Sunday, January 1, 2012


I have been enduring an eclipse,

a brown murkiness across my garden

contaminating trees and flowers.

I am not a primitive, ready

to forebode the future

but it's been hard

not to imagine disasters,

misaligned stars misdirecting

their energies towards the earth.

I know it's atavistic

but it's out of my control.

I'm so glad to welcome back

a brightness of sky and feel

the load I have been carrying

grow lighter and lighter.

The eclipse has been caused by the district nurses' reaction to my acquiring a visible pain. As they have not been able to do anything about my rolling ankles or my compressed stomach they have mostly ignored these problems, but now I am sporting an ulcer on my left bum, at least 3cm deep at its worst and nearly 3cm across.

The nurses threw all of their big guns into this problem, bringing in my doctor and wound specialist, warning me about septicemia, wondering how I would manage the Christmas / New Year break. Until I worked out that their reaction was so extraordinary only because they could actually see this particular pain I allowed myself to be sucked into their panic. Even though I still refused to lie for 6 months to prevent the ulcer deteriorating, I began to feel I might have to give in and take the dreaded pain killers.

Now, over the last 10 years I have continued to choose clarity over comfort with good effect - 4 poetry books and 1 autobiographical account; I would set myself 4 days a year, New Year's Day, my birthday in March, Paul's in July and the anniversary of his death in October. On those days I would make a decision about pain which would then hold until the next date came along. The nurses almost got me to thinking I would have to make a decision once a month and that I would, in effect, lose my clarity of mind, which is all that I have left: my response to the garden, music, friends and the stories they bring. It just didn't seem worth carrying on if I were to live in a fog with only brief spells of lucidity.

But I have realised now what has been going on, realised that the nurses reacted the way nurses do. A doctor friend tells me they sing only one tune and I had been hearing it every day for a couple of months. Now I am free to ignore their harassments, to say “No” to antibiotics, hospitalisation, bed rest, painkillers, or any other interference to how I want to spend my days. I can use my yoga / meditation techniques of shifting my awareness of the pain; the brain can only process one at a time anyway and I have a great variety. There are parts of the day where the pain is excruciating, but they are brief and I can anticipate them. By altering how I am positioned on the wheelchair, I can have less weight on the wound, and gives me referred pain down the thigh, which my mind knows is perfectly alright. Anyway, I have just as much pain on the right bum, where the skin is not yet broken. As the poem says, the sky is brighter and the load is lighter.


  1. Extraordinary, Diana. I can hear everything you say but my mind boggles at the courage and tenacity. 'Onward and upward', as they say, and may there be more upward draughts than downward draughts, and may your strength be kept at its peak when you need it most.
    With much love

  2. I can only echo Jacquie's comment and wish you the healing balm of beauty; sunny days, moving music, and cheerful winged visitors visiting your garden daily. And maybe, soon, some respite from the shifting, shaking earth beneath your feet. love, diane