Not my Arthritis Doctor - and a flare up, right hand

This will be a very short blog owing to arthritis flare-up in my right hand. Very very painful and difficult.   We saw my Arthritis doctor yesterday - not my usual one,who has retired early - sad about that as he has been so good to me. A nice young lad was standing in.  And the results of my Coeliac blood test were with him. They are negative. Which is good, but it leaves the cause of this Eczema unknown.

My shoulder x-ray was OK too. Which is a relief.

To pad out my blog, I will include a poem I wrote many years ago, about my mother's arthritis, and about a friend who found that the terraced house she had been renting out was in a very neglected state.

IN THIS OLD HOUSE

 by me

In this old house all is still within

And nothing moves inside us

Except the thing that eats the bones

Can they isolate the virus?

She pulls the skirting board away

To show a heart stopping display of white

So we’ll call the specialists to her home

As the deadly stuff eats up her bones

But if Rentokil will not suffice

Her bones will lock in blocks of ice

The value of her house will tumble in a trice.

It seems a bit of an unfinished and undigested poem to me looking at it now.  But it was what I wrote when I was young.

The Rocking Horse Fly

St. Mark's Fly, Bibio marci

It was so hot and humid on Thursday night that we had the big doors open at the Kingdom Hall. It was the hottest day of the year - of any July here in recorded history? - anyway it was worthy of a summer's day in Arabia.  And also of a Sydney summer, as it catapulted me back in time - how many years I can't now remember but a long time ago - to one of our visits to John and family.

The Hall was in the outback just a little -  in that it had very dry scrubland around it. And as the meeting progressed the air became filled with insects.  But they were insects I had never seen before, Southern Hemisphere insects.

And it made me think of those wonderful Lewis Carroll inventions, the Rocking Horse Fly, and the Bread and Butterfly.   There they all were, whirling round my head.     And also reminded me of a memory of when I was four.   I don't remember the memory itself, just remember remembering it, if that makes any sense.   I was lying in what I guess was a hayfield, on a summer's day, watching all the little insects bustle around - all very busy with something. I remember what bright colours they had, and felt as if I had got into Fairyland.

Shortly after that I began to have a fear of insects.  But for a moment there, and many years later, in  the Kingdom Hall, I saw them for the wonderful fascinating and busy creations that they are.

The problem is that everything is so disordered now. And insect and man have a lot to fear from each other.  It was not so in Eden, and it will not be when the whole earth is ruled by Kingdom of God, the heavenly government for whose coming Jesus taught us to pray


(The Fly in the photo isn't either Lewis Carroll or Antipodean, but its still a marvelous creature. And here is the info Captain Butterfly sent me to go with it:
St Mark’s fly gets its name because the adults emerge around St Mark’s Day, 25th April. It is a large, hairy black fly that is recognised by the males ‘dancing’ up-and-down flight and long dangling legs hanging down. The male has huge eyes to enable it to find a female. They live for about a week spending most of their lives in the larval stage. After mating females lay their eggs in the soil and die shortly afterwards. The larvae feed and grow over the autumn and winter, emerging as adults the following spring.)

A Hot Day in the Field

Tuesday was very hot - but Jean and I got out and had a good morning on the doors, doing return visits.  We had a couple of good talks.  I also found out, via a neighbour, that one of my long standing calls has moved!  The pretty Polish neighbour who told us accepted a magazine from us. And I hope we will be able to call back. 

And it was so hot yesterday that it was pretty much approaching Saudi summer proportions - with that tinny smell of heat that took me back to my expat years.

I spent a lot of time this week trying to chase up the results of my biopsy and blood test. Very very frustrating.  But I do have a couple of hospital appointments coming up so I might manage to find out more from there.   They can find no trace of my having had a blood test for coelic disease - yet I can remember going in with the form, along with the one for my routine arthritis test.

And the other night I either dreamt, or remembered, I have no idea which (but I was worrying away about it all) that when I had the tests the nurse said "I'll put it all on the one form".  If that is a memory, not an anxiety dream, that may explain things as the results will have gone straight to my Arthritis Doc at the Hospital, probably leaving no record of the test for Coeliac disease.

I can find out at the end of the month when I see him.  Its not that I think I have it, but given that the possibility has been raised, I need to know. Something is up with me, beyond the usual.

A lot of time in old age is spent having tests, visiting doctors, visiting hospitals, collecting medicines, trying to keep track of everything - elderly brain cells at full stretch (both of them).

We shopped for ourselves and Jackie yesterday, and Jackie and I had a gloom together about it all.

Apart from shopping, and studying, I spent yesterday making veggie curries - trying to get myself back on track eating-wise - after lapsing while away.   And I watched a shameful amount of TV, including the first episode of a compelling new series called "The Widower". It is based on a true story, and reminded me how careful you have to be about who you marry. You place such trust in them.

Here are a few lines about old age by Henry Taylor:

I see that age will make my hands a sieve

But for a moment the shifting world suspends

its flight and leans towards the sun once more,

as if to interrupt its mindless plunge

through works and days that will not come again

I hold myself immobile in bright air

sustained in time astride the flying change.

Henry Taylor

The Flying Change

I couldn't have understood that when I was young.  But I think I can understand it now.  And, on a literal unpoetic note, old age/arthritis has made my hands a sieve. I am always dropping things.

And I love the beauty and the glory of the world more and more, and take the time to appreciate simply being here, watching the wonderful clouds move across the wonderful sky, and to thank the Creator of it all.

"Life Ruins" by Danuta Kot

We got back from Sheffield on Saturday, having been 'oop North to attend Nute's latest book launch:
https://www.simonandschuster.co.uk/books/Life-Ruins/Danuta-Kot/9781471175909

She is also published as Carla Banks, and Danuta Reah.

The Launch was on Wednesday evening at the main library, and it went very well.  Helen (Reah Sharples) sang two lovely sea-related songs - unaccompanied!    She chose a Kathleen Ferrier - and also a poem by John Masefield that someone had set to music.

Both catapulted me back to the 1950s - so it was both lovely and sad to listen to them, as I am so much at the other end of my life now.

Helen has such a great voice.  If only I could sing...  hopefully, when Jehovah restores me (and I should say if and when He does), then I too will have a great voice, in my own way.  At the moment, if I were to stand in front of a crowded library audience and belt out "I must go down to the sea again" my audience would say, as one, "We couldn't agree more" and head seawards via the door marked "Exit" at the speed of light.

Nute read a couple of scary extracts from "Life Ruins", and answered questions, quite a lot.  One of them was from me. I wanted to know if she had been down those tunnels herself, and was rather relieved to hear she had not.  As I said, it was scary. 

She has set this thriller on the Yorkshire Coast, which is fascinating her at the moment.

Jen invited us round for the lunch on Thursday - an excellent veggie lasagne, followed by home-made strawberry cake - both wild and cultivated strawberries - from her garden.  Ken ate a really good meal, she looked after him so well. Her garden is a work of art.

And Friday we went to the John Ruskin Exhibition at the Millennium Gallery - recommended to us by both Bea and Jen.  It was very interesting and I am now a Ruskin fan. However, it was no good for Ken, as his eyes can no longer cope with the dark of the Gallery. So we had a short stay and then had a meal at the Italian restaurant next door. 

Is Ruskin the only man who has ever painted a strand of frozen seaweed?  My guess is "yes".

Then back home - on a sunny day - traffic not bad at all. And yesterday was Metal Detecting for Him and the Meeting and a couple of return visits for Her.  So we are getting back into our routine.   I have had a fail with my injection - the first ever fail.  The pain as I injected it caused my hand to jerk and the stuff sprayed all over, including a splash in my mouth.

Its pretty lethal stuff, so I hope this will not be the last blog ever... 

And actually no, I have just remembered it was not my first injection fail.  Its my second.  The first and most spectacular was when I got the contraption the wrong way round and injected my finger.

There is going to be so much work in restoriing me to the life and perfection that our first parents had.  But I know that Jehovah can do it.  And only Jehovah, and only through the ransom sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

And this is what everyone on earth urgently needs to know.  I hope I will be able to report that I am back out on the doors.

The Blossom of the Field

 "Listen!  Someone is saying: "Call out"  and one said: "What shall I call out?"
 "All flesh is green grass, and all their loving-kindness is like the blossom of the field.
  The green grass has dried up, the blossom has withered, because the very spirit of
  Jehovah has blow upon it.  Surely the people are green grass. The green grass has
  dried up, the blossom has withered,; but as for the word of our God, it will last to
  time indefinite.""
  (Isaiah 40:6-8)

Do we ever stop to think what a miraculous survival the Bible is?  And I do mean miraculous.  It is here today, the most widely distributed book in human history, because Jehovah, who inspired it, protects and guards it.

And because of that we can understand where we are in space and time, and why things are in such turmoil. And why our lives are so short now.   And it gives us clear hope that we are not abandoned to this, that the link, so fatally broken in Eden, will be restored.

Watching  one of the many progammes about the moon landing, and looking back and seeing the earth, a blue and white jewel floating in space, reminded me that,  in his Inspired word, thousands of years ago, Jehovah told us that the earth was a globe, or sphere, and that it is "hanging upon nothing".

Science did of course deduce that in time.  But that was the first time we actually saw it for ourselves.

And now that I am in my seventies and know how quickly our lives go, I can see we are just like "the blossom of the field", here today, and gone tomorrow.



My car was taken off for its MOT and needed new tyres, and a mysterious (and expensive) disc replacement. So I was housebound on Monday, but did do a walk, via the Pharmacy to pick up the next lot of our medication.

Mike and Joanne (of PlanetExpat) visited yesterday. We booked a table at the Arun View.   We walked up there by the river -  it was a hot sunny day with a welcome sea breeze. Food and service excellent, as always.  I had salad with grilled Halloumi.  Col had fish (grilled) with chiips, Joanne had prawn sandwich and salad, and Mike had whitebait.  And we had tea and biscuits back at our flat after.

We talked a lot about old Expat times, of course.  Its funny how little I think about them, except when we meet up with ex-Expats.   I was different person back then, in the early days of expatting.  I knew nothing about the truth for a start - Christianity being called "the way of the truth".

It was so nice to see them both!  It must be 11 years... Time just rushes along. And we all agree that time in retirement hurtles along.  Which brings me back to the blossom of the field.

The Mothosaurus

Pine Hawk-moth, Sphinx pinastri

"Look what's on the balcony!"  shouted the Captain as I was tottering off to bed on Friday night.   I looked.  I saw, and wondered if I should summon the Town Crier who could sound a warning about keeping all small children in at night.

A wonderful beast.   And friendly too.  It was quite happy to sit on Col's hand and be photographed.  So I cancelled the Town Crier.

It was such a hot Saturday.  We were out on the Field Service, then back to the Hall for a cup of tea and a biscuit and a watch of the Broadcast.  An especially lovely one.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwqsGjEmKv8

Our fridge has stopped working - so Col and Jacks went and got fish and chips for our Saturday night supper.  We followed it up with ice-cream, as the freezer, thankfully, still works.

The Computer Whisperer

"Can you have a look at my computer when you have a moment?" I asked Captain Butterfly.   It would not boot up. I had tried to re-start, and all that.  But it wouldn't.    "When you have made the breakfast" I added hastily.

The Captain flies the coffee-machine in the morning, and makes his porridge.  I have oats soaked overnight, with fruit and seeds.  He organises it all.

The next thing I knew my computer was working.  Had he whispered gently in its ear, coaxing it into action?   Or had he barked "Stop messing about and get on with it!" 

I think the latter is the more likely scenario.

Jean and I had nearly two and a half hours on the work yesterday morning talking to a lady who is not coping well with the loss of her husband.   But why should she be really?  We were never meant to lose the ones we love.

Jean left the current Watchtower magazine:  "Is Life Worth Living?"

It could have been made for her, so we hope and pray she will read it, seriously read it.   Help is there, perfect loving help, if we will take it.    And every one of us damaged children of Adam urgently needs to be drawing close to our Creator, Jehovah, as the present wicked system  of things on the earth comes crashing to its end.

Its the Broadcast at the Hall tomorrow, so a busy day. And Jackie is coming over for supper.

However, our fridge is not working properly - very very worrying as my fearsome arthritis med has to be kept refrigerated.  We really need a new one, but finding one that will fit into its slot in our kitchen is proving next to impossible.

What the system seems to require is that we go to the trouble and expense of having a whole new kitchen fitted....  aaaaarrrrggghhhh

Can Captain Butterfly morph into the Fridge Whisperer?  Please.

Love Never Fails

I spent Friday and Sunday at the "Love Never Fails" Convention in Brighton.  I can't manage 3 consecutive days any more, but as I found one of the American Conventions posted on Youtube - thanks so much to whoever posted it - I was able to watch the Saturday session at home.

The whole Convention was based on the perfect description of love in 1 Corinthians 13.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but do not have love, I have become a clanging gong or a clashing cymbal.  And if I have the gift of prophecy and understand all the sacred secrets and all knowledge, and if I have all the faith so as to move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. And if I give all my belongings to feed others, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I do not benefit at all.  Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous. It does not brag, does not get puffed up,  does not behave indecently, does not look for its own interests, does not become provoked. It does not keep account of the injury.  It does not rejoice over unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. But if there are gifts of prophecy, they will be done away with; if there are tongues, they will cease; if there is knowledge, it will be done away with.  For we have partial knowledge and we prophesy partially,  but when what is complete comes, what is partial will be done away with. When I was a child, I used to speak as a child, to think as a child, to reason as a child; but now that I have become a man, I have done away with the traits of a child.  For now we see in hazy outline by means of a metal mirror, but then it will be face-to-face. At present I know partially, but then I will know accurately, just as I am accurately known. Now, however, these three remain: faith, hope, love; but the greatest of these is love."

Suppose that everyone in the world was doing their imperfect best to follow this advice - what a different world it would be.

I really do recommend the Symposium on Sunday morning.  Its the first item on this link:  "Remember How Love Behaves" - helping to show us how to action the advice in 1 Corinthians, with the aid of some lovely video clips.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMxFPtd4Jh4

Millions of people, worldwide, are being taught Jehovah's loving standards. And the teaching is being offered free to all.   

This morning, the Captain and I realised, belatedly, that it was our wedding anniversary yesterday. We usually forget it, I must admit.  Would you like to go somewhere, asked the Captain. But in the end we decided that we would be very happy just staying in and watching Wimbledon together this afternoon and evening.  He has had a busy weekend too.

And so we have.  And its been a lovely restful day.

The Soldier's Unastonished Stride

Yesterday was a busy day for me, as things are now. Carolina, the Finds Officer came for supper - lasagne (Cooksed, not cooked), salad, and berries and ice-cream. What a lovely girl she is!  I hope she will have a long stay as Finds Officer.    And Judy, Maggie's daughter, and her husband dropped in. They have been visiting Maggie in hospital.  It is not good, and they needed to have up to date contacts for the congregation elders, which I gave them. My days of visiting that Nursing Home every week - recently every other week - are now over.  

Whatever happens, Maggie will not be returning there.  And I must note that they took very good care of her while she was there.  Very good.

The Captain and I shopped in the morning - and this afternoon I am catching up on my studies, and have just put a carrot cake in the oven, as the supply of cake for the Captain's packed lunches is running very low - and this time of year he sometimes needs extra cake for Butterfly Mark.

Today, for some reason, I remembered a line from a poem that Dirk Bogarde wrote when his friend Robin Fox (of the Fox theatrical dynasty) died.   It contained this wonderful line "the soldier's unastonished stride".   Could that poem be out there in cyberspace I wondered.  As I couldn't remember the title, I put the line in. And here it is!

‘At Santa Monica

for Robin

‘We’ll go,’ you said,
and walk along
the beach
at Santa Monica.

We’d be, we swore,
English in an
Aliens Land,
and walk barefoot,
with hairy shins,
and trousers rolled
in grey
Pacific sand.

‘It’s dank!’ you said,
‘and Dull to boot!’
the Pier
at Santa Monica.

November gulls
swung hard against
an opal sea.
Beer cans bobbed
with plastic cups
and rotting weed.
‘No Honey here!’ you said,
‘for tea.’

But ‘Fun!’ you said
to be alive and
laugh so much
at Santa Monica.

Hands trailed
London shoes
past musseled rocks
wild blown hair.
Faces winter spumed:
and in my pocket,
(Why just mine?)
all our socks.

‘Let’s drive!’ you said
‘barefoot and wet
in Cadillacs’
from Santa Monica.

Left running
Dab-Chicks
fearful of the tide:
polluted molluscs
cups and cans:
and unsuspecting
Benjamins on Carmelina
could not hide!

‘Hullo!’ you said
‘We’ve come to tea,
quite soaking wet’
from Santa Monica.

Gone now:
Your raven’s eye,
the dancing grin,
head held high
and soldier’s
unastonished stride.
To write of you
how could I begin?

‘We’ll go,’ you said,
‘And walk along the
Beach.
At Santa Monica.

Published in Slightly Foxed by Angela Fox (Collins, 1986)

Unforeseen Circumstances!

I was supposed to have had my routine 6 monthly visit with my arthritis doctor last week, but received a letter some weeks before saying that due to "unforeseen circumstances" the appointment was cancelled and that they would be getting in touch re a new date.

Not having heard for some weeks, I took time out to ring the hospital yesterday and got the sad news that my arthritis specialist has retired!   Unforeseen indeed as he is young. Not that I can blame him, I feel he was worked off his feet.  I wondered to the Receptionist if he had won the Lottery. She laughed but (correctly) gave me no further information.

This is a sad loss for all his patients.  But the Captain and I agreed that I was lucky to have him for the last 9 years.

There is no indication of when my next appointment will be. All they can tell me is that I am on the Waiting List.  In the meantime, my skin condition gets worse and worse, making me feel quite sick and shaky sometimes. I am feeling apprehensive about the upcoming Brighton Convention. Will I be able to cope?

Will I be able to cope with taking the valiant Jean out on the preaching work this morning.  I do hope so.   Tomorrow morning I must shop - need a new bag for the upcoming Convention at Brighton, and also Col has invited the Finds Officer to supper tomorrow, so I will need to get something a bit fancier than our usual veggie soup in.

Yes.  We managed an hour and a quarter on the field service, and I have now placed all my invitations!   Though neither of us was feeling up to much.

The Captain and I are just about to sit down to supper - veggie soup - and watch Wimbledon and then the Ladies Footie.