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The storm never arrived and has gone away…

So the storm sat outside the harbour and left. My handyman fitted the outdoor tap and watered the garden for me, took the recycling out and made me a cup of tea.

He’s not just multi talented, he’s Pete Lambert.

My daughter came and made dinner, then she washed up and then she finished the first coat of paint on the second gate. She tidied my towels and generally was great as usual.

She’s not just a daughter. She’s my daughter.

So I found a photo of an old friend and me at a rehearsal dinner in Richmond, Virginia. I put it on a shelf and found it was moving away from me. Just as I realised I was falling, I whacked my back on the footpost of my bed and then landed already in pain, and more pain on landing. I was winded. Which is frightening. I was once with someone who was winded after falling of those bridges that are slats on a single rope. You have to move fast. I knelt beside him saying Breathe calmly but firmly and it helped him, he told me.

I was on my own as my daughter was in the garden painting and I didn’t know she was there. I ended up fighting to get air in, and managed to pull myself up to kneeling. My back felt numb, but finally air got in my lungs very painfully and then I was hyperventilating.

The rush of oxygen to my brain was freaky and made me nauseas. The nausea was overwhelming. I pulled myself up and onto the bed and found my cell and called my daughter. I heard it downstairs and could work out why she didn’t come.

I tried to do all the right things to slow my breathing. The nausea was so powerful. Then I started wheezing so got my pink inhaler which was the first revolution in improving my breathing. And I still feel gratitude to Michael for lending me his once and that got me onto the best inhaler.

It’s ok. He used mine too. And had to come round once because I had run out and was waiting for an ambulance. I took the puffs I needed and his voice is always calming, except when he wants to be unkind which really doesn’t suit him because he is kind.

Any way an ambulance came and they weren’t NHS. No difference in quality but it’s not right.

She checked my back and confirmed I’d probably winded myself and confirmed all I’ve written above. She was full of vivacity and distracted me in a rather lively way, which was different. But really ok. She said a rib might be bruised or cracked. I’m going to be in pain tomorrow.

I’ve taken a painkiller. She wouldn’t drop a vial of morphine on the pavement. Meany. So I’m having a smidge of gin and bitter lemon to synergise with it.

A friend’s dog died. She is in bits, and reaching out to her has caused me to start sobbing about O’Driscoll.

And today I wrote an article about how I was not damaged by my narcissist mother by being handed to my grandmother because I would not feed from my mother.

How my sister, being older was already damaged, but my identity was formed in good nurturing during the first five years of my life.

I will post it here soon. It is elsewhere for the time being. And I am not allowed to post it elsewhere for a certain time. Different publishers have different policies.

I am ok. If I think people will worry I can’t write here.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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