Bed 12
Page 14
* * *
Five years later. I still have no recall of what happened during my time in ICU, but an unexpected thing has happened. In the last few weeks my hearing has begun to improve. Since the illness music has been an unpleasant blur which I have preferred to avoid. Now I find I am beginning to distinguish pitches again. At an event to mark the 60th anniversary of the Hungarian revolution I sit back with a smile, re-united with an old friend – the pounding rhythms and proud folk melodies of Allegro Barbaro.
Afterword
Alison Murdoch has made a really important contribution with Bed 12. We need more literature around the impact of encephalitis on people and their family members. Alison’s story provides this while also raising much-needed awareness of a condition which is more common than many other illnesses that receive more public and clinical attention: for example, motor neurone disease or certain forms of meningitis.
Narratives also have an active role to play in helping both the public and professionals understand the impact of this devastating neurological condition on those who survive it, on those who are family members and on those who are left bereaved. For people directly affected by encephalitis, such stories support their understanding, and help them make sense of what has happened. They can validate experiences and help reduce the sense of isolation and loneliness that individuals so often feel after unexpected trauma or illness.
Finally, narratives can prove to be a source of hope and inspiration, like this wonderful book, which is Alison and Simon’s story. From experience I know how very valuable their contribution will be to those who sadly, but inevitably, will also experience encephalitis.
Dr Ava Easton, Chief Executive, The Encephalitis Society
SOME FAVOURITE POEMS AND PRAYERS FROM THAT TIME
Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.
Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.
If you don’t realise the source,
you stumble in confusion and sorrow.
When you realize where you come from,
you naturally become tolerant,
disinterested, amused,
kindhearted as a grandmother,
dignified as a king.
Immersed in the wonder of the Tao,
you can deal with whatever life brings you,
and when death comes, you are ready.
LAO TZU TAO TE CHING, CHAPTER 16,
ENGLISH VERSION BY STEPHEN MITCHELL
Because You Love Me
Your eyes are mirrors
of blessed reflections
because they watched me.
You have wisdom
you’re the master of love,
when you caress me.
A thousand blessings
gentle madam,
because you watched me
because you have seen me.
Because you love so much,
I love you the most,
Because you love me,
you are the Woman,
you are the finest.
ADY ENDRE
(A Valentine’s gift from Simon, 14th February 2012)
May Our Friendship Last Forever
May our friendship last forever;
May I sail upon your sea.
May we go through life together;
May there always be a ‘we’.
May I be your endless sky;
May you breathe my gentle air.
May you never wonder why
Each time you look for me, I’m there.
May we be for each a smile
Like the warm, life-giving sun;
Yet when we’re in pain awhile,
May our suffering be one.
May we share our special days,
The happiness of one for two;
And if we must go separate ways,
May my love remain with you.
NICHOLAS GORDON
(I came across this poem at a wedding service, and when Simon was unconscious made a ritual of reading it aloud in bed every night, before I went to sleep.)
Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the silent hours of this night, so that we, who are wearied by the changes and chances of this fleeting world, may repose upon thy eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(from the Office of Compline; p0sted on the Facebook page by our friend Mhairi)
Watch, O Lord, With Those Who Wake
Watch, O Lord, with those who wake,
or watch, or weep tonight,
and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend your sick ones, O Lord Christ.
Rest your weary ones.
Bless your dying ones.
Soothe your suffering ones.
Pity your afflicted ones.
Shield your joyous ones.
And for all your love’s sake. Amen.
SAINT AUGUSTINE
We Cannot Measure How We Heal
We cannot measure how you heal
Or answer every sufferer’s prayer;
Yet we believe your grace responds
Where faith and doubt unite to care.
Your hands, though bloodied on the cross,
Survive to hold and heal and warn,
To carry all through death to life
and cradle children yet unborn.
So some have come who need your help,
And some have come to make amends
As hands which shaped and saved the world
Are present in the touch of friends.
Lord, let your Spirit meet us here
To mend the body, mind and soul,
To disentangle peace from pain
And make your broken people whole.
JOHN BELL AND GRAHAM MAULE
(from Love From Below, Wild Goose Publications, 1989)
Closed Path
I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power – that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
Dear God, Dear Barbican Poets, Dear Simon—
With all depth of emotion, with all the wonder of my heart, with all the intuition and language and instinct and questioning and celebration that comes from living on this planet – I pray, I dance, I shape a living poem in my body for you, Simon, for you, God, for you Barbican poets, for all who are connected to Simon’s huge Beingness.
May my body in its intention be a prayer, one in which your spirit, Simon, is lifted and held in joy, in healing, in timekeeping of your own invention! In every blink of my eye I am affirming your life, Simon, and its spacious inclusion of so many myriad lives, my own included.
And last of all, I send – in this body-prayer-poem – the thing we cannot ever put into a jar, dissect under the microscope, diagnose, tweet, politically elect or extract in its original form from sacred texts: I send love – for that is what I feel for you, for the poets you gathered at the Barbican, and the police officers and troubled youths you gave me in Brixton, and for the world of people who love you and those who have yet to know your spectacular open arms.
In the Grace of the Known and the Unknown,
CHRISTINE HEMP, WASHINGTON, USA
(Christine previously led a poetry group that we attended, called the Barbican Poets, and participated in a poetry project that Simon designed for police officers and young people in Brixton, South London).
&
nbsp; And finally . . .
The Germ
A mighty creature is the germ
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.
OGDEN NASH