A sombre thought for today. Do people you meet really want to know how you are? People round this neck of the woods, myself included often use this expression as a form of greeting but how serious are you about hearing how other people are feeling? Don’t you have enough to think about how you yourself are feeling? Lots of questions but what of the answers? I can only tell you of my experiences. I apologise if this tale upsets you and I promise to be more upbeat in future but I must tell this tale to get it out of my system.
When I greet people with that expression and how are you, I genuinely want to know if they are likely to keel over in front of me or have a contageous disease. But is that concern for them or for me. I’m not good at first aid and abhor the thought of being seriously ill. So the truthful answer is that I’m asking, subconciously, over a concern for myself. Of course I don’t like the thought that others might be suffering but if you carry this line further to include the troubled people of the world how much empathy can you give?
Of course your health is important but I fear that much ill health is self inflicted in this day and age, I realise I am being subjective but when I see how some people live I know that they are destined for that downward spiral. I have spoken to people who are on six or seven different medications which have to be consumed several times a day. They are constantly taking one tablet every few minutes of the waking day. I stupidly ask what are the tablets for and in most cases get it chapter and verse and quite often I get the same story. “ Well I went to the doctor who prescribed me X but then I suffered side effects so he prescribed me Y, but then I had a reaction so he prescribed me Z” and so it goes on.
Throughout my life I have kept away from doctors as much as possible on the basis that whatever is the matter with me will, in time, right itself and much as a quick fix seems attractive it can be the start of a rapid downward spiral. I’ll give you an example, my father in law, an ex-miner had to retire early due to problems caused by working down the pit since he was 14 years old, first he had to have a toe amputated, then the foot, then the leg below the knee, then the problem started with the other leg then they said the same process would occur with his arms. What psycolgical effect must that have on a man who had been active all his life. But they kept him alive but at what cost to that mans mental health. Early on, in this evolution, the doctors decided to put him into a psychiatric ward and the inevitable happened a tablet that would combat first the pain and anxiety, then a pill to mask the side effects, then another pill to counteract the side effects of the last one, and so it went on.
I visited this guy, I didn’t want to see a man I once laughed and joked with, a man who told me to get a move on and marry his daughter, the thought was too painful, but I had to ‘man up’ as they say and I went. He was too far gone, I really don’t think he knew who was sat at his bedside but in his delirium it was the same old George. Much the same as saying ‘in vino veritas’ ( in wine there is truth) that same effect can be said about some drugs, George really spilled the beans that day. We left the hospital and as I drove my mother in law back home I said to her that she must remain strong but accept the fact that Georges life would soon be over and his pain would be consigned to our memory. They said they could do no more for him and sent him home. The family doctor, because we still had one in those days, came and tried to help ease the pain. We jointly decided it was best to stop the medication except for the pain killers and within a week George although confined to bed returned to the land of the living and was on the surface his old bright self, it was good to see his spirits at least on the surface raised. We didn’t tell him of the inner most secrets he had told us whilst under the influence but my mother in law who didn’t come out of his monologue too well said it was all made up. Believe that if you will. Both are now long gone. I don’t know whether we did George any favours, he spent the next five years having bits of his body cut away. Rest in peace old lad.
I have this feeling that the quality of life is what matters not the quantity. We don’t want to lose the ones we love but at some stage if they can’t stand life any more is it not more humane to let them go. I have loved my dogs but have had to let them go when I thought they were suffering but as yet we are not allowed to decide for ourselves as people, when enough is enough.
I spoke to a doctor a few weeks ago and told him of my views on visiting him as little as possible as evidenced from my medical record. Claiming as an unqualified medic that I believed in letting nature take its course and not running with every ache and pain and he agreed that many people he saw would get over their minor complaints given time but nowadays they expected him to come up with the quick fix.
If only doctors had time to see you and give you reassurance rather than an anti-biotic or an anti-depressant and then get rid of you as soon as possible, just another battery hen. Sometimes the best medicine is reassurance from someone you trust which is what the family doctor who felt more like a friend, used to be. I’m fortunate the last doctor I saw although much younger than I, fell into that category, so some still exist.
You may or may not agree with euthanasia but I hope if I ever get into the state of George I will be allowed to call it a day and to hell with drugs and the misguided decision makers.
I promise to give you happier subjects in the future to think about but on that note my dear friends, I’ll sign off, as always may your god go with you from The Yorkshire Fenix.