Patriot Realm

In those heady days of childhood,back in the 1950's, I was like most kids. I ricocheted from one scraped knee to another. A fall off my bike and a chipped tooth, broken arm or head wound from a low flying rock hurled by a neighbourhood adversary were part of everyday life. I wore my scars with pride and valiantly returned to school the next day and limped or sighed in pain and recounted the tale of how I had been so afflicted.

With a little embellishment for drama's sake and to make a story more engaging, things would be ever so slightly exaggerated for the greatest effect and outpouring of sympathy and awe.

The hill I sped down on my bike became a little bit steeper and longer; the speed with which I was travelling increased and the reality of a clumsy misstep on the pedals amplified. As I hurtled through the air and chipped my tooth on the handlebars had become a scene from a Bollywood action movie and I was the stunt coordinator.

Playing silly buggers in a tree and falling out of said tree was a rite of passage. All the while, I learned how to climb a tree with greater care; ride a bike with more caution and still managed to fall out, fall off or fall down. It was part of being a kid.

As I have aged, fear of injury has increased. Recovery takes longer. There is no pride in being wounded anymore. No embellishment. If anything I tend to downplay my injuries for fear of being judged as a clumsy oldie with " health issues. "

I tend to be more like the Black Knight in Monty Python " 'Tis but a scratch " and privately agonise over the pain and the impact the " scratch " will have on my day-to-day life. 

I no longer bounce back like I once did. The realisation that I am not 10 foot tall and bullet proof weighs heavily on my mind.

Long gone are the halcyon days of being able to fly. Long gone are the days when a tumble means a bruise or a grazed knee. And long gone are the days when I would be up and about with a scar to mark my adventure.

Now it can be weeks before I can truly function normally again. Aging has given me greater wisdom in my thinking, but when I make an error in judgement physically, I must accept the consequences of those actions with greater solemnity than I once did.

Earlier this week, I took a tumble on my way to the bathroom and went head over tail on the wet tile floor. I ripped a damned fine gash on my wrist and landed with my head on the washing machine. My knee took the brunt of the tumble and, in one second, things went from normal to disastrous. 

Barely able to walk, life has become a slow passage of time as I allow the healing process to do its job. Things I took for granted - like making a cup of tea, going to the toilet, having a shower, making a meal, are all things of dread. I know that I must be patient, but it is a chore to accept the things I cannot change. That time heals all wounds. 

 Tread carefully. Walk slowly. Look where you are going. Think before you act. All these sayings run through my mind and I think to myself " If only I had been more careful. "

I suppose if I am to draw an analogy from my tale it would be this:

That our governments and so-called leaders are speeding on ahead with plans whose consequences are largely unknown. With vaccine mandates, punishment for the unvaccinated who will lose their jobs and livelihoods to the ramifications of net zero emission targets, we are in for a wealth of pain in the future.

My biggest concern is that the injuries may be permanent and recovery impossible.

They should be treading carefully, walking slowly and thinking before they act.

Because I think we are all going to come a cropper. And it won't be pretty.