Choices

I had an interesting discussion with my medical support team the other day about my use of a wheelchair. The debate basically cantered on two differing points of view, both of which were right.

The Medics saw the wheelchair as a retrograde step which would further reduce my ability to walk, whilst my Psychologist and I argued that the wheelchair was giving me the opportunity to get fitter and perhaps more importantly giving me the opportunity to get out and about with minimal pain.

The Physio has seen it all before, patient saying, ‘but I will only use it a bit’ and then going into physical meltdown. I understood that. At the same time I felt I had already melted down and needed to do something about improving my fitness and lifestyle and most importantly my psychological health.

I left the meeting very demoralised, in fact it took 2 days to get over it. I eventually did this by discussing it with my wife (it just goes to remind me how important communication is when you suffer from any chronic illness). She pointed out that she would be there to help leaver me out of the chair and keep me exercising, whilst at the same time supporting me in using a chair to keep fit and get out and about.

I believe I have a sensible plan laid out which will help me to build fitness using the chair as another tool in my toolbox, primarily being used as a means of getting aerobic exercise and maintaining social links with people beyond the confines of my house. I would be very interested in hearing the points of view of anyone who has been in a similar situation.

Once again I have written a poem on the subject, I hope you like it.

Choices

He places the sticks in front of him,
takes the strain on his mighty shoulders
and takes a pace forward.
Pain sears through his skin
as his trousers brush against it.
As the foot is placed, weight transfers
an explosion of pain shoots through the limb
and bile surges upwards.
He’s moves just under a foot.

He thinks back to the old days.
He has time to think, as he gathers
the courage to take the next step.
He’d run up Ben Nevis and Pen y Fan*.
The playgrounds of his youth,
oh those were the days.
Yet here, crippled by pain
he laboriously advances foot by foot
as if climbing Everest with no oxygen.

Every day he walks, and every day
the distance covered in the hour shrinks,
all the while the memories hurt more
and the abyss deepens.
Here a man who would not quit - quits.
Old before his years, crippled, worn out.
The bag of memories contained in a
fat, pink fleshy membrane
stops and salt water seeps from his eyes.

He tries a wheelchair; instant freedom,
powerful shoulders drive him forward.
Mile after mile through the lanes
Stopping at will to seize the moment,
A hedgerow primrose, tricked into early blossom,
Birds singing in the empty branches above him.
The sea like green glass three hundred feet below.
A dog walker offers to push him up a hill,
Proudly he declines, they chat as he struggles on.

Unimpressed the physio warns,
‘the legs will fade if you don’t use them’.
He knows, he’s struggled for years only to be
trapped in a body that’s too painful to move.
The choice she sees is use wheels and lose legs.
The choice he sees is use wheels or lose life.
For what use are legs that hurt too much to use
If the sound, scent and sites
of our beautiful world are unattainable.

John Carré Buchanan
14 January 2012

* Pen y Fan. is the tallest mountain in South Wales, I came to know it very well as a member of the Parachute Regiment in the mid 80's. We seemed to spend a lot of time running over the mountain on a run affectionately called 'The Fan Dance'.

Progress

In 1991 I was presented a beautiful Blackthorn walking stick with a silver ferrule engraved by the organisation that gave it to me. At the time it was a gift I never thought I would use, but it has remained one of my treasured possessions ever since.

Over the last few years I have found myself relying on the stick more and more. Whilst my heart made me use the blackthorn, I must admit that the root knob was pretty uncomfortable in the hand. Eventually I bowed to the pressure of the red circle in the palm of my hand and bought myself a new walking stick. It was a rather smart mahogany colour Derby Cane with a brass ferrule and a handle offering a more comfortable grip.

Within two days I dropped the new stick and the varnish chipped, two months later the stick looked like I had owned it for years. The thick layer of hard coloured varnish was chipped all over and the “brass” ferrule had been scratched to reveal a cheap aluminium band underneath the brass top coat. Whilst the stick itself is well made the manufacturers had spoiled what could have been a quality product by applying a veneer of cheap coloured spray-on varnish to finish it off, presumably to cut costs.

Aware that the stick was looking scruffy I decided to remove the varnish and re-polish it. Having stripped the stick back to clean wood I applied layer upon layer of a natural wax polishing the stick well between each application. The finished product was a big improvement and I feel confident that it will continue to look good for some time to come.

The physical process of polishing the cane was quite cathartic and as I sat in my shed, or hobbled around the garden buffing up the stick with a rag torn from an old T shirt, I got to thinking about how the stick could be used as a metaphor for progress.

It occurred to me that our modern society is often so eager to get things done quickly, cheaply or easily, that that we end up taking shortcuts. At the time the shortcuts seem like a good idea, but they often result in some form of re-work being required to put things right, or a lesser quality product being produced.

I asked myself; will the furniture, toys and buildings of today stand up to the rigours of history as have the antiques and historical buildings we enjoy today? It seemed to me that in the rush to produce vast quantities at speed for as little as possible we have sacrificed quality in almost all areas of our endeavour.

Our foods are artificially flavoured, coloured and preserved, to the extent that some of the fruits and vegetables we eat have been stored for a year before reaching our tables and the nutritional content has been virtually eradicated.

In medicine doctors prescribe drugs designed to address specific symptoms, these often have unwanted side effects which require other drugs to be used in order that the first ones can be taken. This leads to a situation where the cocktail of drugs being taken can be more harmful than the original cause of suffering. The sad point is that it is often the symptom that is treated and not the cause.

Treating symptoms is common in modern society. Crime, substance abuse, social housing. jobs, education and even foreign policy, all suffer from the effects of policies designed to be the quick fix for one symptom or another. Unfortunately they seldom address the real issues and money and resources are squandered.

The poem below is a light hearted attempt to illustrate how progress can have negative side effects. What is more it suggests a solution to the problems of traffic congestion, childhood obesity, parental stress and does all this whilst having a positive effect on family finances.

Progress – School Run

I used to ride or walk to school,
along with all my friends.
Now I sit breathing fuel,
as travel time extends.

The car in front’s a four by four,
as is the one behind.
They seem to have kids galore,
In safety seats confined.

Mums put on lippy as they rush
to drop kids at the gate.
Then back to get a quick Red Bush
before a lunch with Kate.

The little darlings clamber out,
dragging bags behind them.
Mobile phones are quick dugout
the traffic becomes mayhem.

Some would call this progress;
plump kids and jammed up street.
But I would call it progress
if more would use their feet.

John Carré Buchanan
14 September 2010