Ache

I am tired.

Not a sleepy, sore-eyed tiredness that can be shrugged off after a few hours' kip. This is different. I can feel this, in my bones. A dull ache that won't subside. Perhaps it's the stress, the worry or the three hour shift that soon became 10.

I made a serious decision last month. I don't like those life-changing, adult decisions but I was up against a wall and time was a scarce luxury. In order to properly care for a sick child I sacrificed a year to his care and my family's well-being. At the end of the day family is all you have. Families are there, and families endure. So yeh, if that means watching a monitor for 5 hours, looking for a fit, then so be it. If it means cleaning a man's stomach contents from a piss-filled urinal, then so be it. I don't regret my choice, or begrudge being left in this position. I only wish I could do more.

It's interesting what people go through in times like this. When the wolves howl and the world comes down, all we can find to wear is a brave face. But the acne scars and the vacant eyes on the surface don't do justice to the haemorrhaging hell beneath.

In other news, it snowed tonight. I was reminded earlier of the saying "worse things happen at sea" - it doesn't help when the world around you is blanketed in a frozen ocean. In this winter trees become wraiths and the world is swallowed up. Lest I be swallowed and drowned too, I am retreating to bed. As a child I would hide under my covers from bumps and creaks in the dark.

Perhaps that solution can be applied to my current circumstances

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

To Distant Friends

I was bound to have to tell you sooner or later. But it's difficult. It isn't the sort of thing you send in a text, and it's not something I feel comfortable sitting down and discussing when we all get back together.

You've all met my youngest brother, James, I think. And you all know he has a disability - CFC syndrome. I won't bore you with the symptoms, I've probably told you them before, but one is severe eczema. At the start of February he picked up a herpes infection. For the rest of us it would manifest as a coldsore, but for him it's a systemic viral infection. He was admitted to hospital where the virus spread from his skin to his blood, and then on to the rest of him. It took a weak of aggressive antivirals and antibiotics to clear the infection and by all accounts he should be dead. Anyway, we responded quite quickly and had a lucky escape.

He was released from hospital after 7 days and life carried on as it always had. Fast-forward about two weeks, he's still home and all's well. While I was watching him he came into my room and complained about feeling sick. I asked if he had a sick-bowl and he pottered off to get it. But he didn't come back. After a few minutes I went to check on him and found him in the living room, collapsed on the floor, metres from his sick-bowl. We called an ambulance and I managed to get him conscious again but he soon drifted off again and began fitting. His fit lasted for several hours before they got sedated at the hospital. Fearing he had relapsed, doctors started his antivirals again and kept him for another week. They also did a CT scan to check for clots and haemorrhages - there were none. They also performed an MRI just to rule any eventualities out. On this MRI there is a marble-sized mass at the rear of his brain. A follow-up MRI with dye confirmed the mass was not a mistake on the scan or a remnant of his herpes infection. At this time we were told the mass could be anything from a bit of scar tissue to a brain tumour. The plan was to send him home to recover and get fit for a month before passing him off to a neurology team to treat the brain anomaly.

You can probably guess the next bit. He comes home and he's ok for a week. We're now at the start of March. Once again he comes to me and isn't himself - lethargic, dizzy, unresponsive, morose. He's taken back to hospital to get checked out and begins fitting again. They admit him again and his fits become more frequent, from every few days to every few hours. He's still in hospital now and will be for the next few days or weeks at least. Yesterday he forgot who our middle brother and extended family are - remembering only Mum, Dad, Sam and his grandmother.

With the month I've had, I didn't have much time for uni. I spent my time visiting the hospital, working my parents' shifts so they could be with him, and generally picking up the slack at home. As a result I'm not finishing university this year. I decided to interrupt and will hopefully go back and finish my last semester in 2014. My choice was either this, or ignore everything at home and focus solely on my degree. Obviously with the state my brother's in I'm not prepared to forget everyone to pursue a bit of paper with my name on it. Besides, I haven't slept properly or had time to look after myself since seeing him collapsed and fitting a few weeks ago.

I'm not quite sure how to wrap up, other than to say that this made more sense than dropping you a brief text like "lol guess what, not finishing uni, brother's got a tumour" or to wait til we're all together and ruin everyone's night with a whole host of shit. So yeh, you're my friends - you should probably be in the loop.

Pause. Reflect.

Only 4pm... I've already been awake 12 hours.

The tossing and turning exam stress induces makes sleep difficult. While there's nothing but jitters and nervous anticipation on the surface, you feel your insides churning.
We're past that now - free of stress and life changing responsibility for another five months. Exams are in the past and I'm returning north. The stone towers of the city recede, submitting to hills and valleys doused in white. Snowfall has left my home looking somewhat pretty. It's funny how acres can change in a day's absence.

It's difficult to write about the snow. Within itself, it is an empty canvas - blank as the page I'm trying to fill. There's nothing to be inspired by the pale hills, nor the frozen sky. All they do is reflect. Amongst this icy uniform I find the time to breathe, appreciating that winter's stress is behind me. I will need these few days to gather my thoughts, recuperate and brace myself for the onslaught.

When all is said and done, life is reduced to this - a series of struggles. Interrupted only by preparation for the next.

If, by chance, I am not arming and readying myself - I'm already out in the fray.

Image Owner: Emersonreference

The Chase

It is not every day that I get to feel like a hero - with this in mind I try to seize the opportunity when it presents itself. This story is a few months old. Unfortunately between university and procrastination I haven't had time to recount it, until now.

Our story begins on a wet Thursday afternoon, as all Thursdays in the North are wet. After walking into the city centre for lunch I made for the bus stop in order to get home. Safe in the knowledge that my bus wasn't due til 3.45pm I sauntered along quite merrily. Well, as merry as can be in a miserable, industrial city. My peaceful stroll was soon interrupted, however, as I turned the corner to see my bus leaving five minutes early.

Somewhat inconvenient.

For the common man, this would be the end of his story. He would feel a tad annoyed, find some shelter and wait for the next bus. But not me. Knowing the route the bus takes through Manchester, I turned and ran. I took a route through dark alleys, multi-story carparks and a section of China town. My short adventure through the city saw me leaping fences and bravely (recklessly) crossing roads in order to head off the bus.

As I made it to the town hall, I entered the courtyard and saw my bus approaching from the opposite direction. I pelted down to the next bus stop - managing to reach it and signal with seconds to go. If I had missed the bus a second time, I would have felt terrible. Then again, just reaching the bus put me on top of the world.

Here, for your reference, is the bus' route, and my own improvised shortcut...

The bus is highlighted in red, myself in blue - with arrows to show direction. After narrowly missing my bus at point 'A' I bravely traversed the city in search of success.

It's the little things.

Hold Your Drink

Some men are just repulsive.

Try as you might to find some pleasant aspect or redeemable quality you keep coming up empty. I had the displeasure of dealing with three such men last night - the joys of working in a pub I suppose. Two hours were spent listening to the most racist and sexually degrading remarks and stories you could be subjected to. If they weren't insulting a particular ethnicity, or the women they'd allegedly slept with, they were turning on each other. It's a tough position to be in when you would love to see these men beaten to within an inch of their life, and heck they're even offering to do it themselves. Of course with customers in and a reputation to uphold I instead spent my night negotiating and preparing to call the police every five minutes. Fortunately, I suppose, they sorted out their differences and were back at the bar unleashing a sickening torrent of abusive language like the best of friends.

I suppose I'm fortunate in that I have managed to grow up in an atmosphere that doesn't tolerate, nor celebrate such disgusting behaviour. It is strange to think that, should I have been born to different parents in a different part of town, I may also have become so thuggish and narrow-minded. There, but for the grace of 'God', go I.

I think this post addresses a few things. It is an opportunity to vent and to process the events of last night. It is also an opportunity to be thankful for where I was born and who I was born to. Finally it gives me a chance to express my feelings about such people. There are hundreds of words in the English language that could sum up these three men - disgusting, vulgar, horrid, unlikeable, blackguards (this one isn't used enough) but suffice it to say, I am thankful to not be one of them.

As I'm sure you can imagine I was glad to see the back of them and had to fix myself a strong drink once they'd left. The result of dealing with our town's dregs. Hopefully they wont be back tonight and I'll be in more pleasant company.

Image Owner: Damon Cowart

Wanders

Typical, really.

I sat down to do some work for university (in this case writing up a presentation on biofilm formation and signalling - I know...) and I haven't got very far. I suppose it's my own fault for putting on some 'folkier' music to listen to while working. For me folk music has this habit of dragging my mind, or my imagination at least, off to pictures of dense forests and stormy skies. It's interesting that simple songs can have such a profound effect. A few bars in and I am all set to pack a bag and venture into the valleys and hills of the North.

And so, because I cannot focus on molecular bacteriology, I feel I should do something constructive with my time. Next Summer I intend on travelling - starting an adventure of sorts. To bring you up to speed I will be heading North, and that's the only decision I have made. I suppose a route or schedule would be beneficial but I haven't got so far yet. I also need to start looking at the clothes and kit a 'would-be adventurer' is going to require. While a lot of people would look at all the organising as laborious, I love it. Every time I research a town to pass through I feel invigorated. Each purchase, be it simply socks or a rucksack, reminds me that my journey is growing ever closer.

Normally I am quite content to wait it out - yet there are always times like this. The clocks have gone back, plunging the North into long nights of thrashing rain and blustering gales. Outside, temperatures struggle to keep above freezing, and all around I can see flora dying back and withering away. But despite the weather and the darkness I sit here comfortable in the knowledge that things will look better soon. If I just ride out the Winter, the environment will become more welcoming. And I feel it is music like this - folk music with fiddles and long, deep chords that takes my attention beyond winter, to the next Summer in the North. These songs make me restless - encouraging that itch to pack up and run.

Tonight will be spent behind the bar. Pulling pints, serving patrons and resisting this itch.

Image Owner: Steve Bruce

Clear

This does feel strange. Finally able to take a break and pen something.

With the start of my final year at university came early starts, late nights and an abundance of coursework. As a result I haven't had much time to dedicate to writing. Being in my final year I also have to look ahead to what I will be doing in a year. People are very fond of asking 'what will you do when you graduate?' when they learn you're nearly finished.

"What will you do when you graduate? Sam, what will you do when you've graduated? What are you going to do? When you graduate, Sam, what will you do?" To be quite honest I'm sick of the question because I don't know. All I know for sure is that I will be taking a year off. I have been in education since turning 4 years old and have not stopped. I feel I've earned a rest. So I will take a year for myself - it is my life after all, right? Hopefully I will get a chance to travel, and to write. Whether it be for my blog, for magazines, or for a book - I intend to keep up with my writing. After this year of travelling, writing (and likely working) I suppose I'll take a look at the future properly. Perhaps continue with education, start a career, maybe even make something out of writing.

Also, as I eluded to above, there has been talk of a book. Originally it started with my grandmother asking if I 'felt I had a book in me' to which I reminded her that I haven't lived enough life to write a postcard, never mind a book. Then, slowly over the past few months, more people asked. I discussed what I would like to write, what I feel I am capable of writing, and why I would bother writing in the first place (as much as I'm supposed to be interested in getting published or making money, I'd be content writing a book for the sake of cataloguing my experiences - the rest is just a bonus, should it come to that).

So there we have it, with my short break I have cleared my head and made a 'plan' for the future. Apologies if you were reading and thinking 'when will he write about something interesting? When will he use a metaphor or sneak some crafty life lesson into this?' Sometimes you just need to take five minutes, assess and put your mind at rest.

We'll resume normal programming shortly...

Image Owner: * ismail *