As someone who has admired your work for a very long time, and who lives with a degenerative neuromuscular disease, I am so grateful for this newsletter. May I say, "welcome to our club"? In the disability community, we sometimes refer to those outside of it as "temporarily abled". Ours is a club that anyone can join, regardless of race, gender, religion or age. That said, I cannot imagine what it must feel like to go abruptly from one state of being to another. I have no particular advice to give you....because each person experiences their disability differently. I did my best, until my late 20s, to ignore it. I fronted a punk band. I worked in radio. Lord, I even did performance art (not my finest moment), before realizing that I did not have the talent to really make a go of the artistic life. And so I did two things. I married the love of my life. And I became a....wait for it....public servant. And I have had an amazing career and a wonderful life. BUT.....as my condition progresses, I do mourn what I have lost; the things I used to be able to do. Some days, I succeed in focusing on what I have now. And trying to be grateful.
yes your readers are all part of the conspiracy sending you energy and imagining that moment when you will make the mark on the page with an ink pen. In the meantime, the thoughts direct from your brilliant mind through your voice to your son into your blog are evidence of your Great Gift. thank you.
Dear Mr. Kureishi, I have a different kind of challenging health issue (a rare cancer) and do healing meditations where I include others needing healing. I will now include you in these meditations and am so moved by your courage and lovely generosity in writing about your experiences so deeply and beautifully. With gratitude!
You will write again with your fountain pen. Always nearer by not keeping still, as Thom Gunn says, and you are moving forward all the time with your creative energy. And not that you are like a snail but I thought too of his poem, "Considering the Snail".
As surely as snowdrops herald the oncoming spring, the notion that one might eventually be capable of a little light cunnilingus is unanimously regarded by all the medical journals of note as an early sign of the body slowly healing itself. Where the libido leads, various semi-flexible appendages will follow.
On the stroke unit where I once worked, patients were permitted a maximum of six weeks of rehab before they were either discharged home, or to an appropriate care setting. One of the hurdles that those patients, who wished to return home, were required to field, was a demonstration of their ability to make a cup of tea without assistance.
The weeks following any kind of illness or injury, that results in a physical or cognitive impairment, are fertile ground for regaining lost function. However, it doesn't end there:
I knew a stroke consultant who got worn down by the grind of the hospital and elected to work in the community for a while, where he monitored the condition of former inpatients. He returned enthused, and, I think, genuinely surprised, by how much progress was made in a domestic setting. If you have family and friends around you, along with the likes of Miss S, to knowledgeably guide you through the hinterland of recovery, then you are in a good place.
There are some areas of competence that lie beyond the remit of the hospital.
It is unlikely that, as an inpatient, you will feel the urge to marshal the same force of will that was once harnessed in the creation of the earth, to raise a quivering middle finger in the direction of a mortal enemy. That essential life skill can only be properly relearned, and thereafter honed to perfection, in a real world setting.
I will presently walk to the recycling bin at the bottom of the road, where I will dispose of the empty wine bottles that have been amassed by my parents, thereby sparing them the audible shame when the pink bag is next lifted from the kerb by the dustmen. It will be dark and extremely cold. The tepid sediment of Italy and France, and perhaps other nations further afield, will dribble over my hands as I feed the bottles, one by one, through the round hole. I will remind myself that there may be a day in my life when I would give anything to be able to make that journey.
Dearest Hanif, I doubt you will remember me, but in the mid-80's (spring 85?) we spent a Platonic evening together in Louisville, Kentucky. You were the rising star visiting the US on a grant, I was the idiot young dramaturge at Actors Theater of Louisville. I've been your fan ever since. So moved by these posts, and grateful, as I know so many are, to hear your voice. Sending you much love at this impossible moment. -Melia
I’m learning a lot from your blogs. One of the many reasons why I’m drawn to them is because just over six weeks ago I was in intensive care following a major operation. For the first few days I could barely lift a comb. My operation was successful and my progress has been as good as I could have hoped. But in those early days I also used to think of past experiences and dream of what normal might look like. My condition and prognosis is different to yours. However, the common factor is hope and the belief you can be in a better position with time, luck and persistence. What I have learned is that making memories is more valuable than making money because that is a bank that can transport you to a magical world in times of adversity. Wishing you all the best from Ireland.
One good thing is that if you had been able to have only one of two gifts, playing guitar or writing, that you were given writing. Otherwise you would be kind of screwed right now💥
Hanif, I have been following your posts since the beginning when I found you via a NY Times article! You have encourage, inspired and challenged me on life and my perspective on it both for myself and others! In fact I decided to start my own blog here on Substack that I have called iNSPIRATORS and have kicked it off with your impact on me! I have always wanted to write, perhaps this is my season!
It's sweet that cunnilingus is the act you dream about, unlike most men I would guess. But what is "light" cunnilingus? As opposed to "dark" or "deep" c? Maybe light in duration? Anyway, it's my belief that we all think about sex a lot, no matter how old we are, no matter how sick. Sex is our great commonality.
You will, dear Hanif. You will. I am a writer, and the return to the page, with fountain pen in hand, and seeing the first marks of the ink... will be a moment of triumph.
You will make progress. The body is a miraculous entity, all your cells want to live and continue.
Like that little blade of grass you see in the sidewalk crack turning its face towards the sun to get more life.
I hope they can wheel you outside.. I asked my family to promise me that they will do all in their power, when the time comes, to let me die outside. Not between four walls. I want to feel the fresh air when i take my last breath. Who knows if it will be like that. But I have put in my request.
So, yes have your cappuchinos etc, but have them wheel you outside for 5 minutes and look up at the firmament.
Dear Mr. Kureishi,
As someone who has admired your work for a very long time, and who lives with a degenerative neuromuscular disease, I am so grateful for this newsletter. May I say, "welcome to our club"? In the disability community, we sometimes refer to those outside of it as "temporarily abled". Ours is a club that anyone can join, regardless of race, gender, religion or age. That said, I cannot imagine what it must feel like to go abruptly from one state of being to another. I have no particular advice to give you....because each person experiences their disability differently. I did my best, until my late 20s, to ignore it. I fronted a punk band. I worked in radio. Lord, I even did performance art (not my finest moment), before realizing that I did not have the talent to really make a go of the artistic life. And so I did two things. I married the love of my life. And I became a....wait for it....public servant. And I have had an amazing career and a wonderful life. BUT.....as my condition progresses, I do mourn what I have lost; the things I used to be able to do. Some days, I succeed in focusing on what I have now. And trying to be grateful.
It is, and I am, a work in progress.
Here are two things that are true for me:
Disability does not define me.
Disability is an intrinsic part of my identity.
Yazmine
yes your readers are all part of the conspiracy sending you energy and imagining that moment when you will make the mark on the page with an ink pen. In the meantime, the thoughts direct from your brilliant mind through your voice to your son into your blog are evidence of your Great Gift. thank you.
Dear Mr. Kureishi, I have a different kind of challenging health issue (a rare cancer) and do healing meditations where I include others needing healing. I will now include you in these meditations and am so moved by your courage and lovely generosity in writing about your experiences so deeply and beautifully. With gratitude!
You will write again with your fountain pen. Always nearer by not keeping still, as Thom Gunn says, and you are moving forward all the time with your creative energy. And not that you are like a snail but I thought too of his poem, "Considering the Snail".
The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth’s dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,
pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail’s fury? All
I think is that if later
I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.
You also have another hability, and this is to give me back my hope in life.
I’m writing this from Madrid, Spain, and I feel so greatful to you… so thanks. You also make me smile again every time I read your newsletters
As surely as snowdrops herald the oncoming spring, the notion that one might eventually be capable of a little light cunnilingus is unanimously regarded by all the medical journals of note as an early sign of the body slowly healing itself. Where the libido leads, various semi-flexible appendages will follow.
On the stroke unit where I once worked, patients were permitted a maximum of six weeks of rehab before they were either discharged home, or to an appropriate care setting. One of the hurdles that those patients, who wished to return home, were required to field, was a demonstration of their ability to make a cup of tea without assistance.
The weeks following any kind of illness or injury, that results in a physical or cognitive impairment, are fertile ground for regaining lost function. However, it doesn't end there:
I knew a stroke consultant who got worn down by the grind of the hospital and elected to work in the community for a while, where he monitored the condition of former inpatients. He returned enthused, and, I think, genuinely surprised, by how much progress was made in a domestic setting. If you have family and friends around you, along with the likes of Miss S, to knowledgeably guide you through the hinterland of recovery, then you are in a good place.
There are some areas of competence that lie beyond the remit of the hospital.
It is unlikely that, as an inpatient, you will feel the urge to marshal the same force of will that was once harnessed in the creation of the earth, to raise a quivering middle finger in the direction of a mortal enemy. That essential life skill can only be properly relearned, and thereafter honed to perfection, in a real world setting.
I will presently walk to the recycling bin at the bottom of the road, where I will dispose of the empty wine bottles that have been amassed by my parents, thereby sparing them the audible shame when the pink bag is next lifted from the kerb by the dustmen. It will be dark and extremely cold. The tepid sediment of Italy and France, and perhaps other nations further afield, will dribble over my hands as I feed the bottles, one by one, through the round hole. I will remind myself that there may be a day in my life when I would give anything to be able to make that journey.
Dearest Hanif, I doubt you will remember me, but in the mid-80's (spring 85?) we spent a Platonic evening together in Louisville, Kentucky. You were the rising star visiting the US on a grant, I was the idiot young dramaturge at Actors Theater of Louisville. I've been your fan ever since. So moved by these posts, and grateful, as I know so many are, to hear your voice. Sending you much love at this impossible moment. -Melia
If only we all had a Miss S in our lives!
What a gift you are giving us all!! And you are damn good at enticing titles 😉
I’m learning a lot from your blogs. One of the many reasons why I’m drawn to them is because just over six weeks ago I was in intensive care following a major operation. For the first few days I could barely lift a comb. My operation was successful and my progress has been as good as I could have hoped. But in those early days I also used to think of past experiences and dream of what normal might look like. My condition and prognosis is different to yours. However, the common factor is hope and the belief you can be in a better position with time, luck and persistence. What I have learned is that making memories is more valuable than making money because that is a bank that can transport you to a magical world in times of adversity. Wishing you all the best from Ireland.
One good thing is that if you had been able to have only one of two gifts, playing guitar or writing, that you were given writing. Otherwise you would be kind of screwed right now💥
Hanif, I have been following your posts since the beginning when I found you via a NY Times article! You have encourage, inspired and challenged me on life and my perspective on it both for myself and others! In fact I decided to start my own blog here on Substack that I have called iNSPIRATORS and have kicked it off with your impact on me! I have always wanted to write, perhaps this is my season!
michael
https://inspirators.substack.com/publish/post/96892726
It's sweet that cunnilingus is the act you dream about, unlike most men I would guess. But what is "light" cunnilingus? As opposed to "dark" or "deep" c? Maybe light in duration? Anyway, it's my belief that we all think about sex a lot, no matter how old we are, no matter how sick. Sex is our great commonality.
You will, dear Hanif. You will. I am a writer, and the return to the page, with fountain pen in hand, and seeing the first marks of the ink... will be a moment of triumph.
You will make progress. The body is a miraculous entity, all your cells want to live and continue.
Like that little blade of grass you see in the sidewalk crack turning its face towards the sun to get more life.
I hope they can wheel you outside.. I asked my family to promise me that they will do all in their power, when the time comes, to let me die outside. Not between four walls. I want to feel the fresh air when i take my last breath. Who knows if it will be like that. But I have put in my request.
So, yes have your cappuchinos etc, but have them wheel you outside for 5 minutes and look up at the firmament.
I just have two words: Orange Socks?????