If Love Should Come Again

If love came to stay again there would be no fairy tales
No speak of sea and oceans, rivers to cross, sun or rain

No huge great mountains or journeys from afar
everyday life to share, watching stars

I would love you whilst cooking or digging the plot
Our love will be shared while we search for a sofa or so
And if we met in a meadow or council flat stairs
We’d still know we’re in love and doubt it not

If we drove a Roll Royce or an old banger with rust
No difference it would make to our mutual trust
If we lived near a swamp or a place with a view
I’d be happy, my sweet, to share it with you

There would be no stardust or magic at all
Except that which we make in our love on our own
And the spell that we discover in each other’s soul
Will be like 
the garden we’ll share at our home

Our love will nourish us if we are far apart for work
And homecoming will be a celebration each time
So journeying on in the passing of days and nights
I’ll be so happy to know I’m the jewel of your heart

Published in The Lark


I have a chest infection…

Last Thursday, I stupidly went to the ED to be nebulised. I was there four hours and no neb in sight. I told them my neurological disease causes problems, that the noise and lights are too much. I tried to leave with a canula in my arm. I was stopped. A doctor confirmed that a crackle was heard in my lung.

The canula came out. I said I wanted to leave. The nurse went to get the papers for me to sign, but I left with Marcin.

I went to my surgery for a prescription and we came home. I haven’t been nebulised. I started taking steroids today.


The day after the paramedics…

Found on Facebook

I have been annoyed by the attitude of the paramedic last night. What a waste of my thoughts. To a paramedic everything is black and white. I can talk to my doctor anytime time I choose. I can get a nebuliser just like that. They don’t ask how long Martin has lived here. They assume all is A OK. and they know everything.

Apart from the ones that say I know my condition best. They are fantastic.

I watched a Bluetit feed in my garden yesterday. It was magical. I didn’t have my camera with me. Much colder today.


I can’t breathe…

I am blocked in my upper respiratory tract. I am making a terrible noise in my throat and just below. It started when, I don’t know. Martin heard it too.

Sometime later:

So I called paramedics out and I had a wheeze in my lungs. I would never have known.

So now Martin can work a home nebuliser because I don’t want another crew like them.


Waiting for spring…

I have been doing some work in the garden. A friend dug out a rampant osteospernum that had taken over a flowerbed.

My chest is no longer noisy. How weird is that? No intervention has been made. Only being outside. Nothing with my health makes sense anymore.

I am waiting for a response from the police. It seems to take an age.

Martin has had a crew cut with nothing at the sides. I don’t like it.

I seem to have lost control of my kitchen.


My breathing is still noisy, and Ireland thrashed Wales…

My breathing continues to be noisy. I am growing used to it but there must be a reason. I will see my specialist in the next couple of weeks.

It is colder again. Climate catastrophe is very real. My garden has had shoots for weeks and flowers all winter.

Martin has a digital piano again. He is so pleased. I am happy for him too.

There is a very strange editor at Medium, no there are three strange editors. One says I gave her sleepless nights and started rumors of bullying by me. Another treated me very differently and after I self published my article, blocked me. The third announced she would be dividing the week with someone she told to block me, but now tells a friend of mine that she is not doing that.

I find it very hard to trust editors who own publications. They chop and change. It is absurd.

I am pleased with my current publications. I am making good connections.


My chest is noisy…

This is dedicated to my cousin Sue.

My chest has been noisy for two days now. My inhalers don’t make much difference. I emailed my doctor’s practice to ask if I could be seen and nebulised but they don’t read emails. I got a stonking email when it was too late, telling me, again, to phone. I replied, again, that the music makes my heart race and talking is not always easy. They do not learn that they are required to make reasonable adjustment.

I am a bit short of breath with this noise. I feel a bit concerned. I am going about my usual activity but get tired so easily.

Martin put up the arch across my path in the garden. I am so happy about it. I have chosen some plants to grow up around it. It is exciting. It will be carefully planned.

I have been made to think I am dying. I am, but in a far longer time frame than I was given to think. I am angry at a certain paramedic who scarred me. And another for his total lack of empathy, kindness, and compassion.