I am back home, or at least, back in my home city. My actual home, the place where I spent most of my time before my accident, is still someway off. I hope to return there someday.
In the meantime, I will continue writing this blog, in the hope that it is useful to somebody. I kindly ask that if you have the means, it would mean a great deal if you could support my writing by becoming a paid subscriber, and keep this show on the road.
Your loving writer, Hanif.
I don’t know if this has ever happened to you. But it has certainly happened to me. I have entirely lost my appetite. I cannot eat more than two or three mouthfuls of melon, or of pain aux raisins. Sometimes I have some chocolate or a protein drink and all day a little bit of water. But otherwise my appetite is dead. I have felt nauseous most of the time and have vomited. When I see my sons tucking into a massive salmon and cream cheese sandwich I am shocked by how much they manage to consume. Friends bring me the most delicious food they can think of to try and tempt me, but there is not a particular taste I am looking for. All food repulses me. But because I have been living in a hospital since Christmas, it wouldn’t be surprising that I have become disillusioned, and no longer read the papers or watch the news. I have no desire to watch movies or comedy shows. In the evenings, before Isabella leaves me, she always reads to me from my friend David of the Bromley’s blog, and then several delicious pages from Elton John’s autobiography, which always cheers me up before the long fear and desolation of the night, that I have to go through alone. It isn’t surprising, since I am so depressed and ill, that my libido has died. At least one more discouraging thing.
I found out in Rome that the doctors there have been giving me a small amount of anti-depressant. I didn’t ask for them, and I didn’t particularly want them, but I discovered they were on my pharmaceutical agenda. Here, in this new hospital, they have doubled the dose, since I didn’t much notice I was taking them anyway. Asking around my friends, it turns out that at least 50% of them have been, or currently are on, some kind of anti-depressants. Some have been running major institutions on them. One friend has been taking them for twenty years, because he has reproachful thoughts after midnight, and has no intention of giving the meds up. Other friends have been off and on them for most of their lives. They all ask me what particular variety I am taking but I can never remember the name or pronounce it. I never wanted to take them since I have my own cure in psychoanalysis twice a week. One friend said “anti-depressants get you to the party and psychoanalysis enables you to enjoy the party once you get there”. I avoided them because I didn’t want to mess with my brain, which I require in order to be a writer. But I am beyond that now. I am suffering more than I deserve.
I cannot believe that I have been living on a dementia ward for three weeks, because that is where they have been able to find a room for me. It is worse than a bad joke. The cries and howls are very disturbing. Previously I had led a lucky life; I had all the luck in the world. Now it has run down. I spend as much of the day as I can with friends. People are still keen to visit me. I have given up writing for conversation. I can no longer make things up for a living - it seems too artificial in the face of this absurdity - and I have to say that the conversation has been a lot of fun. I like listening to others. People’s generosity and kindness has overwhelmed me. In circumstances like this you really find out who your friends are, and how loving people can be. I wish I had been kinder; and if I get another chance, I will be.
Hanif, welcome from a somewhat overcast Ireland. I’m so downhearted to hear things aren’t going well. So rather than inspirational tea towel advice let’s get practical. If you and your family have already done some or all this then I’m glad. However, if it were me I’d do the following. Firstly speak to the senior medic in charge and ask them what the plan is for you. Rotting in a sideward doesn’t seem to be a management plan. What is the prognosis and how will further rehabilitation both be accessed and indeed help. Get them to review your medication and see what may be causing the nausea and what might alleviate it. The UK is supposed to have world class spinal injury rehabilitation and treatment but this doesn’t sound much like it. If you’ve already done most of this then apologies for stating the bleedin’ obvious but it’s just out of a sense of upset about your condition.
Finally, don’t give up as Kate Bush sang in the Peter Gabriel track. Even though I have never met you, your work has always touched me. Always original and no stereotypes. In the mid eighties I went to see my beautiful launderette for the first time in the then new Cornerhouse Cinema in Manchester. It completely left me aghast with its comedy, grit and great acting. No Aunties frying Samosas or Asian parents deliberately frustrating their kids dreams. Tiresome tropes which still haunt Brit Asian films to this day You will get better and many are totally invested in encouraging you even if it’s only by commenting on your blog.
Listening, just listening to others is kindness. You don’t have to wait. You are kind now.