And one to which I may not return; one which I had not planned to see.
Those fears of arthritis have been confirmed. It seems the condition was noted in a similar x-ray back in 2019, though I was never advised of those findings. I'll come back to medics shortly.
Living with pain, constant pain, is very trying. It detracts from the ability to concentrate for any length of time; any creative juices that I may harbour are well and truly quelled. I try to manage daily tasks, whilst also finding time to take what exercise may be possible. The bike remains pining in the garage, as those rare sun-kissed days drift by.
Confirmation of my new arthritic status comes with a route to physiotherapy. That however is not a cosy chat, a session on the treatment couch, warm hands doing their thing. Oh no, first there is a questionnaire, I suspect an AI chatbot thing. Then I have to download an App. Is this the way forward?
I have a set of exercises, twice daily. Feedback to give, boxes to tick. I can't honestly tick the boxes that confirm the exercises to have been Too Hard, or Too Painful. Or indeed Too Easy. That leaves only one option. I Loved It! Really? No box to tick for, I Managed; it was OK. Whose Key Performance Indicators are we ticking off here?
I'll stick to the regime. Promise.
Without the patience, or comfort, to sit down and try to produce something that might resemble music, I head out for another walk. I pack a bag. Camera, field glasses, drink and a biscuit. Prepared to do a bit of sitting and watching. Listening. Walking poles, best used now with a pair of old finger-less cycling gloves; round my neck the microphone attachment for the phone; for Merlin.
Loudoun Hill. I opt for the low path, round the outside. But I keep on walking, up the road, past where we used to be able to park to access those rocky slopes. I cross the field, still no firm plans. Three stiles, not easy, with a pair of poles and a very restricted knee, trussed up with a hinged brace.
Through the trees, lambs scurrying to mama. Merlin tells me I am listening to willow warblers, and a goldfinch and a wren, amongst others. I gaze up from the foot of the slope. Could I? In this condition, with this pain? Would I cause more damage?
After a bit of puzzling through the rocky bits, which foot where; and how, I reach the summit. Those familiar views open out. New wind turbines, partially built, towering. They're bound to have red aviation lights. And there lies the house.
Reaching the lower woods again, after the same struggles through the rocky parts, I chat with a group gathered to watch the lambs, mothers and teenagers, the girls a bit upset. During my spell at the summit twins had appeared. One had taken herself off. She and mama knew. The survivor tottered for a drink, from those sagging udders. She had birthed on the dusty path, the placenta still there, red and shining, to be picked off by the crows.
Never has a lamb been so manky in taking her first drink. In the fields we see them bright and white, and shiny. This poor wee soul was dust covered, stumbling. Trying to get legs to work. Nature and mama took over. The lost twin forgotten.
Later there was pain, increased levels, after enduring the evening exercises. I reached for the pain relief. With some trepidation. I had mentioned, in the surgery, that I knew ibuprofen to be off my list, reaction with the hiatus hernia something to be avoided. It's external, a gel on the knee, won't affect the digestive system...
I read the notes. Do Not Use...if you are asthmatic. But the GP that prescribes my asthma inhalers, and the chemist that dispenses them, were happy to supply, to encourage me to use it. I despair.
Grumpy Old Man mode seems to kick in with ease these days. And don't get me started on the election that calls for my vote later in the week. Let's just enjoy a familiar view. And I wonder if I'll stand there again, before we complete that move, From Peelhill to Portknockie.
