You write, "I do nothing out of the ordinary." Except write about your fate! These posts will be part of your enduring (and endearing) legacy. Thank you for being Hanif.
I periodically undergo colonoscopies as I am vulnerable to certain types of cancer.
I will never get over the perfunctory manner with which somebody to whom you have barely been introduced, and who hasn't even bought you dinner beforehand, will shove their finger up your arse, as if they fancy themselves as John the Baptist laying the foundation for the camera that is to follow, and perhaps also checking your prostate.
Prior to a blood sample being taken, you will be warned (on the NHS at least) that you might feel a sharp scratch. There is no such etiquette in play among the muted, mood lit metal surfaces of the colonoscopy suite – the kind of clinical sex dungeon that might be jointly conceived by that duo of restrained perverts, David Cronenberg and and J.G. Ballard.
If I were to tally the number of hospital employers who have had their finger up my arse against those who have been there on a recreational basis, I think the hospital might win in terms of both numbers and diversity.
Bravery, so far as I define it, is having the strength of character to face up to a bad situation where the odds seem insurmountable. Under that definition, you are brave. You have not given up. You are clawing back what you can. You write about your experiences.
I recall one of Al Swearengen's (played by Ian McShane) great monologues from the wild west drama 'Deadwood':
“Pain or damage don't end the world. Or despair, or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you've got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man... and give some back.”
your honesty is piercing. and sometimes painful. a lot painful actually. my husband died 6 months ago and I can't help but consume your writing with that as my lens. rarely has work touched me so much. for whatever that is worth to you. you provide glimpses into your life and struggle and it is true and breathtakingly harsh and I want to look away at the same time as I am compelled by it. I'm so sorry your life has changed so dramatically and I hope you can find a way to keep living it because what you do is important. in my opinion.
What a terrible thing, you being locked in the jail cell of your hospital bed. There’s no way I can fully imagine this, because it’s too painfully depressing. But I still believe you’ll eventually reclaim your life, that you’ll hold a pen again, walk your dog (Cairo?), sit side by side in the pub with your friend, the lot.
You can build a ladder with your words and you can climb out, but your body is taking its time. Thank God for your great imagination and your humor. You’re equipped to endure what comes, until your body relearns agency again.
Hang in there Hanif, you’ll make it. Everyone here has your back.
Your writing brings to mind the many years I have worked as a mental health nurse. My endless probing into people's minds. Never happy with a yes or no answer, I search further for the meaning behind their delusional thoughts and hallucinations, assessing the risk of suicide, researching their history for clues.
And I am always mindful of the privilege that this is. Always grateful that someone is willing to trust me as they go through some of the darkest hours of their lives.Humbled by their honesty.
Your wonderful nurses will be experiencing this. They too will feel humbled and privileged to be able to care for you.
There can be no more honorable position than to be the one to help ease anotherd suffering.
Your writing is magnificent. It's so authentic and honest and it speaks to my soul Hanif.
💔 What you describe is unimaginably painful to read. You describe your situation with such raw honesty, which gives us insight into what so many others in similar situations must feel. I think of the elderly in the care homes as they've lost their ability to care for themselves and often their minds as well. Such is the case with my mother-in-law. You put words and voice to the voiceless who must undergo similar indignities. Sending you love from Canada. xo
Dear Hanif, first of all thank you for these dispatches and for sharing your thoughts with us readers. I am always very touched reading them, not only because they are great literature and they're full of life, irony and acuity despite the difficult situation you find yourself in, but also because I feel like I can find out a little about my mother's thoughts through your words. My mother lived for many years in a situation similar to yours, but unfortunately she was no longer able to speak. My family and I always took care of her, along with nurses. And I always wondered what she was thinking when, every day, we turned her over, cleaned her, checked every corner of her body. I wonder what did she think about the fact that it was me, her daughter, who was doing it too. I will never know if the loss of the privacy of her body was a pain for her. Probably yes. In some moments, we even managed to laugh together at the ridiculous situations we sometimes found ourselves in with all these caregiving maneuvers. But I hope that, in all this handling, she felt what we all put into it: care and deep love. And respect. Good night Hanif, thank you again for your precious sharing
The life situation you are currently going through, of being poked, prodded, and generally manhandled all day every day by hospital staff, is one I have often thought about. I have seen some relatives going through similar experiences as yourself, and wondered to myself if I would have the mental fortitude to enable me to go along with the process. I salute your courage. You say you have no choice, but your attitude displays a courageous streak within you, and the humorous way you convey some of what has unfortunately become your daily routine shows just how brave you are. Thanks for sharing you at your most vulnerable. If nothing else people reading your thoughts can count their blessings, and show us that we really should take nothing for granted. To be grateful for the good things in our lives. God bless you all.💚👏✍️🙏
Childbirth provides a similar exposure--it was a shock--as you say "everyone looked at everything," but as soon as the baby came out---none of that mattered. I've been distracted for decades by that "product"--.
I am writing my first novel and I agree with what you described: it is difficult to go thru the 2nd draft ... the initial creative impulse was the “fun” part. Writing then becomes hard work. It was helpful for me to learn from your sharing
For you, Hanif, to be writing and offering encouragement to other writers, after all you have been forced to endure, is incredibly inspiring Thank you, sir
Hanif good evening from the Netherlands where I am currently visiting my daughter who has treated me like a precious child from when I stepped off the train and went out the wrong exit to my alarm at the maze of schiphol airport. Somehow I am able to function Ho Ho - anyhow you are in a state of surrender here - and likewise undergoing a childlike thing. But not by choice . Internal examinations are just the pits - that’s the end of it. To be endured no need to smile bravely it’s a case of oh well this is where we at kind of thing. The minute I get home the wishing well can have some more silver and a wish for your renewed returned good health. Patience you mentioned - which doesn’t necessarily mean being a good patient but allowing for slow slow when you want quick quick. Which brings me onto Strictly which is back on the telly and means autumn 🍂 can you negotiate any time spent at home in your hospital week - and does being at home make you feel well? I don’t see why a carer/personal assistant can’t look after you at home. Have to love you and leave you Hanif as falling asleep writing this - the child thing is leaping back rather or pulling me back. In this case to the land of nod. Good night Hanif and lots of care from a small town called Helmond Netherlands but tomorrow night will be a tiny village in deepest North Yorkshire love Maddi xxxxxxxx
You deny courage, but I believe all of your readers would heartily disagree. Your courage comes clearly through in every post, not by declaring courage but through your compelling description of what you endure in your hospital “prison.” Your courage is inspiring. But perhaps even more powerful is the unstated lesson you provide as to how to deal with crushing depression: double down on whatever you can do well. In your case, it’s lucid, moving prose.
You write, "I do nothing out of the ordinary." Except write about your fate! These posts will be part of your enduring (and endearing) legacy. Thank you for being Hanif.
I periodically undergo colonoscopies as I am vulnerable to certain types of cancer.
I will never get over the perfunctory manner with which somebody to whom you have barely been introduced, and who hasn't even bought you dinner beforehand, will shove their finger up your arse, as if they fancy themselves as John the Baptist laying the foundation for the camera that is to follow, and perhaps also checking your prostate.
Prior to a blood sample being taken, you will be warned (on the NHS at least) that you might feel a sharp scratch. There is no such etiquette in play among the muted, mood lit metal surfaces of the colonoscopy suite – the kind of clinical sex dungeon that might be jointly conceived by that duo of restrained perverts, David Cronenberg and and J.G. Ballard.
If I were to tally the number of hospital employers who have had their finger up my arse against those who have been there on a recreational basis, I think the hospital might win in terms of both numbers and diversity.
Bravery, so far as I define it, is having the strength of character to face up to a bad situation where the odds seem insurmountable. Under that definition, you are brave. You have not given up. You are clawing back what you can. You write about your experiences.
I recall one of Al Swearengen's (played by Ian McShane) great monologues from the wild west drama 'Deadwood':
“Pain or damage don't end the world. Or despair, or fucking beatings. The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you've got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man... and give some back.”
your honesty is piercing. and sometimes painful. a lot painful actually. my husband died 6 months ago and I can't help but consume your writing with that as my lens. rarely has work touched me so much. for whatever that is worth to you. you provide glimpses into your life and struggle and it is true and breathtakingly harsh and I want to look away at the same time as I am compelled by it. I'm so sorry your life has changed so dramatically and I hope you can find a way to keep living it because what you do is important. in my opinion.
Breathtaking and touching, Deb. And so very true, in your turn. Thank you.
Hanif,
What a terrible thing, you being locked in the jail cell of your hospital bed. There’s no way I can fully imagine this, because it’s too painfully depressing. But I still believe you’ll eventually reclaim your life, that you’ll hold a pen again, walk your dog (Cairo?), sit side by side in the pub with your friend, the lot.
You can build a ladder with your words and you can climb out, but your body is taking its time. Thank God for your great imagination and your humor. You’re equipped to endure what comes, until your body relearns agency again.
Hang in there Hanif, you’ll make it. Everyone here has your back.
Amore e abbracci molti da tutti noi.
Beautiful!
Dear Hanif
Your writing brings to mind the many years I have worked as a mental health nurse. My endless probing into people's minds. Never happy with a yes or no answer, I search further for the meaning behind their delusional thoughts and hallucinations, assessing the risk of suicide, researching their history for clues.
And I am always mindful of the privilege that this is. Always grateful that someone is willing to trust me as they go through some of the darkest hours of their lives.Humbled by their honesty.
Your wonderful nurses will be experiencing this. They too will feel humbled and privileged to be able to care for you.
There can be no more honorable position than to be the one to help ease anotherd suffering.
Your writing is magnificent. It's so authentic and honest and it speaks to my soul Hanif.
Go well, you are so often in my thoughts x
So wonderful!
💔 What you describe is unimaginably painful to read. You describe your situation with such raw honesty, which gives us insight into what so many others in similar situations must feel. I think of the elderly in the care homes as they've lost their ability to care for themselves and often their minds as well. Such is the case with my mother-in-law. You put words and voice to the voiceless who must undergo similar indignities. Sending you love from Canada. xo
Dear Hanif, first of all thank you for these dispatches and for sharing your thoughts with us readers. I am always very touched reading them, not only because they are great literature and they're full of life, irony and acuity despite the difficult situation you find yourself in, but also because I feel like I can find out a little about my mother's thoughts through your words. My mother lived for many years in a situation similar to yours, but unfortunately she was no longer able to speak. My family and I always took care of her, along with nurses. And I always wondered what she was thinking when, every day, we turned her over, cleaned her, checked every corner of her body. I wonder what did she think about the fact that it was me, her daughter, who was doing it too. I will never know if the loss of the privacy of her body was a pain for her. Probably yes. In some moments, we even managed to laugh together at the ridiculous situations we sometimes found ourselves in with all these caregiving maneuvers. But I hope that, in all this handling, she felt what we all put into it: care and deep love. And respect. Good night Hanif, thank you again for your precious sharing
Your writing still gets me. 🙏🏾
Thank you for sharing Hanif
The life situation you are currently going through, of being poked, prodded, and generally manhandled all day every day by hospital staff, is one I have often thought about. I have seen some relatives going through similar experiences as yourself, and wondered to myself if I would have the mental fortitude to enable me to go along with the process. I salute your courage. You say you have no choice, but your attitude displays a courageous streak within you, and the humorous way you convey some of what has unfortunately become your daily routine shows just how brave you are. Thanks for sharing you at your most vulnerable. If nothing else people reading your thoughts can count their blessings, and show us that we really should take nothing for granted. To be grateful for the good things in our lives. God bless you all.💚👏✍️🙏
!!
Childbirth provides a similar exposure--it was a shock--as you say "everyone looked at everything," but as soon as the baby came out---none of that mattered. I've been distracted for decades by that "product"--.
I am writing my first novel and I agree with what you described: it is difficult to go thru the 2nd draft ... the initial creative impulse was the “fun” part. Writing then becomes hard work. It was helpful for me to learn from your sharing
For you, Hanif, to be writing and offering encouragement to other writers, after all you have been forced to endure, is incredibly inspiring Thank you, sir
Hanif good evening from the Netherlands where I am currently visiting my daughter who has treated me like a precious child from when I stepped off the train and went out the wrong exit to my alarm at the maze of schiphol airport. Somehow I am able to function Ho Ho - anyhow you are in a state of surrender here - and likewise undergoing a childlike thing. But not by choice . Internal examinations are just the pits - that’s the end of it. To be endured no need to smile bravely it’s a case of oh well this is where we at kind of thing. The minute I get home the wishing well can have some more silver and a wish for your renewed returned good health. Patience you mentioned - which doesn’t necessarily mean being a good patient but allowing for slow slow when you want quick quick. Which brings me onto Strictly which is back on the telly and means autumn 🍂 can you negotiate any time spent at home in your hospital week - and does being at home make you feel well? I don’t see why a carer/personal assistant can’t look after you at home. Have to love you and leave you Hanif as falling asleep writing this - the child thing is leaping back rather or pulling me back. In this case to the land of nod. Good night Hanif and lots of care from a small town called Helmond Netherlands but tomorrow night will be a tiny village in deepest North Yorkshire love Maddi xxxxxxxx
Dearest Hanif, There’s nothing you can’t do. I’m thinking of you and rooting for you. Yes you can! 💪❤️
Well,patience, that is what I say is key.
I never am patient.
But now that’s my practice.
Remember patience.
In the midst of grasping, enthusiasm, greed, envy, I want to say desire but that’s hiding,
now that I’m 62, ha! As if age does nothing but challenge the demons of desire?
So, I say, Mary, remember patience and feel it and cultivate it, let it wither and revive and let it hold you and , I never know, teach.
Learn. My lady, listen, and learn about Lady Patience:
You deny courage, but I believe all of your readers would heartily disagree. Your courage comes clearly through in every post, not by declaring courage but through your compelling description of what you endure in your hospital “prison.” Your courage is inspiring. But perhaps even more powerful is the unstated lesson you provide as to how to deal with crushing depression: double down on whatever you can do well. In your case, it’s lucid, moving prose.