Bucket list

I wrote a few months ago about my husband’s accidental entry into a 100km cycle race. He hadn’t taken part in any similar events in years, and hadn’t done nearly enough training, but signed up after being persuaded by a friend to join in. He was a little nervous in the run-up (frankly, he wasn’t the only one) – but in the end managed to get through it with a perfectly respectable time, and crucially, enjoyed the experience. He has now signed up for another, 50km race in October, and has somehow managed to convince me to join him…

Another family member recently sent me a picture of a camper van on his driveway, with the comment that he had always wanted to buy one, and had finally done so before it was “too late”. I began to wonder, is there something I should be doing before it’s too late? Travelling the world, changing career (no chance!), moving to another country? One of my children is approaching a significant birthday, and told me they had made a list of all the things they want to do before then. The idea of ‘bucket lists’ has never really appealed to me - as it seems like there is a high risk of setting unrealistic goals, then feeling guilty and disappointed if you don’t reach them – but I began to wonder if I should start making one of my own.

I couldn’t help laughing, then, when I heard the content of the list. It included points such as “make cupcakes”, “try a new sport”, “host a dinner party” and “go to the cinema”. He’s already achieved a few of them (making cupcakes was the first one), and I couldn’t help thinking of the lists of chores I sometimes make, when I add things I’ve already done just so I can tick them off and feel a sense of achievement. But this bucket list, he explained, was about creating a push to do fun things he hasn’t otherwise had the time or inclination to do recently, with an emphasis on everything being achievable so as not to create unnecessary feelings of guilt. It sounded like a great idea, and I began to think of some of my own.

Happy accident

“That’ll be €12, please,” said the friendly man at the entrance to the stately home my friend and I were visiting. “Of course,” I said, and rummaged in my pocket for my phone. It wasn’t there, so I opened my bag – but it wasn’t in there either. I must have left it in the car, I thought, and rushed back to check, making my excuses to the man.

But it wasn’t in the car, and with a sinking feeling, I had an image of my phone on charge on the kitchen table at home. We had left that morning for a weekend away, and it was now too late to go back and get it. I would be without my phone, and the wallet contained in its case, for the whole weekend. Thankfully I was with my friend, who happily agreed to pay for everything, and let me know my share of the cost to transfer her at the end. She also sent a message to my family, to let them know they could contact me through her.

I tried to relax as we began a walk around the grounds, but couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. I kept reaching into my pocket, only to find nothing there. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, as I hadn’t been expecting any particular calls or messages, but regardless felt an overwhelming urge to check my phone.

As the weekend wore on, I became slightly more accustomed to the absence, and stopped reaching into my pocket. But it really brought home just how often I check my device. I keep it on vibrate, so I don’t really need to actively check for any missed calls in case of an emergency, and most notifications are messages which I could respond to later in the day.

By deliberate choice I don’t much use social media and have always considered that I have a good approach to distancing myself from my phone. However, the experience made me realise that my habits might have slipped recently. When I finally returned home to find it exactly where I had left it on charge, I checked it, only to find that I hadn’t missed any urgent messages at all. I resolved to have a holiday from my phone more often, and to leave the house without it again every now and then – or at least, if I need it in case of emergency, to leave it alone in my pocket for a while.

Making assumptions

“You’ll be fine!” the woman assures us. “I’ve even taken my mother up there and she’s not as young as she used to be. If even she can do it, you’ll be grand.”

My friend and I look doubtfully at each other. We’re on a day trip to the hills, and have stopped at a café for refreshment before a planned walk up to a viewpoint. The weather has closed in, and dark clouds are threatening rain. We had mentioned our plans to the friendly young woman behind the counter at the café, asking how difficult the route up to the viewpoint is.

“Mum found it a bit tricky at her age, but we got there in the end,” the woman continues brightly, mentioning the age of her mother.

My friend and I look at each other, and it’s all we can do not to burst out laughing. This woman’s mother, who has been described as bordering on decrepitude so far in this conversation, is several years younger than us. We thank the woman and head outside as it begins to rain. We hold a quick discussion – both a little doubtful after what she said, clearly not realising our own ages. But we’re wearing good shoes and waterproofs, and the path is very clearly-defined, so we decide to take our chances and begin the walk. We set out at the same time as a couple in their twenties, and pause to let them go ahead on the narrow path, so we don’t hold them up.

The weather worsens as we climb, and the rain soon turns to snow, blanketing the ground. Thick clouds mean we can no longer see the mountain views around us, but we are reassured by the presence of the young couple ahead – at least if we collapse there’ll be someone to run for help. The climb is steep, and the wind whips into our faces, making it feel as though we’re in a different season from the almost-Springtime and daffodils back home. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it is exhilarating. Suddenly, two figures appear ahead – the couple returning. “We’ve had enough, good luck,” they say as they pass, looking exhausted. My friend and I look at each other. We’re enjoying the exercise, so we continue for a while before turning around.

Back at the café, the young couple are nursing aching feet and cold limbs, thrilled to be back in the warm. “How did you make it up so far?” they ask in awe. As we enjoy hot cups of tea, we reflect on how glad we are that we went up, and how much what you can and can’t do is dependent on your attitude. It’s so easy to limit yourself based on other people’s assumptions, but everyone’s circumstances are different – in this case our fitness, clothing and preparation allowed us to climb the hill with ease, and it had nothing at all to do with age!

Hannah's story

Hannah got meningitis in October 2020. It started with an ear infection, which turned into viral, and then bacterial, meningitis, and she spent two weeks in hospital, during which time she had a lumbar puncture, or spinal tap. Doctors told her she would be ok, but she was left with persistent, debilitating headaches. She could barely walk or even stand, and she spent several months “lying in a dark room, all day, all night, on a lot of morphine”. She wondered why, if her “medical” problem of meningitis had been solved, she was still in chronic pain.  

“I thought, okay, so I have had meningitis, there is no dispute about that,” she said. “But why did my body respond so aggressively to an ear infection? Normally you get an ear infection and you'll be fine with some antibiotics. What else was going on at the time? The more I read, and the more I learned, I realised that there was a huge element that needed to be addressed.” 

There was, Hannah realised, “a lot going on” at the time she contracted the ear infection. She was living through the Covid pandemic, an unprecedented and enormously stressful event. She had been locked down separately to her partner, and had also had to postpone her wedding, which had been due to take place the previous month. Her work had also become “unbelievably stressful”. At the time, she didn’t fully realise how much pressure she was under, as she “just kept going” in fight or flight mode.  

It was only later, when she began to do her own reading and research about stress illness, that she reconsidered what she had been through. By then, she had been living with chronic pain for almost a year. She had been prescribed antidepressants and painkillers, and told that many people live with pain, and she should just get on with it.  

“I sort of became a shell of myself,” she said. “It was very much a lonely period of time. I didn’t know anyone else who was living with chronic pain.” 

Then, alongside other treatments, Hannah started working with me. We talked about who she is as a person, and what her values and beliefs are. Consequently, she says, she has developed some urgently needed boundaries and it has given her the confidence and skills to put herself first. Understand herself and other people more, adding that this is work that will “protect her for the rest of her life”.  

She now feels like her usual self, “give or take”. She is starting to return to the sports she used to love, including running, and is hoping to return to playing hockey in future. She is “in a very odd way”, grateful to her experience of chronic pain, as it has taught her a lot about herself including how to develop boundaries and protect herself. “It’s changed who I am completely,” she said. “But I do see that as a positive. It's been a very tough, steep learning curve.”  

Happy New Year!

At 7am, my alarm goes off. Its loud, shrill beeping fills the bedroom, and yet I make no move to silence it. I lie there, looking at my chest of drawers across the room, visualising the steps necessary to turn off the alarm, and yet I don’t. The problem is, silencing my alarm means getting out from under the duvet and making the journey across the room to my chest of drawers. And much, much worse, it means accepting that it’s time to brave the cold again.

It’s the middle of January, in one of the coldest weeks I can remember for a long time, and our boiler has broken. It’s freezing. Beyond freezing. There are icicles dripping from the bathroom tap and the mist of our breath hangs in the air.

All right, it’s not quite that cold, but it certainly feels like it. The boiler has been temperamental for a few weeks, and finally groans to a halt one afternoon, stubbornly resisting all attempts at DIY to fix it. We try and contact a plumber, but it’s a few days before he can come and see it, and once he does, it takes a further few days to sort out the problem. I fill the basin using boiled water from the kettle to wash in, carry around hot water bottles wherever I go, and sleep under an enormous mountain of blankets.

Finally, the plumber returns, the boiler is fixed, and life returns to normal. My first hot shower is wonderful, and it becomes a pleasure to wash my hands in warm water, even to do the washing up. It was only a few days, but the incident reminds me how lucky we are to have something so simple, which makes life so much more comfortable. Undoubtably we will all return soon to taking it for granted, but for a brief time we feel incredibly grateful.

I hope you all had a happy new year, and wish you the very best for the year ahead.