cannot imagine how I would have survived.
Several other precious friends have helped and continue to do so when illness means that I can’t manage at home. They have acted as chauffeurs, put up with me lying on their floors and remained patient during my occasional visits back to the ‘Land of the Victim’, rescued me from supermarkets having collapsed due to exhaustion and pain flare-ups, dumped me (at my request) with the bike on quiet roads forcing me move when my body begged me not to. Others have helped me to set up this blog and sorted out internet orders, got me reading again by sending me audiobook recordings and talking about them afterwards, helped me with establishing flowers and tomato plants in the garden, or spoken up for me at Tribunals. This last one, incidentally, is a biggy ‘in my book, particularly when friends have been ill or were facing their own difficulties at the time. It takes one to know one, I suppose!
One friend set me up teaching Klezmer to talented young musicians, whilst another with no spare money put her heating on for me so that I could comfortably lie down and stretch on her floor. I retreated to her flat in-between those incredibly challenging teaching sessions, unable to admit how bad things were for me at the time and was advised to keep quiet about it, to retain an appearance of professionalism I guess. Looking back, it MUST have been glaringly obvious that something was very wrong.
Some friends, who are just as valuable, are the ‘go to’ friends who are great to ‘hang out’ with when difficulties in life become almost paralysing and it would otherwise be very tempting to give up and hide away. It has become especially hard to accept or believe the way our world is changing, particularly the erosion of ethics and morals within our society. These rare friends leave the rest of us refreshed and with renewed optimism, every time, no matter how bad it is for THEM. How I do not know.
Every gesture of friendship has been far more precious than in the so-called ‘good old days’. Even five minutes spent being listened to or having practical help (based on what I ask for and not on what the other person thinks I need) can make all the difference. It puts a smile in my heart, even if this weary face doesn’t show it enough.
The thing that I share with all my close friends now is a sense of ‘It’s alright if you can’t make it today’, regardless of arrangements. It’s allowable if you don’t answer your texts for days. ‘It is what it is’ because we know that our daily challenges can get too much for us from time to time. We are able to be real with one another without fear of recrimination, abandonment or ‘pull yourself together’ style diatribes. And that makes us, I do believe, very fortunate indeed.
“Could you bake some more chocolate brownies?” I get asked. My companion continues by explaining at length how much his love interest enjoyed sampling our last attempt.
“Oh yeah? Is it just an excuse to be with her?” comes my retort. “Or is it really that you want to scrape the bowl again?”
Even if all he did was watch, scrounge left-overs and make fun of my amateurish first attempt at cake baking, it would have been impossible without my friend’s all-important patience and moral support. We both have to admit that sharing cake baking time (for the first time in ‘forever’) was rather a good thing to have done.
“A party without cake is just a meeting.”
― Julia Child
“There is nothing better than a friend unless it is a friend with chocolate.”
― Linda Grayson
