26 March 2021

cold spring

We are waiting for warmth. So far this year, spring has been cold, mostly. Apart from the freak summer for three days in February. My brother, the family expert due to his geophysics degree, mentions the gulf stream tipping point effects, I try not to listen. (He actually manages a bookstore, has been for most of his working life, so much for geophysics. He is a clever man.)

Today, I am to start my new medication regimen. Yet another monoclonal antibody I will inject into my thigh muscle every two weeks on a Friday evening. I asked R to fold the instruction leaflet (it's actually a fat little booklet) in such a way that I can skip the pages and pages and pages with the possible side effects. He offered to rip them out and store them elsewhere. Yes, please. 

As always, I briefly ask myself, what if they're wrong, what if I'm overdiagnosed, what if I'm actually completely healthy?

Still, I have plans, I am so greedy, I want a really amazing life.

This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.

John O'Donohue



  1. Those verses have brought tears to my eyes. I needed to read them right now.
    Oh, how I hope your new medication helps!

  2. I'm such a weenie. a friend gave me her old device for checking blood sugar levels with a prick to a finger. I've had it a week and still haven't gotten up the nerve to use it.wouldn't it be wonderful if this new regimen did the trick. I have to face my osteoporosis again. doc wants me to come in and discuss treatment. I do not want to add another expensive damn pill (or injection as the case may be) to my already full dish.

    at this point in the changing of the seasons, I'm happy for the cool nights and mornings to continue as long as possible because once gone it will get unbearable out there.

  3. Like Ms Moon, that poem brought tears to my eyes, and then I saw it was by O'Donohue! Anam Cara is one of my favourite books. Your post sent me back to him and now I want another of his books. At least an hour has passed since I came here! I hope your new medicine works (I also have to jab myself once a week) but even better would be to discover that you are actusally completely healthy so you could get on with that really amazing life.

  4. I want you to have an amazing life. It is so not greedy, it is what should be yours. Yes.
    I hope all goes well with the new medication. I'll be thinking of you and sending good wishes your way.
    That poem is so beautiful. I copied it and added it to my Saved Gems list of favorite poems.

  5. There is such generosity in John O'Donohue's voice and in you. I saw a young Bald Eagle today, probably a year old. Wish you could have seen it, too. Still cold here.

  6. Chronic illness is like a kind of erosion. It's never ending and slowly wears us down but I also think it removes all the crap and leaves our souls with only what really matters.

  7. I hope your new meds do their thing and I'm sure you will (and already do!) have an amazing life! BTW, we are watching that BBC documentary you recommended, "Can't Get You Out of My Head." It's mind-blowing! We'll be on episode 5 tonight.

  8. I'm watching the BBC documentary as well, although I think I heard about it from a newsletter that I subscribe to, so I will scroll down and read your post about it as well! Thank you for posting the O'Donohue poem! And yes to all the other commenters who hope for you to have an amazing life. I think you are amazing and get some nugget of wisdom or startling realization every single time I come to your blog.

  9. Oh, here's hoping for the new meds!

  10. Thank you for that poem. May your new meds be exactly the thing.