Keeping My Sanity And Other Good Things.

https://imgur.com/t/aww/gdGxR5v
Thank you Dan Antion for finding the credit for this picture.

While our country tries to do this a different way (herd mentality). By hiding away the most vulnerable and letting the fittest go about their business. In hopes that they catch a mild dose, and recover. This will build some immunity, weaken the virus and hopefully we will have fewer deaths.

My oppinion is just that; my personal observations. Nothing, others have done so far has stopped it excelling or slowed the deaths, so someone needs to try a different route. Rather than criticising Boris and the science, I can at least see the reason for trying, after-all we are all blind, nobody has inside information, it is all trial and error. That’s out of the way now, how to do it!

We, the Husband and I have not stockpiled spaghetti, or even purchased an extra toilet roll. I refuse to be part of all the madness. If It is my turn to go … I will go being me. Not a character from some apoplectic bad B movie stealing from the mouths of great-grandmothers. We, after all, have facilities better than they had (see below).

Grandmas dunny

Worst case scenario we die, best case we have a quiet time until the sunshines and I arrive in a bikini ready body. All because, I did not stuff myself with contraban and I hopefully have Kondoed the whole house. I would have scrubbed and spring cleaned every inch. caught up on my reading list. Spent time on my Dream author course and finished editing the next best seller and booker prize winner.

Stand out from the crowd!

I know, I could slob on the couch, eating, moaning and watching box sets. But who wants to go out of this world being that person? What a chance we have, to get given some unexpected free time. Let’s make the most of it, read to your partner, give each other back massages, tell filthy stories or make new ones. If you are on your own, indulge in pampering your skin, make things, read or watch beautiful stories. Challenge yourself to learning a new skill. Walk around in a moisturising face mask and one for your hair. Sing and dance to your favourite music. We can make the best of the weirdness. Be kind, be safe and find some goodness inside of it all. Life is too wonderful to not. Xxx

What do you hope to get from your time at home? How will you cope? Leave me a comment.

Watch “Right of Passage” on YouTube. #FGM

I have been lucky enough to have my poem chosen to be performed by Casey Lee Brock. A spoken word artist. Below is the result of that collaboration.

She wears the scars of the divine

They think she’ll forget given time.

that she’ll bow to the pain

And pray in his name.

But she won’t, instead,

she will cry in her bed

For God, on a mission,

Or ancient tradition.

The girls In her tribe

Just frown.

At the stain they see

On the six year old’s gown.

The heat in her face as

Infection slots In place.

Death is often the way.

Not saved from the cut,

Like a kick in the gut,

Her Mother held

Her hand that day.

It happens In a home

Just like yours,

carried-out behind

Closed house doors.

When blood seeps

through the cracks,

it’s covered with a mat

Never to be mentioned

Again.

I didn’t think it could be,

Because I was too blind to see.

Not in a house that’s

Next door to me.

For those who can not open YouTube.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1FtUkd_aIgRt2MgPvX8MvOgHYD4Dv9dO1/view

Thank you Casey for choosing to perform my piece I am very proud.

The article below was taken directly from Feb 2017 ITV news.

A case of female genital mutilation (FGM) is either discovered or treated in England every hour, according to the analysis of NHS statistics by a charity.

Between April 2015 and March 2016 there were 8,656 times when women or girls attended doctors’ surgeries or hospitals and the problem was assessed – the equivalent of one every 61 minutes.

Did you know this barbarity was so prevalent in the UK? Talk to me please. I will get back to you promptly.

For The Love Of Milly.

This is a completely reworked story that I penned a while ago and hope you agree it deserves a second shot.

Press here to join in and post your own story, to read all the others tap the blue frog over at Esme’s place.

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At lunchtime Bob tied a napkin beneath her chin, he softly crooned as he spooned sustenance between her lips. With the touch as soft as mallow, he caught the spillage caring that none other could see. I watched Bob care for his wife over many years, he accepted help only when he had to. Milly would batt her lashes and flirt with Bob openly, I am sure she believed they were alone. Milly whispered and giggled, sometimes you could hear her singing to Bob. One summer evening through the window, I saw them dance, in some imaginary place they took to the floor; such an intimate sight.

What they had together was gentle, the connection was tangible, respectful yet fun.

Bob and Milly were the only couple living in the home where I work, Milly in the early days was fit and able, she took an active role in the running of the home. Bob for the first four years went out to work; until Milly’s episodes became continual.

When Bob was out or having a break we nurses, would cover our uniforms and distract her by being her guests. Me with a floral crossover pinny and a pink plastic curler in my fringe. In her own space she was calm and liked the familiarity, but she came alive, I’d say animated; when Bob was near.

Milly was failing fast and still, Bob continued with the rituals she came to expect. Many a day I came on duty to see his eyes cloud, his shoulders down; it took its toll on him, loving Milly. I went into their room with a tray of tea and cake, the intention was to assess discreetly the situation; to offer support. Milly was unresponsive, as If I didn’t exist. She lay very still, occasionally her eyes would flicker. Each time she heard his voice her mouth would lift and lashes would batt. He bathed and brushed, stroked, and dressed her. For six days he never left her side, the doctor had been and we all waited in a hushed silence for the inevitable.

Worried for him, I wondered how he’d be once she had passed.

I tapped the door; it remained closed, pulling a crack just enough to peek. I could see him, cradling her in his arms; on the bed with her. Bob’s face pressed into her hair, his cheeks glistened as he rocked her to and fro humming a long forgotten tune.

At the funeral I stood next to him; he seemed spent and sad. The small chapel was full of flowers, sun-streaked through the glass as bright as the cheerful hymns they played. kindly words and reminiscences were recalled. Bob stood at the pulpit and said his last goodbye.

Bob and five clients took the minibus back to Green Hays for Millie’s high tea. Once goodbyes were said and each person had gone, I sat in his armchair for the longest time remembering the fun that was Milly, not maudlin but good happy talk. I asked…
“How did you do it, Bob, where did you get the stamina to keep on for years?” He clenched his hands to stop them trembling. As if deep in thought, he slowly nodded. “Once her memories had disappeared, (his lip trembled) it was my place to make her feel love every day. So each day for her was our first date. Then whenever it was her time to pass, she would know… to-day she was loved.”

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Wouldn’t you wish to be loved as much as Milly? Leave a comment If I touched that spot?

Genetically Challenged.

We moved away to Somerset, we didn’t find our forever place so after four and a half years we sold up and moved back to Suffolk in the east of England in May 2017.

We threw ourselves into the refurbishing of our house. Well the truth is I didn’t actually do very much as I was exhausted The husband, who can turn his capable hands to most things began the project working flat out to make our home warm and dry.

Eventually, we thought to find a doctor, a dentist and an optician etc. A week of changing addresses, doing paperwork, joining electoral roles and collecting information took place.

During my new Doctor consultation (I thought him very thorough), a gamut of questions were fired at me, from under an arched and knowledgeable brow. Lots of poking and prodding, weighing, measuring and listening occurred. Squeezing, knocking and the questions went on for an exceedingly long time. Next, I was given bottles and forms to both fill and present to the hospital. This is where I cut to the chase and leave my usual shaggy dog story peacefully in its dog bed.

I had been to the doctors over the last four years with, the pains in my joints, falling asleep, that we all laughed about, the getting lost and my words muddled, the misty or foggy headedness, the heartburn and the chills I had when everyone else was warm, bouts of cistitus that I just couldn’t clear up.

All the above were individually poked fun at by family and friends, none more so than by me. Silly me, getting old, winding down getting a bit quirkier than I was before. It seemed, the harder I tried to get myself fit, the slower and crappier I felt … the more often I stayed in my pyjamas the more it became an Ellen thing, to be laughed at, I stopped saying I am too exhausted to get dressed.

I had my thyroid checked several times, my blood, cholesterol and sugars, to no avail. I was told to lose weight, about 20lb was suggested for optimum fitness. At this point the doctors (I had seen a few) I felt, were beginning to think I was lazy and wasting their time. They said, maybe it was taking early retirement, or I was depressed missing family and familiarity, but losing weight and getting fit would help. So on I struggled, a sleepy, chilly, foggy headed woman who was more and more muddled, weak and in pain.

Well, I can tell you with some relief, that I am not lazy, fat or a hypochondriac, I have a metabolic, genetic condition that has been very gratefully spotted by my new GP. How lucky was I to have moved and to have seen someone who knew what he was looking at. He noticed my bronzed skin which incidently makes me look super healthy. When your looks don’t pitty you it is hard to be believed or get acknowledgement. Dr McColl, listened to my account of severe tiredness and sent me for blood tests. Six hours later he phoned the house to explain that a DNA test was required to confirm the diagnosis. After weeks of waiting it was confirmed. I have Haemochromatosis, the Celtic Curse, bronze diabetes or the Viking curse. For a condition that I had never heard of there are plenty of names.

Basically, I store iron, my blood then chucks it into my organs and tissues, the brain, liver etc. This toxic stuff causes havoc where ever it lands. There is no cure … but there is a treatment for which I am very grateful … and though scared, I will suck it up and get on with it. I won’t let it win or change me, it will not define who I am. Still I smile, with damp eyes and a fighting spirit and a bloody good tan.

Since August 2017, I have had needles and cameras in orifices I would have preferred not to, I’ve seen pictures of a few places … even I hadn’t seen before. I have been humbled by the kindness of medical people and scared by the condition and the vast amount of knowledge that I am unable to take in, but I am loved thoroughly by those who matter.

Here is the joke, you knew there would be one … I have a needle phobia, always have had and the treatment, the only treatment is Venesection. Blood letting, phlebotomy, removal of my toxic blood. Before we left for the first treatment the husband thought he would … relax me, he wore a wicked grin when he searched You Tube and had to wipe his eyes for the thirty minutes he played me Handcocks Half Hour, a comedy radio skit from 1961, where Tony Handcock donates blood.

One Venesection down and I didn’t disgrace myself, I am sucking it up! What the hell else can I do? So I guess right now, according to Tony Handcock I have an empty arm ‘Tah Dah boom!’

Every seven days a pint has to be removed until numbers drop and stabilise (how long is a piece of vein/ string). Then the gaps will widen to monthly and in a few months or years, maybe I can get down to four times a year with monthly blood tests. For now my toxic blood can’t be used and gets poured away. Once I am in maintenence it will be used and my donations will eventually help others. But basically … ‘If you want to live and be healthy, you got to bleed … forever.

The husband, he suggested leeches, we have a well in the garden so it could be an option. Someone actually said ‘You must wish you could self-harm.’ Then some people are sick! I became upset when a family member said ‘So what, it’s not a biggie,’ easy to say when it’s not you, said from that place of comfort. Another writer/ bloggy person unbeknown to him gave me an idea.

An advert!

Wanted! A Gentle Male Vampire with sharp teeth.

The successful applicant would be required to come to my home under his own steam. To be dressed in traditional uniform and to specifically partake of dinner twice a month, until further notice.

Wages will be in the form of warm B rhesus negative

Iron enriched the oxygenated blood.

Conversation will not be necessary,

Though good oral hygiene is a must.

The applicant/ Sanguineoue being, will not be permitted, in fact, will be forbidden to partake of any other beverage from any source whilst in my employ, or my home.

Once the task has been completed he will depart the way he arrived, leaving no sign that he ever attended.

If interested in this position please reply by email/ sonar or echolocation … at your soonest opportunity. Only experienced thirsty practitioners need reply.

P.s. no sympathy required I am lucky, I at least can be helped. Sometimes I can’t focus enough to grab my words and writing or talking coherently is not happening. It hopefully will improve and I will be back, talking, writing and reading and laughing regularly.

P.S. When the specialist said, “You’ll see, we will get you back feeling normal, it will take time; we will improve things.” He was looking into my eyes holding my hand. That’s when The husband laughed aloud and said: “That will be novel, nobody’s accused Ellen of normality in years.” Both men were in hysterics, I think that says it all. I have always risen to a challenge and Genetically challenged will be no different.

Hemochromatosis the most common genetic condition that is also the most undiagnosed and least talked about there is.

As a writer, a teller of stories I get through with my tongue firmly in my cheek.

For information, support and to help raise awareness go to.

https://haemochromatosis.org.uk/

P.S. A year on and I am in Maintainance, which means, as much stored iron as possible has been removed. I am now at a level I am able to live with. Of course the iron will always load this is a forever thing. I bimonthly blood tests, then Venesect if needed; approxamately every three months.

I am left with: extreme exhaustion, intermittent brain fog, Osteoarthritis, Oesophagitus grade 3, Thyroiditis, C,O,P,D, and a partridge in a pear tree. Don’t sit on this ♣️ I would hate to press my luck 🤣😃🙃.

Absent.

Wait for me when I’m gone,

Don’t forget I was here.

Come and read a while

There’s nothing to fear.

Life has other idea’s

That keep me away.

But please don’t

stop coming,

I still have a lot

To say.

I am having to take a break for a while. I can’t say for how long, but I hope to pop back and read any comments and reply when I can. I look forward to continuing to read your posts and banter on your blogs where possible. I will be back once I am fit and able.

But when life gives you lemons … you need to stand back and take in the scent, look at the whole tree; not just the fruit.

I Want To Turn The Clock Back.

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I want to turn the clock back … to before you went away,

To get the chance to tell you, and beg of you to stay.

I want to turn the clock, to face against the wall

To hope that the sickle, this time, fails to fall.

 

I would cradle your tiny body and together we would sleep,

Beneath a comfy blanket with booties on your feet.

You would recognise me by the noises that I make,

The songs I’d be singing while I baked for you a cake.

 

The house would fill with laughter as I introduced to you,

A sister and two brothers, who would be in love with you.

They’d fight to let me hold you, and smother you in love,

You would have fitted in this family, like a hand into a glove.

 

But clocks don’t go backwards, time refuses to stand still,

Mothers can’t make it happen, we haven’t got free will.

If we did, we would have held you and never let you go,

But you got taken to a corner, of time we’ve yet to know.

 

The sun keeps on shining, as does the falling rain,

The sunflowers still blossom, though it’s not the same.

Growing up a family, with your missing name,

Is like gazing at a sunflower … through a broken pane.

 

Today, a long past memory was jogged, a never forgotten moment recalled and tears were shed; but all is just as it should be.