Lucky

Every morning when I switch on the shower I am thankful. It’s just something that comes over me. I think of all the people who don’t have showers, don’t have food, don’t have safety, don’t have roofs. I think of people in Gaza who are starving, and who get shot when queueing for food. 

I am so fortunate. 

The trainee GP I saw ten days ago saw my Gaza bracelet and asked if I was from Gaza. 

“No,” I said, “but I can’t bear what is happening there. I can’t bear that the world is standing by and letting it happen.”

“I am from Gaza,” she said. 

We had a short conversation about it, but it was my eyes that filled with tears. 

She referred me to the hospital for a gastroscopy, and yesterday I had it.

The consultant gastroenterologist introduced himself with a name of Middle Eastern origins. And when he saw my bracelet he said “Fine bracelet.”

Everything went smoothly. I’d been nervous, but there was no need. The nurses were kind and efficient. The doctor was friendly and skilful. And I came home with the results of what they could see with the camera. The biopsy results will come later. I have some problems, but none of them are dire.

I am so grateful for the care of the NHS, damaged as it is by the purposeful neglect of previous governments. Will this one improve things? We’ll have to see.

I’m so grateful for Dave’s tender care, and for the love of my family and friends.

I’m so grateful for where I live.

This was me picking sweet peas in my pyjamas yesterday morning. 

Today I’ve been instructed by Dave to take it easy; it’s only 7 o clock and he’s already washed the kitchen and bathroom floors. What a guy! 

Liz is dropping by for a quick hello and to bring me some Welsh cakes. 

I’ve got it made.