DESOLATION ROW

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.