Loyal readers. You’ve been with me since January, less than a month after my fall. I had no idea then that people would be at all interested in my continuing degradation, but we have grown to sixteen-thousand subscribers, which is phenomenal and very moving.
Your news of a home visit cheered up my day as I am sure it did yours! Away from the routines of the hospital must be heaven after all this time and to see your dog too, a family member who has no voice (well a bark no doubt) opinions, rules to obey or control over you, this too must be refreshing for you, Hanif, he can just look into your eyes and understand everything. You are truly wonderful, Hanif.
Brilliant news that you’ve had a visit home and a walk along the river in Hammersmith. I can hear a certain buoyancy in your voice and that bolshy optimism seems to be back today. I try to get out in my wheelchair (an e-chair rather embarrassingly named the ‘Quickie. I kid you not) a few times a week because, although I have to rest ages after, it really feeds my soul, this connecting with reality. I went to a cafe this morning for breakfast and just being among the hubbub of life restores me somehow. Rest inbetween times to prepare for the next trip out. Chuffed to bits for you! (a South Yorkshire happy dance🙂)
My sister-in-law, a recent amputee, has been provided with a wheelchair with the model name Karma. All we can think is that it's been translated and was intended to mean "what you deserve".
W.C. Fields, the American sourpuss, comic and actor, said comedy is tragedy happening to someone else. This made me laugh out loud: "One time, while charging across Ravenscourt park, he tore a woman’s hijab from her head and ran off with it in his teeth; another time he stole a blind man’s cane."
Your description of the anal-retentive Night Nurse also made me giggle and then, reflect. Nurses or not, we all know people like that. Always sticking their grubby fingers and opinions where they don't belong.
Your assessment of nursing is spot on... Many of my aunts and both of my siblings are/were nurses.
My brother, who finally succeeded in drinking himself to death in 2012, cut his teeth as a Air Force medic picking up body parts during the Vietnam War. After the war, his wife died in her 20s in a freak car accident. They'd only been married a couple of years. She was his happiness. His Everything.
My much younger sister, a byproduct of the yuppie era, has rarely wiped an ass in her long career. Behind her back, we call her Nurse Ratchet (after the Ken Kesey character).
Yet, my brother was the epitome of the "good' nurse prone to bending rules. He was good at belly laughs, too, both his own and those he inspired with quick wit and irreverent jokes. My sister is still at odds with the world and its lack of orderliness. My brother never complained, while slowly succumbing to an inner chaos of deep depression, one he ignored at his own peril. But he didn't go down without a smile. He appreciated the absurdity of life. My little sis, whose road has been abnormally void of potholes, grows more po-faced as the years go by. Go figure.
Time and again, I've seen immense compassion rise out of tragedy. Suffering gives you a profound understanding of the real rule of life. They say you don't have to live the blues to sing the blues, but I'm not so sure.
Win or lose, pick your battles carefully and conserve your energy! You are going to need it to get where you need to go. And you will get there because this recent post proves your spirit is on the mend.
For me, complaining and quips are the only way to go.
My mother was also a nurse who was dedicated to her profession. It was a different era then, she lived in nursing quarters and they had to back to the nursing quarters before midnight. It was forbidden to wear uniforms outside of work. As I child it was a joy to watch her dress in her white starched uniform, indigo blue cape with a scarlet lining and starched hat.
We've found over the last 14 months there are good people who have been real champions who've believed in my husband's strength of character and determination to prove he will 'get there'.
Dear Hanif, your account of coming home to Shepherd’s Bush reminded me that years ago I would see you cycling round Barons Court and Hammersmith where I also lived at the time. I also saw you at the playground in the middle of Brook Green, you with your son, I with mine. I never spoke to you or introduced myself because I felt you, as a famous writer, were entitled to your privacy and not bothered by people coming up to you and making small talk. Reading these posts makes me realise that perhaps you wouldn’t have minded after all and perhaps I should have just regarded the situation as two dads passing the time while their sons played. Anyway all in the past now. All the best to you and your family.
Home at last! The sight of you in your own cozy living room with Carlo and Cairo is so heartwarming. As soon as I saw the subject line A VISIT HOME in my inbox I was smiling. Made my day! Now, time to crank some Barry White <3
I have always felt that Marlon Brando's voice is ruinous.
Congratulations on finally making it home. To breathe in the familiar smells, be sniffed by the dog, see the books and furniture, be in the neighborhood -- may these moments sustain you until you can return. Hearing you were finally able to do this did me a world of good, and I hope it will do the same for you, in plentitudes. I am cheering you on in San Francisco.
This dispatch took my breath away. You got to visit home! Truly I’m over the moon about this. In a peculiar, I hope not pathological way, I’m experiencing your process as if I were together with you as friend. My daily process involves getting a manageable blood cancer under control. Your experiences ground me in the bizarre normalcy of the realities each of us lives. I’m head over heels (heals) for your home visit. maryrose23.SubStack.com.
I’m so happy you were able to visit your home at last. I’m not sure about requirements in England, but over the past few years we’ve renovated most of our home to be accessible. I wanted to stay in my beloved bedroom upstairs so have a stair lift now. I’m still able to do my own transfers with minimal assistance from my also aging spouse so I know that’s a privilege not all chair users have. We did have to purchase a new bed that can elevate my upper and lower body for comfort or when less able ease of care-it’s big enough for two which makes it feel less medical. Of course, in the states where I live we pay for it all out of pocket and are grateful we can.
I hope you can eventually return home with the supports you need to be comfortable.
I wonder whether my romantic life would be improved if I were to enter crowded pubs and bellow “Gordon's Alive!” in my best impersonation of Brian Blessed, or if it would earn me a blanket ban from all public houses.
There is something about a baritone that is able overwhelm all but the most robust psychic defence or sceptical counter-argument. I am amazed that there aren't more MPs with deep voices. Maybe if you have been gifted accordingly, there are more palatable and rewarding careers to pursue. I will never know.
I once read an interview with the singer-songwriter Polly Harvey, who is better known as PJ Harvey. She had been on tour, or on the festival circuit, with a trio called Morphine that consisted of drums, a home-made 2-string bass guitar, and a saxophone. Their lead singer, Mark Sandman, tragically died of a heart attack, while performing on stage in Italy. The band generally played bass-heavy songs. Harvey mentioned the enjoyment that she got from sitting on their amps while they performed.
Generally, before you leave the rehab ward of a hospital, a member of the team will visit your home with you. This is so they can identify areas requiring modification – ramps, or handhold bars on the walls, and so on. You are not a prisoner – you can refuse. If you said that you wanted to leave the hospital tomorrow, they couldn't stop you from leaving, but it would definitely be a bad idea. I remember a stroke patient who lived on a boat – not a houseboat, but a small yacht. It was moored against a pier and was accessible by means of a ladder. Everybody said: “You can't go back there”, but he did anyway. The last time I saw him he had been readmitted to hospital from an old people's home, so I guess the boat didn't work out for him.
In my experience, one thing that is given lip-service, but not taken all that seriously when it comes to training doctors or nurses, is bedside manner. It's not something that can really be taught, though your observation that it is often lacking in those who are less confident in their abilities is accurate.
I used to have to write assessments for trainee doctors. As I was on the non-medical side of things, I limited my comments to their interactions with other members of staff and patients – how they communicated; did they listen to other person and respond to what they were told; did they demonstrate empathy. Some very competent doctors in waiting passed through the ward, who I do not believe were suited to a patient-facing position. It takes a certain type of personality. There used to be a pair of surgeons at the hospital where I worked, both of who referred to themselves as 'God' in the monotheistic sense of the word.
Pets can be complete arseholes, often knowingly, while their owners are bottomless wells of forgiveness. Last week my chameleon died. We had a very strong bond and I am not dealing with the loss well. If a strange dog were to cover me in muddy paw-prints, I think the way that I feel now I could find it in my heart to laugh it off, on the basis of the joy the unruly animal brought their owner.
It may well happen too: Tomorrow I am going to walk the first three stages of the London Loop – from Woolwich to Crystal Palace. The route is just under twenty miles, mostly through parks and woodland. I have walked myself out of grief before, or have at least made some kind of peace with a loss.
A man about town . Sounds good Hanif . Focus on your Physiotherapy and move as much as you can . One of these days you can even fly to Toronto . We have a great city🇨🇦🌈
Hi Hanif! Arseholes and deep voices are all over this thread today but what I want to know is why you took the bus home?! Even I, a poor artist, would have take a wheelchair-accessible cab in your situation. So I can only surmise the following:
1. The bus was part of the adventure
2. ‘Travelling on buses’ as Paul Well famously sang in ‘That’s Entertainment’ kept it real for a Socialist like yourself
3. You can’t afford the cab fare ??
Anyways, did anyone recognise you, I consider you a ‘famous face’…?
Very very happy that you got home, it must have thrown up complex emotions, a hell of a lot to process
Ps I love the placement of the Matisse over the doorframe
This one made me laugh out loud multiple times and read parts aloud to special-friend, who also laughed. Rishi the chemist! The naughty dog! (Special-friend says that, unfortunately, Keir Starmer's eyes are too close together.)
I want to convey my appreciation for how you keep almost everything free to read. I know people have to be paid for creative work, but having to pay to access art puts it out of reach for many, too. It's that old paradox of being a poor artist selling to the better-off. But poor writers need to read things too, probably more than anyone!
So thanks, Hanif (and for making me LOL since the mid-90s, when I stumbled upon The Buddha of Suburbia in a forgotten corner of my parents' bookshelves.)
Your news of a home visit cheered up my day as I am sure it did yours! Away from the routines of the hospital must be heaven after all this time and to see your dog too, a family member who has no voice (well a bark no doubt) opinions, rules to obey or control over you, this too must be refreshing for you, Hanif, he can just look into your eyes and understand everything. You are truly wonderful, Hanif.
Brilliant news that you’ve had a visit home and a walk along the river in Hammersmith. I can hear a certain buoyancy in your voice and that bolshy optimism seems to be back today. I try to get out in my wheelchair (an e-chair rather embarrassingly named the ‘Quickie. I kid you not) a few times a week because, although I have to rest ages after, it really feeds my soul, this connecting with reality. I went to a cafe this morning for breakfast and just being among the hubbub of life restores me somehow. Rest inbetween times to prepare for the next trip out. Chuffed to bits for you! (a South Yorkshire happy dance🙂)
Much love,
Kate xxx
My sister-in-law, a recent amputee, has been provided with a wheelchair with the model name Karma. All we can think is that it's been translated and was intended to mean "what you deserve".
W.C. Fields, the American sourpuss, comic and actor, said comedy is tragedy happening to someone else. This made me laugh out loud: "One time, while charging across Ravenscourt park, he tore a woman’s hijab from her head and ran off with it in his teeth; another time he stole a blind man’s cane."
Your description of the anal-retentive Night Nurse also made me giggle and then, reflect. Nurses or not, we all know people like that. Always sticking their grubby fingers and opinions where they don't belong.
Your assessment of nursing is spot on... Many of my aunts and both of my siblings are/were nurses.
My brother, who finally succeeded in drinking himself to death in 2012, cut his teeth as a Air Force medic picking up body parts during the Vietnam War. After the war, his wife died in her 20s in a freak car accident. They'd only been married a couple of years. She was his happiness. His Everything.
My much younger sister, a byproduct of the yuppie era, has rarely wiped an ass in her long career. Behind her back, we call her Nurse Ratchet (after the Ken Kesey character).
Yet, my brother was the epitome of the "good' nurse prone to bending rules. He was good at belly laughs, too, both his own and those he inspired with quick wit and irreverent jokes. My sister is still at odds with the world and its lack of orderliness. My brother never complained, while slowly succumbing to an inner chaos of deep depression, one he ignored at his own peril. But he didn't go down without a smile. He appreciated the absurdity of life. My little sis, whose road has been abnormally void of potholes, grows more po-faced as the years go by. Go figure.
Time and again, I've seen immense compassion rise out of tragedy. Suffering gives you a profound understanding of the real rule of life. They say you don't have to live the blues to sing the blues, but I'm not so sure.
Win or lose, pick your battles carefully and conserve your energy! You are going to need it to get where you need to go. And you will get there because this recent post proves your spirit is on the mend.
For me, complaining and quips are the only way to go.
My mother was also a nurse who was dedicated to her profession. It was a different era then, she lived in nursing quarters and they had to back to the nursing quarters before midnight. It was forbidden to wear uniforms outside of work. As I child it was a joy to watch her dress in her white starched uniform, indigo blue cape with a scarlet lining and starched hat.
We've found over the last 14 months there are good people who have been real champions who've believed in my husband's strength of character and determination to prove he will 'get there'.
I wonder if the nurses read this blog…….
I'm in trouble if my sister does!
Ha. Perfect last line. You must be a writer or something. Glad you got at least a short visit home, and a stroll along the Thames.
Some Yankee politician name of Abraham Lincoln had a high-pitched voice by all accounts.
Lotta good it did him,
Dear Hanif, your account of coming home to Shepherd’s Bush reminded me that years ago I would see you cycling round Barons Court and Hammersmith where I also lived at the time. I also saw you at the playground in the middle of Brook Green, you with your son, I with mine. I never spoke to you or introduced myself because I felt you, as a famous writer, were entitled to your privacy and not bothered by people coming up to you and making small talk. Reading these posts makes me realise that perhaps you wouldn’t have minded after all and perhaps I should have just regarded the situation as two dads passing the time while their sons played. Anyway all in the past now. All the best to you and your family.
Hurrah 🎶🎶💫🩷🩷
You actually made it home!!
You have amazing courage.
I continue to send you healing ❤️🩹 strength and energy so you very soon can make it up to your study.
What about a portable stair lift?
It transports the wheelchair up and down stairs.
Best
Mary Kay
I'm so glad to see the photo of you in your house. You are looking pretty good! Hope you eventually get to stay at home and escape all those nurses.
Home at last! The sight of you in your own cozy living room with Carlo and Cairo is so heartwarming. As soon as I saw the subject line A VISIT HOME in my inbox I was smiling. Made my day! Now, time to crank some Barry White <3
I have always felt that Marlon Brando's voice is ruinous.
Congratulations on finally making it home. To breathe in the familiar smells, be sniffed by the dog, see the books and furniture, be in the neighborhood -- may these moments sustain you until you can return. Hearing you were finally able to do this did me a world of good, and I hope it will do the same for you, in plentitudes. I am cheering you on in San Francisco.
This dispatch took my breath away. You got to visit home! Truly I’m over the moon about this. In a peculiar, I hope not pathological way, I’m experiencing your process as if I were together with you as friend. My daily process involves getting a manageable blood cancer under control. Your experiences ground me in the bizarre normalcy of the realities each of us lives. I’m head over heels (heals) for your home visit. maryrose23.SubStack.com.
I’m so happy you were able to visit your home at last. I’m not sure about requirements in England, but over the past few years we’ve renovated most of our home to be accessible. I wanted to stay in my beloved bedroom upstairs so have a stair lift now. I’m still able to do my own transfers with minimal assistance from my also aging spouse so I know that’s a privilege not all chair users have. We did have to purchase a new bed that can elevate my upper and lower body for comfort or when less able ease of care-it’s big enough for two which makes it feel less medical. Of course, in the states where I live we pay for it all out of pocket and are grateful we can.
I hope you can eventually return home with the supports you need to be comfortable.
I wonder whether my romantic life would be improved if I were to enter crowded pubs and bellow “Gordon's Alive!” in my best impersonation of Brian Blessed, or if it would earn me a blanket ban from all public houses.
There is something about a baritone that is able overwhelm all but the most robust psychic defence or sceptical counter-argument. I am amazed that there aren't more MPs with deep voices. Maybe if you have been gifted accordingly, there are more palatable and rewarding careers to pursue. I will never know.
I once read an interview with the singer-songwriter Polly Harvey, who is better known as PJ Harvey. She had been on tour, or on the festival circuit, with a trio called Morphine that consisted of drums, a home-made 2-string bass guitar, and a saxophone. Their lead singer, Mark Sandman, tragically died of a heart attack, while performing on stage in Italy. The band generally played bass-heavy songs. Harvey mentioned the enjoyment that she got from sitting on their amps while they performed.
Generally, before you leave the rehab ward of a hospital, a member of the team will visit your home with you. This is so they can identify areas requiring modification – ramps, or handhold bars on the walls, and so on. You are not a prisoner – you can refuse. If you said that you wanted to leave the hospital tomorrow, they couldn't stop you from leaving, but it would definitely be a bad idea. I remember a stroke patient who lived on a boat – not a houseboat, but a small yacht. It was moored against a pier and was accessible by means of a ladder. Everybody said: “You can't go back there”, but he did anyway. The last time I saw him he had been readmitted to hospital from an old people's home, so I guess the boat didn't work out for him.
In my experience, one thing that is given lip-service, but not taken all that seriously when it comes to training doctors or nurses, is bedside manner. It's not something that can really be taught, though your observation that it is often lacking in those who are less confident in their abilities is accurate.
I used to have to write assessments for trainee doctors. As I was on the non-medical side of things, I limited my comments to their interactions with other members of staff and patients – how they communicated; did they listen to other person and respond to what they were told; did they demonstrate empathy. Some very competent doctors in waiting passed through the ward, who I do not believe were suited to a patient-facing position. It takes a certain type of personality. There used to be a pair of surgeons at the hospital where I worked, both of who referred to themselves as 'God' in the monotheistic sense of the word.
Pets can be complete arseholes, often knowingly, while their owners are bottomless wells of forgiveness. Last week my chameleon died. We had a very strong bond and I am not dealing with the loss well. If a strange dog were to cover me in muddy paw-prints, I think the way that I feel now I could find it in my heart to laugh it off, on the basis of the joy the unruly animal brought their owner.
It may well happen too: Tomorrow I am going to walk the first three stages of the London Loop – from Woolwich to Crystal Palace. The route is just under twenty miles, mostly through parks and woodland. I have walked myself out of grief before, or have at least made some kind of peace with a loss.
A man about town . Sounds good Hanif . Focus on your Physiotherapy and move as much as you can . One of these days you can even fly to Toronto . We have a great city🇨🇦🌈
Hi Hanif! Arseholes and deep voices are all over this thread today but what I want to know is why you took the bus home?! Even I, a poor artist, would have take a wheelchair-accessible cab in your situation. So I can only surmise the following:
1. The bus was part of the adventure
2. ‘Travelling on buses’ as Paul Well famously sang in ‘That’s Entertainment’ kept it real for a Socialist like yourself
3. You can’t afford the cab fare ??
Anyways, did anyone recognise you, I consider you a ‘famous face’…?
Very very happy that you got home, it must have thrown up complex emotions, a hell of a lot to process
Ps I love the placement of the Matisse over the doorframe
Heidi xxxx
This one made me laugh out loud multiple times and read parts aloud to special-friend, who also laughed. Rishi the chemist! The naughty dog! (Special-friend says that, unfortunately, Keir Starmer's eyes are too close together.)
I want to convey my appreciation for how you keep almost everything free to read. I know people have to be paid for creative work, but having to pay to access art puts it out of reach for many, too. It's that old paradox of being a poor artist selling to the better-off. But poor writers need to read things too, probably more than anyone!
So thanks, Hanif (and for making me LOL since the mid-90s, when I stumbled upon The Buddha of Suburbia in a forgotten corner of my parents' bookshelves.)
A side note re. Brian Blessed... I was just watching this the other night, one of my favourite Blessed moments: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaVD3iBz7CU
In the wake of rewatching The King on Netflix, a modernised Henry V wherein Timothée Chalamet does a very credible Prince Hal