Slipped Discs, the Good Life, Cold Beer and Utility!

I have not blogged during the past few weeks – the reason simple – my slipped disc and degenerative spinal condition has made it too painful and difficult to sit for periods at a computer and largely unable to concentrate for long enough to write anything remotely  meaningful. Survival has been the name of the game! However, although I'm not completely recovered – nor, given my  long term, chronic back condition am I ever likely to be  - I am on the road to some kind of recovery and have largely managed to abandon the pain killers.

All I wanted to do was to be able to
walk up and down the garden path

Given the length of time I have been away from blogging there are no end of things that I could blog about and indeed may well do so in the next few days. The shake-up of the UK political establishment with the election of Jeremy Corbyn as the new Labour Party leader would seem a suitable focus. The refugee crisis in Europe has also been a matter of huge concern. Or maybe the continuing death toll in the USA as yet another mass shooting occurs reflecting the sad and indeed frightening mind set of American culture (if there be such a thing) society.. Or what about the confrontation between the medical profession in the UK and the government over the imposition of a new contract on doctors – the repercussions of that and what it says about our modern values are surely ripe for comment. But in the end, perhaps selfishly, and reflecting my state of mind, I have opted for a personal perspective related to my own condition of the past few weeks.

My health problems have been a serious handicap to any kind of normal life – walking more than a few feet has until the last three or four weeks been almost impossible. Standing for more than a few minutes is even now too painful. I slept for several weeks in the armchair since lying flat in a bed was not an option and simple, everyday tasks – having a shower, going to the toilet, cutting the grass, putting out the waste bins for the weekly collection, standing to make and pour two early morning cups of tea, filling or emptying the dishwasher, laying the table for tea, making a sandwich, peeling the potatoes and the like have all had to be done with great care and forethought or not at all – and when they were attempted all were dreadfully painful. On so many occasions I have simply cried with pain, fearing that I might never be able to do these simple tasks again without pain or worse, be increasingly dependent upon others for help and perhaps a burden to my family. One Sunday morning I sat and watched as Pat cut the lawn – a thing that I found both distressing and demeaning. It took away my dignity – as I saw it - doing the lawns was my job.  It made me aware of how much the basic humanity and dignity of a person must be affected when they cannot do the simple things of life and they become reliant upon others for the basics. These, it seemed to me, are the hidden anxieties and downsides of physical handicap and not maybe as easily addressed as simply getting someone to do the job or throwing money at the problem. In a perverse way it made me think that the long discussion and arguments that we have had in the UK in recent months  and years about benefit payments and the provision of various welfare arrangements for those in need maybe has a hidden dimension – namely, that although we might argue about who should receive such aid,  how entitled are they to  it and can the nation afford it we are perhaps not always as understanding about the hidden aspects of welfare. How demeaning it must make many feel to have to be dependent upon others for their daily needs – for dressing or toileting, for making a simple meal or indeed for the money to buy food when they cannot work because of their ill health. For many, I suspect, personal dignity must be marginalised – and that, I believe, cannot help ones physical and mental well being.

The best £20 I ever spent - it got me to Italy!

And continuing this line of thought my experiences of the past two months or so have made me appreciate the value in little things and in small steps towards small goals. Each little goal achieved has been a small step not only to some kind of recovery but, importantly, to restoring my basic dignity and self reliance. During the time when my back was at its most painful my day was measured by how successfully I could manage the smallest things. How long I could stand in the shower before having to tumble out and call Pat to help me dry myself or put my socks on, my back and leg crying out with extreme pain. I counted it a real improvement when I was at last able to shower, dry myself and clean my teeth without having to sit and rest in between and without having to call for assistance. And, as my condition very slowly improved, my day got off to a much better start when, having taken my early morning cocktail of five painkillers, I waited for about 45 minutes for them to kick in and was then able to go to the bathroom, shave, shower and clean my teeth - and only then collapse into the chair in pain. The next step was doing that and then walking the short distance to the newsagent to buy our morning papers – a thing that only a few weeks ago I never even thought about, it was what I had done for years – but now was such a huge challenge. Now, thank goodness, I am able to do that, and in  the past day or two I have reached another real milestone – I can do it without the painkillers. I only take those in particular situation as required. As I write this blog I have now gone for four days out of the last seven without any pain killers - down from a daily diet of 21 strong painkillers a day to the occasional paracetamol - not only does it tell me I'm recovering but also makes me feel good about myself!. It's not all plain sailing,  I'm still in pain, as I was this morning, when I attended a friend's funeral and then collapsed in agony in my car after standing for several minutes to sing the final hymn, then the exit of the family and the final anthem by the choir. But  can  now manage the pain and am happy that I am no longer confined and totally reliant upon someone else for the most basic and everyday activities.

My daily cocktail of 21 painkillers from morning till night

When my condition was at its worst and after being virtually completely immobile for a couple of weeks I was able, one morning, while driving (luckily driving a car was one of the few things that I could do without too much pain – the problem was getting to and from the car!!!!) past the local village store to stop the car and, with the help of my walking stick, go into the shop to buy an item. I wanted to buy a small dessert for Pat, a little treat for looking after me through the past weeks.Unfortunately I had to stand in a short queue at the checkout, my back screaming with pain – but my joy when I was at last able to get home, tell Pat of my success and present the dessert.  It was for me as good as winning an Olympic medal! It was the same with all the other little everyday tasks – as the days and weeks went on all I wanted was to be able to complete these simple actions that we all take for granted. They defined my life, were a measure of my progress back to health and most importantly for me little signals that meant that I might not be totally dependent upon someone else to dry my back after a shower, put on my socks, do the lawns, peel the potatoes, wait on me with my meal and then clear the table while I just sat there, virtually helpless and unable to help.

Many months ago Pat and I booked a short trip to Italy to visit Ravenna and other ancient northern Italian towns to view the world famous  ancient mosaics and churches there. Pat had long wished to visit these but as my back deteriorated in late summer a large question mark began to hang over whether I would be able to get there. Fortunately I had a spinal block injection which I was told might just help but would take up to 6 weeks to work. I was desperate that I be well enough to go on the trip – not for me – but I didn't want Pat to miss this long awaited for opportunity. I had a host of fears - mostly about getting through the airport – the inevitable long walks, standing in queues to check in, negotiating the nonsense of security checks and the like. All I wanted was to get to Italy. If I could just get there and then had to stay in the hotel all day while Pat went to visit the places she longed to see then so be it. As my condition very slowly improved I began a daily regime. I kept a daily record to ensure that I could see progress. On day one I could walk from the back door of our house some 10 feet down the garden path before I had to stop in agony, clutching my walking stick and bent over in pain. Later that day I tried again – this time i managed about 15 feet, half way down our garage. When I returned to the kitchen each time I was bathed in sweat and in great pain. The next day I tried again – and this time managed the half the length of the back garden path – about 30 feet. And so I continued – several times a day, each time slowly increasing the distance walked (or rather staggered) before the pain became too great. After a week I was managing 10 lengths of the garden, then 25, then after about three weeks I could do about 40. And slowly it took longer before the pain kicked in and when I returned to the kitchen in agony slowly but surely my body recovered more quickly. About a week before the trip to Italy I was able to walk in the garden about 50 lengths of the garden - about half a mile - before collapsing in pain but at the same time able to begin to believe that, although it would be painful, I might indeed be able to get through the airport and onto that plane, albeit with a mountain of painkillers, careful planning and good fortune. My task was given a huge lift when  I saw advertised a walking stick with a little flip up seat so I ordered one. It was the best £20 I have ever spent – the minute it was delivered and I tried it out I knew that here was my salvation. I was no longer reliant on a chair being available I could rest, and take the pressure off my screaming spine wherever and whenever I wanted. I could and would get through that airport without being totally reliant upon others or fearing that I might fall over!

What we had come to see in Ravenna and Parma

And so it proved, with the help of my “training”, my pain killers and my little walking stick seat  I negotiated the “joys” of Manchester Airport at 4 am one Saturday morning. It wasn't easy but a few hours later Pat and I were speeding along the Italian autoroute from Venice airport towards our base in Bologna. We made it. I didn't partake in all the activities – certainly not the long walks but I did most things, Pat was able to see what she wanted to see and we were able to enjoy the wonderful Italian food and the stunning cities that are Bologna, Parma and Ravenna.  It had all been worth it – not simply because Pat had seen what she wanted to see but because for me I had been able to overcome the physical handicaps I was experiencing – it made me feel good, I had to a degree beaten the pain and was aware that although it is likely that I will always have problems of this sort I can largely live a “normal” life.

But, looking back, my weeks of being able to do little had one small plus. Since I could do little else I had the opportunity to sit in the armchair and catch up with some serious reading. During that time I reread various books that I love and which all  have a common theme – namely what constitutes a “good life”. Books by philosopher Michael Sandel (What Money Can’t Buy - the moral limits of the markets),  the late historian Tony Judt’s magnificent Ill Fares the Land and political scientist Robert Skidelsky’s How Much is Enough.   All approach the issue of the good life from different perspectives but within their arguments a common element emerges – that maybe in the modern world we have lost something in our quest for “the good life”. Too often today the good life is linked with the acquisition of material goods and an enjoyable  life style rather than living a worthwhile life or making good and morally justifiable decisions about one's actions. I do not for a minute suggest that I am living a “good life” – my new car sits on the drive, I am already planning my next holiday and I am as guilty as the next in mankind's modern quest for  material sustenance. But, equally, my experiences of the past few weeks have reminded me that when the going gets tough then one quickly develops a different set of priorities and perceptions for a good life than the simple acquisition of the next electronic gizmo - health trumps wealth every time and retail therapy fails miserably to salve the failings of the body and the mind.

And as I sat in my armchair one day, reading, thinking on this and, I must confess, feeling a bit under the weather and sorry for myself I remembered back over 50 years to when I was studying for my A levels at Blackpool Technical College. We had an economics teacher – Mr Williams. “Doug” as we called him behind his back was a delightful man with a soft, lilting but strong Welsh accent and was always ready to argue with us teenagers about the merits of football and rugby teams. His lessons always had the same format – he simply dictated notes from a battered old ledger – I'm pretty sure they were the notes that he had taken at university many years before and which he just repeated to students year after year. We sat, silent, heads down scribing each word he spoke. Every so often he would refer to the set text book – “Read pages ..... of Hanson before the next session”  he might occasionally say and we would note this in our files to do at home and then, without a pause, he would continue reading his ancient notes for us to take down. At the end of every lesson the last 10 minutes or so would be times when he would throw a question at us related to what we had been scribing – “Give me some examples of scarce resources” or “How might taxation effect demand in the nation’s economy”. We all sat faces down hoping that someone else would be asked to answer the question. And, as the lesson drew to a close the last thing Doug would say before he swept out of the room would be: “Homework – do Question ... on page .... of Hanson”. No further explanation, that was it – we had to sink or swim. Best practice or learning theory was lost on Doug! OFSTED would surely have failed him! But whatever deficiencies there might have been in his teaching style Doug got results – year after year his students passed their A level economics, and passed well. When I first went to Blackpool Technical I was interviewed by the head of A level studies, Mr Parkin, an upright, brisk man with a small military moustache  and who we students called "the Colonel". “What do you want to study?" he asked me I replied "History and geography". “That’s fine” he said. “I’ll teach you history but you should also do economics”. I protested that I knew nothing of economics and had not studied it to O level. “That doesn't matter” said Mr Parkin “you will pass, all Mr Williams’ students pass”. And so it was.  Doug Williams could predict with almost absolute accuracy what grade each student would get and what we each needed to brush up on in order to get it. And we all had fond memories of him, his manner, his old battered notes and his terse style kept us amused and indeed on our toes. But there was one other thing – and something that really did make the difference and stays with me to this day.

My battered copy of JL Hanson -
memories of Doug Williams

Doug had devised a particular point of contact with his students, something that he knew would engage them, something that gave them immediate access to what he was talking about. Whenever a new economic term or process was to be studied he always related his explanation to beer and drinking! We, of course, were convinced that Doug was a covert alcoholic but in reality I think he had simply hit on a wheeze that appealed to teenagers for whom drinking and going to pubs was increasingly part of their life. So every economic term – stocks, shares, economic depressions, scarce resources and the rest was explained with a simple analogy that related to alcohol. It made us laugh, but boy did we remember it. By the time the exam came round we all had a thorough grasp of all the terms we might meet in the exam – and of course could give an example! Two in particular stand out even today. When explaining  the economic term “diminishing returns” Doug’s analogy went like this: “Imagine a very hot day. You have been out on a very long walk and got lost in the country. You walk and walk, getting thirstier and thirstier. At last just as you think you can go no further and you are covered in sweat you come across a small pub with tables and umbrellas outside. You sit down and the landlord comes out and asks if you want a drink. You order a pint of cool beer and when it comes you gulp it down – not stopping. It is the most wonderful thing that you have tasted in your life and you can’t wait to have another. When the second one comes you drink that too but this time you stop half way down the glass for a rest, you are not quite so thirsty now. When your glass is empty you order a third – this time you drink it a little more slowly, stopping more often. You’re still enjoying it but it doesn't have quite the same magic as that first glass. The satisfaction  and pleasure that you get is getting less and less with each pint you drink. That, gentlemen, is diminishing returns!”  Doug’s explanation might have many holes in it but it gave us the idea and we remembered it. And the other explanation that I remember so well – and the one that came to me as I sat in pain and feeling a bit sorry for myself in the armchair? That was his explanation of “economic utility”. Utility in economic terms means the satisfaction experienced by the consumer of an item. It is closely related to diminishing returns for diminishing returns is simply a lessening of utility. And Doug’s explanation? “A bank robber is crossing the desert, escaping from the police but after several days his jeep breaks down and he is forced to walk, carrying on his back a bag stuffed with his loot – enough to keep him in luxury for the rest of his life.  He walks and walks for days under the blazing sun slowly dying of thirst. Then, just as he is about to collapse and die he comes to a Bedouin camp. He crawls into the camp and the Bedouins greet him. He cannot understand their language nor they his so he shows them the bag of loot indicating that he wants to buy something. They each rush into their tents and bring out various valuable items – one a magnificent diamond necklace, one brings out his beautiful daughter, another brings out a camel, another  a fine thoroughbred race horse, another a fine set of clothes (the robber is in rags), another a selection of the rarest and most expensive eastern spices. He looks at all these items as each Bedouin pleads with him to buy their offering. Which one should he buy? Then another Bedouin appears. He brings a great stone vase filled with ice cold beer. In that instant the robber knows which will give him the greatest satisfaction of his wants – the greatest utility. He knows that the beer is not worth much compared with all the other riches he is being offered but he also knows which has the greatest utility, greatest satisfaction for him at that point in time......and he hands over the money and greedily gulps down the cool refreshing beer! 

A lot of pain but we got there and enjoyed some
 lovely Italian food 

Again, not a perfect economic description but good enough to remember the basics!

And, as I sat in the armchair, taking my pain killers and feeling generally low I reflected that at that point in time it was not expensive or exciting things that I wanted. I would get the greatest satisfaction or utility by being able to do the simple things – to walk down the garden path without crumpling in too much pain, to take a shower without having to ask for help, to be able to get up first in the morning to stand in the kitchen and make the early morning cup of tea, to be being able to say “I’ll walk down and get the paper this morning”, to be able to stand in  supermarket queue for a few minutes knowing that I could once again fend for myself without the help of others.In short, like Doug Williams’ bank robber in the desert who traded all his wealth for a jug of cold beer we don’t know the value of simple things until we no longer have them!