Monday, September 14, 2015

how important is healthcare and who is important enough for it?

when you are living on this planet and alive you want to really stay here awhile.
for sure as eggs is eggs there is no coming back.

but while here we have whats called 'disciplines'
these 'disciplines' became disciplines through learning and study and hard work.
we have the doctor, the baker, the candlestick maker.

remember one thing my friends, each was born and each will die.
so who choses who should die first?
as in when you become ill.

is it the bet not, but then there is a toss up between the baker and the candlestick maker.
it will be the one with insurance that gets it by a long margin, methinks.

but i want to stay alive.

And i did once enjoy being alive.
until i became so sick.

some if on the bottom rung both by qualification, status and class may be lucky.
those with the so called 'better personality' for instance will win that extra inch to stay alive.

but the 'better personality' is the one that is quiet, demure and diplomatic.

what if you are not quiet but quite vocal?
what if the quiet one says, 'i would rather not take that thank you.'  When the vocal one will say just 'NO, I am not taking THAT!'
see the difference already.

this is call judging by the cover.

the two people could be the same, have the same feelings, likes and dislikes, but one says it politely and quietly, the other just sort of says it.
thats called personality.

we loved John McEnroe, "You can't be serious"  and we still love him.
but we are very serious.

those of us who are blowsy and who have a bright and sunny personality but go wild with enthusiasm, rage and song and dance are the ones that may come off on the sticky when sicky.

it doesnt mean that the personality is bad, its called personality.
some seem to blur the boundaries between personality and character and personality and crimminality!
i kid you not.
its again the perception thing.

another thing that could mean you up the stakes on better health care.
the educational status you reach, even if at the time of the education, you were in a country who gave you neither the grant, nor the help to go further, it doesnt matter.
if you stayed and were denied the education because of lack of finance doesnt mean you not bright.
it means you stayed in the country that denied you the education due to lack of finance.

but definitely in this country which denied me the chance to do better in life, the status is actually stacking up the kudos for better health care.
so too is the personality.
the status,
the stuff that matters is now looking decidedly dodgy for your healthcare.

i never committed a criminal act in my entire life.
i never defrauded anyone.
i never tell lies, in fact i find that almost impossible to do because if i could i would if it got me out of a sticky.
i am not demure and placid.
i do not have an educational status of any great standing.

i have personality.
i am warm.
i laugh alot.
i talk alot
i cry heaps.
i give good hugs.
i care about people, all sorts of people and always have.
i educated myself and known to be equal in IQ despite not going to university to one who received a doctorate.
a bit like Oliver too, i said 'can i have some more' but in my case i used a far shorter phrase "NO"
and because i used that i got the Oliver treatment.

its crass too to think that the prejudices set out in ireland of today are from those that claim to be educated.
they are the 'disciplines' i speak of earlier but in the case i speak of - healthcare these disciplines are the OT's the Physios, the doctors and the Primary care teams.

these are supposed to be as a group the educated, the fortunate, the status bearers.
i see it differently.
they are in the main
never give a hug
and couldnt care a shit.

but they have status.
is it worth it, has it been worth it.

you too can be hated you know for all you call your status.
because with it came cruelty which the lowly blowsy, Olivers, of this world are putty and sensitive and caring.

i have rescued the suicidal, the alcoholics, the amputees, the distressed, the elderly, the blind and those in nursing homes.
i have done all this pretty consistently, which is a bit more than most would do but its not enough.

if you have personality, no money, no status, no cred, and no bonus plus you are actually just a piece of shit to the ones in the 'disciplines'
in other words i am fucked.
and i live in ireland.
shit hell i really am fucked.
night now, plenty to think of there.
the next time you decide to be florid and happy and all over the place, think twice, mother nanny is watching over you, and so is father prat and stern uncle doctor and the ones who mistake deafness for shouting, shouting for abuse and saying "NO" for rudeness.

I still call it a blowsy deaf personality who will not let the fucking prats tell me what to do.
thats cost me my healthcare so it has.

Friday, September 4, 2015

understanding what an aunt or uncle is

in order to try and understand what i mean by my post heading i will try to dream back and think back to the times i spent and enjoyed my relatives.

i feel i need to do this in the day now of individualism, not collectivism nor community but selfie love and selfie to selfie.

the rewards of having an aunty is amazing.
let me think back and it will be such fun.

Polly - Her real name was Aileen and she had a very large nose, curved like a beak, it seems a crass pet name but she knew why she had it.
we sang 'polly put the kettle on.'  that was, worse.
But Polly being Polly behaved as Polly, quiet, intellectual, bright and brimming with kindness.
she was a tiny lady and neatly dressed.  I admired her clothes, she chose well for a woman of her generation.
her hands as i remember were small and knarled.  with pointy nails as was the style.

she lived with my grandmother, a stern individual indeed.
the two quietly lived together in i think not the most blissful harmony but they did it in grace.
Polly sat by the window of a large and imposing house.  she lay on a chaise longue and read - a lot.
her hair was styled a bit like the present Queen of england.

i walked up her long dark avenue and the first think i would try to catch a glimpse of was Polly on her chaise lounge.
my joy was great because it was a pleasure.
just a pleasure to know my Polly.

she played a large grand piano, and i lay sometimes on the floor or sometimes by a massive fire grate stoking the embers.
i was offered a glass of sherry, much too young!

but it was the times she walked over the hill at the weekends, her time to sit with my family and enjoy us, if she could.
i remember her sitting on the sofa and i would go and get close and comfortable.
she stroked my head as i lay it in her lap, and there i held still never wishing for her to go away or remove her beautiful hand.  she smelt nice, comfortable safe and loving.
I adored my aunty.
she gave me something my mother couldnt god bless her.
she gave me touch, feeling, love and consideration.

i was the last to see her alive and i went to the morgue and sat there as a young person in my twenties.
i put a daffodil into her clasped arms.  i had promised she would be alive to see them in the garden.
it wasnt to be so.
i walked away bereft and deeply wounded by her death.
i never wanted it to happen.
she was to me my surrogate ma.

she snuck up once when i was in bed on christmas day.  there i was halluncinating from glandular fever.  i could hardly see a thing and i then saw my Polly, she came into me and i was dazed.  she didnt say alot but just that she had come to pull a cracker with me, so i didnt feel left out.
she sat beside me, i am sure we talked.

she gave me my first record.  An EP with goldilocks and the three bears on one side and i cinderella on the other, stories being recited.
Dad had carried me downstairs wrapped up in a heavy blanket, sick again, during summer time.
i went beside my aunty and lay as i loved to and listened excitedly to a record.  all mine.

John was an Uncle.
i visited him too as he was just down the road.
not a lot i am afaid but i did.
i knew him in is elder years.  he never said much and was extremely quiet indeed.
he lived in a tiny bungalow and slightly work shy but he had a good job. at the end of his life he was very paralysed by a stroke which took out his whole side and his speech.
i felt so badly for him.

but what IS a relative and what do they mean to another in the family.

a relative is a person who can be anything other than a narky sister or parent.
they can look at a problem with completely fresh eyes and thoughts, they have no agenda, no wish for worse or better, just to be wise and helpful.
but also they can love not like a sister, brother, friend or mother.
they are not supposed to be anything like that, they are the aunty.

to talk wisely too and know that they feel equal and can relate to you well.
they may also be able t be mighty supportive and kind.

the running nephews and nieces of today are running so fast they can be in spain and portugal and uk all in the same month.
when we were young we never got out at all.
but to the runners for fun really there is plenty at home.
the joy of travel is but transitory. it is fun.  it isnt solid sense and stalwart reliables.
the aunty can be there.
to speak freely with and to.  and the aunty doesnt tell porkies, doesnt tell others, just relates in a different and willing style.

Now what about that Aunty?

the aunty misses her nephews and neices.
because relatives do that.
they had grown up in an era of community and benevolence when all shared thoughts, goals and feelings and even if the parental home was harmful the aunts home wasnt nor the grans

missing your older aunty now for the young ones is missing a slice of who you are and where you came from.
that picture of roundedness and completeness.

to understand that a living individual who is your relative loves you must be wonderful.
the relative too, may be a maiden aunt.  with no children of her own and divorced from family life almost entirely.
lonliness can be deeper without the sense of who you are nd to see your young relatives as in the nephews and neices and their children.
to always be around a yung person is the order of the day.
to me the fear of loss that the present young generation are shoring up for themselves is everyone's duty.
to be a friend of an aunty is different but no different to a sister or brother.
and all aunties need that link, no matter what.

I walked automatically up the garden path to my aunti and her mother.
i met them both with glee and promise
i filled up with joy.

the same could happen, but i see my family rarely.
i feel lost and waiting to die
its never nice to be this alone.

but for the nephew and neice who do exist, i never keep thehe door not opened

my path to the door and that window seat is not nearly as long and arduous as to my old aunty and granny.
come visit son and daughter, for that really who they are, just someone elses' and mine on loan for that time i have to offer the different perspective and offer a laugh and a bit of relative relaxation.

but sometimes son come armed with a spanner or a spade, i am not young and i am unwell.
i would welcome you open arms.
lay the spade down aside and the coffee will be brewed, i do a good one.
i shall sit and listen and we can face each other kindly as we have done, but not often.

its not a waste of your day.
it a bonus to your day and your experience.
the fading of youth will come to you as well, no matter how long you try to prolong it.
unless the bonds of family are made one day you will sit and suddenly say'oh shit' there is no one i can really speak to this about.
when that time comes you are near the end.
when that time comes then the aunty can be at her best believe it or not.

curiosity will take over.
the eyes will wander and also away from your difficulties.

the aunt can have a coffee and a bit of cake.