February

 At the turn of the year I pledged to myself to write a poem each month. A calendar poem to track the year. My process is I need to wait for something that I’m drawn to write about. Today it is a fall of snow. It’s not enough for a snow man, it just offers a fresh view.

February is our birthday month. I was 65 last week. (And still no pension #just sayin) My family and friends were so generous and loving, that helped February have a warm glow. We have our vaccines dates this month too.

 And I’m now a qualified coach supervisor, after completing a really stimulation course. I’m also part of a Coach supervision collective and I’m grateful to be part of such a creative approach to supporting quality coaching in service of their clients. Have a look and do share if you would like to. 

And here is February’s poem, I hope you enjoy it. 

February 

Who knows which day it is?

This lockdown drags its feet

and drags us along behind

powerless to change the pace.

One day at a time makes it

more bearable.

One step at a time 

risks pain and loss

and yet the only way

to move.

Today the snow fell

and created a new world.

This world is beautiful and  

unspoiled by the darkness 

of a lockdown winter.

We forget for a moment

about variant viruses and

instead wait for the first footprints to appear

amidst the snowdrops.

A poem for hope this January. With a nod tae the Bard.

I wrote this at the turn of the year and much to my surprise it came out in Scots, Fife and English. There’s a bit of all of them in me. I thought I would share it on Burns birthday as it’s inspired by him and a love of his poetry since childhood. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please share it. I plan to recite it tonight at our zoom Burns night. Wish me luck! 

Hope fur 2021

 

The auld year ends.

Nae wi a bang

but whimperin

we lick oor wounds.

 

Oor empty erms

Long tae haud

Ache to coorie

In thegither

 

Kin a vaccine

Fill thon gap?

o lost connection

o sare herts and heids.

 

Aye longin

fur spring 

fur hope

Fur awthin growin new.

 

But fur noo

It’s a step

Ain at a time

Restin, gratefu, peacfu.

 

Fur whit’s Hope?

It’s oors tae haud.

We ken guid times 

Are aroond the corner.

 

So here’s a haun

Ma trustit fiere.

We cannae touch

Bit love is in thon smile.

 

Be telt, 2021!

Whitever ye chuck

Oor way

We’re no dun yet.

 

Audrey Birt

Jan 2021

 

The Grannie I wanted to be and other stories

 I put the Charley Mackay quote on my email sign off this week. Several people commented how welcome it was. I know it started with Blue Monday and how we all speak about mental health most days at the moment, but it does seem especially blue of late. I realise that inspite of a commitment to honesty in my blog, I prefer not to share the flat times, the days that have blurred edges into each other. Anyway, what would I say? We’ve been in lockdown since New Year and there is very little light and shade to the days. 

The bright days are when our daughter visits ( we’re in a bubble together.....Thank God! ) Also we are now able to look after our toddler Grandson, Davie. Between us we are able to have great fun with him. His weekly visits have also lifted us from the banality of lockdown and the grey mid-winter. He’s helped us share laughter, hugs, music and then the little tales we tell each other of what he said and did, that keep the week alive till he arrives again. He and his Aunty are keeping us engaged in life. His Mum and Dad aren’t allowed in the house or near us at all. We miss them as so many of you miss your families too.

His Dad drops him off on the doorstep, rings the doorbell and steps back several metres. He’s like an Uber eats parcel ready to make our day! Cara the dog cries with excitement to see them both, then she scampers as soon as he looks a bit unpredictable. So that doesn’t take long. Koshka the cat is less predictable. His name is Russian for cat and Davie is able to pronounce it, impressive for a two year old! And if you speak to Koshka he assumes that ultimately this leads to food, so a beautiful friendship is emerging. 

I’m constantly trying my best to be able to interact as much as I can. I’ve always been disabled to him. But the Grannie I wanted to be wasn’t disabled. She would have been able to join him on the floor with his toys. She would have pushed the pram around the neighbourhood and chatted to neighbours about how well he was doing. She would have climbed hills with him and told the stories of previous walks in Scotland. She would have bobbed around the kitchen, making soup, cakes, scones and chatting as he had lunch. She would have taken him for weekends to give his parents a break. But others, including his wonderful Grandad, will do that with him. I’m the entertainment with the wheelchair, scooter and my walker. All are source of great entertainment to Davie.

So this month it’s the small things that I’m writing of. But as we know from the experience, the life lesson that is lockdown, the small things are the big things.They are family, they are those we love, they are having a job/pension  that provides a warm home and food on the table, a dogs head on your lap, a cat purring  at your side. And at this time it’s also about a National Health Service and a dedicated care service too.

This blog is dedicated to those who serve us in these terrible times of premature death and illness and to a staff team who have worked so incredibly hard and still do and have seen more death than any of them ever wanted to. They are in my heart and honestly in my dreams too-or are they nightmares-with me trying to help, then realising I’m unable to walk other than a few steps in pain. It’s a jumble of being upset I can’t help and being scared stiff if I could help. Perhaps they know all that complex mixture? 

Stay safe and stay at home please, we owe that to those overwhelmed teams and to ourselves and those who love us. 

A Christmas ‘tail’...

Robbie 

The Christmas tree and other decorations are up now. I’m like a kid, I love stirring but the tree with its lights on all day! I’m ambivalent about Christmas, especially this year, but I love the connection it brings normally. The house full of sparkle and anticipation ( with a serious sprinkle of anxiety).  Back in the days of having young children, my sister and I alternated venues each year. The year at her house was always wonderful and the year at mine a lesser joy for me ( 9-10 people not just for dinner but for at least three days is a project in itself)  but nonetheless lots of rich family time. OK time has formed a rosy hue around it. I’ve forgotten the moaning, the tense times, the money worries, the wondering, have I got enough, have done enough?

But the really special years have formed the rosy hue. The cousins all togther working with the Lego and engrossed in their task. The board games full of stories of my Mum generally saying something outrageous! 

One year we did something something I’m a bit ashamed of. We got a puppy at Christmas. ( don’t try this at home...)  We were looking for a golden retriever pup and this family had a litter and they were ready them. I swear to you it was the Christmas scene from many a Christmas film . It was Christmas Eve . Our plan was to go to church that evening for the Watchnight service. And after that collect the puppy.

By 8 pm we realised that plan was in danger, the snow was falling and we were getting dangerously at risk of being snowed in. We lived at the top of the hill. Above the snow line and it had been known for the children to be wrapped up in snow gear for school and once we went down the hill there was nothing. Oh MUM we told you, the cry. So was this the scenario here? We phoned the family we were getting the dog from. Yes it was real, the snow was piling up there too.

OK, the children knew nothing of the dog and having got this far we wanted him to be a surprise. Time for bed we cried....what? Not yet. I want to ....Nope, tomorrow is Christmas and you want to enjoy it , don’t you? Off to bed ...spit spot! ( Mary Poppins was a Christmas must). They gave in and off they went with favourite books to read and old slippers set aside awaiting their replacements. 

My Mum was also in the dark, only my sister and brother-in-law knew about the pup. And Fruin the cat didn’t know his life was about to change. We set off, the baby sitters were rather baffled that we were heading into town at this time of night.  We arrived and there he was. A ball of fluff so young we felt scared to take him out in this cold but honestly with the snow still falling we had no choice, by tomorrow we would be unable to get out. So we cuddled him in, tucked under my coat, a million instructions and the promise to let them know how he was.

We moved up the hill with excitement entangled with anxiety as the car went into the odd slow skid.But fortune favoured us and we got home. The lights were out upstairs and my sister and brother-in-law came to meet us at the door.They smiled as Robby ( as we came to know him) emerged from the blankets. We opened the door and presented him to Mum, she cried when she cuddled him on her lap. This was only the second Christmas since my Dad had died in the November just over a year ago. In truth we all were dreading it as our grief was still raw at times like this. So that Christmas it became , ‘where’s the pup’ rather than trying not to serve up a plate for my Dad as I had done the previous year. He stole all our hearts that year.but frankly it’s not a good idea to get a dog or puppy then. The kids wrestled their presents from him, he wee’d on lots of gifts left lying about, he hung from the tail of my sister’s dog. She was a beautiful Belgian shepherd cross rescue dog with a tail that was made for hanging from. But he lifted all our hearts. The snow lasted on the ground for two weeks. But eventually spring arrived and we managed to move to a more normal routine. He was so easy to train, a lovely warm slightly daft, loving dog. 

And he was definitely for life , not just Christmas. We had him for a precious 13 years. Thanks for those memories Robbie. 

That’s so 2020

 So this weekend has been really enjoyable and I’ve hardly left home. We had a fun firepit evening, with our daughter and our friend,  having curry and great chat. We laughed and that was so welcome. The next evening we had virtual pre dinner drinks with friends ( the drink wasn’t virtual you understand!) on zoom. It just made the evening and we avoided politics and pandemics mostly. It was almost normal, or maybe I’ve just forgotten what that is?

Then today we met our son, daughter-in-law and grandson in the Botanic gardens. I stepped outside onto my mobility scooter armed with winter woolies and realised just how mild it was. We still have our heating off during the day, unheard for this time of year in Edinburgh. Cue conversation about climate change and an ominous hint at what that means for years to come. The autumn leaves were glorious but no longer on the trees. Their glory is fading and it’s hard not to think of winter edging forwards.

In the distance Edinburgh castle sits caught in a heavy dark cloud. It was morning. Edinburgh suits winter. Those medieval streets are surprised by the light. Days of the haar muffles the life of the city and those behind the doors. It’s lived through the plague certainly but their ways of handling pandemics were unacceptably grim.

I turned around looking for the family and there was a large yellow inflatable monkey attached to the side of Inverlieth house, in the centre of the gardens. It was raining. Of course. You understand this is the year that nothing surprises you any more.  We continued our search in the rain and there they were. Davie on a squirrel hunt. The squirrel runs off in the way our cat does when he runs towards them. Grandad, Grannie he says and gives us a hug. How precious these hugs are. 

There were flowers, fallen leaves, robins, bold crows and rows of winter vegetables and herbs to entertain on our walk in the rain. An occasional ride on my lap on the scooter is a highlight for Davie and I: his pleasure is the scooter lights and horn and mine the hugs. 

We sat in the rain watching him roll in the grass which was now mud. Oh how 2020 this is: sitting beside an inflatable monkey, stealing as much time with family as possible and if you get wet take your hood off and roll in the mud. It could be a wise saying on gift card! 

This week I’ve been reflecting on hope. The talk of vaccines of course has contributed. It’s what’s been missing isn’t it, during this second wave of the virus. No rainbows or applauding with your neighbours, just hard work from health and care workers who themselves are most at risk of the virus. No just an expectation that they will be there for us. There was no furloughed summer for them of course. Who needs hope more than they do? It will be all over for Christmas exposed as the lie we all knew it to be. 

So hope has to be found in the everyday. One of my most valued learning from studying mindfulness is the importance of being in the moment. The only thing that is certain. Being caught in the past causes low mood and depression and ruminating on the future can bring on anxiety. But staying in the present allows you to see the beauty in the fallen leaves, the moody Castle and the friendship that brightens our lives. And especially when we are able to capture the love and occasional hugs from family.

The craziness, fears and losses of 2020 has certainly reminded us of what is most important. That’s so 2020. 

A Grannie Rocket?

 A side effect of spending time at home is seeing what might be done in the house with some investment. From being a young adult in our first home we’ve always prioritised holidays over home improvements. And being busy with work and life and children etc I have always been easily distracted from what needed done. Even when we could only scrape enough money to pay the essentials we would still rather pack up a tent and head off. Also spending time with family was and is always the priority. So  redesigning dining rooms for example could always wait.

Until this year. 2020. 

Who knew what you could achieve with time, energy and money saved by sitting at home. So we’ve had a lot of boxes arrive, redecorating to arrange, cushions to chose and we have a completely different room. I’m delighted with it. Cara especially likes to lie on the sofa while I’m working at the table. It feels so bright and yet comfortable. The sofa becomes a bed if you want it too and at times I’ve needed to know I didn’t have to climb the stairs when I’m most in pain. 

My pain has been worse of late. I’m sure the added stress of the resurgent virus and the loss of not seeing and holding family is part of this too. Pain is a complex mix of the physical , mental and social context and who could pretend that any of those is ideal just now. 

So our final investment is a stairlift. I’ve given in to my need but to say I resent it would be to understate the situation. The cost of over £4,000 is the worst part. I know I need to love it now but that’s a big stretch for me. I do love not being anxious and in pain every night when I go to bed. I have also regained some mobility around the house. 

Koshka the cat is horrified by it, a machine too far for his cosy life. By contrast I’m sure Cara would get on it, if it got her to our comfy bed when we are not looking! My son suggested to his son that Grannie has got a rocket. A Grannie rocket! I have no doubt it will be a source of endless entertainment for Davie. Maybe someone can love it! A friend suggested pimping it up. Suggestions are welcome.....

I have got through breast cancer awareness month without thinking much about it or buying something pink. I just couldn’t open that box of fears which has been safely tucked away of late. We lost another friend to breast and ovarian cancer just recently. She had such a terrible year but held on to life. Her nails painted and ever glamorous at least for the outside world. She was so kind and welcoming to me 40 years ago when we met. She and her husband died within a month of each other. We’ve been grieving for them both. The rules of the pandemic have destroyed our rituals for grief and saying goodbye. We need new ones and we epspcially need human connection. I’m missing that so much.

I’m not sad to see the back of October. But what will November bring? 

Facing fears in October

 

Just one of those days when you want to coorie in. It’s already October with the vibrant autumnal  colours arriving so soon after a sunnyish September. Strange that it comes with the inevitability of more lockdown restrictions, pushing our heads a little lower. I’ve socks on and out come the boots again. A benefit of not really being able to walk any distance outside means your shoes don’t wear out. There you are, jealous now? 

October 1st, I was tidying ( oh stop...I have been known to tidy) and found my printout from the genetics department. No one expected it to be positive for a BRCA gene. BRCA2 with all the accompanying percentage risks. A 45%-85% risk of breast cancer. Well that train left the station and had a few stops along the way. Then I saw an article on BRCA2 and it dawned on me, it’s the start of breast cancer awareness month. A weariness settled over me. I’ve put the cancer to one side of late. I’ve donated my breasts and ovaries to the cause of ridding my life of that gene so I think I’m entitled to try to forget about it. After most cancer diagnoses I’ve had, I’ve gone up and down the roller coaster of denial, overwhelm, fear, then that unstable path to integration into my sense of who I am. The path is unstable because each spell of pain, of fatigue, of headaches, of coughs bring back the paranoia and the cold fear. I taught myself to control these impulses to seek medical advice. Because that could result in more fear. A bone scan, an MRI, a CT and off we go. A gnawing fear covered by the logical and usually correct claim that it’s nothing to worry about. But when you are in that scan and during the wait for results the fear sits like a dragon guarding the cave, knowing that if you find yourself in the grim  cave of cancer treatment, life will never be the same. 

Adding Covid-19 to the mix of health concerns means we’re distracted. In the week President Trump is in hospital because of Covid-19 ( if you can’t say anything nice, say nothing!!!!!......) the reality of the risk is clear. And our lives shift so quickly. Mine shifts in a wheelchair or scooter. I started to read about the percentages of disabled people who died from Covid and I quickly put it to one side. Another one to pack away, follow the advice and get on with life, masked and turned away from human connection. It’s so all consuming.

It has occurred to me that I might not notice any changes that would previously taken me to a GP.

Or to the breast clinic. Those late diagnoses with cancer and heart disease so easy to understand when we re focussed on trying to survive Covid with all its tricks. 

BUT it is October and breast cancer or any other hasn’t disappeared just because we want it to.

So here are the signs and symptoms of breast cancer, an early diagnosis is still the best predictor of a good outcome. 

Go well, stay safe and find a way to make a virtue of this aberrant winter. But we must still remember to bring our compassion and help to those who are taking the brunt of this vicious virus and who feel the cruelty of a state unwilling to financially protect its most vulnerable. My greatest fear this October is for them.