“Oi! That’s my bathwater you’re splashing about!”
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“Stop it I said!”
“You there! Tell your pal to stop!”
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“Spike, you’re making rather a mess.”
“We are visitors after all.”
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“There. Happy?”
“No! You used up half my water! “
“Beastly sticky-beak!”
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“Furthermore you put dirty feet in it.”
“Grumpy little sparrow isn’t he?”
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“Sticky-beaks think they can come here and mess up our water supply.”
“You FAT UGLY BIRD!”
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“Master Sparrow you didn’t have to be so rude.”
“Now he’s offended.”
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“Good…Fat ugly sticky-beak!”
“Oh Master Sparrow!”
“I can’t listen to this.”
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“Spike isn’t it?”
” Apologies for Master Sparrow.”
“The white stuff makes him tetchy.”
“He worries about our water supply.”
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“Master Sparrow’s not a bad bird.”
“Never minds sharing his seeds.”
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“Sorry squirt.”
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“That was an apology.”
“No need to go away mad.”
” Stoopid sparrow.”
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Just hours before the recent snow, we ventured a very short distance down a previously unexplored side road.
MapQuest had alerted me to the existence of a tiny park beside the Battenkill in Greenwich.
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Our route takes us over a short bridge and I always had a yen to take a look but you can’t actually stop there.
It’s taken us 5 years to realise that the river bends here and the newly-discovered park is less than 1/2 a mile from the park we were at last week, on the other side.
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We also hadn’t realised that there is a second weir.
It was a brilliant day with a sharp cold wind but we enjoyed the sound of rushing water and the calls of wildfowl.
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An old tree trunk was caught up.
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The overpass was in a rather bad state of repair.
It wasn’t dangerous but one needed to tread carefully and looking at the water I wondered how long one would last, bobbing about in it.
Just then Grant said:
“You’d soon croak in that!”
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It reminded me of a night half a lifetime ago when I was on a cruise in Antarctica. Depression caught up with me that day and I remember wailing:
“If it wasn’t so damn cold I’d throw myself overboard!”
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It made my intentions seem a little less than serious
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For a very long time I thought about suicide constantly but I also knew I would never do it and I berated myself for being cowardly.
In that state of mind you berate yourself for everything.
It wasn’t the act itself I feared, it was the what-ifs.
What if it’s worse on the other side?
What if you get bad karma?
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Anyway, what I wanted was to shock certain people who I believed had failed me, to make them realise how hurt I was.
But I wouldn’t be around for the satisfaction and besides it was just as likely they would say:
“Oh what a nuisance!”
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My doctor at the time told me he thought I was not depressed, that I was unhappy, but the pit of despair was often so deep I didn’t think being merely unhappy could be so black.
It wasn’t the sort of thing where you just needed to pull yourself together or stop feeling sorry for yourself.
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People who say those things to you have no idea how much extra pain they cause, like sticking a knife in and twisting it.
There was another reason I was never going to kill myself though I did not accept it at the time.
Basically, I held out hope that things would change, that life would get better.
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Consciously, I did not believe anything would improve because I am deeply pessimistic, but there must have been a faint glimmer.
To get through my day I took fiorinal which was prescribed for severe headaches. It was effective for the pain and it gave me a lift.
Additionally, I took zanax for anxiety. As well as over-the-counter pain medication.
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There was never a problem getting the prescriptions refilled. I didn’t exceed the dosage but I took the fiorinal even when I had no headache.
A friend was a pharmacist and she was alarmed to hear what I was taking but she didn’t interfere.
That the anxiety medication was addictive was never mentioned and I wonder if I would have taken it if I had known.
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Fiorinal can also be addictive, especially in the amounts I was taking, but luckily it never did get its hooks into me.
Moving to Washington, I had a new set of doctors and I stopped taking it.
Very slowly, with the change of scene and other things, I began to climb out of the dark pit.
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Along the way I enlisted the help of numerous psychiatrists and psychologists, all the while aware of the stigma that was attached.
Those therapists helped me, some more than others, but I held back my blackest thoughts and frequently claimed to be feeling better because I didn’t want to appear to be a failure.
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Often I worried that I was being too difficult or that I was burdening my therapist.
Oh yes, I told myself not to be so stupid!
But twice I had a therapist fall asleep while I was talking.
It must be hard sometimes for therapists to avoid having this happen. I knew I shouldn’t take it personally but it is hard not to when you already have issues with rejection!
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In Washington I still suffered with headache but it was less severe. For anxiety I now took lorazepam.
Again, there was no mention of addiction or withdrawal.
My father died in 2005, the last of my responsibilities and the following year my spine fell to bits. It had been in the process for quite some time, but it became debilitating.
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Eventually I had a multi-level spinal fusion and heavy-duty painkillers were administered with an on-going prescription.
Early retirement was the only sensible option for me and once I was more or less mobile again, I set out to do what I had always intended, help animals.
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“Rescuing” cats was never going to be easy, but it was what I wanted to do and doing what you want makes anything possible.
Yeti’s Kitty Suites ran for nearly a decade before finances dictated it should end.
No longer happy in Washington, I decided one day to come back to New York, but Upstate, in the country.
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There was another set of doctors, although I no longer seemed to need psycho-therapy.
Then came the “opiod-crisis”.
Getting my pain medication became a monthly ordeal which caused a great deal of unnecessary stress because in the meantime, I had twice found myself hospitalised and deprived of my prescribed anxiety and pain medication.
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Hospitals ask for a list of your medications and tell you not to bring any of it with you.
Then they withhold it. I worked out why this was, but not until I had been in withdrawal twice.
It is hell on earth.
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The upshot of all this was that I weaned off the opiate, I was never addicted to it. I was physically habituated. Oxycodone never gave me a lift, mentally. Getting off it was quite unpleasant, but fine…
Then my young doctor wanted me off the anxiety medication which I have been on for 40 years+.
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(You see these geese?!!)
By now, I had scaled back to the smallest possible dosage but that last bit? Just to give the doctor more brownie points with his employer?
So I abandoned him and found myself a young female physician. I won’t say what I called her.
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Another doctor was located. Also a young man. Not knowing what to expect, I was a bundle of nerves.
He was so nice. He listened. He actually looked at me instead of typing on a laptop. He was kind.
Too good to be true. On Boxing Day I got a letter to say that he is leaving the practice.
Sigh.
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Here we go again. Maybe.
The physician I have been re-assigned to is a woman who specialises in the elderly.
I shall go with an open mind.
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Brain took off on the mention of ice and led me somewhat astray, again.
The only interesting thing about what I have written is its very ordinariness.
By which I mean that any average person who sees a doctor can so easily find themselves on medication that in the long term can be very harmful.
My parents lived to be 85 and 93 and never took more than an asprin.
I’m so glad that you didn’t throw yourself overboard! My life would have have been missing that Carolyn shaped blogging friend who tells all these great stories and shares marvellous photographs. Love and hugs to you, as always. 🤗🧡
You’re so kind!
That is all some saga. And have to say – so glad you climbed out of that pit and that you write this blog. You are my pal who gets the animals to talk. Best of luck with the new doc. Hope persistence pays off. All best!
Thank you Josie!
Have you ever heard that comment “One day you’re young and vivacious and filled with plans for the future and the next you’re admiring the birds?”
I spent way too much time admiring the birds in your photos.
No, I hadn’t heard that! But I have always looked at birds. Always will.
It’s hard to imagine the birds enjoying a cold bath in the middle of winter! I really enjoyed your bird conversations – what a wonderful imagination you have! You’ve come a long way to where you are today and for that I have a lot of respect. You might look back and be glad that it was too cold to jump into that water on the cruise in Antarctica (I couldn’t help it, but that comment made me smile). Now let me return to your post to look at your photos, because your story was far too poignant that I forgot to look at your beautiful photos.
I liked the photos of the weir, and I am very glad that you didn’t jump overboard from the cruise ship.
Best wishes, Pete.