Scrambled eggs, head, mind

Questions, questions, questions, so many questions. Yesterday the doctors secretary phoned, questions . . . . . Whoa, hang on here's one who can answer I said handing the phone to one far better than I. Fortunately she's usually on hand but when she isn't I really struggle. It's not that I can't answer it's that I can't answer in a timeframe expected by a busy person with umpteen calls made and umpteen to make. Although they don't put any pressure on you I'm painfully aware that I take ages and then I think and need to answer again.

Then there's the response, instructions. What to do with them, where to write them, what was that, again, sorry. I'm pretty rubbish at most things but questions are my nemesis. After a very few I just give up nowadays as I can't cope and my brain gets scrambled, especially when I start to answer and no sooner started than words in the head fail to make it as far as the lips. I am so fortunate that my better half is really my better half and then some.

I'm good at facts and can cope with poo, wee and sick questions but then they ask about pain and that's it. I can explain or indicate where but degree of? On a scale of 1-10,  yeah, what? 1 is just noticeable, not pain, then and 10 is as bad as.  . . . what? Often they will say as bad as you've experienced.

I was a 6 or 7 yr old when I got my right index finger stuck in a power mangle as I tried to flatten my sister's monkey. My hand stopped, the mangle didn't. Nana heard, rushed to the scene, stopped the mangle, got my finger out, folded it into my hand and got someone to drive us to hospital. Loads of blood, a dozen or more stitches. Now that hurt, but Nana was there so it wasn't a big deal.

As a mid teen I put a Mustad 17 1/2 spade end hook into my palm. It wasn't done on purpose. I was on my own whiffing so I had a pound full of mackerel aboard and a whiffing line in me. Once I'd calmed down and cut the glove off with a gutting knife I shoved the hook through to expose the barb. That hurt. Boy, did that hurt. The pliers in the aft locker were as rusty as every other tool in the aft locker. I'd intended to cut off the barb and pull the hook back out. Alas, with the barb in place I had to cut off the whipped horsal and pull the spade end through. That hurt. That really hurt. A lot. Bled a bit but with a whole ocean to put your hand in it eased quite soon.

Nope, I suppose my 10 would have to be a Boxing Day tooth extraction, solo using a pair of long nosed pliers. I'd cracked the tooth on Christmas Day, by Boxing Day it was rammed with paracetamol but my sister had a party to which everyone went. Except me. By early afternoon I'd had enough. The tooth had to go and go it did, albeit in pieces. I collected them in an eggcup, bled profusely and chewed a wad of cotton wool and paracetamol. By the time the partygoers returned I was comfortably numb. A few days later the dentist complimented me on my thoroughness and described my actions with words not normally heard in a dentist's chair. I was so relieved that I cast the tooth in pewter as a keepsake, if a photo appears here you'll know I found it. 

Now when asked about the degree of pain I have my references but no one asking has the same references, do they? So to answer with worse than mangling your finger but without Nana on hand, not as bad as pulling a hook through your hand or as bad as pulling your own tooth with a long nosed pliers? It only makes sense to me and as for numbers, forget it, that's why I married a mathematician.

Then they ask, how are you? It's far better than being asked how are you in yourself? That leaves me perplexed. What on earth does it mean? Have I to imagine how I would be if I was someone else? Can I answer wishing I was someone else? In myself? Silly question. Speaking as me I'm fine. Except I'm probably not.

Once the place and degree of pain is noted the rest is in the mind, is it not? The question is inextricably entwined with my mental state at that moment. How do you answer that one, and for how long will the answer remain valid?

Sometimes you feel good, the way ahead obvious if not completely straightforward. Clear minded, the route lies before me, well defined but with far too many options. Too many choices to be made, not all insignificant, not all inconsequential, not all logical, rational or tidy. At least I'm thankful that the path before me is clear, lit enough to avoid trip hazards, bright enough to ensure that a spot to catch your breath is not too far away before endeavouring to complete the course or get as far along as you can.

Other times you don't feel at your best, apprehensive  about what presents itself before you, unsure, a bit wobbly. That's  when you look and it's all a bit opaque. These are the days which are just such a struggle to get through. You can see enough to know there's something there, something going on, something to get involved with. The effort, though is sometimes just too much to make bothering worthwhile. Sometimes you know you should but you don't and sometimes you know you shouldn't but you do. I hate these scenarios. Again, too many choices. Too many decisions. Too easy to take the easiest option, too tempting to just give up, too important to ignore, too much time to ponder the wisdom of your action by which time another set of choices make themselves apparent. You can hope the need for input goes away but it never does, it just adds complexity to a mind that's already stretched and searching for simplicity. In the opaque world nothing is as it seems, nothing brings comfort, nothing dampens enthusiasm as quickly, nothing drains your energy as swiftly, nothing requires more effort for less reward. But it does demand a response. It is unfortunately impossible to wholly ignore.

The trouble with opacity is immediate, do I or don't I and what follows?  I just can't cope with the opaque. Clarity is good and so is blank.

These are the bleugh days, the leave me alone days, the really can't be bothered days, the days when you just feel plain rotten. The days when any effort is too much. When you take refuge in the blankness that envelops you. Your mind is blank, in many ways it is like a comfort blanket. It is darkness with a degree of solidity. Impermeable. Impervious. Nothing. No idea. No choices, no decisions, no angst, no repercussions, no debate. Just blank. Calm. It may not be the best but it is an easy option. The blank mind is best left alone. Let it remain blank. Days can pass in this way. Last Friday, most of Sunday and Monday for example.

You never know what a day will be like till you get there, once there you don't know how long it'll last but that's all OK because we are promised grace for today regardless of what sort of day it is. Which is just as well because there is always the thought that one state can become another in an instant and rarely does it go from blank to clear but from clear there's only one way to go and often it does. Sometimes it even misses the interim state.

How do I feel? How can I answer in a way that anyone can understand? What does it matter, really? My friend Terry in NZ only ever asks, are you still vertical mostly and with a pulse? To which the answer is not mostly and yes.