Monday, 4 October 2010

It's not even All Saints yet...

But we're discussing suitable music for the carol service. As an unrepentant Steeleye Span fan, I'm holding out for Gaudete. Apart from being a favorite on its own merits, it's also seared into my memory from my years with the Young Singers, and so will negate at least a little of the nervous practicing which always goes ahead of these things.

And yesterday was my first Sunday Mass back at my home parish since my last operation at the end of June. One of the new priests at the parish uses incense, which is always a very pleasant assault on the senses.

Thursday, 30 September 2010


Yesterday evening was the first weekday Mass I have attended at my home parish for over six months. It was good. Thursday evenings, with the quiet of eucharistic adoration followed by the low-key simplicity of Mass, have been one of the great pleasures of my routine for the last year and a half, and their absence has not done me any good.

For all that the Mass is the Mass, and that it ultimately doesn't matter where one is or whether it is celebrated in accordance with one's personal tastes, I'm fallible enough to be happy to be back in my comfort zone.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Feast of St. Lawrence

Today is the Feast of St. Lawrence, the deacon and martyr who is, for me, most memorable for his quip made whilst being burned to death on a gridiron: "turn me over; this side is done." If only I endured my own modest discomforts with such good humour!

That said I am much improved. I picked the wrong time to start a blog, really, as I've had a ropey couple of weeks, but I will do my best to keep up with my original intention.

Friday, 30 July 2010

Time and Energy

I'm out and about now having had a fairly varied week with ups and downs in energy levels. I'm still easily tired out but sitting here doing not very much, I feel fine. It's a pity I'm in the Pennines rather than the Vale of York - there's just not much flat terrain to walk on here in Halifax.

This is the tough bit. I'm not quite well enough to get about under my own steam and actually do things on my own, but I am well enough to be grumpy about it. In some respects (although by no means all respects) being in hospital was rather easier.

I like anything which gives me routine. Back before March when my health took a sudden turn for the worse, I would get up at 7am each morning, which is not super-early, but it is earlier than I needed or wanted to and usually before my housemates. I'd pray morning prayer from the LoTH before going about my daily business. It was routine, and it was good.

Now my sleeping pattern is completely unpredictable, as are my energy and concentration levels, so I have all this time - more time than I have had since childhood school summer holidays - and seem to spend most of it playing Rome: Total War or reading Pffft.

Saturday, 24 July 2010

The Hospital Mystery Cult

Going into hospital for surgery strikes me as an almost religious experience. It might well be expected, of course, that a serious event like heart surgery would focus the mind on mortality and suffering, which naturally bring up all sorts of other thoughts. If one is religiously so inclined one will also seek out the anointing of the sick, bringing a genuinely sacramental aspect to the event. Whilst these things are certainly the case they are not quite what I have in mind here.

Admission to hospital for a planned procedure has many of the hallmarks of some kind of religious initiation. One enters as a normal person in ordinary clothing, in my case in superficially reasonable health and, over the course of a few hours, undergo a series of ritual acts in preparation for an act of great significance, stripping away one's ordinary self and being immersed into a new and alien experience.

Upon admission, and daily for a few days prior to admission, there is a ritual cleansing. In my case it was a five day course of pink clorhexidine shower gel intended to prevent me bringing in infections with me, particularly MRSA.

There are other bizarre rituals. First of these, in my experience, was the shaving. Having various parts of one's body shaved by another person in preparation for surgery is sufficiently out of everyday experience to lend an added air of otherness to the whole process.

There is a night in which you attempt to sleep in this unusual, institutional place, and then you are awoken with the dawn or before, usually far earlier than usual (if you have sleeping patterns like my own). Here you leave your ordinary self well and truly behind, discarding ordinary dress and putting on a strange robe, which will not be comfortable or practical from the point of view of the wearer.

Various sleeping draughts are administered. The first will ease you into an unusually calm state of consciousnesss so that the next couple of hours, awaiting the summons to the surgeon's sanctum, are not too anxious.

The second is a draught of temporary death, during which you experience nothing and yet under the influence of which changes of the most tangible sort will be wrought upon you.

You emerge to life once again in the artificial brightness and noise of intensive care, reduced to a state of utter dependence. At first you are even reliant upon others for your own breathing. Life is stripped down to its essentials.

There will be at least a week of recovery in hospital. Life in hospital is regimented, austere and with plenty of time to think - it is almost monastic. The drugs, the experience and the after effects of the heart/lung machine effect the mind - the next few days will see introspection and mood swings between euphoria and a deep sense of connectedness on one hand and discomfort and discouragement on the other.

The whole weird experience, even though I've been through it before, reminds me a little of some kind of religious initiation, especially some of the weirder religious experiences of the ancient world.

To blog or not to blog

I come to the idea of writing a blog with mixed feelings - do I have anything interesting to say? But some people seem to think I should, and it is not as if I lack the time to write it. If it is satisfying, I shall continue, and if it is not, I will not.

Who am I? I am English, male and in my mid twenties. I am a recent convert from Paganism to Roman Catholicism, entering RCIA just after Candlemas 2009, baptised on December 10th 2009 and received into the Church on Easter Sunday 2010.

I am currently undergoing treatment for complications arising from a congenital heart defect which flared up in March 2010. I have, it must be said, an awful lot of time on my hands.

These, then, are the basics.