Pathway

Recently I reconnected with a woman I used to be friendly with. Her name was Martina. We met through a church activity, a thing in which I no longer participate. Our children grew up and we lost touch in the way that happens when people do not see each other very often. She was kind and helpful, a great talker, a wonderful host and cook, generous and thoughtful. That was on the surface. I often thought she was anxious and sad, but I did not have the opportunity to know her better.

A few months ago, while talking to her husband, one of the stalwart band of early morning dog walkers, I learned that Martina had had a very difficult time over the years since we  lost touch. There had been many admissions for treatment of alcohol dependence, and she was in rehab again following another relapse.

Once Martina was home again, I got back in touch with her. We met up for coffee, and it was quite a shock seeing her after all the years. She was so thin and frail it seemed she might snap at the slightest pressure. She talked  about her alcohol issues with painful honesty. Following that, she came to an evening of music and food with some good friends of mine. Sadly that was the only time she came as she was beset by anxiety and panic, and relapsed again.

I visited her in hospital six days before she died when she was admitted with a stomach complaint, and she talked about how sad she felt. She told me when she said she had alcohol dependence issues to the medical staff, there was a dramatic shift in attitude on their part. We parted with a hug, and that is the last time I saw her. The next day she was sent home. The weekend reportedly was good for her, she went out walking with her husband. On Monday morning, she was found dead in her bed by her husband.

I have since learned that Martina lost a baby some years ago. That is a tragedy that can destroy a person, a relationship, and a family, and it explains the tangible sadness that was visible in her eyes. I passed on the awful news to my friends, most of whom were shocked to hear of her passing. One person said, “Oh, she was the alcoholic”. While understandable, that comment made me feel irritated. It is easy to sum a person up as a diagnosis, and while a diagnosis may explain certain things, it does not tell you anything about that person, who they were, what they were like or what they experienced. It is like doctors’ rounds in a hospital, with each person being summed up as “the gallstone” or “the fractured neck of femur”.

For Martina, the struggle is now over and she is at rest. May the wind be always at her back, and may the sun shine gently on her face.

Being a person who owns dogs can be immensely rewarding, and immensely frustrating. Dogs interact with people in a very interesting way, eliciting an honest emotional response, even if that human response is sometimes downright hostile, whether out of fear or outright dislike.

A recent walk with my three dogs was a study in unexpected reactions. Ambling down towards the harbour to collect a package, dogs all leashed up, I noticed a wheelchair user heading towards me. Not wanting to make negotiating the rather narrow pavement more difficult, I reined all three in to give the young woman plenty of room to get by. She stared intently at the three miscreants as she approached, and I thought to myself, “Here comes trouble”, anticipating negative feedback.

She was now right next to me, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just smiled, probably looking completely inane. Then the unforeseen happened. She moved her head towards the three dogs and then indicated with her hands for them to come to her. All three came to her side and snuggled into her. As they did, her face physically lit up, beaming with pure joy. After a couple of minutes, she looked at me and indicated a wordless thank you, and she moved on. I walked on too, tears threatening to spill.

I hope the warmth and positive energy generated in that chance meeting stayed with that young woman for some time. A grey, chilly day was transformed by that simple, yet profound interaction.

In today’s Ireland there is a growing phenomenon of involuntary multi-generational living, brought about by the economic climate and the lack of employment prospects for young adults who have left school or college. Parents who might have been thinking of downsizing have been dealt a double blow as their family home may be worth much less than when purchased, making such a move impossible, while at the same time they have to continue to support their adult offspring and learn new ways of dealing with the shifting landscape of these changing relationships. The rules of living together in a household consisting of adults of differing ages are not the same as those drawn up to deal with toddlers and moody teenagers, and delicate negotiations are needed to achieve a workable solution in which someone remembers to put the bin out on the right day or thinks of dealing with the laundry or the dishwasher.

What is to become of this generation of young people? They do not want to remain living in the family home indefinitely, that is not good for either party. It is disheartening having spent years being urged by parents and teachers to study for qualifications to see cv after cv sent out to prospective employers and not even receive an acknowledgement. Those who do secure an internship may be used by unscrupulous employers to put in dozens of hours of work on projects only to be sent away at the end of the period with insincere promises of references. Those who have the means will emigrate, but many do not have the required means as to travel to North America or Australia in search of a better life requires money, which requires a job, squaring the circle. It is as Joseph Heller put it, a “Catch 22”.

It is an unhappy situation from many points of view. It is simplistic to place the blame on any one set of individuals, but the rampant greed prevalent in Ireland during the boom years of the Celtic Tiger along with irresponsible bank lending and lack of governance propelled the country into this morass of austerity in which the only winners are the banks who continue to be bailed out by the ordinary people while simultaneously slashing their level of customer service.

It is hard to imagine where this will all lead, and what the demographic composition of Ireland will be like in 10 to 15 years’ time. Austerity will not drive growth in the business sector, and continuing economic contraction and cutbacks  will not provide a stimulus for job creation. Young adults do not see a role for themselves in all of this; good jobs are few and far between and seeking welfare assistance for everyday living costs is a Kafkaesque nightmare of forms and microscopic scrutiny of one’s personal affairs. It is more than likely that the Irish diaspora worldwide will increase greatly in number, and also more than likely that the new members of this group will  return only for weddings and funerals, if that. If nothing else, the parents of this disaffected generation will have wonderful opportunities to travel to see their far flung offspring.

The Lotus Fairy, Xianwu Lake

I have been home for two weeks now, when I look back I can hardly believe I was on the other side of the world for that length of time. Travelling through time zones does have an effect on one’s state of mind, I felt vaguely “spacey” and not quite connected for two days or so. Thankfully I didn’t have trouble with sleep disruption, apart from the first night when my phone refused to reset itself from Frankfurt time (where we had a short layover) to Irish time, resulting in the alarm going off an hour early. That was not pleasant!

Returning home after a significant absence is an emotional experience. Seeing my husband and two of my children waiting in the arrivals hall at Dublin airport released the floodgates, commented on at the time by my children “oops, she’s crying!” Further welcomes awaited me at the house in the shape of three dogs who practically pinned me to the ground to express their feelings at having me back.

Three dogs in the sun

Sadly towards the end of my stay in China our ginger cat became very ill and spent his last days in the care of the vet. He contracted feline immunodeficiency virus, leukaemia and an infection compounded by renal failure and was extremely ill. He wasn’t a very old cat, around seven or eight years, but he was clearly not himself and had lost 40% of his body weight and his ability to boss the dogs around as he was so weak and lethargic. The best efforts of the vet to get his temperature down weren’t working, so a very hard decision had to be made as he wasn’t going to get better. Making the choice to end the life of a much loved pet is horribly difficult and it makes me cry now to revisit it. I went along to the vet on Wednesday May 1st with my daughters, my younger son and my eldest daughter’s boyfriend to bid him goodbye, and it was so painful to see and feel Ginger and see how emaciated and weak he was. He purred a bit when we petted him, and we all held him and passed him to each other.  When the vet came to give the medication to send him off we were all crying. He passed in good company, not alone and very much loved.

Three dogs and a bossy cat in happier days

In the days since Ginger passed on to ethereal hunting grounds in search of angelic (or should that be diabolical?) mice the house has felt emptier. I frequently see him out of the corner of my eye, waiting on the kitchen window sill to be let in, parked in a dog bed daring any canine to eject him, or glaring through the glazed door to the garden as if trying to laser the glass so he can come in to be fed for the umpteenth time. It is comforting in a way to feel the ghost of his presence, though the reality of his absence is marked by the box containing his ashes sitting on the worktop. My younger daughter painted a portrait of him at the weekend which captures something of his spirit. Bon voyage Ginger.

Portrait of Ginger. RIP 1st May 2013

Hot sunny weather for the last day in Nanjing. I decided it was time for some culture, so I set off just after 9am to find Nanjing Museum which according to the Rough Guide was well worth seeing with clear guides in English, open daily 9-5pm. I pitched up at the correct metro stop, and checked with a passer by that I was in the right place. No museum reared its head, only hoardings shielding a huge building project in the “British” style.  I tried a rather posh hotel along the road which had English speaking staff only to learn that the museum was closed until the building works were finished.

Random lion, small

Random lion – large

Thwarted, I executed Plan B and set off for the Presidential Palace, which is next to the 1912 area where we ate recently. Once again my plans were foiled – it is supposed to be open 8-5 daily according to the Rough Guide, but again building work was going on around it so no entry to the rather nice looking gardens inside for a sit down.

Nanjing street food

Busking Chinese style

Recycling collection Chinese style

Time for a rethink. I revisited Aqua City mall in Fuzi Miao for retail therapy. My real downfall occurred later  on the second floor of the Xinhua bookstore in Xinjeiku which has a most interesting art section. I will not live this down at home, but I succumbed to a couple of books on drawing and painting in the Chinese style. Thoughts of being careful with  the potential effect on the weight of my suitcase vanished somewhere to a parallel universe where luggage limits do not exist.

Modern Chinese style

Back to the hotel around 445 for a rest before going out for the last meal out in Nanjing. We returned to Studio 21 where we ate on the first night, and Eileen joined us for the occasion. Addresses and hugs were exchanged. Veronique, the French TCM student, came to see us in the hotel lobby to wish us bon voyage.

A good way to round off a very full two and a half weeks in Nanjing.

My travelling companion!

It was a quiet day in the hospital clinic, at least until the toddler with facial palsy came in for another treatment and filled the room and corridor with heart rending cries. There was another chance to see the amazingly young looking Dr Jong doing facial treatments with great precision. Brief flights of fancy dallying with the notion of asking her to do one on me were dashed when she made it clear via an interpreter that treatment would have to be three times a week and accompanied by facial massage, not very practical given that we return home in four days. Some of the medical students were doing final exams at the end of the corridor. I met one of the students who had helped us in Dr Sun’s clinic, he was hopeful of passing although he had a patient with five different problems and wasn’t sure of the needling method for all the points. I hope he succeeds.

During the lunch break we collected the train tickets for Shanghai and discovered an enormous book store beyond Xinjeikou. The sort of place where you could spend an entire day.

Book Mart 1

Book mart 2

We were hunting for acupuncture texts in English, but there was nothing available other than a few pocket size acupuncture charts. The store is a bibliophile’s must see.

The afternoon was spent with Dr Tao in the Jian He Tang clinic. This is a rather upmarket establishment where people are seen as outpatients, stylishly decorated and kitted out. We were told that the patients who attend here are better educated, yet while they may pay more Dr Tao gave exactly the same level of care to the patients in the less well off hospital clinic. Curtains around each bed provided privacy, and the decor and fittings were of hotel standard.

Dr Tao’s desk Jian He

The venerable Dr Tao at work

 

 

Dr Tao’s desk and chair, Jian He Tang clinic