It is 5.00am on 30th April 2021 and I am happy. I have just come out of my period of mourning for poor old Phil, a man who seemed to have enjoyed life no matter what trials and tribulations were thrown at him from a very early age, with his mad family childhood, through his marriage to a robot and having to watch his assorted brood go off the mental rails as he determinedly kept hold of sanity by hugging some decent females as they wallowed in the security of his royal maledom. From night club singers through royal followers, excellent jockeys, down right whores and ladies of all descriptions who just wanted love at any cost, Phil was there to help them overcome the hurdles of life. His sons tried it also but failed miserably for lack of chutzpah.
Lizzie understood this perfectly, enjoyed his honest tit-bits and allowed her sire to follow his head whilst she concerned herself mainly with matters of state, even allowing his last and latest frauendienst to attend his final, severely depopulated, rites at Windsor. Phil is now happy in the land of his maker and hopefully enjoying all the perks of that realm.
Also, I have to say, I am happy too. I am with my Selene who is doing a mighty fine job of looking after me in my old age and I have stopped worrying about this Covid thing but I still sometimes use the expletive when seeing some fool in our rural community wearing a mask, whilst their nearest neighbour is a cow or a horse and they many metres away chewing grass. My heart leaped last week on a visit to the Farmer’s Market in Carrick on Shannon to buy the fantastic sourdough bread our resident French Sligoman brings to the table every Thursday. In the crowded courtyard in the middle of town there was hardly a mask to be seen. Admittedly the voices heard had a foreign lilt who obviously were there for the money this computer age is throwing at people in the West of Ireland who know how to handle a key board. It is certainly a start unlike the traditional folk from Boyle who hide whatever character they have got behind a scruffy piece of muslim because they have not thought through the down right nonsense that the politicians of the western world are throwing at them.
I have come to terms with idiocy of high order. I realise I can live my life remotely from these foolish people. My only fear is because of my old age I tend to need the services of a doctor more than I ever used to. I get into a complete funk when within a mile of the surgery, because of the antics they put you through. They and their now goulish staff have been brainwashed. They actually believe the shit the politicians and media have thrown at them. In the process it has affected their personas. They are now no longer happy vibrant people. They are all scared stiff thinking they are martyrs to a cause that only non-thinkers believe in. They are curt, disdainful and unresponsive to enquiries made to them. They have now almost stopped answering the telephone to worried patients. Government figures tell me there are far more people dying happily at home then subjecting themselves to the rigours of our health care system. Those three words seem now to be a contradiction. There is no system and health care is no longer as we all have to suffocate behind a mask if we still believe in Hippocrates and his good work.
If the Hippocratic Oath or its modern day equivalent, the Declaration of Geneva 1948 and its many slight additions and the Nightingale Oath for nurses originally formed in 1893 and modified in 1935 are to be examined thoroughly it would seem both doctors and nurses are straying from their honourable pledges.
With the modern day wonders such as telephone, doctors no longer have to take the hard road and examine and talk face to face with patients they do not know. It can be done in a quick chat where patients cannot properly reveal their worries and doctors can just tick a box. Nurses similar who find it hard to work under present circumstances can easily stop caring for a person on the other end of a telephone. The personal character of both ancient traditions soon becomes impersonal and less caring. I might soon write a blog about these two oaths explaining how they now mean nothing to most.
There are however a few exceptions as with all disintegrations. My anciency makes me common with most medics. In fact all doctors now prefer indirect confrontation leaving most nurses to clear up the mess this causes. One notable exception in my case is my cardiac nurse, Rosemary Thorpe at Roscommon University Hospital who talks to me all the time contacting me way beyond her modern duties, assuring me of her constant care. Everyone else tends to treat me like a bag of shit needing to be disposed of quickly. They have become hardened by this Covid nonsense and no longer think of Florence’s nursing ideals.
So, as I said about four paragraphs ago, I have come to terms with this Covid nonsense and the retreat of the medical profession into their shells and the idiocy of people who live their lives like sheep and cannot question or wonder about why and how they are being lied to by government. All I ask of the nurse or doctor is to watch out for my vital signs and tell me if they weaken. I am not bothered about treatment, my time will come when it comes. As for the people, I can live without them, I can navigate myself through this complicated world that should not exist and after all I have my Selene who cares for me far better than old Hippocrates and Florence rolled into one.