Discharged
Thank you immeasurably for the support. It has been a testing week, not least because it was difficult to make a firm diagnosis for Faye. She was kept afloat by some of the most powerful antibiotics available, but the source of the infection, or at least what was observable after the impact of the treatment, has remained evasive. The signs all point to the rare Toxic Shock Syndrome (approx. 20 diagnosed cases in the UK each year); this can, at worst, prove fatal. The positive news is that she is on the mend. She was discharged on Friday afternoon with a cocktail of 16 tablets per day. It's great just to have her home. This has hit the family quite hard. Failing to look after myself properly registered during visiting hours on Tuesday evening. From standing at the edge of Faye's bed, I fainted and crashed into the adjacent door of the bathroom. It was highly embarrassing, but fortunate that no children were visiting any of the other inpatients at that time; I was not there to cause any unnecessary worry. But it is a lesson to not neglect the self; you are no help to anybody if your own self is compromised. I had neither slept or nourished properly, and yet when physically fit, there is little reason to expect sudden weaknesses - but it only takes 90 seconds for a rapid turn.
With one calculated amendment, my parents managed to get away on their well-earned break, and I am keeping a watchful eye over Faye. It opens a little space, and I have scraped around with a mental scalpel to try and determine what this past week has brought. Various grades of frustration. My new PC developed a fault in the boot sequence that could not be fixed due to the contorted manufacturing settings. I lost some work, and newly uploaded pictures from Switzerland, in the reinstallation. Royal Holloway, meanwhile, who claim a 4 week decision on PhD applications, have said nothing in 14. A modicum of courage prompted me to enquire about any little snippets of information at all - even just when I might expect to hear a decision - a message which reached the English Department last Monday but has yielded nothing. If I wonder why my self-respect has dropped so far in 12 months that it is shaking hands with Satan, it might be because the one thing that I have dared to place hope in seems to ignore that I exist at all. If you don't have the tools to fight dirty, you end up the very dirt on someone else's shoe. All the ambitions that I used to think were right to have, and which the appointment in Switzerland encouraged, have fast eroded.
The most confusing thing is simplicity. There is a strange comfort in emptiness. I'm not so keen on initiating conversation any more; I have nothing worthy to say; I'm not a good person to know right now. I have tried to locate the incidents, episodes, pointers that used to orchestrate me, and manipulate them to conduct once again, but there is nothing. The ignition key turns, but the engine does not start. Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home? Do I keep trying to force this unnatural practice, aware of what I could lose if I don't succeed, or succumb to the recess of isolated comfort that will stabilise once all my aspirations have finally died? I'm building a wall, a fine wall. Not so much to keep you out, More to keep me in. If the incidents, episodes, pointers no longer register, the predictions they wrought at the end of 2008 were astute enough: "you cannot just reclaim your life and everything within it as it was before. Some sacrifices have to be realised".
With one calculated amendment, my parents managed to get away on their well-earned break, and I am keeping a watchful eye over Faye. It opens a little space, and I have scraped around with a mental scalpel to try and determine what this past week has brought. Various grades of frustration. My new PC developed a fault in the boot sequence that could not be fixed due to the contorted manufacturing settings. I lost some work, and newly uploaded pictures from Switzerland, in the reinstallation. Royal Holloway, meanwhile, who claim a 4 week decision on PhD applications, have said nothing in 14. A modicum of courage prompted me to enquire about any little snippets of information at all - even just when I might expect to hear a decision - a message which reached the English Department last Monday but has yielded nothing. If I wonder why my self-respect has dropped so far in 12 months that it is shaking hands with Satan, it might be because the one thing that I have dared to place hope in seems to ignore that I exist at all. If you don't have the tools to fight dirty, you end up the very dirt on someone else's shoe. All the ambitions that I used to think were right to have, and which the appointment in Switzerland encouraged, have fast eroded.
The most confusing thing is simplicity. There is a strange comfort in emptiness. I'm not so keen on initiating conversation any more; I have nothing worthy to say; I'm not a good person to know right now. I have tried to locate the incidents, episodes, pointers that used to orchestrate me, and manipulate them to conduct once again, but there is nothing. The ignition key turns, but the engine does not start. Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home? Do I keep trying to force this unnatural practice, aware of what I could lose if I don't succeed, or succumb to the recess of isolated comfort that will stabilise once all my aspirations have finally died? I'm building a wall, a fine wall. Not so much to keep you out, More to keep me in. If the incidents, episodes, pointers no longer register, the predictions they wrought at the end of 2008 were astute enough: "you cannot just reclaim your life and everything within it as it was before. Some sacrifices have to be realised".