This isn’t a post I’d ever want to write, but it’s also a post I’m delighted to write. Because I’m now home from hospital after recovering from serious virus-related pneumonia. I’d been ill for a week beforehand so had – luckily – been in isolation, I’d felt I was recovering but then started coughing non-stop, became breathless and eventually dialled 111 who sent paramedics.

I’ve been trying to work out how I can usefully share this information with everyone – I certainly don’t need sympathy now. Yes, it was one of the most scariest, loneliest and grim experiences I’ve ever had, but I’m one of the lucky ones. SO LUCKY.

However, there are things I learnt which I can share – so please do feel free to ask any questions you may have. I know there’s a difference between reading cold information and talking to someone who has been through it so I’m happy to talk if I can, although it  does feels important to say that this virus affects people in completely different ways. There’s not one answer to anything, but I’ll be happy to share my personal experience if it might help you. So here’s some of the things I learnt or was told…

  1. When you’re coughing, sit up if you can. Yes, it’s exhausting, and I just wanted to lie down and wait until it’s over, but as soon as I was told by a clever nurse to sit up, I could feel it was the right thing to do. I’m sure there’s science here if anyone wants to share, but one thing was that it allows phlegm to form which is better for your lungs.
  2. Drink water, water, water. A raging thirst was one of my symptoms but it’s also essential to get better.
  3. Have Vitamin C, as much as you can healthily stuff down you. I’ve developed an obsession with oranges.
  4. Do as many breathing exercises as you can bear. I love my yoga so I thought I’d be fine here, but the breathing it seemed I needed to do was through the mouth (now counter-intuitive to me) and out through pursed lips. One of the things I learnt is that breathing is everything. Everything.

And if you have a friend or relative going through this, here’s what you can do.

  1. Be careful with the messages you send. I was getting many concerned messages from friends and relatives that I just didn’t have any energy to deal with.  The truth was that I was concentrating on my own journey, rather than wanting to reassure others, so I either ignored them – sorry! – or sent a quick xx. The irony is that I loved reading most of them, often again and again, but I couldn’t manage answering SO be aware of this. Don’t overwhelm with your concerns, however well-meaning, but – if this is a close friend – do stay in touch. Just a picture of a tree, a dog or a sunset was magic, together with a quick line to say I was being thought of, no need to reply. One dear friend whatsapped at 3am to say she was awake and if I was, then she wanted me to know I wasn’t alone – that helped more than I can probably ever manage to tell her. MAKE IT CLEAR YOU DON’T EXPECT HEALTH UPDATES OR REPLIES, and if this isn’t a close friend or relative, then wait until they come out of hospital. Harsh of me, but I didn’t have the space to become part of someone else’s drama.
  2. Don’t expect them to bounce back. I’ve been home three days now and can only just manage walking up and down stairs without needing to rest. I might even think about reading a book soon – I certainly couldn’t have written this before. Recovery is a disappointingly long journey.
  3. Let them talk about what they’ve been through if they want. You’re all alone in the hospital room for what seems forever. Things go round and round in your mind, not all good. I’m very aware that there’s a temptation sometimes to want to draw a line under an experience like that, there are narratives we want to hear and those we don’t. I’m lucky. I have a partner and friends who have let me tell them exactly how scared I was, without wanting to immediately turn it into a ‘well, thank goodness you’re OK now’ story. Yes, I am OK, but all the dark stuff is somewhere inside now too.
  4. You don’t beat Corona. This isn’t a war story – you can’t be plucky and brave and fight it off. I might have thought this once, but I know now that I’ve lost my confidence in my own strength. I hope it comes back eventually, but the truth is that once the virus gets you – and it doesn’t seem to discriminate – then you just have to wait it out. Some people will have mild symptoms, others more ferocious. Never make someone feel as if they should have done more not to get it. BUT ALSO STAY HOME. This is serious.

AND LASTLY, oh God the NHS. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Those nurses and nursing staff at Pembury Hospital were amazing. I could tell exactly how scared they were to come into my room – I was a danger to them after all – but they still did. Every time. With kindness and compassion and professionalism. I will never stop being grateful to them. When this is all over, let’s not forget who it is exactly that we can’t live without.

 

Well, what strange times we are in. And although I’m one for seeing the silver lining wherever I can, I’m struggling at the moment. Small kindnesses, for sure. I do like your hat…

photo-1533055640609-24b498dfd74c

So it’s good to see some of the creative responses that are happening. Kathy Fish and Nancy Stohlman, for example, are offering free creative writing prompts here, and writer Carolyn Jess-Cooke is planning an online literary festival via twitter.

My friend, Sally Beazley-Long and I have paired up to play a little game using her art history expertise and my literary passion. I’ve been giving her poems and stories to match with paintings, and vice versa. We thought it would just be fun, but the results have been wonderful. A whole new layer to both the painting and the poem. Here are some:

For Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Still…

cindy

I matched Dorothy Parker’s short story, A Telephone Call.

And for William Stafford’s A Ritual to Read to Each Other, Sally gave me Marc Chagall’s Le Champ de Mars, 1955…

chagal

We paired Ellen Bass’s Eating the Bones with Jan Steen’s The Fat Kitchen. OF COURSE WE DID!

Steen, Jan, 1625/1626-1679; The Fat Kitchen

There are more that we’ll share over the next few weeks, but it’s such a lovely way of looking a bit closer than we might otherwise at both the poems and stories AND the paintings.

These are seeds that can only grow. And tomorrow I’m going to be planting real seeds out in the garden. Even in the rain, actually especially if it rains!

igYwebGnTzGRrRBvrk3ctg

 

 

I have been reading all the wonderful letters in the Dear Poet initiative on Poets.org – I find every one touching, both the questions from the school children and the care taken by the poets in responding.

writing letter

The correspondence from Alice Ostriker to her poem, Move, though was really moving. I wish I’d had a poet to write to when I was growing up – particularly one who would offer this lovely image: “I was not at all like the salmon or turtle that has no doubts–I only wished I were.”

Do read the poem before you read the letters, as many of the images are reflections of ‘Move’. And also because, although this project is for children, I think we all want to be:

Thirsty for a destiny like theirs,
An absolute right choice

And it’s got me thinking. Which poet would you write to, and about which poem?