We have become sheep farmers. Well, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, but we have joined a merry band of locals that look after the community flock of sheep. No honestly, I am not joking: the flock currently comprises 20 ewes and a similar number of lambs, although by the end of the year those numbers will be diminished somewhat (yum yum).
Fortunately for the sheep the team includes people who actually know what they are doing. Sally and I enthusiastically join in checking up on them when it is our turn on the rota and help with the hilarious task of driving the flock up the main road when we move them from one field to another. When I say ‘drive’ I mean of course on foot, rather than putting them in our car; that would be ridiculous.
During lambing we had great fun checking on the new arrivals and making sure those still to produce were ok. This was particularly pertinent in relation to one ewe, number 33, who never really mastered the art of sitting upright on the slope in the pasture whilst pregnant and would regularly roll over onto her back, from which position she was incapable of righting herself again. We often had to roll her onto her feet again, only to repeat the whole process a few hours later.
Transitioning from being able-bodied to being disabled (I now answer ‘yes’ to the question ‘do you consider yourself disabled? ‘) is a disorientating process. I see something that needs doing and my mind says ‘I will do that’. My muscles though have other ideas and as I lean forward to reach for something or go to stand up there is no response from the ‘engine room’ apart from a few grunts and wheezes. I feel like #33, metaphorically lying on my back with my legs in the air wondering how on earth I got into this position yet again.
There is part of me I guess that believes that one day I will wake up and it will all have been a ghastly dream. I spent the first 61 years of my life, after all, being able to do more or less what I wanted physically, so being able-bodied is my default assumption. It is only now that I am having to recalibrate that assumption and it takes time to adopt a new normal.
I am learning to plan ahead, to anticipate what might present an insurmountable barrier (who for instance would have thought it impossible to climb into a London black cab except on your hands and knees) and to accept that there is little dignity in being disabled.
There is one other aspect of this new world order that I am finding difficult to come to terms with, possibly the most difficult, and that is to welcome the indefatigable love and patience being extended to me by my family, my friends, my neighbours and indeed even strangers I meet on the way. If I appear ungrateful it is because I am struggling to accept that, for the first time in my life, I can’t make it on my own. I need you and I don’t have any real prospect of repaying your kindness in any meaningful way (and if you know me, you will know that I hate being in debt!).
Number 33 and I have a lot in common; hopefully though I will not end up being made into burgers. Baa!
Thanks Ian, great to speak recently.
See you later this year.
David
Love to hear from u Ian; your humour in all of this is a joy. I laughed out loud today with u n #33 (baa) so u are repaying us with your humour!! Thx!
I love your honesty and in that the ability to share the reality of the hard stuff. We know how hard it is for you to let go of things you could do before. But you will always be giving out wisdom, support and encouragement (and more) in a way that you do so well which I will always be indebted to you for (so don’t think you’re done giving out!) For a start, I definitely had to Google ‘indefatigable’…so still learning from you!
Love you Pops xxx
I read your account of your health with great sadness, as just a year ago the situation was reversed and you showed great kindness to me, literally helping me get back on my feet. As you know, in my case the health problems have receded and I have a nice symptom free retired life, and my legs have gone from “useless” to “adequate” so I am able to do enough to keep me happy. Maybe something similar may happen for you. Who knows what is around the corner for each of us? I hate it when people are relentlessly upbeat, but there is always hope, and always another way when Hope is not enough.
p.s. Always available to crew on the narrowboat if you need a hand!
Really good to have finally made it down here to stay and good too to catch up on your blogs. You share a gift with your youngest – of writing with raw honesty but also with that Theodoreson humour coming through. Thank you.