As you would expect, with time passing and ever more urgent appeals that we respond positively to government advice, I was relieved to hear that the police, in enforcing "safe distance", or several broom-handles worth of space between people, will not be going after those out walking their dog; as one commentator pout it, How would they know as to whether you were on your first or second walk; and that was good news for me, because I had every intention of walking Amer twice each day: in the early morning and late evening. Now that doesn't mean that I am deaf to government advice, but I do admit to selective hearing.
Well in terms of heading government advice, I have had a few thoughts about walking the dog, and have had a change of strategy. As far as possible, and it is not that difficult at six in the morning, myself and Amber walk along the middle of the road, just in case someone on their way out to work makes an unexpected appearance from behind a hedge, and there are just inches between us. That would be bad enough, but Amber has a strong inclination to want to make friends, so getting out of the line of fire, could be difficult. And a further point; walking along the middle of the road is pleasant as compared to walking on some of the footpaths which are a mix of rough surfacing, and patchwork, a consequence of the laying down of cables. And while walking in this fashion recently I was reminded of Val Doonican, deceased, who for many Saturday evenings on television, had a big following.
Val was Irish, a singer with a mellow voice, and easy delivery, the patter that is, to go with it, and a bevvy of pretty girls to help him with the singing, and the props, Aran sweaters and a rocking-chair. Well, one of the stories that Val told was of how when a boy and out walking with his father, his father explained that you were much safer walking up the middle of country roads, than clinging to the hedgerows.
Well the other day while working at my desk I felt a buzz about me, and sure enough, on opening up the phone, there was the first of several e-mails, sent out by the National Heals Service (NHS), the first of which advised that on account of my medical history, I was at high risk, and must not leave the house for 12 weeks; I could though, open the windows. The e-mails that followed were giving practical advice: what to do in such and such a situation. And following hot on the heels of the e-mails, was a letter advising me of the same. And this is where it gets interesting, and my hearing - selective.
Over dinner a week ago, were were talking about our own personal situations when I ventured the view (with which Jenny did not dissent), that she, on account of her compromised immunity, was high risk and should not be going out of the house. In my own case, I told her that I was at risk on account of my age, 78, but not otherwise, and I was confident in my assertion, as, in 2017, and never having had a heart attack, I had triple heart-bypass surgery, and as a result, have never felt better, a truth born out at the clinical level recently.
When I arrived for a routine blood test, and an injection against shingles, (you get it free age 78) the practice was impressively quiet, so the first of my appointments with the practice nurse was on time. "Why don't I do everything while you are here," she said, "if you don't mind?" So she did, and in doing so, saved me a wait, and a walk along the corridor to my next appointment: a blood-pressure test and the taking of a sample. And she saved the practice pharmacist having to remember to call me on St. Patrick's Day, (again a routine call) to review my medications. And there was more. My cholesterol level on the previous blood test was 3.1, well within the guidelines. And I, always keen to be helpful in such situations, told her that I take my blood-pressure at home, and it is always well within the guidelines. And so as to satisfy your curiosity, here it is, an average of three readings taken this morning: Systolic 134, Diastolic 68, Pulse 55.
All this I hope helps to explain why, with regard to the letter and e-mails, my hearing is selective; they are part of a job lot, that in all probability when it came to issuing them, worked like this; anyone who has been on the books of the cardiology department in the past ten years, gets a letter. There are no circumstances in which they could review every case, and it just wouldn't have been possible, for the Prime Minister, in the middle of his press conference, to interrupt the proceedings: -
"Oh! and by the way, Mr McCloskey,
you don't need to, to, bother about the letter.
Tell you what, Cormac (pointing)
Just, just, tear it up! - bin it!"
__________
© Cormac E. McCloskey
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