It just occurred to me…

This morning I was at my GP’s for a routine appointment.  Nothing spectacular.

The waiting room was full.  Most of the people were using their smartphones.

  • WhatsApp
  • YouTube
  • Texting
  • Emails

etc…

Nobody was reading any of the magazines in the waiting room.  That can only mean one thing.  Men’s knowledge of woman’s health issues will soon be zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  We men used to gain 90% of our knowledge of women’s health from sitting for hours in doctors’ and dentists’ waiting rooms, reading the problem pages in Women’s Own, Cosmopolitan, etc.  There will be a serious knowledge gap.  Beware!

Have a knowledgeable day, won’t you!

Advertisements

Michael, they have taken you away

Michael K was buried yesterday morning.  He was 50 years old.  Three of his children attended his funeral, together with about fifteen other people who knew him, including his first wife.  I’m not sure if he had other children, but that was all that turned up to a spartan chapel in a local cemetery.

I would like to be glib and say, “It was a nice funeral.”

In a way it was.  The flowers on and around his coffin were beautiful.  The mourners, especially the British – for he had many British friends – were warm and supportive towards the members of his family, saying kind words and offering sympathy and hugs.  We sang one of his favourite hymns well: There Is A Hope.

But it wasn’t a nice “he had a good innings” funeral.  He died too early, alone and lonely and lacking love and hope.  His partner had died slowly and painfully three years ago.  He had been in and out of jobs since then.  When he was working, he was doing shift work and could not get to church to be with his church family.  As for his “blood family” to quote the Prince of Wales’ brother, I think his relationship with them over the years had been strained.

Michael was what we Brits call “a bit Marmite.”  You either loved him or hated him.  I myself enjoyed his company, as long it did not involve endless hours spent on a summer afternoon in an Altstadt Irish pub.  Michael, a German, knew the words to a vast array of Irish rebel songs.  Sometimes he’d tweak the lyrics.  Sean South of Garryowen became Sean South of Gerresheim.  He and I used to sing these songs every now and again together…  All his years working in IT in Scotland and Eire had not gone to waste.  I guess his local pub in Scotland must have been full of Celtic fans, judging by his repertoire.  Oh yes, he also had an encyclopaedic knowledge of East Germany jokes.

We got on well.

We often used to sing Fields of Athenry while strolling through the local park.

Michael, they have taken you away.  May you rest in peace.

Have a peaceful day, wont you!

Pads Brat Ways: Part 94

I’ve been off ill the past three days.  Bit of a cold/man flu.  Symptoms not important.  I think of how the pads brat/military family attitude varies from that of “bl00dy civvies.”

Had I been ill with these symptoms as a pads brat, what would my mum have said?  Probably:

You’re still bl00dy well going to school in the morning.  I’m not having you staying at home, coughing and spluttering, like you’re bl00dy well going to die, making the bl00dy place look untidy.

Maybe on a good day, i.e. when I was off my food and sweating like a menopausal woman sitting in a sauna after eating a vindaloo curry, she’d relent and even let me lie on the living room sofa and even, and even, let me watch Crown Court, with its Ohrwurm theme tune, on TV.

Mhairi, author of the excellent Diary of the Menopause blog, may hopefully one day tell us of the day her mother sent her to school, when Mhairi had mumps.  Yes, mumps, fellas!  Ouch!

Instead, the last three days, I’ve been watching Auf Wiedersehen Pet on DVD and a few documentary programmes about the fall of the GDR, Unsere Republik.  On my own.  In peace and quiet.

Today I got bored senseless and left my house to go shopping.

Have a healthy day, won’t you!

Feeling quite chuffed actually

There you go.  The title is a British is you can get.  Actually.

Three quarters of the way through the year 2017, and I’ve written a daily entry in my Moleskine A5 size diary for every day bar about five or six days.  (That was the old-fashioned way of blogging.)  My best year (so far – three months to go) ever.

I guess it’s a case of self-discipline and just getting into the habit.

Still more Adrian Mole than Samuel Pepys, however. 🙂

Have an entry a day, won’t you!

My Low-Blood Sugar Diet: Progress Report

No news is good news.  Allegedly.

Here is the good new.  I saaw my GP at the start of August, three months after starting on the low-blood sugar diet.

My HbA1c reading was: 6.3 units.  The previous quarterly reading was 7.1 units.  So, over a 10% improvement.  My GP was very happy.  I was happy, too.  He was genuinely interested in what I had to done to get the blood sugar results down.  NB: Anything less that 6 units is where you should be.  My next aim is 5.9 units.

Now the not so good news.  Over the last two months I lost focus on food intake.  Ice creams in the summer become addictive.  I had gained some of the weight I had lost.

Start weight: 122.4kg.  Lowest weight: 118.3kg.

Today I weighed in at 119.4kg.  Good to be back under 120kg again.

However… that was stagnation, not stability.  I am now back on track, combining at least three hours’ worth of bike rides a week with my original low blood sugar diet (albeit with the occasional lapse).  I am focussed again.

Have a progressive day, won’t you!

 

Rheindahlen Military Cemetery Visit

A very poignant day today.

I did it.  I visited Rheindahlen Military Cemetery.

It’s nowadays not easy to get to, now that JHQ is closed.  My advice is to drive there, or take the number 26 bus and bring a pair of hiking boots for the final leg from the nearest bus stop.

Today was a bright, sunny, warm day, not enough to give a redhead sunburn.  I kept my promise to visit the babies’ section of the cemetery, which I had made to the mothers of three stillborn babies.

The cemetery was beautifully maintained.  Row upon row of gravestones, most with corps and regimental cap badges chiselled in.  Some, however, had no regimental badges engraved, but perhaps an angel or a simple cross.  These were the babies’ graves in an L-shaped section of the cemetery.

Did I feel emotional?  Not until I saw one gravestone that read:

Aged 10 minutes.

And then another:

Aged 6 hours.

And yet another:

Aged five days.

When I saw those graves, it all became so, so real: the Kopfkino images of the struggle to stay alive, of pride and ecstacy of becoming a parent and then the anguish of seeing life extinguished so soon after it had come into the world.  And then not being able to visit the grave at the drop of a hat.  Does that make the grieving process easier, or does that make the process much harder?

And then the stillborn babies.  Society has changed in its attitudes towards them.  Until the mid-70’s or 80’s, stillborn babies were buried in the cemetery without even a headstone, as if, because they had not even taken one mortal breath, even for ten minutes, they were maybe not even “proper” babies.  I took photos of their section and explained to their mothers that I was not able to find their babies’ exact resting places.  Nonetheless, I received messages of thanks for sharing photos of their resting places, and that made the visit all worithwhile.  The following is going to sound very cliched.  As a single man with no children, I can – literally – only imagine what the mothers must have gone through.

Rest in peace, little ones.  Rest in peace.

DSC03123

Have a poignant day, won’t you!