“Writing about it would be a good idea,” said the psychologist. I thought about that because I had discounted the idea of something so personal but I decided to give it a go. I also have chosen to open a piece with a quote which is also something I have rarely done in my life.
The reason for that advice being proferred is because, as you might have surmised given the profession of the person quoted, is my mental health. Anxiety and depression are the main two conditions and given the ‘external’ situation right now of Covid 19, staff shortages, waiting times and priority lists, writing was suggested as a possible therapeutic supplement ahead of face-to-face video consultations and possibly, much further down the line, Zoom sessions.Every individual is exactly that, an individual, and each and every one of us has a state of mind that is totally unique. I reached a point where a cumulative mass, emerging from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, started to raise concern.
During Lockdown#1 I occasionally wrote a ‘Dear Diary’ piece which I did find released some of the tension I was feeling and that made me think of doing something similar.
My main problem is finding a focus because of that ‘cumulative mass’. I am only too aware, like everyone else, there are events and experiences right from my childhood to what is happening today that affect me.
The last four years has seen a catalogue of events unfolding in my life that I have felt have been beyond my control. Some may appear trivial but they have all played a part in bringing me to this point.
Putting aside, with some difficulty, the trials and tribulations my closest family have had to deal with (me being one of them), there was a life/death episode; PTSD that I then carried into work; enduring what is termed in employment law as “bullying”; accusations and allegations, later deemed unfounded; redundancy; a disastrous business venture with repercussions ongoing; my professional skills questioned then rejected; financial worries; the coronavirus pandemic; care and subsequent death of my mother in isolation; cancer diagnosis; surgery; post-surgery infection; Covid 19 scare; chemotherapy.
A large part of my PTSD is linked to the medical world and I really do avoid anything I see in the news, or even scenes in television dramas and films. And when it comes to actually sitting in front of consultants, GPs and clinical staff, I am a total wreck – I shake, weep, make inappropriate jokes and can seem bright, stupid and detached, all in the space of a few seconds.
“Has there been a common cause of death on your father’s side of the family Mr Morkis?”
“Yes. Germans.”
See what I mean?
So it may surprise that following that long-winded introduction my topic for this piece is chemotherapy, but not the details, but how that is now blending into that cumulative mass and, hopefully, shows how what can happen today weaves into a tapestry of what has happened and what might.
So here is: Dear Psychologist,
It begins with a Facebook post from a dear friend, whom I respect and admire. In view of the latest lockdown restrictions he asked, “What’s the point of staying alive if you can’t live your life the way you want to?”
Now, as someone who hasn’t been able to hug my daughter, son, or my four grandchildren, I share that frustration, but, then again, because of my treatment I would be in isolation anyway, irregardless of Covid 19, as my immune system plummets.
But as I entered the systemic anti-cancer therapy (SACT) unit, over the next few hours as I sat connected to drips that post really got to me.
For the first time on my own journey I was in the company of other cancer sufferers. Covid has stopped interaction in places like Maggie’s, social distancing and well-staggered appointments keep us all well apart, and, on top of everything, everyone is hidden behind a mask.
At SACT on Monday, around 40 patients were receiving their monthly appointment for treatment. It is the same every weekday, adding up to over 200 a week, and a thousand a month. Given there are 34,000 new cancer diagnoses every year in Scotland, you can see the scale of the illness, not just in dealing with having it but in treating it.
And that’s the first point, that Facebook post brought to mind. Every single one of us is no longer able to live life the way we want to. It is hoped if the treatment is successful you will return to some semblance of normality but your state of mind is changed forever. And it is not just cancer patients. There are those with strokes, heart attacks, vascular issues, those needing transplants, those undergoing amputations, those from infants to the elderly with life-threatening or limiting conditions, those suffering from mental health issues … the list goes on, and on.
With the exception of those whose life has become excruciatingly painful that all they seek now is dignity in dying, all would eagerly except life and the joys it can bring, even though that life may not be exactly how they would wish to live it.
Above the masks, there is a knowing look in everyone’s eyes, an acknowledgement though our journeys may be different, the experience and the ultimate destination that you lie in bed at night and familiarise yourself with is similar.
Life during lockdown may be frustrating, even bewildering, but there are tens of thousands across country who would take that deal if that was the only restriction on your life.
But that’s not where that first chemo’ session ended for me; there is that cumulative mass, and that’s where my anxiety, depression and confusion then all combine.
My political views have always been to the left. Recent years have seen them develop to the point I am now so frustrated by those who cannot see the logic of keeping our politics on the move.
Since the the mid to late-18th century the word ‘socialism’ has been vilified. It has been portrayed as an almost unnatural alternative to what we have. The argument has been one of reform or revolution. But Karl Marx saw it essentially as an evolutionary process. Society would reach a point where it would grow out of capitalism and seek greater communal responsibility and compassion.
While ‘socialism’ is a dirty word to many, especially in the US, we have one of the key foundation stones of any socialist society in the National Health Service.
The NHS is a source of pride, a service the world envies. Many believe we were the first, but we weren’t. The Russian Revolution in 1917 planned a society that would provide health care, education, nursery provision, equal rights, racial equality, fair pay, safety at work, as well as recognising same sex relationships, and abolishing the death penalty. The list went on. By 1920, most of these had to be put on hold as the horrified wealthiest nations on the planet funded 21 armies to annihilate what Winston Churchill, who signed off on poison gas bombs, called the “Bolshevik baboons”. While that conflict saw the Red Army ultimately triumph the utopian ideals were quickly deformed into the isolated dystopian struggle of the USSR.
Many of these Lenin-era aspirations we now pride ourselves in holding, but are we just paying lip service to them?
Take the NHS. It is understandable you only really value it at its most when you need to call on it and since the majority don’t all need it, it remains something that really only merits a bit of saucepan banging when the headlines urge it, and the mood arises.
There are not enough front line staff. There are not enough doctors and consultants. There is not enough kit or beds or hospitals. But this last year has shown there is money to provide those.
Is there anyone left in the UK naive enough to believe this government is really going to pour in £350m every week to the NHS after we quit the EU?
It has been admitted that bus-borne slogan was a piece of spin but we accept truth twisting, lies, mixed messages and corruption as just part of our daily life. That system isn’t challenged, we just hope to reform little bits of it so the result is splinter protests and movements, which are easy targets to be picked off by politicians and media then discredited, ridiculed or appeased with token, but meaningless, gestures.
So, to re-focus. My feelings leaving SACT were, of course, gratitude at the care and reassurance I received, but also a deep anger at how we, as a nation, haven’t demanded the governmental support the NHS needs. Surely we can do better than simply sending a few quid to Captain Tom?
The majority of the electorate has accepted and endorsed the cuts made through the period of forced and fictional austerity, while also shrugging off tax avoidance by the wealthiest and their offshore secrets. As for the lies, inconsistencies and hypocrisy, well it looks like we don’t want real change, just a grumble. Those at the heart of this deceit were returned to government with an increased endorsement from the public.
The “new normal” was a phrase bandied about during Lockdown#1; the time when we would emerge as a more caring, compassionate society. My fear is we have gone in the opposite direction with the individual now even more at the heart of British thought with community just a secondary consideration, if considered at all.
When people imagine revolution, most probably see images of Guevara in beret or Lenin in bonnet. The truth is the UK has had a major revolution, and depending on your politics, a highly successful one that is still ongoing; one that changed the country and has changed society’s thinking for two generations now. Its leader had a perm and a handbag.
So it may surprise that following that long-winded introduction my topic for this piece is chemotherapy, but not the details, but how that is now blending into that cumulative mass and, hopefully, shows how what can happen today weaves into a tapestry of what has happened and what might.
So here is: Dear Psychologist,
It begins with a Facebook post from a dear friend, whom I respect and admire. In view of the latest lockdown restrictions he asked, “What’s the point of staying alive if you can’t live your life the way you want to?”
Now, as someone who hasn’t been able to hug my daughter, son, or my four grandchildren, I share that frustration, but, then again, because of my treatment I would be in isolation anyway, irregardless of Covid 19, as my immune system plummets.
But as I entered the systemic anti-cancer therapy (SACT) unit, over the next few hours as I sat connected to drips that post really got to me.
For the first time on my own journey I was in the company of other cancer sufferers. Covid has stopped interaction in places like Maggie’s, social distancing and well-staggered appointments keep us all well apart, and, on top of everything, everyone is hidden behind a mask.
At SACT on Monday, around 40 patients were receiving their monthly appointment for treatment. It is the same every weekday, adding up to over 200 a week, and a thousand a month. Given there are 34,000 new cancer diagnoses every year in Scotland, you can see the scale of the illness, not just in dealing with having it but in treating it.
And that’s the first point, that Facebook post brought to mind. Every single one of us is no longer able to live life the way we want to. It is hoped if the treatment is successful you will return to some semblance of normality but your state of mind is changed forever. And it is not just cancer patients. There are those with strokes, heart attacks, vascular issues, those needing transplants, those undergoing amputations, those from infants to the elderly with life-threatening or limiting conditions, those suffering from mental health issues … the list goes on, and on.
With the exception of those whose life has become excruciatingly painful that all they seek now is dignity in dying, all would eagerly except life and the joys it can bring, even though that life may not be exactly how they would wish to live it.
Above the masks, there is a knowing look in everyone’s eyes, an acknowledgement though our journeys may be different, the experience and the ultimate destination that you lie in bed at night and familiarise yourself with is similar.
Life during lockdown may be frustrating, even bewildering, but there are tens of thousands across country who would take that deal if that was the only restriction on your life.
But that’s not where that first chemo’ session ended for me; there is that cumulative mass, and that’s where my anxiety, depression and confusion then all combine.
My political views have always been to the left. Recent years have seen them develop to the point I am now so frustrated by those who cannot see the logic of keeping our politics on the move.
Since the the mid to late-18th century the word ‘socialism’ has been vilified. It has been portrayed as an almost unnatural alternative to what we have. The argument has been one of reform or revolution. But Karl Marx saw it essentially as an evolutionary process. Society would reach a point where it would grow out of capitalism and seek greater communal responsibility and compassion.
While ‘socialism’ is a dirty word to many, especially in the US, we have one of the key foundation stones of any socialist society in the National Health Service.
The NHS is a source of pride, a service the world envies. Many believe we were the first, but we weren’t. The Russian Revolution in 1917 planned a society that would provide health care, education, nursery provision, equal rights, racial equality, fair pay, safety at work, as well as recognising same sex relationships, and abolishing the death penalty. The list went on. By 1920, most of these had to be put on hold as the horrified wealthiest nations on the planet funded 21 armies to annihilate what Winston Churchill, who signed off on poison gas bombs, called the “Bolshevik baboons”. While that conflict saw the Red Army ultimately triumph the utopian ideals were quickly deformed into the isolated dystopian struggle of the USSR.
Many of these Lenin-era aspirations we now pride ourselves in holding, but are we just paying lip service to them?
Take the NHS. It is understandable you only really value it at its most when you need to call on it and since the majority don’t all need it, it remains something that really only merits a bit of saucepan banging when the headlines urge it, and the mood arises.
There are not enough front line staff. There are not enough doctors and consultants. There is not enough kit or beds or hospitals. But this last year has shown there is money to provide those.
Is there anyone left in the UK naive enough to believe this government is really going to pour in £350m every week to the NHS after we quit the EU?
It has been admitted that bus-borne slogan was a piece of spin but we accept truth twisting, lies, mixed messages and corruption as just part of our daily life. That system isn’t challenged, we just hope to reform little bits of it so the result is splinter protests and movements, which are easy targets to be picked off by politicians and media then discredited, ridiculed or appeased with token, but meaningless, gestures.
So, to re-focus. My feelings leaving SACT were, of course, gratitude at the care and reassurance I received, but also a deep anger at how we, as a nation, haven’t demanded the governmental support the NHS needs. Surely we can do better than simply sending a few quid to Captain Tom?
The majority of the electorate has accepted and endorsed the cuts made through the period of forced and fictional austerity, while also shrugging off tax avoidance by the wealthiest and their offshore secrets. As for the lies, inconsistencies and hypocrisy, well it looks like we don’t want real change, just a grumble. Those at the heart of this deceit were returned to government with an increased endorsement from the public.
The “new normal” was a phrase bandied about during Lockdown#1; the time when we would emerge as a more caring, compassionate society. My fear is we have gone in the opposite direction with the individual now even more at the heart of British thought with community just a secondary consideration, if considered at all.
When people imagine revolution, most probably see images of Guevara in beret or Lenin in bonnet. The truth is the UK has had a major revolution, and depending on your politics, a highly successful one that is still ongoing; one that changed the country and has changed society’s thinking for two generations now. Its leader had a perm and a handbag.
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