It has taken me a long time to get there, but I think I finally understand why small children hate shopping in supermarkets. The issue, folks, is frostbite.
If you are strapped into a buggy with no means of escape, the freezer and chilled food aisles in a supermarket are horrible places to be. The cold air spills out of the fridges and freezers and envelopes the buggy in an icy cloud. The clothes you arrived in are not sufficient to compensate for the drop in temperature and hyperthermia can start to take hold. The adults with you, meanwhile, experience a slight chill round their ankles while the rest of their bodies inhabit a more temperate zone. I’ve never been a fan of shopping, as Sally will testify, but since being confined to a wheelchair and now experiencing those aisles at buggy height, I am seeing life through others’ perspective and kids, I sympathise.
(Lack of doughnuts can be another rational reason for a meltdown in a supermarket aisle).
As a keen cyclist I could never understand why our young children failed to enjoy a ‘gentle cycle ride’ on their bikes along the canal towpath like we did. Until, that is, I realised my 21-geared bike barely required any effort to pedal, while my kids’ legs were pumping to the max on their 16 inch wheels just trying to keep up. They were exhausted and our ‘well done, darling, you are doing brilliantly‘, didn’t really cut the mustard. The only thing that kept them going was a fear we would leave them abandoned on the trail. Parents, do your kids a favour and experience life on a bike with no gears so you can share the pain together 😂.
I enjoy the wisdom and perspective that comes with age but am conscious too of how much work you need to put in to keep a broad perspective on life. A series of health issues this year have caused me to reflect on how quickly my personal horizon can shrink in on me. I am currently working through my third hospitalisation since April: this time I’m recovering from a particularly vicious dose of Covid. I have, on two separate occasions had ‘the chat‘ with very concerned doctors about my wishes regarding ventilation and resuscitation if I was to conk out: I concluded I have too much life to live to want to give up at this stage, and besides, I have barely started collecting my state pension and I want to get my money’s worth. Those conversations, though well intended, can take you to dark places very quickly and walls close in on your mind. Hope is strangled by the immediate concerns of where this new turn of events is heading.
The living process is about having a better reason to live than merely existing – having a sense of calling, of purpose, that is not yet fulfilled and which makes getting up in the morning worthwhile. As a Christian I believe I get a leg up in that direction because I know I have been saved for a purpose, but that doesn’t mean I still haven’t got to pull myself through the weeds that currently envelop me, and look again at a broad vista.
I can choose to be an observer, which is probably where I am at present, with the small steps I am taking back to health, or I can choose to be a participant. But it is not merely enough to have a choice, you have to decide to live it too.
Sorry to hear you’ve been in hospital quite a bit recently Ian. I do hope you can get home soon and that you get to see that broad vista and the weeds dissipate. Your words always touch me and inspire me to do something / approach life differently. Much love Ruth xx
Thanks Ian, your pearls of wisdom are very welcome.
Thank you for another challenging blog. From what I’ve seen Ian you’ve made some decent choices and decisions by which to live your life. As a mutual friend Stuart H said to me, you do your best and let God do the rest. And that’s why I know you are in good hands.
Take care.
PS The West Ham choice might have been a rare mistake; you still of course have time to rethink that. 😉
It merely demonstrates my inherent optimism and humility!
This is a particularly stunning photo of two of my most favourite people, and this is how I think if you all the time. Your disability, and it’s many challenges, cannot take away from this glorious upright man! So no, in my mind, I don’t see you in a wheelchair because although your body is currently in that place, the real Ian I know and love is still standing and making a real difference in people’s lives, and definitely hasn’t time for ‘that chat’ for quite a while😉.
Ian, I hold you responsible for me getting on the wrong train this evening as I was too intent on catching up with your recent posts than reading the train indicator board with sufficient care. 😄
Thank you for sharing your journey with us all so clearly and honestly. Did you always write so beautifully when compiling the Barnardo’s monthly board pack?!
Sorry to hear that even more health challenges have been thrown at you in recent months. I hope you know how much you continue to inspire.
Sending all best wishes
Andrew Hind
Oops, sorry about that Andrew. Hope you weren’t too late home 😂
Wonderful to have you back, Ian. I’ve been anxiously awaiting updates from Alice over the last week, and you have never been far from my mind.
What a lovely blog and sorry to hear of the hospital trips. It is going to be almost 39 years when we met in Cleveland and exchanged phone numbers. The lovely photo of Sally and you captures the beautiful smiles.
It’s been a long ride Paramjit ❤️
Beautiful picture of the two of you – beautiful words too ! You have such a gift of writing – a book maybe??
So thrilled that you have pulled through this episode of infection – we love you lots
Definitely a book ….
Love the photo of u n Sally! We think of u often and appreciate u sharing your deepest insights and encouragements. Blessings from the North, T&K
Hi Ian, I’m sorry I thought I had left a comment on this blog but realised I didn’t. I think of you so often and I hope that you recovered from that bout of Covid and have managed to avoid hospital since then. Your positivity remains an inspiration. Sending you and Sally my very best wishes xxx