Pacing Plans

Remembrance Sunday is a very important day for me. Even before I became a Christian, I used to go to the memorial service and pay my respects. Nowadays I feel the need to go even more strongly than when I was serving.

This morning I took my son to the local service. As I was one of the few veterans attending we were asked to lay a wreath on behalf of the British Legion. Following the laying of the wreaths we walked a short distance to the church where there was a particularly touching service. In all I stood for about 25 minutes and walk about 400 metres on sticks but it turned out to be too much for me. I spent the afternoon taking things very easily, but all the while I could feel the tell tail signs of a flare up coming on. It finally hit hard at about 4 o’clock this afternoon and despite having taken all the meds and run through the techniques I use to manage such situations I am still sliding.

Fortunately, last Sunday I built the service into my week’s pacing plan and was careful to build in an expectation that the afternoon and tonight would be very difficult. I planned an afternoon of reading poetry and other activities which would minimise my discomfort. I also made sure that I let my family know what was likely to happen so that they would not be fussing around me, something which makes me feel guilty and depressed. In short I prepared myself and my support team physically and mentally for a difficult time.

I also decided that I would post the following poem in the late evening. The poem describes what it is like to have a flare up. It does not make comfortable reading, but I’m hoping that it will demonstrate to other pain sufferers that if you pace yourself and plan how you are going to deal with a flare up it is possible to achieve things you might not normally achieve.

I know this strategy doesn’t help on the occasions when you get caught out but the old Army saying known as the 7 P’s is worth remembering; Prior Preparation and Planning Prevent Piss Poor Performance.

Flare Up

The tormenting ache is obscured
replaced by searing agony.
I feel the flesh melt,
Imagine the blisters as they bubble,
blacken and crisp over.
The edges split and retract
to reveal red tissue below.
It blackens and the cycle starts again.

My mind tells me it’s not true,
burnt nerves can’t feel.
but this is no ordinary fire
no water can quench these flames.
Born deep within neural pathways
they burn as intense as
the a charcoal maker’s kiln
consuming all reason and sanity.

Bed covers lie thrown back
the soft linen had burnt;
as its folds crept like molten lava,
and scorched everything in their path.
The mind fights for control
looking to stem the flow
as if closing the sluice on a stream
but the gate valve is stuck.

Thoughts are marshalled,
challenged and found wanting.
Well-rehearsed counter points are delivered.
Slowly control is regained.
Unhelpful thoughts rally for a final push
but once again the mind delivers a ‘coup de grace’,
another battle is won
and the leg will bare weight today.

John Carré Buchanan
19th August 2011

Framed

Autumn is on its way and the garden is beginning to shut down. Soon leaves will start to turn orange and red. I am told that the weather this year has been unusually good for photosynthesis and as such many plants are carrying high levels of sugar. This means we are likely to see a particularly colourful autumn this year. Add to that, the fact that some plants have been tricked into flowering again by a last minute Indian summer, and it is a truly amazing time to be looking at what is happening in the garden.

A few months ago when I was working I remember rushing out to the car sticks in hand bag falling off shoulder and running into a web that a spider had spun across the archway. I remember cursing the spider as I removed silk from my face and then, having had a pang of guilt recriminating myself for destroying his/her web. I ended up concluding that it was a stupid place for a spider to put a web. I then threw everything into the car and rushed off to work.

A couple of weeks ago I was again leaving the house, this time considerably slower and less cluttered. This time I had time to stop and admire the spider's work before ducking under it and heading off. The image of the beautiful web hanging in the Jasmine framed archway around our front door stuck in my mind. It is now two weeks later and I can still see how the sun glinted on the web which was set off by the greens of the jasmine leaves.

That day I learnt a valuable lesson; When you rush through life you may occasionally notice things, particularly if they slap you in the face, but the memories of them are indistinct and fade, smothered by the adverse feelings associated with rushing. But if you take time to live each moment of your life at the speed at which it was designed to be lived at, you will notice more, remember more and enjoy your life more.

Who knows if you then take the time to write about it, you may even be able to share the moment with others and make a moment in time seem like an age.

Here is my poem; not as grand as the spiders web and not as beautiful as the Jasmine, but enough for me to share the moment. I hope you enjoy it;

Framed

Broken sun light shines through the jasmine
which wrecks the symmetry of the stone arch.

The jumble of green leaves and white flowers,
burst from the frame, as if to claim nature has no order.

Yet at the apex of the curve, the light hints -
as it glints through drops on a line, that this is not so.

Here in this space, of scented chaos
hangs a pure symmetry of silken thread.

Did the spider know when it wove its web
of nature’s plan to frame it?

John Carré Buchanan
16 September 2011

Bananas

This morning I was having my breakfast and chatting about the state of the Middle East with my daughter, as I talked I realised that the whole state of affairs is absolutely bananas. With this in mind I thought I would share a poem I wrote a few weeks ago which is about that fruit.

Bananas

Mile on mile of broad leaved plants
adorned with plastic bags,
grown by corporations
and cut by men in rags.

The fruit is called “banana”
and each one looks the same
they cut them when un-ripened
which is a crying shame.

They’re shipped worldwide in coolers
And stacked in airtight stores
They’re ripened using ethylene
which also kills off spores.

The inner flesh of creamy white
is in yellow skin encased.
It’s firm, but slightly mushy
with a most distinctive taste.

Commercial bananas are engineered
biologically they’re the same
designed to have a shelf life
but the taste is rather lame.

The crop’s parthenocarpic*,
As such it can’t evolve
A pathogen could wipe it out
A problem hard to solve

But bananas grown in the wild
Are a very different thing
they’re constantly evolving
and variety’s built in.

There are little ones and big ones,
many coloured; not just yellow
Cooking ones called Plantains
and sweet ones; oh so mellow.

The banana is a staple food
For many populations
And served up cooked or eaten raw
It’s a mighty fine creation.

John Carré Buchanan
16 July 2011

* In botany and horticulture, parthenocarpy (virgin fruit) is the natural or artificially induced production of fruit without fertilization of ovules. The fruit is therefore seedless. If it affects every flower, then the plant can no longer sexually reproduce but might be able to propagate by vegetative means.