The Scan (3)

After a ten week wait, I finally have my CT scan tomorrow. I've never waited this long for a scan before, it's been very stressful and has really stoked up my anxiety. It doesnt really help to learn that there are three million other people on NHS waiting lists in the UK at the same time. You have to get through the dark nights and difficult days yourself as best you can.

I've tried to take it one day at a time: some days have been bad, others have been better, few have actually been good. I found myself putting things off because I just couldnt commit to them when I could be called in to the hospital at short notice. The whole process grinds you down remorselessly. It's a type of torture that you have to do your best to resist. And when some other problem comes into your life, as inevitably happens, your stress levels go off the scale very easily.

Still, I've made it through the ten weeks reasonably intact - with plenty of help and support from friends and family. The scan itself, as far as medical procedures go, isnt too terrible. You sit and drink a liquid with metals in for an hour, then your take off your clothes and are laid on a narrow bed that sticks out from the scan machine. The operators retire to a glass fronted control room and the narrow bed slides you inside the machine. The machine whirrs and tells you to breathe in, hold your breath and breathe. It spins noisily around you for a while, stops, gives more instructions, spins again, stops and then slides you out.

You're done, you can go and get changed. Then the really bad waiting starts - for the results.

Scan

 

 

Awkward

on the skyline

a turreted house

the letter in my grasp

paint blisters

from the leaden door

one twist of the handle

and a draught sucks me in

overturned chairs

table laid for dinner

stove empty

 

the threshold

where steps echo down

to the knife-man basement

I crush the letter in my hand

and descend

a room

a single bed

I strip and lie supine

arms stretched beyond my head

 

Hold your breath

 

the wind howls

and the house spins around me

clothes broken plates and chairs fly

to the rattling walls and stick

my bed stays firm

the wind roars

and the house turns

every place I've lived screeches past my eyes

the wind eases

 

Breathe

 

 

 

 

This gothic poem was written during my long weeks of waiting.

 



Misty Mulranny

I'm just back from another great trip to Co Mayo with T. The Mulranny Park Hotel has an exceptional location overlooking Clew Bay and matches this with great friendliness and service (although we werent given the bridal suite this time). Each day we did go out on good walks and stuffed ourselves in the delightful Nephin Restaurant both before and after.

The first day of our trip was bright and sunny with clear blue skies so we did plenty of sightseeing, visiting Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery, Ballina and Lough Conn (see above) en route to the hotel. Next morning it was quite a shock to find the sea and land covered in mist. I checked the weather forecast and thought it would burn off so I headed out for a long hillwalk, the Corrannbinnia - Bengorm Horseshoe (T decided to go for a local walk).

 

By the time I reached the first summit the mist was thicker, giving about 20 yards visibility, so my options were either to return or go on using compass bearings. I was very unsure because I'd not done this sort of mountain navigation for many years (the Mournes are easy, in mist there's a wall to show you the way). I was also in mountains I'd never walked before. I decided to carry on for a little while and try to find the next summit on the route, if not I would retrace my steps.

Map in one hand, compass in the other, I headed on over very rough ground with no real trail. My old navigation skills, honed in the mountains of Snowdonia, were coming back to me despite the difficulties of walking bearings and estimating distance. The main problem was my glasses misting up with water droplets and not clearing too well as I wiped them again and again with what rapidly became a soggy handkerchief. I was overjoyed when the next summit appeared from the mist.

I paused, I could now return the way I had come or go on. I felt happy rediscovering my old skills and was enjoying the challenge, so I decided to continue. I found my way along a broken ridge then up a steep face to the summit of Corrannbinnia. The trig point loomed out of the mist and I stopped for a snack. Perhaps it was just my eyes, but the mist seemed to thin and I even thought I saw some watery sun for a few seconds, then it was swallowed up by the whiteness.

I was just over halfway around the horseshoe and it felt better to go on than to return. Suddenly the summit ridge narrowed into a rocky scramble and I traversed steep drops that, thankfully, I couldnt see. At the end of the summit ridge was a broad shoulder that the map showed as leading to a ridge that offered a reasonably safe way down. I set the bearing and headed off into the mist, keeping the steep edge to my left. Sodden hanky working overtime, I descended on a sheep track for the best part of an hour until I could see the valley again. I'd been in thick mist for well over 4 hours and had found my way around a complex of mountain ridges and safely back down again. I was delighted to pass this mountain leadership test.

The next day was again misty so we went to Achill Island sightseeing, beachwalking and birdwatching. There are still some great places on the island, Keem Strand and the Deserted Village especially, but since I first went there 15 years ago Achill has become afflicted with holiday homes blight. Bad Government policy and lax planning produce ugly results and a special place has become somewhat spoiled.

On our last day the wind came bringing sunshine and showers. We went for a long walk across peaty moorland to Lough Furnace and back via the Greenway. After a late lunch in Newport at Kelly's Cafe we visited the striking stained glass of Harry Clarke in the local church. The town was established by Ulster Quakers who brought linen weaving to Mayo. Afterwards we went sightseeing on the shores of Lough Carra, to Ballintubber Abbey and the excellent Castle Carra.

A longish drive back (four and a half hours, with a break in Manorhamilton) brought another great Mayo trip to a close. Tired but happy, we slept soundly.

 

Slieve Donard

A year ago I was in the early part of a journey to recover my health after a long illness. I hoped I would be able to become as fit and healthy as I was before I became ill. This was an aspiration, I knew I was on a journey of recovery and I didnt know how far I would be able to travel along it. So I imagined some ultimate achievements that would show I was fully fit again. One of these was to climb Slieve Donard.

As soon as I was mobile again after my cancer treatment I had begun to walk. I decided to walk every day: at first a little, then further, then for a quarter of an hour and so on. I walked on the roads around my house and then along the beach at Murlough with my friend Avril. Looking up I would see the saddle that divided the peaks of Slieve Donard and Slieve Commedagh and wondered if I would ever be able to go into the mountains again.

As time went on I completed a charity walk around Belfast and extended my walking into Tollymore and Castlewellan Forest Parks with plenty of rough trails and small hills. I then ventured into the Mournes on long upland trails to Lough Shannagh, Hare's Gap and the Brandy Pad.

Last December, I ascended my first real mountain - Slieve Meelbeg. I set out with some trepidation but it went well, the climb wasnt anything like as tough as I expected. After that I did hillwalk's once a week or so, choosing the better weather days and gradually ascending the other main summits of the Mournes. The last, of course, was Slieve Donard - the highest mountain in the north of Ireland at 2,789 ft.

On Thursday the sun shone brightly and I headed steadily up the river to the Ice House and along the glen to the base of the saddle. I stopped for tea from my flask and a snack then set off again up the steep path that curved up to the saddle. No-one was at the saddle and I felt in a good rhythm so I decided to keep on going up the last steep 1000 feet. I trudged steadily upwards beside the Mourne wall, choosing my footholds and trying to keep my breathing even. The wind pierced through gaps in the wall and brought the sharp croaks of a passing raven. A harbinger? I kept on, one foot after the other. As the ground began to even I looked up, the turret and trig point at the top was in sight.

I placed a stone on the summit cairn and relaxed. I could see Newcastle and the beach at Murlough shining below. I'd made it in good style, reaching the top of the mountain in half an hour from the saddle and a little over two hours from Newcastle.

The wind was strong and cold, I sheltered behind the wall and had more tea and food. The summit cairn is in fact a neolithic passage tomb, dating from 3000 BC, the highest ancient site in these islands. It is also associated with St Domanghairt (or Donard), a disciple of St Patrick, who it is said made pilgimages to the summit from his monastery in the village of Maghera and lived there as a hermit until his death in 507 AD.

Within five minutes a storm blew in and sleet began to fall. In ten more minutes the top of the mountain was carpeted white. I thought about the detachment of Royal Engineers who camped on the summit for four months in 1826, making it a base for the triangulations of the Ordnance Survey in this part of Ireland. Two of the party had died in a snowstorm.

The storm subsided and was gone as quickly as it had arrived. The sun came out again and the summit shone. I had completed my journey back to health and vitality. It was time to return.