This week's post is not, for once, about you-know-what. In fact, I'm not even going to mention it in passing.
Rather, my subject is my lifelong love of rock music; in particular, the loud, fast, aggressive form of rock known as heavy metal. It began in my early teens, when I discovered there was a great deal more to West Midlands favourites Slade than that Christmas song and I began exploring the back catalogue of such bands as Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath.
By the time I was ready for sixth form, I was regularly going to rock gigs at the old Birmingham Odeon and had a record collection which took up much of two cabinets in the living room of our house.
It was then that I first came into contact with Motorhead, through their 1979 album 'Bomber'. As loud, fast, aggressive as they come and thoroughly hated by my parents, it was the epitome of heavy metal.
But it was outdone by the 1980 album 'Ace of Spades', still one of the finest metal albums ever made, in my view. And even that was outclassed by the 1981 live production, 'No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith'. I remember a magazine review at the time saying that 'No Sleep..' was heavy metal at its finest. Thirty-five years later, I still don't think there has been a better example of the genre.
All this, of course, is by way of acknowledgement of the death this week at the age of 70 of Motorhead's frontman and bass player, Lemmy. Tales of his off-stage exploits are, of course, legendary; of how his prodigious capacity for drugs and alcohol meant he should have been dead years ago.
But I'm not interested in that here. I'm interested in how he and his band sold millions of records by almost single-handedly creating a style which you either loved or hated. No-one sang like Lemmy; no-one played bass guitar like Lemmy; bands which today are considered rock legends in their own right, such as Metallica, Megadeth and Slayer acknowledge that they were inspired by Lemmy and Motorhead.
He once said "If I died tomorrow, I couldn't complain. It's been good." Which is a pretty good way to look at life and one which plenty of survivors of that thing I'm not mentioning this week might aspire to as they survey their life.
In the official announcement of his death, his band-mates urged fans to play his music LOUD in his memory. I have and I will continue to do so. And I'll remember all the good memories that music brought me over the years.
Seek out 'No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith.' You might love it, you might hate it, but you certainly can't ignore it. And we all want to be remembered in some way when we're gone, don't we?
Wednesday 30 December 2015
Wednesday 23 December 2015
A year to look forward to
Marking last week's second anniversary of my stroke caused me to overlook the fact that it was also the first birthday of this blog.
If you've been with me all through that time, you'll know that The Warrior was born as a means of helping me mark my first strokeversary and as a way to get my message about stroke education across to more people.
It's certainly done that. As of today (December 23 2015) this blog has had 5,901 page views; not an enormous number and certainly nowhere near enough for me to make any money out of blogging, but proof that plenty of people are interested enough in my story to seek me out.
As with every writer, I do enjoy knowing that people read my stuff, but that's been part of me ever since I got my first byline in the Tamworth Herald in March 1986.
In 2016, you'll also be able to see me. I'm putting to good use knowledge gleaned from those who know far more about the technical side of social media than I do and although I keep coming up against stumbling blocks (partly of my own making, I must admit), I will be on video through Periscope and YouTube in the new year. After all, every other journalist I know seems to have to do videos of their stories these days.
I am also keen to become involved in a new support group for stroke-survivors and their carers which a friend of mine is hoping to get off the ground. I cannot say too much, but anyone who knows The Warrior will know that improving the quantity and quality of support and help for those who have to live with and deal with us strokies on a daily basis is one of my passions.
Plenty to look forward to in 2016, then. But, of course, my mantra is that there is plenty to look forward to in every day if only you go and look for it. That's especially true tomorrow, Christmas Eve. There's whiskey to drink to celebrate Mrs Warrior's mother's birthday. And I've still got Christmas presents to buy.
If you've been with me all through that time, you'll know that The Warrior was born as a means of helping me mark my first strokeversary and as a way to get my message about stroke education across to more people.
It's certainly done that. As of today (December 23 2015) this blog has had 5,901 page views; not an enormous number and certainly nowhere near enough for me to make any money out of blogging, but proof that plenty of people are interested enough in my story to seek me out.
As with every writer, I do enjoy knowing that people read my stuff, but that's been part of me ever since I got my first byline in the Tamworth Herald in March 1986.
In 2016, you'll also be able to see me. I'm putting to good use knowledge gleaned from those who know far more about the technical side of social media than I do and although I keep coming up against stumbling blocks (partly of my own making, I must admit), I will be on video through Periscope and YouTube in the new year. After all, every other journalist I know seems to have to do videos of their stories these days.
I am also keen to become involved in a new support group for stroke-survivors and their carers which a friend of mine is hoping to get off the ground. I cannot say too much, but anyone who knows The Warrior will know that improving the quantity and quality of support and help for those who have to live with and deal with us strokies on a daily basis is one of my passions.
Plenty to look forward to in 2016, then. But, of course, my mantra is that there is plenty to look forward to in every day if only you go and look for it. That's especially true tomorrow, Christmas Eve. There's whiskey to drink to celebrate Mrs Warrior's mother's birthday. And I've still got Christmas presents to buy.
Wednesday 16 December 2015
Strokeversary thoughts
How should one mark the anniversary of an event which nearly killed you and in any event, changed your life irrevocably?
Unsurprisingly, it's a question which stroke-survivors ask ourselves and our fellow strokies a lot. Do we mourn for the life we lost on that day and the old version of us which went with it? Or do we celebrate the fact that we survived to tell the tale and enjoy all the things we have done with our 'new' lives since then?
Do we continue treating each new day as a blessing, 24 hours to be enjoyed and appreciated as much as we can? Do we look back in anger and ask 'why me?' Or do we, like Oasis, decide not to take that path and instead ask "Why not me, I'm no different to anyone else'?
Of course, there's a reason for all this philosophical musing. Today, Wednesday December 16 2015, is the second anniversary of the afternoon when, as I've said a million times since, I suffered a stroke while crossing a busy road near my home in Tamworth, collapsed and was nearly run over by a 47-seater bus.
I pass the scene of the crime almost every day, so I long since stopped suffering from flashbacks about it, which I know trouble many strokies. But it's inevitable that this day will cause me to stop and think. What was I doing? Where had I been? Did I have any warning? (Answer - no). Is there anything I would have done differently? (Answer - no. There are two routes I could have taken from Tamworth railway station to Warrillow Towers and taking the other route would only have seen me collapse on a busier road).
And the next few weeks will, I'm sure, be full of memories. Being rushed to hospital. Spending four weeks there over Christmas and New Year. Being paralysed for a while. Starting the painful process of re-learning how to walk and talk and write and generally survive. Being thrown into the world of the disabled person. All the inevitable questions about my future (many of which are still unresolved two years later).
It's been an extraordinary journey; it still is and I don't see it stopping any time soon. One full of ups and downs, one which is unpredictable from one day to the next. I wish I wasn't facing up to the prospect of never doing full-time work again - I'm far too young for that. I wish being a strokie didn't sometimes seem to define my life. I wish I could walk properly. I wish I wasn't brain-damaged. I wish I didn't have to take blood-thinners, watch my alcohol intake, be on a seemingly never-ending treadmill of medical appointments. I sometimes wish people didn't ask me "How are you" and mean it. I'm fine, by the way. I got up this morning and I'm breathing; that'll do.
But I'm grateful that I wake up every morning to face another day. I'm grateful for all the new experiences I've had, for all the wonderful people I've met and continue to meet, both virtually and in real life; I'm grateful for whatever put me on the long road to trying to qualify as a counsellor, I'm grateful, as so many strokies say, for a second chance at life.
So I won't be miserable today; I won't mourn my old life. Yes, I'll think about the events of December 16 2013 and immediately after but I've moved on to my new life. I might even take the advice of one of my best strokie friends who said the best way to mark the day was 'get a few bottles of cheap wine and just get p***ed' (as much as I'm allowed to, given my tablets and my streaming cold).
But, like Oasis, I definitely don't see the point of looking back in anger. It's happened, there's nothing I can do about it, I just have to get on with whatever life throws at me. And Warriors tend to be pretty good at that.
Unsurprisingly, it's a question which stroke-survivors ask ourselves and our fellow strokies a lot. Do we mourn for the life we lost on that day and the old version of us which went with it? Or do we celebrate the fact that we survived to tell the tale and enjoy all the things we have done with our 'new' lives since then?
Do we continue treating each new day as a blessing, 24 hours to be enjoyed and appreciated as much as we can? Do we look back in anger and ask 'why me?' Or do we, like Oasis, decide not to take that path and instead ask "Why not me, I'm no different to anyone else'?
Of course, there's a reason for all this philosophical musing. Today, Wednesday December 16 2015, is the second anniversary of the afternoon when, as I've said a million times since, I suffered a stroke while crossing a busy road near my home in Tamworth, collapsed and was nearly run over by a 47-seater bus.
I pass the scene of the crime almost every day, so I long since stopped suffering from flashbacks about it, which I know trouble many strokies. But it's inevitable that this day will cause me to stop and think. What was I doing? Where had I been? Did I have any warning? (Answer - no). Is there anything I would have done differently? (Answer - no. There are two routes I could have taken from Tamworth railway station to Warrillow Towers and taking the other route would only have seen me collapse on a busier road).
And the next few weeks will, I'm sure, be full of memories. Being rushed to hospital. Spending four weeks there over Christmas and New Year. Being paralysed for a while. Starting the painful process of re-learning how to walk and talk and write and generally survive. Being thrown into the world of the disabled person. All the inevitable questions about my future (many of which are still unresolved two years later).
It's been an extraordinary journey; it still is and I don't see it stopping any time soon. One full of ups and downs, one which is unpredictable from one day to the next. I wish I wasn't facing up to the prospect of never doing full-time work again - I'm far too young for that. I wish being a strokie didn't sometimes seem to define my life. I wish I could walk properly. I wish I wasn't brain-damaged. I wish I didn't have to take blood-thinners, watch my alcohol intake, be on a seemingly never-ending treadmill of medical appointments. I sometimes wish people didn't ask me "How are you" and mean it. I'm fine, by the way. I got up this morning and I'm breathing; that'll do.
But I'm grateful that I wake up every morning to face another day. I'm grateful for all the new experiences I've had, for all the wonderful people I've met and continue to meet, both virtually and in real life; I'm grateful for whatever put me on the long road to trying to qualify as a counsellor, I'm grateful, as so many strokies say, for a second chance at life.
So I won't be miserable today; I won't mourn my old life. Yes, I'll think about the events of December 16 2013 and immediately after but I've moved on to my new life. I might even take the advice of one of my best strokie friends who said the best way to mark the day was 'get a few bottles of cheap wine and just get p***ed' (as much as I'm allowed to, given my tablets and my streaming cold).
But, like Oasis, I definitely don't see the point of looking back in anger. It's happened, there's nothing I can do about it, I just have to get on with whatever life throws at me. And Warriors tend to be pretty good at that.
Wednesday 9 December 2015
So what do you know about your brain?
What do you have stuck to the side of your fridge? A calendar? A parish newsletter? A fridge magnet or six? I've got all of the above but perhaps the most important thing is a factsheet produced by Headway, the brain injury association.
It's six pages of facts you probably didn't know about that thing which sits inside your skull and controls the various different parts of our daily lives.
For instance, the brain weighs about 3lb or just under 1.5kg. It's made up of around 100 billion nerve cells and even more support cells which nourish the nerve cells. And if those two facts don't make you think, did you know that the brain has the texture of a blancmange? (I hate blancmange, lol...).
When the brain is damaged in any way, by a stroke or some other form of traumatic head injury, the effect is similar to that of vigorously shaking a plate of blancmange; it shears and tears, disrupting the pathways of communication between those billions of cells. That's possibly why I've heard people say that having a stroke is like having a nuclear bomb go off in your head; it is not unlike the effect a nuclear bomb would have if it were to go off on dry land (and in my case, that's exactly what it felt like).
Obviously, this can be devastating; it's why some stroke-survivors lose the ability to walk, speak, write, read, see......It's also why recovery can take so long. All of those billions of cells can eventually reconfigure themselves but it can take years; someone once described it to me as like trying to get to London from the West Midlands but the M1 is shut; you have to go down the A5 and you haven't used the A5 for 50 years, so you have to look at every road sign, check your map, reconfigure your satnav and it all takes ten times as long.
Consequently, some recoveries are quicker than others. Just a week short of my second anniversary, I probably look as if I've recovered more or less completely from a physical standpoint. My brain, that 3lb lump of blancmange inside my skull, will tell you otherwise. I've been reading the latest report from my consultant about some tests I had done on my brain a couple of months ago. Obviously, a fair amount of it is written in complex medical language, but I'm smart enough to be able to understand phrases such as 'likely permanent deficit."
But a lot of stroke-survivors don't accept the medical view that once you've reached a certain level of recovery, that's it. We believe that with constant mental and physical stimulation, we can keep recovering. I know people who are 18 years post-stroke and still think they are getting better, that those billions of cells are reconfiguring themselves.
For me, there is no other way to think (even when Emily is being brutal with me, lol). Otherwise, I might just as well sit in a chair and fester for however long the medical profession thinks I'll live. It's hard at times, I do let myself down at times (don't I, Emily?) but I didn't get that Warrior tattoo for nothing; and if I'm going to have to live with that image of a blancmange inside my skull for the rest of my life, I might as well be trying to put that broken blancmange back together.
It's six pages of facts you probably didn't know about that thing which sits inside your skull and controls the various different parts of our daily lives.
For instance, the brain weighs about 3lb or just under 1.5kg. It's made up of around 100 billion nerve cells and even more support cells which nourish the nerve cells. And if those two facts don't make you think, did you know that the brain has the texture of a blancmange? (I hate blancmange, lol...).
When the brain is damaged in any way, by a stroke or some other form of traumatic head injury, the effect is similar to that of vigorously shaking a plate of blancmange; it shears and tears, disrupting the pathways of communication between those billions of cells. That's possibly why I've heard people say that having a stroke is like having a nuclear bomb go off in your head; it is not unlike the effect a nuclear bomb would have if it were to go off on dry land (and in my case, that's exactly what it felt like).
Obviously, this can be devastating; it's why some stroke-survivors lose the ability to walk, speak, write, read, see......It's also why recovery can take so long. All of those billions of cells can eventually reconfigure themselves but it can take years; someone once described it to me as like trying to get to London from the West Midlands but the M1 is shut; you have to go down the A5 and you haven't used the A5 for 50 years, so you have to look at every road sign, check your map, reconfigure your satnav and it all takes ten times as long.
Consequently, some recoveries are quicker than others. Just a week short of my second anniversary, I probably look as if I've recovered more or less completely from a physical standpoint. My brain, that 3lb lump of blancmange inside my skull, will tell you otherwise. I've been reading the latest report from my consultant about some tests I had done on my brain a couple of months ago. Obviously, a fair amount of it is written in complex medical language, but I'm smart enough to be able to understand phrases such as 'likely permanent deficit."
But a lot of stroke-survivors don't accept the medical view that once you've reached a certain level of recovery, that's it. We believe that with constant mental and physical stimulation, we can keep recovering. I know people who are 18 years post-stroke and still think they are getting better, that those billions of cells are reconfiguring themselves.
For me, there is no other way to think (even when Emily is being brutal with me, lol). Otherwise, I might just as well sit in a chair and fester for however long the medical profession thinks I'll live. It's hard at times, I do let myself down at times (don't I, Emily?) but I didn't get that Warrior tattoo for nothing; and if I'm going to have to live with that image of a blancmange inside my skull for the rest of my life, I might as well be trying to put that broken blancmange back together.
Wednesday 2 December 2015
Supermarket stress
I had a message this week from a fellow-strokie who told me that last week's blog made her laugh out loud. In a good way, obviously.
Well, it's certainly my intention to cheer people up with what I write, but that's the first time in nearly a year that I've had a reader say that. I'm not quite sure what she'll make of this week's effort.
I've mentioned previously about the mood-swings which can afflict stroke-survivors; and I've often commented on how we don't cope well with stress. In my own case, if I get too stressed, I get thunderous headaches and a feeling that the top of my head is going to explode.
Come with me, then, to Monday morning this week and my local branch of a well-known German discount supermarket. For reasons I won't trouble you with, we weren't able to do the weekly shop on Saturday or Sunday so I ventured out on my own to start the week (No, don't suggest online shopping......)
I was there by 8.30am because busy places trouble me (another effect of strokie-dom) and was doing pretty well until I got to within five yards of the till area - at which point I realised I'd come out without any money or any other means of paying. We all do it, of course - I once had to wait on a petrol-station forecourt while Mrs W ran home to get some cash to pay for £40 of unleaded - but strokies worry more than others about such things.
Happily, because Warrillow Towers is only over the road and most of the staff know me, I was able to park the trolley somewhere safe inside the store, 'sprint' home (OK, I don't sprint...) collect my debit card and pay for the goods.
At which point, I thought my stress was over. Until I got to the car, loaded the bags in the boot, got in the driver's seat, switched on the engine, put the car into reverse and moved two inches backwards. At which point I heard a loud banging noise behind me.
Now having just gone through a difficult and expensive insurance claim after a disagreement with a bollard in a hospital car park, noises like that worry me. So I looked round and saw an elderly gentleman banging fiercely on the boot of my car. I recognised him from earlier; I'd seen him in the store getting into arguments with other customers and demanding that the staff get out of the way of his wife, who was using two walking sticks. I'd describe him as one of those people who thinks his wife is the only disabled person on the planet and that the world revolves around her.
I wound down the window and, trying to keep my cool, asked him to stop banging and pointed out that it wasn't terribly safe to walk two inches behind a reversing car if you have trouble walking. He replied rather fiercely, wondering again if I knew that his wife was on sticks and couldn't walk too quickly. At which point, I'm afraid I lost it.
I shouted that I'd seen him being argumentative in the store, that I was also disabled, that I had a Blue Badge and was entitled to it and that if he continued like that, he was asking for trouble. I'm afraid I might have sworn under my breath. He certainly swore under his.
Now I wasn't going to have a physical argument with two elderly disabled people in a supermarket car park, so I floored the accelerator and left the scene. But the incident troubled me all day. I'd done nothing wrong; yet had I over-reacted? I had one of those thunderous headaches all morning and couldn't concentrate on some college work. I was so tired that I fell asleep for an hour in the afternoon.
It wasn't a nice incident and it's worried me all week. I shall certainly avoid him in future. And it shows how fragile a strokie's emotions can be. Previously, I'd have shrugged it off. Now, I'm finding that difficult.
Comments, anyone?
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