Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 17 degrees, warmish, sunny, slightly overcast and with showers.
It is Thursday, and this week seems to have gone relatively quickly. I am a little tired, counting the days to the weekend, and my head is a mess.
I am beginning to feel the effects of living with my mother. Last week, the doctor or nurse had prescribed ‘Statin’ to lower my cholesterol level. Looking it up on Google Doctor, it is pretty alarming what you read, but what makes me even more apprehensive is that it is the kind of drug that you will take for years and years, and in some cases, have serious adverse problems with your health.
All this without mentioning the side effects that can occur. Being on a drug for years and years, fearing the possibility of trying to get off it and what might happen. We are approaching the debate that pharmaceutical companies do not want to produce drugs to cure us completely, but to keep us going, so that we continue to take the medicines and contribute to their profits.
Basically, you become a walking zombie, not living, just consuming what doctors have prescribed to keep you wandering through life with more limitations as you get older, but helping and contributing to keep the pharmaceutical companies happy and, more specifically, their shareholders.
My mother consumes a ton of medicines that probably are keeping her alive, but with more and more limitations. But she’s consuming, she’s knocking back pills all the time, every day. If the drugs could also guarantee that the person would be a better person for the family and society in general, then great, but they don’t.
I had told her about my concerns regarding ‘Statin’, but she insists that I call a doctor from the health centre to discuss my doubts. I know that the conventional doctor will defend using such a drug, and, probably without being too unfair, there may be quotas, agreements, or benefits tied to the number of prescriptions such a practice generates in a month or year.
The pharmaceutical business is big business, with a lot of money involved. Remember, nowadays everything is about money, including life, illness, and death.
My mother is insisting that I call a doctor so the doctor can persuade me to take the medicine. I’m still thinking about it, but deep down, what is my final decision? No way, José!
Today I have had classes until 6:00 p.m. Julie called me and asked if I would like to go for a walk along the canal. This is another doubt in my life. I like her very much. When we are together, everything is good, but again, something feels wrong.
She is going through a divorce, which is difficult for anyone, and usually, as the wounds are still open and fresh, only time can heal them and the person affected. I feel that we have met at the wrong time. I don’t think she is emotionally ready or available for any form of serious relationship, whether strong, weak, or informal.
This is what my intuition is telling me, and it has been an internal struggle and conflict for me. I feel like I’m caught in the middle of a fight with myself, with both sides pulling in opposite directions.
It’s also a matter of whether I am chickening out or do not want to be in such a relationship near my mother. My mother is an extremely difficult person. I have, until now, protected Julie and our relationship from my mother, but again, it is incredibly tiring, and it shouldn’t be like this.
I ask myself whether I am tired because of my mother, but also because of Julie, and whether she is really the right person for me. I came to England not expecting to connect with an English woman, but so far it hasn’t turned out as I expected. OK, am I also adapting here in England? The people—the English women, our differences, and how we relate here —are not so different from Brazil; maybe to a small degree, but not by much.
I have already observed that here, there are behaviours, tendencies, problems, and so on, that are more or less the same as in Brazil. We are social animals, and because of that, there are no great differences across borders; people are more or less the same worldwide. Their culture, customs, and traditions may differ, but at our core, we are the same or very similar.
Julie picked me up, and she parked the car near the canal. We strolled along the beautiful, winding canal on an early spring evening in England. The weather was not hot by Brazilian standards; it was just right. Julie complements anyone who crosses our path, even those who are not looking at us or do not want to be greeted.
Walking along the canal path is truly lovely, and it gave us a chance to talk, laugh, joke, and occasionally share a kiss. On the way back, we reached a basin near where the car was parked, where three canals converge.
We crossed over a small footbridge that was probably built over 200 years ago, and as we were going down the other side of the bridge were men kayaking in the canal basin, obviously some club taking advantage of the first good days of the English spring and at the foot of the canal there were boys and one boy standing on a bank of grass with a metal shovel or spade digging up the grass.
I, without thinking twice, asked him, “What are you digging for?”
He sheepishly looked up and slyly said, “I ai,” in a strong Black Country accent, which means I am not. Both Julie and I burst into laughter at the situation. Because of my question and the boy’s answer, the whole thing was quite funny, to say the least.
We kept walking along the path, now into the park. Julie’s car was on the other side. We saw some boys playing football. We were still laughing about the boy we had just spoken to when he came back with the spade. I automatically asked Julie, “Who brings a shovel to a football game?” And again, we burst out laughing — it was so funny — and the joke kept us chuckling for quite some time.
Am I happy at the moment in my life? Not really, but I’m good, I’m OK, and life is a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows!
In bed by 11 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
