Some days I can use my hands. Most days i can use them, knowing it will hurt and it will hurt more tomorrow the more i use them today. Some days I can’t click the buttons on the tv remote without tears. Some days I can’t push them at all and i pretend to have a headache so I don’t have to ask someone to turn it on for me. I can usually read on a kindle because i can prop it on a table and flail at the screen to turn a page when paper would be too delicate for my swollen fingers and the shape of an open book just wants to close itself beyond my ability to fight it back open again. Boredom becomes so entangled with despair it’s hard to tell which is the chicken and which is the egg.
When you talk about waking in the night and not being able to jot down the thought that awakened you — that’s the thing that resonates with me as the first problem you must solve. Is there a voice activated “hey siri” way to wake your iPad and dictate thoughts to it? I hesitate to offer thoughts as it’s depressing when people suggest things that I’ve already found to be unsuitable.
I’m not a writer and nothing sudden overcame me. It’s been a long degenerative road of denying the inevitable but when the moment comes that you can’t hold a fork for the first time, it’s shocking just the same. Incidentally I’ve also been stuck in an Italian hospital and i can hear the too-loud voices infantilizing you. I’m sorry they forgot to feed you. Italian pastries smell divine and that must have been maddening.
I don’t have great thoughts that i cannot write down, but I’m someone who used my hands constantly. I guess like pretty much everyone who has hands that they can use. I used to work in theater production and my life and career and identity were all built on my ability to do things with my hands. And my hobbies, too. I loved to bake and knit and build things with wood and turn paper pages of books and I’ve always wanted, someday when i had the time, to buy a falling down farmhouse and refinish every wooden plank lovingly by hand. Now i have the time, but not the hands.
I’m sorry for you to hear what has happened to you. Selfishly, however, i love hearing the things you cannot do with your hands because i am tired of reminding people around me of the things i cannot do with mine. When you talk about sausages sewn to your stumps, i nod and for a minute don’t have to complain about my sausages sewn to my stumps.
Hanif, warmest greetings from Ireland. You’re blogs are now indispensable codas to my day. No matter how incapacitated, there is no doubt you can still do what you were born to do and that is enrapture us with your stories. I went to Amsterdam many years ago but my trip was more mundane. Memories of drinking hot soup, trams and Anne Frank’s house. I went to an Indian restaurant there purely because a guide book had said it was a favourite haunt of Bobby Farrell, the male lead singer of Boney M. He had already passed away several years back so I’m not sure why I went as it wasn’t as though I could have run into him tucking into a jalfrezi and remarking how much I admired Ma Baker as an authoritative analysis of the gangster era. Anyway, my partner warned me that a naan I had ordered was undercooked and not to eat it. I ignored her advice and was violently ill several hours later....
"I have dined with scientists, artists and Brian Eno. " LOL Grande Hanif! Ti leggo ogni sera. Siamo in tanti e ti vogliamo bene. Guarisci presto. Un abbraccione a te e a Isa
Also, you def need to get some Apple AirPods today. It will change your life and you will not know you have a roommate until you want to have a roommate
Please give a nod to the actor, Michael McKean, who plays Chuck in Better Call Saul. His portrayal of electromagnetic hypersensitivity is spot on. My sister has been living like Chuck for years. I just recently had the worn out family debate of whether Cathee is mentally ill or just odd as we were dragging her refrigerator out to the garage, plugged it into a dedicated circuit and covered it with tin foil. I do not lie. I finally have an easy way to describe her eccentricities thanks to Mr. McKean. The family debate goes on…
I can hardly wait for Iris to step through the door, although if you permit your dear Isabella editing rights I’d understand.
Sleep well, work hard. You are definitely still there.
Hi Hanif, reading interesting reading your daily thoughts. I’ve always been obsessed with the act of diarising. I have had journals since I was 11. Being brought up in Pakistan and London, looking back on them (having recently discovered them after decades of thinking they were lost) some of the contents are pretty extreme given I was a rebellious girls in a religious household. I think it might take a therapist to help me unpick them properly one day (nervous ha).
Meanwhile, as I’ve become a full time artist (painter) I’m unraveling small bite sized memories on canvas.
Definitely something healing about getting thoughts out there; human storytelling & all.
Hope you have a peaceful night ahead and your neighbour chills out a bit.
Hospital room mates are often the strangest creatures - uninvited party guests who stay with you long after the party’s ended. One of my ward neighbours would fall without warning and without physical reasons. She was an unusual woman who would hint at domestic violence but the doctor didn’t believe her. She told me all sorts but at 12 yrs old I didn’t really get it so I just held her secrets close. Poor love. One nurse acknowledged her and would push for her to stay so she could get a break. Her husband didn’t visit so that was something.
Like a dragonfly I flitted from the iPad is there anybody there screen to Peter o toole who was so pretty if a bit insulting (evidently)to a threesome so been on a carousel here - yes thoughts with your wife AND your room mate 😬think your sense of humour and imagination are back in the room too ⭐️🦾!!
I wrote about drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll for about 30 years. You're making me blush! Not sure I need to know how this works out, but I am positive you will tell us.
Ah, Amsterdam. Where, as an adult, I ate buttered bread with chocolate sprinkles for breakfast for a week. You write like things are looking up. Your poor, no doubt long suffering, wife! All the credit in this post goes to her and any of your other patient typists. Hang in there.
Some days I can use my hands. Most days i can use them, knowing it will hurt and it will hurt more tomorrow the more i use them today. Some days I can’t click the buttons on the tv remote without tears. Some days I can’t push them at all and i pretend to have a headache so I don’t have to ask someone to turn it on for me. I can usually read on a kindle because i can prop it on a table and flail at the screen to turn a page when paper would be too delicate for my swollen fingers and the shape of an open book just wants to close itself beyond my ability to fight it back open again. Boredom becomes so entangled with despair it’s hard to tell which is the chicken and which is the egg.
When you talk about waking in the night and not being able to jot down the thought that awakened you — that’s the thing that resonates with me as the first problem you must solve. Is there a voice activated “hey siri” way to wake your iPad and dictate thoughts to it? I hesitate to offer thoughts as it’s depressing when people suggest things that I’ve already found to be unsuitable.
I’m not a writer and nothing sudden overcame me. It’s been a long degenerative road of denying the inevitable but when the moment comes that you can’t hold a fork for the first time, it’s shocking just the same. Incidentally I’ve also been stuck in an Italian hospital and i can hear the too-loud voices infantilizing you. I’m sorry they forgot to feed you. Italian pastries smell divine and that must have been maddening.
I don’t have great thoughts that i cannot write down, but I’m someone who used my hands constantly. I guess like pretty much everyone who has hands that they can use. I used to work in theater production and my life and career and identity were all built on my ability to do things with my hands. And my hobbies, too. I loved to bake and knit and build things with wood and turn paper pages of books and I’ve always wanted, someday when i had the time, to buy a falling down farmhouse and refinish every wooden plank lovingly by hand. Now i have the time, but not the hands.
I’m sorry for you to hear what has happened to you. Selfishly, however, i love hearing the things you cannot do with your hands because i am tired of reminding people around me of the things i cannot do with mine. When you talk about sausages sewn to your stumps, i nod and for a minute don’t have to complain about my sausages sewn to my stumps.
I like that Brian Eno has been granted his own category, separate from artists and scientists.
Hanif, warmest greetings from Ireland. You’re blogs are now indispensable codas to my day. No matter how incapacitated, there is no doubt you can still do what you were born to do and that is enrapture us with your stories. I went to Amsterdam many years ago but my trip was more mundane. Memories of drinking hot soup, trams and Anne Frank’s house. I went to an Indian restaurant there purely because a guide book had said it was a favourite haunt of Bobby Farrell, the male lead singer of Boney M. He had already passed away several years back so I’m not sure why I went as it wasn’t as though I could have run into him tucking into a jalfrezi and remarking how much I admired Ma Baker as an authoritative analysis of the gangster era. Anyway, my partner warned me that a naan I had ordered was undercooked and not to eat it. I ignored her advice and was violently ill several hours later....
Always thought you are an excellent writer Hanif, now I know you are an extraordinary human being.
How is it possible to be so profoundly engaging when you are bearing what is unimaginable for most of us.
"I have dined with scientists, artists and Brian Eno. " LOL Grande Hanif! Ti leggo ogni sera. Siamo in tanti e ti vogliamo bene. Guarisci presto. Un abbraccione a te e a Isa
What a joyous sound! My own laughter, released w so much energy my little dog leapt up from her bed and began a dance around the kitchen!
Also, you def need to get some Apple AirPods today. It will change your life and you will not know you have a roommate until you want to have a roommate
Please give a nod to the actor, Michael McKean, who plays Chuck in Better Call Saul. His portrayal of electromagnetic hypersensitivity is spot on. My sister has been living like Chuck for years. I just recently had the worn out family debate of whether Cathee is mentally ill or just odd as we were dragging her refrigerator out to the garage, plugged it into a dedicated circuit and covered it with tin foil. I do not lie. I finally have an easy way to describe her eccentricities thanks to Mr. McKean. The family debate goes on…
I can hardly wait for Iris to step through the door, although if you permit your dear Isabella editing rights I’d understand.
Sleep well, work hard. You are definitely still there.
Have you tried audiobooks? You will not be bored and you will not hear your neighbor, or not as much.
Tried to post this before but not sure it 'took.'
Hi Hanif, reading interesting reading your daily thoughts. I’ve always been obsessed with the act of diarising. I have had journals since I was 11. Being brought up in Pakistan and London, looking back on them (having recently discovered them after decades of thinking they were lost) some of the contents are pretty extreme given I was a rebellious girls in a religious household. I think it might take a therapist to help me unpick them properly one day (nervous ha).
Meanwhile, as I’ve become a full time artist (painter) I’m unraveling small bite sized memories on canvas.
Definitely something healing about getting thoughts out there; human storytelling & all.
Hope you have a peaceful night ahead and your neighbour chills out a bit.
Much love
Saira x
Hi Hanif,
Hospital room mates are often the strangest creatures - uninvited party guests who stay with you long after the party’s ended. One of my ward neighbours would fall without warning and without physical reasons. She was an unusual woman who would hint at domestic violence but the doctor didn’t believe her. She told me all sorts but at 12 yrs old I didn’t really get it so I just held her secrets close. Poor love. One nurse acknowledged her and would push for her to stay so she could get a break. Her husband didn’t visit so that was something.
I hope your ward neighbour snores gently tonight.
Love to you and yours,
Kate x
Like a dragonfly I flitted from the iPad is there anybody there screen to Peter o toole who was so pretty if a bit insulting (evidently)to a threesome so been on a carousel here - yes thoughts with your wife AND your room mate 😬think your sense of humour and imagination are back in the room too ⭐️🦾!!
Venus is well worth a watch
The joys of riding on your bike through Amsterdam early morning at sunrise after a night in a bed with a stranger you met the evening before is life.
I wrote about drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll for about 30 years. You're making me blush! Not sure I need to know how this works out, but I am positive you will tell us.
Ah, Amsterdam. Where, as an adult, I ate buttered bread with chocolate sprinkles for breakfast for a week. You write like things are looking up. Your poor, no doubt long suffering, wife! All the credit in this post goes to her and any of your other patient typists. Hang in there.