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Blocked or Empty?

It’s ‘Five minute Friday’ time! It’s inspired by Lisa-Jo over at The Gypsy Mama.  The idea is that you write for five minutes flat on a topic, without worrying about whether it’s right or not.  It’s kinda fun!  Check out others’ interesting 5-minute posts on the topic by clicking on the button below.

This is my best five minutes on ‘Perspective’:

View from Wembury
GO

 

I was thinking about the creative process and how to go about getting unstuck when one is stuck on what to write.

 
There’s a quote from Anne Lamott which has spun around my head all week, ‘sometimes you’re not blocked, you’re empty.’

 
I have all these ideas for blog posts at the moment but not the creative energy to write them – I’ve lost my impetus somehow. I feel like maybe I am empty. It’s not writing I need, I need some life! I need some living!

 
I haven’t left the house in 3 weeks, and I think I am starting to feel it. Tomorrow I think I will go to the sea.

 

We live five minutes away from the sea. It is such a gift to see its vastness, hear the gentle slap of the bigness of the waves, its unrelenting rhythm. It reminds me that the world is bigger than these four walls, the visitors I have, my  blog stats and readership…
 

My lack of creative energy reminds me I have a creator whose imagination  is so great that he made the oceans and filled it with sea creatures (that I then learn interesting facts about on animated Children’s TV.)

 
I don’t need new ideas, I just need a fresh perspective.

 
Tomorrow I will see the sea, and then see how things look after that.

 

STOP
Over to you:

  • What things revitalise you when you’re short on creative energy?

 

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Running away from God

Running away - photo credit Cakeface originals

I am sitting outside in the garden, watching my boy. Being outside is always a mixed blessing. I LOVE getting outside the house and having some sunshine, but it is always more physically demanding, and I have to be very careful not to overdo it.

 

Basically, I go outside, and then pray that my boy finds enough to occupy himself so that he doesn’t do anything that requires me having to walk to him or stop him doing something naughty.  That would mean we’d have to go back inside.  I would then spend the afternoon on the sofa beginning to recover, while he negotiated the easier-to-manage toddler hazards of the family room.

 

The stakes are high – his good behaviour and responsiveness to me will mean the difference between a rare afternoon in the sun together or an exhausted Mummy and indoor play.  But he doesn’t know this.  He’s a toddler.

 

Anyway. All is going well until he goes over to the gravel patch. He puts a stone in his mouth. This is now the third time that he’s done that, and I know that I need to knock this on the head. I summon up my very best Authoritative Voice.

 

“Okay, that’s a Time Out. Come to Mummy, please.”

 

We have a bit of a stand-off, and I try a deeper voice, to no avail. I figure I’m going to have to go over to him. I walk towards him. Immediately, he runs away, though still looking at me. He runs all of a metre away to the wall of the house, pressing himself against it. I look at him, then advance two steps towards him. He looks at me, runs a metre in the opposite direction, and presses himself against the wall of the garage.

 

I have to stifle a giggle. It’s so funny – that he is running away, in his toddler head, to the edge of the earth – and yet I am still there. My mind jumps to Psalm 139 – ‘Where can I flee from your presence? If I go to up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.’ A parent – even one who can’t walk very far – is somehow still omnipresent, eternally big; God-like and inescapable.

 

I advance a step towards him again and this time he turns to the left and runs into his little den, behind the hedge. I pause. I need a strategy. I have been standing up for too long already, and am risking it with my short steps. I can’t afford to waste energy on ‘chasing’ him, but I need to follow through with the discipline.

 

I have a brainwave. How do you get a child to stop running away from you and come towards you?

 

Answer: you hide.

Child hiding

 

I hide a little out of sight. Sure enough, after approximately ten seconds, he comes wandering out – just to check.

 

That’s the thing. The absence of God is a more terrifying thought than the experience of His discipline.

 

The silences of God are somehow more frightening than His judgements.

 

“To whom shall we go?” say the disciples to Jesus. “You have the words of eternal life.”  It’s a hard thing to follow Jesus – but what can you do?  He’s the only place to go.

 

I’m not very good at being holy. And I’m not very good at suffering. I’m not gracious or serene. I rage, I run. I ask questions that God does not answer. I refuse to submit to the discipline of enduring suffering. I protest.

 

But this makes me wonder about God’s silences in my life. Could it be that they are not abandonment but enticement?

 

*************

I wait for my boy to come within grabbing distance, and then quickly pull him to me, sitting him down on my lap on the grass. He squeaks and struggles, but I hold him firmly and gently.

 

“This is your Time Out for putting stones in your mouth,”  I explain.

 

This is how we do Time Outs in our house – not on a step, for the simple reason that I can’t physically do the Supernanny technique of repeatedly picking him up and putting him back down when he tries to walk away from the naughty step. Instead, he goes on my lap and I put my arms around him and hold him close to me while I count silently for a minute.

 

It is, in essence, an enforced cuddle. I did wonder whether it would even work as a discipline measure, but it seems to, and I like this gentle form of discipline while we both calm down. I can smell his hair and he can feel my heartbeat.

 

His crying subsides. I breathe more slowly. He begins to stroke my arm – his comfort reflex.

 

I think about Hebrews 12:7, and how it talks of enduring all hardship as though it were God disciplining his children.

 

I wonder: if I stopped crying and struggling, would I feel the heartbeat of God?

 

Over to you:

  • Have you ever felt like you were running away from God?
  • Have you ever felt like God was disciplining you?

Photo credit: Running away – Cakeface Originals, creative commons licence
Photo credit: Child Hiding – InspiredinDesMoines, creative commons licence

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Bits’n'Blogs (1)

JU Cheerleaders
Who are the cheerleaders in your life?
I really value those who cheer me on in my life, and I thought I would quite like to be a cheerleader for some others too. So here is a selection of some of the best that I’ve come across lately. There’s more that I’d like to tell you about, but this will do for now..

On faith and the difficult questions

The ever-talented Vicky Beeching has just posted a brilliant, thoughtful piece on the nature of doubt, faith and mystery. Her blog is consistently outstanding and deserving of its award-winning status. Do check it out.

David Lamb has written a brilliant book on the Old Testament: God Behaving Badly – is the God of the Old Testament angry, sexist and racist? Here he is on Frank Viola’s blog, answering some of those tricky questions about the hard parts of the Old Testament and the character of God. Do get his book, it’s in my top 5 Christian books of the last 5 years.

He also writes a superb blog with short, engaging observations, concentrating on the Old Testament. It’s the best blog on the Bible that I know.

I love this post by Kath Cunningham about those things we need to remind us of God’s presence and faithfulness. Her posts are always thoughtful and have a real depth.

 

For Writers

I’m a huge fan of Anne Lamott’s book,  Bird by Bird, on the creative process of writing. Leanne Tankersley has posted her  favourite nuggets of writing wisdom from Anne Lamott’s works. I liked numbers 2 and 8 best.

He poses and answers the question, ‘deep down, what does every writer want?’ I read this and thought with a wry smile, ‘this is so true!’ I love Billy Coffey writing about writing.

That’s all for now, though I’m dying to do more! Enjoy – and let me know what you think!

 

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100K – M.E. Awareness

Passing the baton- Photo Credit Tableatny, Flickr creative commons

I wanted to end this week of M.E. Awareness by asking you to do me a favour. Please do one of these three things below to help M.E. sufferers like me. They all involve a key number: 100,000.

 
1. GIVE
£100K is the amount needed to open an M.E. Centre of Excellence in Norwich, UK. It will concentrate on researching into biomedical causes and cures for M.E.  At present, there are very few research projects into M.E. the UK (or indeed the world).

 
As I look down the list of medical trials on the NHS website I am depressed by two things. One is that there are so few for M.E. The funding for M.E. research is minimal.

 
The other is that the small pot research money is being squandered on cognitive behavioural ‘treatments’, which don’t cure M.E. Regrettably, the main NHS recommended ‘therapy’, Graded Exercise Therapy, has been found to make M.E. patients worse.

 
At the time of writing, there are just 15 clinical trials listed for ‘chronic fatigue syndrome’. Depending on the criteria they use, these may not even cover M.E. patients but rather focus on a different set of patients who have long-term fatigue as a main symptom. Only two mention myalgic encephalomyelitis by name. Only four are investigating any kind of intervention that isn’t a talking or exercise ‘therapy’ (cocoa solids and Vitamin D are being investigated as potential treatments.)

 
In contrast, if you search for clinical trials for M.S., another debilitating life-shortening neurological illness, you will find there are 711 trials for M.S., the vast majority exploring potential pharmacological interventions. 15 – vs. 711. There are approximately 85,000 M.S. sufferers in the UK and 250,000 M.E. sufferers, 62,500 of whom have  severe M.E.  (bed bound or housebound). ME affects 2.5 times more people than MS. Yet there is 50 times more research for M.S. than M.E.
 

For severe sufferers like Jenny Rowbory, who have been bedbound for years and show no signs of recovery, biomedical  research centres like this one are crucial in finding a cure.

At the moment, the money is trickling in and has reached £25K, but much more is needed. Fundraising and campaigning is slow.  This is because the ones who are giving are primarily sufferers of M.E. – who are in very poor health, often not earning, and have very limited energy to give – and their carers. We need more help.

 
Could you give? Do you work for a company that gives to charities? Please consider a gift to Invest in M.E. This link has a number of ways of giving, including ones that don’t cost you any money!

 
Easyfundraising donates money to a charity every time you spend money online at no cost to you. Please consider making Invest In ME your Easyfundraising charity.

 
2. WRITE

 
 £100K is also, coincidentally, the amount of money that the Andrew Lansley’s Department of Health team spent on refreshments in 3 months in 2012.

 
That’s £100K. In three months. On tea and biscuits.

 
If you think it is wrong that the government’s Department of Health refuse to spend money on investing in research for a crippling illness, whilst spending vast amounts of money on trivia, please write and tell them so.

 
Could you write to your M.P.? Could you ask them to specifically spend money on biomedical research for M.E.? Could you ask them to assign more specialist doctors to M.E. sufferers, rather than psychiatrists who dismiss their disease and Graded Exercise Therapy centres which make M.E. patients worse? Could you ask them to adopt the International Consensus Criteria for diagnosis and research so that we make sure we’re researching M.E.?

3. SIGN

 
100K is also the number of signatures that is needed on an e-petition to secure a debate in parliament. If you are unable to do the first two things, I would really appreciate it if you could sign this petition for biomedical research into M.E. There is also a petition for the government to apologise for the treatment of M.E. as the Norwegian Government did. The links are below.

 
“Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.” – Benjamin Franklin

 
We need biomedical research to find a cure for M.E. We need your help. Please give, write, sign. Thank you.

 

  • Give

Register for the easy fundraising website or give directly to Invest in M.E.

You can text your donation  by texting IBRF33 £2 or IBRF33 £5 or IBRF33 £10 to 70070.

For further details visit the Invest in M.E. website or read about the plans for the centre of excellence.

  • Write

Find the email address of your local M.P.

  • Sign

E-petition for better research into M.E. – closing date 13/03/13

Petition for the UK government to apologise to M.E. patients. - closing date 24/10/12.

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Jenny Rowbory

There are times in life when you hear of suffering so great that it momentarily robs you of your breath.
 

That was my reaction when reading of Jenny Rowbory’s life. While in her first term at university (studying Medicine), she became suddenly and severely ill with M.E.

 
In her own words, this has been her daily experience for the past seven years:

Being bed-bound and unable to sit up because every slight movement, even talking, causes you to go into heart failure; chest pain and pain in the left arm; heart straining to pump; severe headaches that mean even a tiny movement of your head causes agony to shoot through it; dizziness so great that it causes the room to swim; muscle pain and exhaustion especially in the arms and legs, making it so difficult to move them; insomnia – 2 hours broken sleep per night is about the norm; chronic constipation meaning that you have to use a suppository just to get some bowel movement; painful and swollen glands and lymph nodes; a constant low grade fever; poor digestion and absorption; agonising stomach pain; spine pain; muscle twitching…you get the idea!

(from her story as told on her website )

 

*********

Rainbows in My Eyes - J K Rowbory

Jenny is a poet, and a collection of her poems entitled, ‘Rainbows in my eyes’,  has been published. There are no specialist doctors in the UK who are able to treat Jenny’s severe M.E. so the hope is that she will be able to raise £90,000 for treatment by an ME expert in the US and an air ambulance to fly her there. It’s costly, but it may be her only hope of recovery.

  

Her poetry is amazing. Her style is approachable and clear, so you don’t have to ‘work hard’ at understanding them, yet the images and phrases linger in your mind afterwards, which for me is a sign of great work. Her mastery and shaping of language is wonderful to behold.

  

The poems are all well-crafted, engaging, and invested with emotion.  They cover themes of quest for identity, issues of loneliness, spiritual wrestlings.

  

She writes passionately of her medical neglect and abuse in ‘Quest for the holy grail’. The chilling, softly-spoken man who tells her simply, ‘I will not help you/ in your quest’  is all too familiar to those of us who have had their M.E. dismissed by patronising and dismissive doctors.
 

‘Honoured’ touches on the issue of what makes us valuable as humans. She compares herself to famous Christians who have done great things for God. The final lines describe God’s love for those who aren’t able to be world-changers and Christian heroes:

 
‘Only God notices the deedless form on the bed / (who no-one will see, hear or read about) / and bends close and strokes their brow. / An unspoken bond; each living breath an honour to him.’

 
The poems are moving, and at times, emotionally raw but ultimately there is a note of hope. ‘The Librarian’ is a quieter, restrained ode of thankfulness to God, ‘Not a single teardrop is missing: / you’ve caught every one. / Man of sorrows’.

 
My favourite is ‘Heartcry’ – one of those poems that bypasses your brain and goes straight for your solar plexus with its emotional truth. The last lines:
‘God’s arms wrap around me so closely / that the sobs that wrack my body / convulse him too.’ express so profoundly the mysterious comfort of knowing God in the midst of pain. These lines have been a powerful meditation for me.
 

Poetry is so powerful. Some days it has been these lines that have kept me going.

 
*********

 
There is a Greek myth about a woman named Philomela. She is cruelly abducted and raped, and then when she threatens to tell the world, her attacker cuts out her tongue. So she tells the story through tapestry, until the world knows of her story.

 
Eventually, she is turned into a nightingale by the gods, and sings her song for eternity. Matthew Arnold’s poem on this is just beautiful, and his description of the nightingale made me think of Jenny:

 
“Hark! ah, the nightingale– The tawny-throated! Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!–what pain! . . . . Again–thou hearest? Eternal passion! Eternal pain!
Matthew Arnold – Philomela

 
From pain springs passion, and sometimes the most beautiful songs are those that are written from a place of blackness and are sung into the dark.  Jenny’s songs are well worth hearing.

 

You can buy Jenny’s book from Amazon or directly from her with Paypal

 
Money raised will go towards Jenny’s medical costs.

 
For an alternative excellent review of her book and interview with Jenny, go here.

 

 

 
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Lynn Gilderdale, severe M.E. sufferer - photo via Guardian website

The importance of awareness

This is the first time I have marked the M.E. Awareness Week, despite having been diagnosed with it for 6 years. Before, I always thought, ‘why do people need to be aware of my illness? Isn’t that just whingeing?’

 

But now I see the importance.
We need people to be aware, because we need a cure.  We won’t find a cure till we invest in research.  And our governments won’t spend money on research until they are put under pressure by voters to do so.

 
At the moment there is precious little research being done on M.E., and that which is funded is being spent on ‘psychological management techniques’ rather than looking  for biomedical causes and searching for appropriate medical treatments for this debilitating illness. We need people to say with us that this isn’t right.

 

But I hope you are not saying that C.F.S. patients are not as ill as H.I.V. patients. My H.I.V. patients for the most part are hale and hearty thanks to three decades of intense and excellent research and billions of dollars invested. Many of my C.F.S. (M.E.) patients, on the other hand, are terribly ill and unable to work or participate in the care of their families. I split my clinical time between the two illnesses, and I can tell you if I had to choose between the two illnesses (in 2009) I would rather have H.I.V.

 

Dr. Nancy Klimas, world-renowned physician and researcher for AIDS and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME) as quoted from the Q & A New York Times article “Is a Virus the Cause of Fatigue Syndrome?” – posted online Oct 15, 2009

 

What is M.E.?
 
M.E. stands for Myalgic Encephalomyelits. Let’s break it down:
Myalgic = muscle pain and muscular exhaustion
Encephalo-myelitis = inflammation of the brain (encephalo) and spinal cord causing neurological symptoms.
 

M.E. is thought by experts in the field to be an auto-immune/neurological disease, similar to M.S. There are some who think that it is caused by a retrovirus (like HIV) which attacks the brain, and there are others who think that it is more likely to be an autoimmune illness (like M.S.) where the body is attacking itself.
 

Outbreaks and epidemics of the illness have been observed since 1934 and M.E. has been classified as an organic neurological illness by the World Health Organisation (WHO) since 1969.
 

What are the symptoms of M.E.?

The defining characteristic of M.E. is what is known as ‘post-exertional neuroimmune exhaustion’ (PENE). This means that after exertion (for a mild sufferer this could be a short walk, for a severe sufferer this could be something as little as concentrating on listening to a 30 second conversation) you have a relapse of symptoms which are neurological and/or auto-immune in character. The symptoms are often delayed by 24 hours or more, and then you get ‘payback’.
 

For most people, physical exercise promotes health. For people with M.E., physical exercise (beyond their limitations) makes the condition worse.
For example, I need to be in bed for most of the day. If I sit up for too long in a day, two days later, I might find that I have more pain, my heart randomly goes into tachycardia, my concentration is affected or my speech affected, I am short of breath on standing or I find that my legs give way if I try to walk more than a few paces.

 
Other common symptoms experienced by sufferers include:
raised glands, a flu-like feeling, headaches, sleep disturbances, muscle twitching, severe food allergies, noise and light sensitivity, seizures, inability to express language (ataxia), difficulty swallowing, loss of temperature control, muscle paralysis.

 
What treatments are available for M.E.?
 
At the moment, despite having been classified as a neurological disease by the World Health Organisation (WHO) for several decades, the medical community is not very well-informed about M.E. A vocal minority of psychiatrists have obfuscated the issue, renaming it ‘Chronic Fatigue Syndrome’ in 1988, and using a more vague set of diagnostic criteria.

 
They like to use the ‘Oxford criteria’ which just has ‘unexplained fatigue lasting 6 months or longer’ plus just one other symptom, as opposed to the more precise Canadian or International Consensus Criteria which focuses on endocrine, autoimmune and neurological symptoms. The Oxford Criteria is so vague that it is no doubt collecting together patients under the dustbin ‘chronic fatigue syndrome’ label who actually suffer from misdiagnosed depression, Lyme disease, coeliac disease, MS, or any other illness that has fatigue as a major symptom.

 
Their claims that M.E. is a psycho-somatic illness (somatisation disorder) or similar to stress-related exhaustion has pushed back research for decades. As a result, when an M.E. patient goes to a doctor, they never know whether they will be treated seriously or fobbed off with ‘get out of bed and get some exercise’.

 
The things that are most effective in helping an M.E. patient to recover are rest and ‘pacing’ (ie not pushing your body beyond its limitations). Unfortunately, because some psychiatrists believe the problem to be ‘exercise phobia’ and ‘false illness beliefs’ they recommend Graded Exercise Therapy (where you increase your exercise and ignore any symptoms you feel). Tragically, this and CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) are currently recommended by the NHS as the best treatments for M.E. While CBT can be helpful in managing the condition (depending on how it’s done), Graded Exercise Therapy is the WORST thing that you can do for someone with M.E. and many patients have been physically damaged, often permanently, by this advice.

 
Those with the best prognosis are those who are diagnosed early, who catch it while they are young, who don’t exert themselves beyond their limitations, and who REST, especially in the early stages. Combatting stress, cognitive therapies and building up activity levels, including physical exercise are good but only once the body has started to heal itself.

 
Graded Exercise Therapy for ME is like physiotherapy after a broken leg – it is only useful once the leg has healed. If you try and force someone to  walk when their leg is still broken, insisting that they are imagining the pain, they will never recover.

 
How serious is M.E.?
 
It is a fluctuating condition, so some days, weeks or months can be worse than others. Some sufferers are mildly affected (for example, able to work full-time or almost full-time but needing to significantly rest at the weekends and limit their physical exercise.)
 

On the most severe end of the scale patients are bedbound, unable to move themselves, often incontinent or having to use a commode, unable to tolerate light or noise and in constant, agonising pain. It is a living hell, and can last for decades.
 

It is estimated that among the approximately 250,000 sufferers in the UK, a small percentage will make a full recovery, most will improve but not fully recover and some don’t improve. 25% of sufferers are housebound or bedbound.
 

Although it is relatively rare to die of M.E., it can be fatal. There are two people I know of in the UK so far this year that have died of M.E.  Severe sufferers Victoria Webster, aged 18 and Emily Collingridge, aged 30, both died of complications from M.E. in 2012.  Emily had been ill for 24 years; Victoria had been ill, bedbound, for most of her life. You can read Emily’s story here .

 
Many more deaths from M.E. go unreported. Typically deaths are from cardiac arrest, although renal failure is another common cause of death for those with very severe M.E. Sometimes people with M.E. are made worse, even fatally, by the supposed ‘treatment’ they receive from doctors.
 

Sophia Mirza is one such example. She had severe M.E., and was bedbound. She refused treatment at a ‘CFS/ME’ centre because she knew that they used Graded Exercise Therapy to treat it. Because she refused treatment, they sectioned her and took her to a psychiatric hospital where she received psychiatric ‘treatment’ for her ‘false illness beliefs’. She never recovered.

 
She died from M.E. and was the first person in the UK to have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome officially listed as cause of death. At the autopsy they found that she had dorsal root ganglionitis – swelling of the nerves near the brain, which would have accounted for her severe pain and neurological symptoms. This is consistent with the original hypothesis of M.E. involving inflammation in the brain (encephalomyelitis).
 

(There was an inquest into her death; two psychiatrists agreed that the other psychiatrists who had taken Sophia to a mental hospital had done nothing wrong. And that was the end of the inquest.)

 
Additionally there are those like Lynn Gilderdale for whom the pain of the illness becomes too much and they commit suicide. Lynn was ill for 17 years, bedbound, tubefed, unable to speak. Her mother helped her to commit suicide when she could bear it no longer. She was initially treated with Graded Exercise Therapy which made her worse, and she was also initially suspected of having a psychosomatic illness. At her autopsy they also found dorsal root ganglionitis, like Sophia Mirza. Their illness was proven demonstrably to be physical and organic in origin.

 
******

 
Getting angry

 
I was not angry when I had glandular fever in 1996 in my late teens.
I felt really exhausted and my sister had recently been diagnosed with glandular fever: could I have the same thing? The doctor scoffed and told me to do more exercise and then I would start to have more energy.
 

A week later I saw another doctor. The tests confirmed that I did indeed have glandular fever (mononucleosis), and quite a severe case of it. “You need to rest as much as possible and whatever you do, don’t exercise. It’s the worst thing you can do with glandular fever,” she said.
 

My glandular fever was very severe and I missed several months of school. From that time on I was prone to infections and even a slight cold would knock me out for 2 weeks.
 

I was not angry when my M.E. was misdiagnosed as depression in 2005.
 

At that time I was able to work full-time, but I was falling asleep in the afternoons – then one day I found that I was having strange cognitive symptoms. I couldn’t read even a magazine article – it didn’t make any sense to me. I knew it wasn’t depression – I had had depression before and I knew what it felt like. I tired rapidly but my mood was good and I didn’t feel depressed or ‘numb’.

 
The doctor said it was probably depression and even if it were ‘chronic fatigue syndrome’ the treatment of graded exercise and antidepressants would treat both. I dutifully reduced stress, took antidepressants, gradually increased my exercise until I was running 5 miles, 3 times a week.
 

Within 2 years I had had a major M.E. relapse and was in a wheelchair.
I wasn’t angry in 2010 when they said that it would probably be fine for me to give birth naturally rather than have a C-section. The physical exertion of labour triggered a major M.E. relapse, leaving me temporarily bedbound and then subsequently housebound.

 

The bout of glandular fever I had was the trigger for my M.E., though I was initially mildly affected.  Then, like many others, I was advised to increase my exercise instead of resting, and my M.E. became severe.
I wasn’t angry then.

 
But then one of my friends got M.E. She contracted glandular fever while abroad and her body shut down and she found herself feeling constantly flu-ey and unable to walk more than a few paces.
 

And THEN I got angry.

  • I was angry that she had to be ill for 6 months before she even got a diagnosis.
  • I was angry that her diagnosis was not M.E. but ‘Chronic Fatigue Syndrome’, a ridiculously misleading name that  trivialises what is a very serious and debilitating illness.
  • I was angry that after those 6 months she would then be on a waiting list for 18 months before she could see a specialist, and in the meantime she would be left to try to manage it herself
  • I was angry that when she saw a physio they told her she needed to do Graded Exercise and bullied her into doing more stretching than she could manage and it set her back weeks in her recovery.
  • l was angry that when she eventually does see a specialist, she may not see someone who accepts that M.E. is  a physical illness. If she were lucky, she would see a doctor who would tell her she had a serious illness and she should rest and do the little activity that she was able to – and hope it improved in time. In other words, you get told ‘there’s nothing we can do’. That’s if she’s lucky.  If she were unlucky, depending on what part of the country she was in, she would be seen by a psychiatrist who would dismiss her real physical illness as a psycho-somatic disorder that would be overcome if only she could decide to get better.
  • I was angry that she could be potentially sectioned under the Mental Health Act for ‘false illness beliefs’.
  • I was angry that if she were under 18 her parents would likely be investigated by social services for encouraging ‘school phobia’.
  • I was angry that she was likely to have to fight for any sickness benefits she applied for, such is the skeptical attitude of the social services towards M.E.
  • I was angry that she would be confronted with thousands of alternative therapies, all claiming to be able to fully cure M.E., all expensive, without any way of knowing whether they would help her or make her worse.
  • I was angry that she could be one of the increasing number who die of M.E., without any chance of getting treatment, simply because the disease is not being taken seriously and there is a lack of research.

 
There are some good and sympathetic doctors around and there are many people with ME who make full and fast recoveries. But the system is failing those with long-term or severe ME.
 

So this is why I am using my limited cognitive energy this week to write a post on M.E awareness.
 

I have finally got angry. I would very much like for you to get angry too.
 

***********

Get informed:

Get angry:

  •   Write to your local M.P. requesting better biomedical research and treatment and adoption of the widely-respected International Consensus Criteria as a definition of M.E. to aid research and diagnosis.

This post is my personal opinion based on my experience and reading and should not be taken as medical advice. If you suspect you have M.E. then you will need the advice of a good doctor.  

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Faker

This is my ‘Five minute Friday’, inspired by the Gypsy Mama.  The idea is that you write for five minutes flat on a topic, without worrying about whether it’s right or not.  It’s kinda fun!  Check out others’ interesting 5-minute posts on the topic here.

 
Brown Letter Day 365/28
This is my best five minutes (okay – I confess, it was 15 minutes this week…) on “Real”.

GO
I stare at the brown envelope with a mixture of dread and nausea.

 
It is an application for a renewal of my Blue Badge (disabled person’s parking badge).  You get it automatically if you receive Higher Rate Mobility Disability Living Allowance, but my application for THAT benefit is in the post, and I have no real way of knowing whether I will get it this time.  It is such a lottery, applying for disability benefit, especially when you have an ‘invisible’ and poorly-understood illness like M.E. (known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome in the US).

 
It is not that my disability has improved; in fact it has got considerably worse over the past 2 years.  It is whether or not I will be believed.

 
I fear the faceless anonymous person who will read my form.  They have so much power over me. If I don’t get my Blue Badge there is no way that I will be able to go independently to a restaurant or doctors surgery.  (I can’t do that at the moment, but hopefully if I improved slightly I would be able to walk the short distance if I could park right outside).

 

When I initially applied for Disability Living Allowance I was turned down and had to go to a tribunal.  The questions they asked to try and trap me still make my stomach curl in anger:
 
‘But don’t you want to learn to do things for yourself? Are you happy just to let your husband do everything for you? You will want to learn to be independent, won’t you?’

 
I wanted to scream, ‘this isn’t my fault – this isn’t a lifestyle choice – this is so far from ‘what I want’ that I can’t begin to express it.’  As much as the illness, it was these questions and these attitudes that made me feel dis-abled – they took power away from me and I felt as though I was a liar who was begging to receive.  A scrounger. A deceiver.

 

It’s the ‘paradox of the nit nurse’ – you know, when the nurse comes to the school to look in your hair for nits.  You don’t have nits, but from the second she comes in the classroom your head becomes inexplicably itchy and you scratch, guiltily, confusedly.

 
This is real. I am genuine.

 
But begging to be believed makes me feel like a faker.

STOP
Photo credit: Brown envelope day by Aldakila (creative commons licence)

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An attitude of worship - image credit Hans Dinkelberg (creative commons)

Have you ever looked at a Christian who has undergone great suffering and wondered how they can still remain so positive and joyful in God?

*********

Last year two of my friends were expecting their first baby. They were excited and scared, like any first-time parents. There were no indications in the pregnancy that anything was wrong. She gave birth, and three days later they lost their baby boy. He had a congenital heart problem and there was nothing anyone could do.
 

I was shocked to hear the news, and found myself raging at God on their behalf at how He had allowed this to happen. They were such wonderful, sunny people – I did not want such a cloud of sorrow to be surrounding them.

 
I was even more shocked by their response. They were sad, and expressed deep sorrow, but they were also thankful. They praised God for the way He was there for them, they thanked God for the hours they spent with their baby boy. Even though they’d only had three days as his parents, they thanked God for those three days.

 
At his thanksgiving memorial service, they spoke about Jesus. The doctors had said the condition was congenital, his death inevitable. In a sense, he was a baby who was ‘born to die’. In their sorrow, they looked to Jesus, who came as a baby in order to die on a cross.

 
God is not unfamiliar with suffering, and Jesus died to restore our relationship with God and ultimately bring an end to suffering. Though it did not answer all their questions, focusing on Jesus who was ‘born to die’ helped them to trust in a God who gave them a baby who was ‘born to die’.

 
********

 
Yesterday I read Job, chapter 1. It is the story of a good, a righteous man, who was blessed with success, prosperity (which in those days was measured in oxen, donkeys, camels and sheep) and a large family. Then, in a day, everything is taken from him.

 
Four messengers come: the first tells him the oxen and donkeys are gone – attacked by the Sabeans. The second tells him the sheep are gone – fire from heaven. The third says the camels are gone – attacked by Chaldeans. Most devastatingly, the fourth messenger tells him the house that his children were in has collapsed. They are all dead.

 
Yet he doesn’t get angry, but worships God, and simply says,

The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away;
May the name of the Lord be praised. (Job 1:21)

 

What does Job’s story tell us?

 

Mourning - image credit Hans Dinkelberg (creative commons)

1. Don’t rely on temporary things
Disaster can come at any time. It is tempting to think we can foresee the future. If we have a good job, good health, if we have a loving spouse, if we have children, we are set – we’ve made it.
 

The lucky few of us that have some or all of the blessings that Job had should be thankful. But we are fools if we place our security in these things. They are not within our control. You can go to the best university, get the best grades, do the best networking, land the most fulfilling job. Great. But it could be gone tomorrow.

 

2. Worship first, then wrestle
Job’s reaction to hearing the news that he had lost everything was as follows:

‘At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship.’ (Job 1:20).

 
Job’s first reaction was to worship God. He had lost everything and he tore his robe in grief but he worshipped God anyway. In stressful situations like these we reveal our character. We do what is instinctive rather than considered and thought out. And Job’s instinctive reflex was to worship God.

 
Would it be your instinct? I’m not sure that it is my instinct. (In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s not my instinct. I have a way to go in this regard…)

 
There are certain people in my life that I have great admiration for, people whose character just shines with Jesus, people who are good to the core. When I think about how they react in difficult situations, I see people whose ‘reflex reaction’ is to worship God. This was true of Job, and it was true of my friends who lost their baby.

 
This is not to say we shouldn’t be questioning, crying out, mourning, raging. Job spends the next 36 chapters doing just that. He wrestles. It goes on for a LONG time.

 
It is hard work to emotionally recover from trauma and face tough theological questions about suffering. It takes time, and questioning and dialogue. Sometimes other people who are meant to help, don’t. The book of Job gives weight and importance to that stage.

 
And yet… There is something beautiful about the way that Job reacts. I see it in his life and in the life of my friends. Worship first – wrestle later.

 
Honour God in the midst of the pain, and then work through your pain somehow with Him. It takes faith to worship before you’ve wrestled, to say, ‘Because I know God and know Him to be good, I’m going to worship before I make sense of this.’

 
3. Worship now
The reason Job’s first reaction was to worship is because he already was living a life of worship. It was his habit. He would even offer sacrifices to intercede for his children.  His life was saturated in worship. If you are not worshipping God now when you are comfortable, then you will not worship Him when the going gets tough.

 
We need to worship in the land of plenty, regularly, habitually, so that it becomes our reflex reaction even in the times of famine. Worship till it becomes your reflex.

 

  • Don’t rely on temporary things.
  •  Worship first, then wrestle.
  •  Worship now.

 

These feel like tough things to say, and they leave some questions unanswered. (Even at the end of Job there are some big unanswered questions!) You may be in a place of wrestling – and this is okay. Job spends a lot of time doing that. Sometimes in a place of famine it is all you can do to hang on.

 
But what if you are in the land of plenty? Are you worshipping now? This is what is challenging me today.

 

Over to you:

  • What is your instinctive response when hard times come?
  • Do you tend to worship or wrestle or (like Job) do both?
  • Do you know people who have worshipped in the land of famine because they worshipped in the land of plenty?
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Living in the in-between

Welly boots and sunshine

One morning, a few weeks ago, I started writing a blog post.  I wrote it using my iPad, but decided to draft it in an email so it would be easier to edit.  I spent an hour lovingly tapping out a thousand words. I edited, tweaked, smiled.

 

I could feel my brain slowing down and becoming fuzzier – the characteristic ‘brain fog’ of M.E. that would mean that my ‘brain battery’ had run down for the day. I was unlikely to be able to do any more activity that day that involved concentration.
 

But it felt good to have done something creative, productive. I could evaluate my day and say to myself, ‘even though I’ve spent most of my day lying around in bed, I achieved something today.’
 

All I had to do was save it to drafts, then I could copy it and paste it into WordPress. My brain was decidedly clunky and confused, but there was not much more to go now. I pressed to close, and my finger hovered over the two options: ‘save draft?’ / ‘delete draft’?
 

Horribly, inevitably, I pressed the wrong one. I didn’t even realise I’d done it – I don’t know if I was fully in control of my finger movements at that point. It disappeared. I had deleted it. I sent out a panicked tweet for advice, even though I knew really that I would not be able to get it back.
 

I thought rationally. It was fresh in my mind. Even though I’d spent ages crafting the sentences and structure, I might be able to reconstruct it if I re-wrote it immediately.
 

But I knew I couldn’t. My brain had packed up for the day. It felt like most people’s brains do after five solid hours of intense revision for exams, and I knew that it would take hours to recover. That was it for the day. There may be an opportunity to rewrite it tomorrow; I would have to see.
 

I sighed. There didn’t seem much point dwelling on it. But I felt once more the frustration of this illness.
 

This is so hard.
 

*******

Last week, I had a happy afternoon. I had had an unexpectedly emotionally replenishing phone call with a friend, and had been able to rest in bed in the afternoon while Jon took our boy out to play in the garden. Because I’d had some extra resting that day, I was able to come out in the garden, just for half an hour or so.
 

The sun was shining, the beautiful, hopeful sun of Spring. It felt so good to have sunlight on my skin. I watched my boy toddling proudly round the garden in welly boots. He picked up the (full-size) rake to show me what he had been doing.
 

“Have you been helping Daddy in the garden?” I asked.

“Yuh.” (It is one of the few words he knows.)

“The sun is amazing. Don’t you just love it when it’s sunny?”

“Yuh.”

“Can you hear the bird singing? It sounds so pretty.”

“Yuh.”
 

(The toddler stage is often said to mirror the teenage stage. I have a feeling that I could be having very similar monosyllablic interactions with him when he is fifteen. Somehow that realisation gave me great pleasure.)
 

I sat down on the step and waved to him. He came up to me and sat next to me on the step. I pointed to my lap, “Would you like to sit on Mummy’s lap?”
 

He shook his head. He tapped the step where he sat. He was too grown-up to sit on my lap today. We sat companionably, watching Daddy chop wood. Chatting, hanging out, like we were friends.
 

I closed my eyes and could feel the joy bubbling up. My heart was full. I was so thankful to God and aware of His goodness.
 

This – this little vignette – was so idyllic. The phrase ‘thin place’ has been used in Celtic Spirituality to describe those places where it feels like the boundary between the ordinary and the spiritual is blurred and the boundary between the two is not as strong as normal.
 

It’s those times when you feel like you are breaking through into heaven a little and there are echoes of Narnia all around. It felt like that.
 

I am so blessed.
 

*******

I was chatting to a friend on the phone yesterday who asked the usual question: ‘how are you?’
 

The answer is: ‘This is so hard; I am so blessed.
 

When I was watching my little boy in the garden, I was conscious of how immensely privileged I was to have a house, with a garden, with my amazing husband and child. I found myself wondering – is this what life is like for most people?
 

You know, ‘others’, ‘the rest of the world’ – the pseudo-mythical ‘normal people’. Is this what life is like all the time for Others who aren’t ill? Is it one long extended idyllic vignette of perfection? I think it can often seem that way when we peek at others’ lives, (especially when we look at them through the rose-tinted lens of Facebook).
 

But I reasoned, actually, most people’s lives are mostly taken up with Hard – the busy, the demanding, the day-to-day. There are different and varying degrees of hard, but we’re all part of this fallen world and none of us are immune from the effects of it. There is much toil and meaninglessness under the sun (Eccelesiastes, paraphrased).
 

I think that those special, golden moments where we feel alive and – (there is no better word) joy-ful – are typically infrequent, even for the most privileged of us. Most of the time we toil ‘under the sun’ rather than living life ‘in the sun’.
 

Is it possible to live life continuously aware of God’s presence, focused on heaven, seeing the spiritual and the real rather than the temporary and toil? I don’t know. It would be nice. Perhaps some Christians do. One day we all will.
 

For now, I am in the in-between. For now, that is okay.
 

How is my life? It is full of hardship and blessing. I suspect yours is too.

 
Over to you:

  • Are you more conscious of the Hard at the moment or the Blessing?
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Gift

This is my ‘Five minute Friday’, inspired by Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama.  The idea is that you write for five minutes flat on a topic, without worrying about whether it’s right or not.  Check out others’ interesting 5-minute posts on the topic here.

This is my best five minutes on: Gift

Clutching Daisies

GO
I am outside in the garden, enjoying the rare sunshine, watching my little boy toddling around. He picks up a stone, puts it in his mouth – he’s testing me.

 

“Please stop doing that.” I look around the garden for a suitable distraction.

 
“Why don’t you pick Mummy some flowers? Can you find some daisies?”

 
He changes direction, puffs out his cheeks, exhaling with the importance of the task. He runs, still slightly on tiptoes, looking more like a hopping on alternate feet. He bends down, inspects. He grabs with his whole fist, bringing daisy, grass, straw, then flicks it off so there is just the daisy head remaining. He grabs another, and then runs with both hands clutching.

 
He hands them to me and I am full of love for him. It is strange; I don’t need him to give me flowers, I could pick them myself. And I don’t need them in my hand, I could just as easily look at them on the lawn. But – oh – the joy of having them brought to me by my boy!

 
Is it like that with God – the things we bring him?

 
I look at the daisies gathered on the rug – they look like they are in the shape of a heart.
 
STOP

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