It is February
2011, my wife has been on the acute psychiatric ward for 18 months, the
treatment has been so appalling the relations between myself and the medical
team have totally broken down, have no trust or respect for them, they show a
frightening lack of integrity and ability. My own health has deteriorated until
I am suffering with depression, frightened for my wife’s safety on the ward,
feeling guilty about existing, finding oncoming traffic an inviting way out… I
am at a low ebb.
I go on holiday,
to my cousins on the edge of the New Forest to try to escape the pressure and
nightmare I am living through… this is what happened on the Thursday of my week
there.
I got up and
had breakfast, mechanically, with my cousins, emotions still low, not really
feeling but going through the motions of enjoying a holiday… a holiday totally
alone despite being with them…
After lingering
I go out for the day, walking just walking, always just walking in the forest,
it should be helping, it isn’t particularly but I’m not seeing the appeal of
the on-coming traffic now, so there must be some catharsis here.
I’m driving… my
phone rings… I pull into a car park, it’s at Hatchett Pool, a particularly
favourite spot where the forest melts into a wide stretch of water, alive with
sunlight dancing on the unbroken surface.
I take the
call, I am staggered, it is from the hospital, it is just to tell me my wife is
to be transferred to a different, more appropriate unit, under the influence of
a new doctor. They say it is so they can have a second opinion on her… it could
be because my now loudly expressed views of the consultant have made it
impossible to carry on with the status quo.
Whatever the
reasons, I don’t care, it is a joy to me that the transfer is in place. A worry
less, I know she will be safe on this new unit. I sit by the pool, put in
earphones, and just sit on a bench and glory to the sound of Mahlers
Resurrection Symphony… it’s not a cheerful piece, or an easy piece but it is an
inspiring and wonderful piece of music.
I could feel my spirits starting to rise.
After the music
I got back in the car, drove towards the coast, and stopped for a coffee and
Danish pastry… I was still feeling low, still saw no future, no hope, for me…
bleak days and years appeared to stretch out in front of me, just mourning for
a lost love, a love who will, it seems continue to live in a twilight world,
undiagnosed, never improving, never deteriorating… I felt hopeless, but at
least no longer worried for my wife’s safety. This was, had I understood then,
a real step forward for me. I didn’t understand then, we never recognise
turning points at the time do we?
I think it’s
time to get back to my cousins, but I don’t want to, I need to be alone, need
to think, need to try to find out what I am thinking, I don’t recognize the
sensations I’m feeling still.
I decide not to
go home, I drive to a nature reserve on the estuary. I carry my camera, always
carry my camera, and a bag…. The bag contains a book, bottle of water and my
ipod. Everything I need to be happy and relaxed, everything that is except for
the peace of mind to allow me to enjoy it.
I walk slowly
across the reserve towards the water, the sun is low, geese and swans are
flying in to start to settle for the evening, I should be revelling in this but
it leaves me unmoved. I can see it is lovely, but can’t feel it is lovely. I
plan to walk to the river, ipod playing, listening to favourite music, and sit
on the bench overlooking the water, read until it is too dark, then go home for
dinner and to try to talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax…
As I near the
bench, the sun is very low across the water, shining however on me on the
bench… as I look up the there is a low narrow mudflat exposed by the low tide
before me… the water glistening in the pink twilight and the geese creating magical ripples on the glassy
surface.. across the water are the reed beds, turned crimson by the backlight
from the low sun.
Further behind
is the low hill of the headland, and the clear sky above it. There is no-one
else in the area. I haven’t looked at my book, it remains with the water in the
bag. I switch off the ipod and sit in total silence watching the sun on the
water.
A lone curlew
drifts on the breeze and lands soundlessly on the bank before me. Under normal
circumstances I would have my camera out and be photographing the reeds, the
water and especially the curlew. My camera remains on the bench, I am
spellbound by the scene, the curlew, the sun on the water, the reeds glowing
pink and orange in the evening light…
I have a new
sensation… my eyes are damp, there are tears flowing, but not all tears are bad
tears. These were tears partly for what I’d lost and would likely never
recover, but mainly for the simple beauty of what I am seeing… it has raised my
heart and spirits in a way that I could never have imagined.
I see beauty in
nature, I see hope, I see a future before me… it may be alone, it maybe with my
wife… only time and medicine will determine that. The main thing is that I see
a future, and a reason to walk positively into it.
I also know
that the hospitals must never treat anyone else the way my wife has been
treated, so what started as a fairly abstract commitment to carer support,
blossomed into a mission… I had in that twenty minutes seen beauty, found hope
and also found a purpose.
The most
cathartic 30 minutes of my entire life. I have no photographs to record any of
it, but I have the images imprinted in my heart… they sustain me in the darkest
hours.
Although my life
has had ups and downs since that evening, I continue to suffer the thralls of
depression, I also now have some very bright and optimistic periods… and I
always remember that evening, the curlew…. It always brings me peace and
comfort, however dark the hour.
In the midst of
pain… beauty can blossom and bring hope, bring encouragement and be a light for
all of your darkest moments. Those moments of beauty are rare, transient, we
can’t look for them… they find us. Our responsibility is to recognize what we have
been given and to use it for the good of ourselves and others.
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