Early Hospital Experiences

or

Those were the days, my friends

My earliest memories are of being in hospital.  I spent a lot of time there as a young child due to developmental acetabular dysplasia i.e. born with dislocated or 'click' hips.  These early memeories aren't unpleasant.  Every time someone came to visit me, they brought me a present.  This was mainly in the evening.

I rarely had visitors in the afternoon as my parents and other potential visitors worked.  I didn't mind (parents of young, sick children, take note) I didn't expect visitors, but when my Gran used her bus pass to make the trip to Dublin, it was an unexpected bonus.  I still remember one particular occassion when she brought me a packet of Jelly Tots.  I was young enough to still be in a cot, located on this occassion in the far corner of the ward, and I gleefully ripped open the packet and spilt them over the bed, setting up a game of Hide and Seek.  You become quite imaginative in your games when you're confined to bed!

There were unpleasant times of course.  I hated being on traction, forced to stay on my back for months, but it did leave me with the enviable skill of being able to eat and drink whilst lying flat on my back - a skill that would come in handy years later.

I still hate blood tests and injections.  My veins don't like them either.  For some reason, they hide whenever a needle comes into view.  I remember one time, I was in the bed beside the door and jerked as they were taking blood.  It got on the sheets and the Ward Nurse said I was to be left in the bloody sheets to be taught her lesson.  To my young eyes, the sheets were soaked in blood, but it was probably just a few drops.  I had nightmares for a long time after that.  That ward nurse was scary but the Sister was kindly.

The Adelaide was my home and at that time Jacob's Factory was still across the road from it.  We could look out the windows in the Children's Ward to watch out for the broken biscuits being sent over for our Tea.  Not that they like giving tea to the children.  I was the exception.  I horrified the nurses by asking for coffee at the tender age of 2 or 3 (blame my Gran), so tea was a compromise.

This was also the time of my first boyfriend, Jerome, an 'older man' by 3 years with similar issues to me but more complications.  I spent many a happy hour in his bed - playing with lego.  I was only a toddler!

Nights weren't too bad either.  There was a blue hue off the night lights and there was always a nurse at the desk in the corner with one of those bendy lamps.  I wasn't a good sleeper even back then, but I always found comfort and reassurance, glancing over to the nurse in the corner.

I got out of hospital around the time Elvis died.  I distinctly remember it being discussed on the radio and mistakenly thought he was King of Ireland.  Just a few days later I started Junior Infants, being carried as my legs still weren't strong enough for the stairs.  From one strange world to another!  Looking back at this time through adult eyes, it may seem very traumatic and even distressing to parents of young children.  For me, it was all I knew.  It was normal.  I couldn't imagine my pre-school years any other way.

11 Years On
or

Hear My Song

A lot of things have changed in the last 11 years.  11 years ago, you could go out to the pub any day or night of the week and find people to chill with.  11 years ago, you could have a smoke with your pint, in the warmth of your local and converse with people of all ages.  11 years ago, the Cush was still open.  Actually it was still open this time last year, but 11 years ago it was the old Cush, with the poker machine and video juke box.  Maybe not 11 years ago, but certainly 9 or 10 years ago I sang Meatloaf songs while dancing on the pool table to an audience chilled out on the tattered couches down the back of the pub. 



11 years ago, I was in the shower at about ten past seven in the morning when the 'phone rang and a part of me changed.  I put on a pair of black jeans, my docs and an Aran jumper, tried waking my brother and walked a short distance, three houses, down the road to gather with family, friends and neighbours.  And yes, I could walk back then, no problem.  And thus began a surreal week of waiting, self-conscious laughter, bikes, mass, a poem recited, Stairway to Heaven, music and beer.  And we didn't have to go outside to smoke.  We didn't go to the Cush that Wednesday, we settled in Martin's.

Now, even the road down to the village has altered.  For years, everything stayed the same on the Brownstown to Suncroft Road.  I remember my Granny saying nothing had changed in the last 30 years.  She passed away in 1990.  And things stayed the same for another decade and a half or so.  Now, not only are there new houses, there's new housing estates!  The house, known in my youth as Mrs Swinburns, is still boarded up as it has been ever since the fire.

Back then my (Dublin) friends were all single.  Now they're all married (or on their way!) except me.  No rush, I'm not ready to settle yet.  Most of my mates had not even met or hooked up with their spouse by then.  Now, babies have started to arrive.   People own houses.  A night out is a rare occassion and needs to be planned well in advance.  The last two times we met up we had dinner! In a restaurant! Not in the wee hours of the morning after a copious amount of drink, dancing and arguments over whether Luigis or Cascarinos had the best chips.

11 years ago, my Corolla was still a new car to be admired.  My hair was short as it is now, but hasn't been in the mean-time.  Every time I pass a mirror, it's a reminder.  My brother was living with me, in the midst of his Masters.  I hadn't yet started my Masters back then.  I finished it 5 years ago.  YouTube was three and a half years into the future.  We wouldn't have been able to use it even if it had been around - broadband was not widely available then.  I think it would be another 5 years before I was able to get it at home, although it was available in urban areas before then.  It would take another number of years before Bebo, MySpace, Facebook or Twitter came into being.  Bebo and MySpace have come and gone in the meantime.  Now, not only does everyone have mobile 'phones, increasing numbers are accessing the internet on their 'phones.

How different things were back then.  It wasn't my mobile that rang that Monday morning in 2001, it was the landline, in the bedroom.  A short time later, I 'accidentally' cut through the telephone cable in my room.  Forever more the landline would be confined to the hallway.  I never want to get a phone call at that hour again.

The UCD Bar has closed!

or

Students, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves!

 
Apparently the UCD Bar has closed.  I say apparently because although it was noticeably not open two weeks ago at 11am (ish) when I walked past it and even though it's been reported in the news, I still can't get my head around it.

Hanging out in the Science block

What is college without the dark, dingy, sticky-floored, graffiti-covered home-from-home that was the UCD Bar.  Students in my day didn't have much spare cash.  Then, as now, part-time jobs were like gold dust, but that never stopped anyone hanging out in the bar and there were always enough foolish cluchies there to spend their grant or rent money and keep the coffers going.

Where we used to play football (& pose!)

The Sports Bar (currently also closed) opened when I was in college but it was for a different breed.  People who went there had new-ish, clean-ish closes, drank Heineken, and probably went to private schools (and play sports possibly, I didn't mix with that type of person in college).  Compare this to the torn, stone-washed jeans, ragged t-shirts and docs that was the uniform de rigeur for the majority of the student population in those days.  We drank (if we could scrounge the cash, often saved by walking the 4+ miles to college and saving the £1 bus fair - yes my friends, this was back in the days of the punt!) Guinnes and Black, a Snakebite, or the ever-popular, why I have no idea, hot port.

Typical student attire, 90s-style

he bar was a place you could relax, play pool or meet new people, "oh you do Law!  What's that all about then?".  Law was about as exotic as it got in the UCD bar.  The newly formed Actuary class never seemed to find their way there.  On Fridays, at 1pm there was a film.  Not for us a specially built cinema.  There was a projector and a large screen on the wall.  They always seemed to show either Grease or The Blues Brothers and we'd all dance on the tables and shout out the dialogue, word-perfect the lot of us.  Most of us weren't even drunk!

The Trap has also disappeared from UCD.  I found it alright, in the basement of the Arts block but the pool tables have gone, the paint on the walls in crumbling and the space itself is filled with cleaning materials.  Where are students supposed to relax, wind-down and learn about life?  The only things that seem to remain are the Blob and the lake.  Even the grass where we used to kick around a football on lazy warm days has been built over.

Do they still have leg wrestling in college?

There's also a distinct lack of graffiti around campus.  UCD has lost its soul.  The graffiti brightened up the place and while some of it was dull and predictable, there was a lot of poetry, wit a philosophy sprinkled in.

I discussed the bar closing in work and one colleague postulated the theory that the Celtic Tiger Cubs won't stand for dirt and dinge and sticky floors.  A quick look at a discussion forum on Boards seems to confirm this.  They've been too pampered and spoiled and the UCD bar isn't good enough for them.  They don't want their designer gear in such a dump.


I, however, have my own theory.  One of the reasons that the UCD bar always had such a high turnover was because of its toilet paper.  In the early 1990s, the toilet paper in UCD was that waxed, grease-proof stuff that, to put it as politely as is possible, basically smeared, but failed utterly in the wiping department.  The only place to go for a bit of bum comfort was the Bar and Sports Centre.  In those days of grunge and Nirvana, the Sports Centre wasn't an option for most students who would probably not made it past its doors, so the UCD Bar it was.  And while you were there, sure you'd always find someone to talk to or catch up with, and if you really lucky you might have the makings of a cup of tea, or may even alcohol buried deep in your tattered jeans pocket.  That's what made the UCD Bar, once with the highest beer turn-over in the country,  the instiution we thought would never end, but has somehow, inexplicably done so in 2012.  A sad day for the students of Ireland.

Science-heads

Chemistry lecture in Theatre C

* Disclaimer - None of these pictures are actually of the UCD bar.  Back in the day, if you wanted to take a picture, you needed a dedicated camera and you had to buy film for it and pay for the film to be developed.  Hence the lack of photographs I have from my student days.  While I'd love to claim we drank every day in the science block, all these photos are from Science Day - an annual fundraising day where we bunked off lectures to raise money for Cancer research.  I think we raised over £30,000 most years I was there.  We did, however, smoke in the science block - the smoking ban was not to come in for over a decade,  Cigarette burns complemented the colourful graffiti on the benches, tables, chairs, walls,.....

Halcyon Nights

or

What's the big deal with sunsets?

One thing that has always puzzled me is the romanticism of sunsets, sunrise and star gazing.  I've often wondered if people genuinely were in awe of them or is it a myth propogated by Hollywood, similar to the notion that everyone will fall in love with the perfect partner and live happily ever after.

Don't get me wrong - sunsets, sunrise and the stars on a clear night can take your breath away and make you pause and take in that perfect moment.  But getting up early to catch the dawn or planning to watch the sunset has always seemed a bit excessive.

Sunset reflected in window

I had come to the conclusion that this is due to our climate.  Star gazing is all well and good but Ireland is too cold and damp to lie out all night holding hands with your lover, having deep philosophical discussions that in the sober light of day you realise equated to talking shite.  And that's if you're looking enough to pick a night sky that isn't obscured by clouds.

Notwithstanding that, it is possible to wrap up warm and appropriately to feast your gaze on the night, dusk or dawn sky.  Indeed, I have on occassion driven deep into the Wicklow mountains, sometimes even accompanied by a telescope or binoculars to view particular astronomical events like a meteor shower.

Sunset 18th August 2012, Kildare

Somehow I never managed to sit through a sunrise or sunset though.  It took a trip to Eqypt over ten years ago to really figure out why.  In Ireland, the sunset, quite simply, lasts too long.  It's not the climate after all, it's our latitude!  If you sit out to watch the sunset in this country, you could be there for an hour and a half.  Where would you find the time?  And it's even worse in parts of northern Scotland where it never quite gets dark around the summer solstice.  In Egypt, the whole thing happens in about 10 minutes.

Admittedly I've had a few good sunrise moments.  There's nothing better than wandering home of an evening, spotting the dawn approaching and lying down on a patch of grass for a while to take it in.  It's the measure of a good night out in the summer.  Somehow, it doesn't seem to happen too often these days.  Must be growing up or something...

Quantum Mechanics in the Gym

or

When do you work out?

Leisure centres are a strange phenomena that put me in mind of Schrödinger's Cat.  At any point in time, they can either be full of 'gym heads' or people like myself who aren't that bothered about getting super-fit, but find the gym or swimming pool a pleasant place to while away an hour or two and catch up on the gossip.

As with Schrödinger's Cat, one is never quite sure what state it will be in until you go (i.e. observe) yourself.  But that leads to the question of how can you be sure your mere presence (or the act of observation) isn't causing the current state to change?

Maybe everybody was chilling out, doing a leisurely jog or breaststroke or maybe casually picking up a weight to see how heavy it is, until you arrive.  And maybe they don't want to talk to you or maybe they don't want you to think they're lazy, but, for whatever reason, they all spontaneously think, "Quick!, Look busy, here she is!" and switch treadmill programme, transform the breaststroke into the crawl and start pumping iron like their lives depended on it.  Maybe there's even a secret signal!  Conversely, maybe everbody is normally very focussed and then, when they see me arrive, the secret signal goes out again - "Ah, it's the poor cripple girl.  Quick, relax everyone, so we don't intimidate her!"

Admittedly, comparing the type of people in the gym to the Schrödinger's Cat problem is a bit of a stretch.  I have started to notice a pattern which, when I put forward my hypothesis in the sauna this, got enthusiastic support from the gentleman I had chosen to sweat beside.

During the day, particularly the morning, people go for a leisurely swim, jog, yoga or aqua class followed by the serious business of the day - chatting in the sauna.  These morning club members tend to be slightly older and thus retired or have some medical issue preventing them from working.  (It really is a club of crocks and grey-heads!).  They probably have more time at their disposal to get things done, and are thus more chilled out and open to connecting with people.-

In the evening, however, you get the post-work crowd.  They are there to 'Work Out' in the snatched hour between work and dinner, after which they still have to do the housework, put the kids to bed, prepare that presentation for tomorrow.  They don't have time to chat, they're focussed on 'Getting Fit'.  They may enter the jacuzzi, sauna or steam room, but it's strictly timed, with frequent glances at the stop-watches on their wrists.

As a result, going for a swim or class in the evening can be a surprisingly lonely affair.  People don't chill out.  They either don't have enough time, or have too many issues going on in their lives to extend common courtesies to strangers, lest they become a 'Klingon'.  I always think the loneliest one can be, is to be surrounded by people and ignored by all.  It's why I couldn't bear to live in an apartment, although I'm quite happy to hole up inside my house for weeks on end incommunicado.

Of course, the irony of this hypothesis, is that I discussed it at some length this evening, the time of focussed training and isolation, in the sauna which a painter turned psycho-therapist who completely agreed with me!  Maybe the evening people are just shy and waiting for someone to reach out and welcome them to the fold.

Back to school

or

My brain's turned to mush :(

Well, this is the last week before I have to go back to work.  I know this won’t incite much sympathy from people but it always comes as a big shock to the system.  It’ll be worse for me this year because, due to ill health, I’ve only actually worked for 5 weeks in 2012. 

Quite apart from having to get up, early, at a specific time, dress presentably, and commute, I will also be expected to converse and communicate in a comprehensible manner.  Lazing around, pottering, doing things at your own pace and, for a large part, avoiding people, is not good for one’s ability to use language correctly.

I have problems with certain key words that I always have to look up in the dictionary.  And no, using spell-check is not a valid option – spell-checks have no context and you can never be sure which language (e.g. American or English) it is using. And even if it knows you are in Ireland, are you confident that incorrect spellings have not been added to the ‘dictionary’ (I put dictionary in single quotes, because a spell-check installed on a computer is really just a list of words, with no associated meaning).  So it’s a traditional dictionary all the way.

One of the words I have most difficulty with is separate.  I always want to write seperate.  I remember being given back an assignment on Broadband ISDN in college with the word highlighted throughout in red pen.  This was not the norm in a computer science module.  The Sci-day committee once printed t-shirts with the word February spelt wrong and hardly anyone noticed!  But it irked my examiner enough to comment on it.  (For those of you wondering why I didn't use the spellcheck facility, this was written in WordPerfect 5.1 in 1993 and I didn't have the spellcheck add-in.)  And despite that, I’m still unsure and need to refer to the oul’ dictionary.  Other words I have problems with include definitely (definately) and precise (presice).

At least with spellings, with a bit of care and attention, you can hide your flaws.  A more worrying encumbrance is the inability to pronounce or use words correctly.  Again I have my foibles such as environment, government and vocabulary.  I am improving though.  I used to get terribly confused with personal pronouns and would often wander off topic, trying to figure out if I meant to say ‘I’ or ‘You’, ‘we’ or ‘them’.  Normally by the time I’d figured it out, I’d realise that I’d spent the last five minutes muttering to myself while the people I had been conversing with had run away, in a most python-esque manner.  I think I’ve mastered the pronoun problem now, but I’m still never quite sure of the difference between Cole Porter and Phil Coulter, George Hook or George Lee, Kevin Barry or Barry Kent, to name but a few.  I just try to steer the conversation away from these popular topics.  (Do these count as malapropisms?)

But, with the ubiquitousness of American English through its dominance of the world wide web, and the popularity of text-speak, it is easy to get confused.  Words one could spell with ease 15 years ago, can leave one muttering to oneself again and making basic errors with “your” and “you’re” for example.  When do you use ‘s’ and when do you use ‘z’?  Organise or organize?  And, even if you look a word up on-line in a dictionary, can you be sure it is both accurate and reliable?

I am quite pleased to have come across one particular on-line dictionary – Wictionary.  As with Wikipedia, it is editable by the general public.  While this may cause one to question its credibility, it is worth noting that Wikipedia has been shown to be at least as reliable as Encycleopedia Brittanica.  Admittedly this is quite an old study (2005), and I don’t feel inclined to investigate it further, but I’ll include it because it suits my purpose.   

Anyway, I won’t be turning to Wictionary to check my spellings.  For that, I’ll still be using the traditional hard-copy dictionary, but I really like it because it validates some of my favourite and most used words.  Yes, yoke (11th noun definition) is a valid term for a thingamajig (careful with the spelling now - I've always written thingymajig!) or a whatsit (plural, whatsits).  And the oul’ I used earlier is an alternative form of ould which can either mean old, aged, long-established or be used as a term of denigration.  You choose!  Interestingly, while both yoke and ould are identified as Irish, thingamajig and whatsit seem to be international.   Who’d have thunk it?  (Yes, thunk is valid too, as a past participle of think!)

The Olympics are over

or

What do I watch on the telly now?

So, the Olympics are over.  It was indisputably Ireland's best since 1956, but was it our most successful Olympics ever?  Well, in 1956, Ron Delaney got gold in the 1500m, Fred Tiedt got Silver in the Welterweight boxing and John Caldwell, Frederick Gilroy and Anthony Byrne came home with bronze in the Flyweight, Bantomweight and Flyweight boxing respectively.  So far, a match to the 5 medals achieved by Katie Taylor, John Joe Nevin, Cian O'Connor, Paddy Barnes and Mick Conlon in 2012.

Both games were also significant in terms of female participants.  Maeve Kyle was the first female athelete sent to represent Ireland, in the 1956 Olympics.  Unfortunately, she came last in both her heats running the 100m in 12.3 seconds and the 200m in 26.4 seconds.  But, she went, she ran, she participated.  She deserved praise, glory and support from Irishwomen and men alike, she got abuse and derision.

What about the Proclamation?

The Irish Republic is entitled to, and hereby claims, the allegiance of every Irishman and Irishwoman. The Republic guarantees religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and all of its parts, cherishing all of the children of the nation equally and oblivious of the differences carefully fostered by an alien government, which have divided a minority from the majority in the past.

2012 was also a step towards equality of the sexes with the introduction of women's boxing.  And our own Katie Taylor, 4 time World and now Olympic Champion, was a key factor in making this happen.  Boxing for women is finally an Olympic sport.

In many ways it is deeply upsetting that we still have to make these inroads into equality in the 21st century.  I remember, in secondary school, there were a wide range of sports available and also that teachers talked a lot about equality between the sexes.  On the surface, they were talking the talk but the girls had to wear skirts, soccer for girls didn't happen until I got to 5th year and we weren't even allowed to discuss boxing for girls. Yes, we did have boxing at our school, but only if you had a penis.  In fairness there was also discrimination against the boys.  From what I recall, they weren't allowed to pierce their ears and I remember one boy in my year getting pressurised into cutting his hair (I think he chose to get suspended instead, but my memory may not be accurate).

Now, around 25 years later, Katie, along with her fellow female boxers, has shown the world that women can box and the hurt and confusion I felt at age 12, due to not being allowed to do something for no reason other than I was lacking a Y-chromosome, is vindicated.  I was right to feel anger and despondent and was not just 'a silly girl'.  Up to then, I had thought that the woman's lib movement had dealt with gender equality decades earlier.  Yes, admittedly I was naive, but I was only 12.

In terms of Irish Olympians, we sent 65 athletes to London in 2012.  In 1956, the total was 18, 12 to Melbourne and an equestrian team of 6 to Stockholm.  The equestrian events had to take place in Sweden, due to quarantine restrictions in Australia.  Of the non medal winners, the highest ranked was Gerry Martin who came 4th in the men's light-heavyweight freestyle wrestling.  We were also represented by Éamonn Kinsella in the 110m hurdles, John Somers Payne in the Finn class  in sailing, and 3 additional boxers and a 6-person equestrian team.  So we sent more atheletes to London this year, participated in a wider range of events and achieved 2 rather than a single 4th place but the Olympics has expanded over the years, so in terms of most successful, I think it's a photo-finish.

Now the games are over and as if in an effort to bring us all back to reality, the weather has turned with the met office issueing gale warnings (and a blight warning - watch those spuds, people). But, as Eric Idle reminded us at the closing ceremony, we should "Always look on the bright side of life..."    And, besides, it'll all kick off again in exactly 2 week time (29th August) when the Paralympics take centre stage.  Go Ireland!! Woop, woop!!