Yesterday the doctor said “Go home.  You had food poisoning … nothing more.”

I smiled and followed orders.  I put on my well used street clothes again, gathered my meagre belongings, thanked the nurses and asked for directions to the business office.  “Be thorough, Bruce.  You’ll don’t know how your Belgian health insurance will co-exist with a German hospital.”  I got my answer from a compassionate woman … and then walked out the front door to breathe real air and see actual human beings filling the sidewalk.

Oh, bliss!

I went back to the agonizing intersection of early Saturday morning, where the supposed door to the Emergency department was locked.  I just stood there, reliving the sorrow, the nausea, the dizziness.  “Go towards it, Bruce.  Don’t back away.”  The few minutes being there yesterday were good therapy for me.

In the previous days, I had looked out my window at life on the street below.  I vowed to stand on the sidewalk and look up after being discharged. 

And so I did:

I had left the blinds open when I left.  How marvelous the reflection in my window.

I started walking back to the Airbnb, knowing that my next stop would be the restaurant where I got the food poisoning.  I walked in and recognized the manager from Friday.  I told him what happened, and there was peace in my heart as I spoke.  I wanted them to be aware of a problem so that it doesn’t happen to someone else.  He responded with sadness, and with a genuine thank you.  We met.

The manager offered to buy me something.  I said “No beer, and certainly no pizza!  How about a cappuccino?”  And so I sat on their terrace and watched people moving every which way … and a flock of birds creating ovals in the sky.

I was happy.  And I thought of a quote that I’ve tried to follow for maybe twenty years:

Never throw anyone out of your heart

(Neem Karoli Baba)

No one – not a restaurant manager, not someone who did something mean to me, not even Donald Trump.  They also deserve my respect, my empathy … my love.

***

Jeez, I’m tired.  There isn’t the oomph to tell you about the rest of my yesterday.  So I’ll just say this:

I’m home!

And my bed is saying “Come on down”

I’ll continue tomorrow

Hell employment for me would be sitting in a cubicle with a computer, contributing to the profit of my corporation.

Now I’m alone in a hospital room built for two.  Staff members in their masks and gowns attend to my needs, kindly and politely.  Very few of them make real contact with me as I search for the soul in the eyes above the mask.

How easily alone can become lonely.

Friends have sent me marvelous messages on Facebook and I’ve received one phone call … a loving human voice!  But I’m sagging in spirit.  I want to go home.

My doctor made one brief visit yesterday, standing at the door so she wouldn’t have to don the extra clothes.  “Home likely tomorrow” … and then she was gone.  The way I read it is that my problem has solely been food poisoning, rather than some extra infection.  May it be so.  May I walk out of Evangelical Hospital this afternoon to my Airbnb and tomorrow ride the Flixbus for four hours back to Gent.

How strange that my continued dullness of mind has me preferring the horizontal to the vertical.  “Guess I’ll just go back to sleep.”  Or “It’s too much work to shower and shave.”

I’ve thought of sitting in a chair and meditating (something I’ve loved doing since 2007 or so) but the mind says no.  As quiet as things are here, my mind bounces, twists and turns.  Thank God for writing this blog to you.  It comforts me.

***

Here’s some abstract art for you:

Do you see the ghost in the picture?  How symbolic … that would be me.

What you see are large tiles on my floor.  Yesterday I sat on the bed, taking the last pills I had brought from home.  I expected the hospital was going to follow through and provide me with more of my meds but they hadn’t shown up yet.

Anyway, I was taking the Candesartan when it slipped from my fingers, hit the edge of the bed, and zoomed off onto the floor.  A tiny orange pill on a grey floor of orange and white dots.

I couldn’t find it.  Ten minutes later, after pushing the bedside table far away to create a large search radius – still no pill.  Okay, I wasn’t going to die but my fragility was now emotional rather than physical, and I despaired.

So I gave up the search.  I pulled the table back to the bedside.  And voilà … the pill was revealed, standing on its wee edge.  If you can enlarge the photo, you’ll find it.

***

If indeed the answer is food poisoning, I will return to the scene of the crime and tell the restaurant staff what happened.  I won’t do it with antagonism, but rather in the spirit of service.  They need to know that something was wrong with Friday’s Farmer Pizza.  I’ve looked to see if I’m angry with the restaurant.  I can’t find any anger, and I don’t think I’m suppressing it.  I feel sad.

***

And so I wait for the doctor’s verdict

“All things come to those who wait”

When I was walking to the hospital on Saturday morning, my brain was jumbled.  It was like someone had thrown a blanket over my head.  I remember muttering “I’ll be safe soon.  They’ll take care of me.”

And then there was the lovely couple from Ghent that I’d met on the bus to Düsseldorf on Friday.  We agreed to meet at 5:00 pm Saturday and go to dinner. 

I felt guilty as I walked.  If I was admitted to hospital, I wouldn’t be at our meeting spot and I didn’t have any contact information.  So I wouldn’t be keeping my word.  And who knows what they’d think of my absence?  I couldn’t corral in my mind that I was not at fault.

***

In Emergency I vomited twice more into my trusty Carrefour Express plastic bag.  It had been my companion all night.  The second time happened as I was talking to a doctor.  She asked me to put the bag in the garbage, and I said no.  I didn’t want to part with the stinky thing.  Minutes later, I changed my mind.  Such a strange experience, having a brain undone.

***

When I got to my room, I panicked.  The window was open and the temperature might have been 18 Celsius (64 Fahrenheit).  “It’s too cold!” I semi-yelled.  The shivering seemed uncontrollable.  And I actually had the thought that I was going to die in the cold. 

Two staff members helped me from the Emergency bed to my temporary home bed.  They pulled a white comforter up to my chin as I shivered away.

It was blessed relief.  “I’m okay.  I’m safe here.”  And I fell asleep.

I look back at this moment and remember how I used to suck my thumb as a kid, holding my teddy bear.  Teddy comforted me.  And I continued to suck my thumb with him till I was ten.

***

Early Saturday in bed was an astonishing experience of weakness.  I was lying on my back and couldn’t roll to my side, much less sit up.  The nurse asked me to unbutton my sleeve so she could take my blood pressure.  Nope.  Unscrewing the cap of a bottle of water was impossible.

Later I was sitting up, I looked over the foot of my bed to the table set up for eating and realized that I’d never get over there in my current state.  My little cardboard puke dish stayed ready for action.

Sunday the vomiting had stopped, along with the nausea.  Thank God for modern science.  And lots of sleep.  I’m very glad I chose the hospital on Saturday morning.

I look back now and get how fragile I was, how I needed help doing just about everything, how I let go into being cared for, how precious it was on Sunday when I could walk with my IV pole to my room’s bathroom.

***

It’s Monday.  I’m in isolation, with staff coming and going in their masks and gowns.  Although food poisoning is the likely cause of my woes, the doctor is looking at the possibility of some infectious condition.

In three hours or so, my doctor will come back with the verdict: either she’s sure it was food poisoning, and I can go back to the Airbnb today (and home on the bus tomorrow) … or I get to experience the hospitality of Evangelical Hospital awhile longer.

Thanks for listening to me, dear friends known and unknown.

I wake up this morning with some energy returning.  No more vomiting.  And the anti-nausea meds are doing their job.

I want to write about some of the moments.   The ebb and flow of living a life has been on vivid display.

Much of the Jacob Collier concert I loved, and much of it I didn’t.  The negative was too many flashing lights, songs that seemed more noise than music, and a “Look at me!” tone.  The positive were sacred moments where Jacob and we created a choir of 7,000.  I was transported.

But something was wrong towards the end.  In me.  My life force was leaking out.  My joy was turning to dullness.  My stomach hurt.  I had been talking about life with the marvelous couple sitting beside me but as the concert moved to its completion, I hardly saw them.

Back to the Airbnb.  In the hours from midnight, I vomited ten times.  Twice more at the hospital.  I decided at home that I needed medical help.  I Googled “hospital near me emergency” and found “Evangelical Hospital”, an 18-minute walk away (translation for me: maybe half an hour).

I hadn’t figured out the Düsseldorf transit system.  The return trip from the concert happened because a kind woman helped me navigate the German-only instructions.  So I knew I had to walk to the hospital.

I was getting weaker.  I was staggering on the sidewalk.  The few passersby I passed at 6:00 am probably thought I was drunk.

Google Maps told me that when I got to a certain intersection, I had to walk two-fourths around a block to get to the entrance.  My mind was mostly gone.  I held my plastic bag for puking.  Google’s entrance was all alight … but the door was locked.  No bell for ringing.

And so … despair.

I looked around.  The street was dark and empty.  But then a car was coming.  I flagged the driver down.  He spoke English.  I told him my story, slurring some words.  He didn’t know where the Emergency entrance was.  I despaired some more.  I asked him to drive me to the other side of the hospital.  He said yes.

Three-fourths of the way around, rather than two, there was the entrance.

***

That’s all for now.  Time for more sleep.  Thank you for listening.

I’ve been admitted to a hospital in Düsseldorf, Germany with suspected food poisoning.

Overnight and this morning, I vomited twelve times.  Now I’m very weak.  Sitting up in bed is a major challenge.  Walking is hopefully a tomorrow thing.

I wanted to tell you about Jacob Collier but that will have to wait.

Even though the physical reality is that I’m alone in a foreign country, I know you’re supporting me, however many of you are out there on Jetpack and Facebook.

Thank you.

Bruce

But first last night …

I played two cello pieces at an concert.  The clock was ticking towards my time and I was scared.  Long ago when I played as a teen, it was always in a group.  At last November’s concert I was solo.  And again yesterday.

My friend Boaz and two of his friends were there to support me.  As I readied my bow for the first note, I forgot to look at them.  But they were cheering me on, I know.

I kept my word to myself: I played with passion!  The notes were scattered good and bad.  The sweetness of the sound came and went.  But my head didn’t drop during the bad times.  Mostly I swayed to the melody I was creating.  It was the cello and me and the music – everybody loving everybody.

Once I played a note that was far from correct.  Not just an error in intonation: a completely different note.  And my face smiled!  No thought, just an upturn of lips.  That’s my happiest memory of being onstage.

Boaz and friends beamed at me after I sat back down.  Later he texted me:

You definitely reached the audience with your passion for the cello

Cool

***

By the way, I’m on a bus to Düsseldorf, Germany.  Tonight I hear Jacob Collier in concert.  He’s a 30-year-old British singer who gets his audiences singing with him.  He’ll point to one section of the arena, sing a harmony line, and ask that group to sing it.  Then another pointing, and another harmony.  Repeat until the choir swells.

More of Jacob later.

***

I had breakfast at Panos Langemunt and invited a fellow to join me.  He and I had said hi to each other for months but had never talked.  Now was the time.

He told me of a terrible thing that had happened to him, and the impact that had on his children.  He also said that he’d moved on from the trauma and was now happy.

I thought of what would be helpful to him.  Much of his story had common ground with my journey, and I thought of sharing my experiences, but held back.  And I’m glad I did.

Instead I gave him all my attention and asked questions that hopefully would encourage him to go deeper.  Mostly I just listened.  It was a good meeting of the hearts.

***

Here I am with my farmer’s pizza in Café Botschaft in Düsseldorf, contemplating the rest of my life … or at least Jacob’s concert tonight.  That fellow on my right, and his friends, have been helping me understand how to buy tram and bus tickets.  No doubt it’s easy when you know how to do it.

And then there’s Jacob.  I’m so looking forward to singing!  It’s a joy in my life.  I’ll tell you all about the concert tomorrow … no doubt smiling all the while.

Usually I write for you.  Today I write for me.

This evening the cello players of my teacher Lieven are giving a concert.  We’ll go onstage individually to each play a piece or two.

It’s naked up there.  Everything is revealed.  All the soaring melodies, the sweetness of the tone, the vibrato of the left hand to bring richness to the note.

And …

The wrong notes, the wrong rhythms, the scratchy squeal of bow on string.

Am I willing for all of it to show up tonight?  Yes.  I’ll give ‘er the whole time but I’m thoroughly imperfect in certain moments.

I’ve practiced a lot but still some changes in finger position on the neck of the cello elude me.  Oh well.

Whatever the quality of sound coming from me today, I will play with passion.  Somewhere in the vicinity of “throwing caution to the wind”.  If all goes to hell, I’ll do my darndest to keep my head high, to still sway a bit in the body, to touch the audience.

What adventure!

***

There are risks and costs to action.  But they are far less than the long range risks of comfortable inaction

John F. Kennedy

He’s a young man who sits at a table in Izy Coffee Langemunt studying Mandarin.  He’s always friendly to me and has challenged me to speak in Dutch.

I didn’t notice him sitting there when I came into Izy yesterday.  But soon we were waving to each other from across the room.

Later he came over to ask me the meaning of an English word and I was happy to help.  I looked at Boaz and wondered if I should tell him the truth.  And the answer was “Yes”.

I’m been avoiding having a conversation with you, Boaz, because you’ll engage me in Dutch and I haven’t been studying for weeks now.  It feels like I’m losing the language.  My motivation has disappeared.

We laughed.  And so began a long talk … in English.

He talked about starting to learn Korean.  His heart wasn’t in it so he stopped.  I talked about letting go of being a Zoom host for Evolutionary Collective meetings after five years in the role.  And Boaz has also stopped being the projectionist for hymn lyrics at his church.

We agreed that once the task has sunk into being an obligation, there’s no sense in continuing.  It’s good to let go of things that no longer thrill our soul.  Other opportunities will come our way.

We wandered over the landscapes of other topics.  Right now I can’t remember what they were!  Doesn’t matter.  What is important is that a 21-year-old and a 75-year-old found common ground.  We connected.  Our differences paled before our common humanity.

There are so many fine people in the world

I’ve been afraid of a song.  It’s one that vibrates inside me as the lyrics unfold.  But I’ve struggled to memorize those words.

I planned to sing it a couple of months ago but I didn’t have the energy to study.  Was that Covid time or earlier?  I can’t remember.

My energy is back and I’ve decided to sing at the café of the Minard concert hall on Monday, December 9.  I was aiming to sing Annie’s Song, John Denver’s ode to love.  I started practicing and it was easy.  I used to sing it in Canada … forty years ago.  Back then I added a verse, adapting the Irish Blessing to John’s song.  I planned to do the same in December.  I wasn’t afraid.

On Sunday I was thumbing through my files of song lyrics and there sat my scary song: Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down.  I read through the words.  I listened to Kris Kristofferson sing it on YouTube Music.

And I knew

December 9: Kris and me.  A simple nod of the head.  Loving something I fear.  And so I continue to memorize.

A drug addict is speaking.  I know nothing about what that’s like.  But I will give that world to the audience in a couple of weeks.

Here are the words:

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad
So I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I’d smoked my brain the night before
On cigarettes and songs that I’d been pickin’
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussin’ at a can that he was kickin’
Then I crossed the empty street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken
And it took me back to something
That I’d lost somehow, somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there’s something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin’ city sidewalk
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down

In the park, I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl he was swingin’
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the song that they were singin’
Then I headed back for home
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin’
And it echoed through the canyons
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On the Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there’s something in a Sunday
Makes a body feel alone
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin’ city sidewalk
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down

If you’re local, perhaps you’d like to hear me sing.  Minard’s café is at Romain Deconinckplein 2 in Gent. 

The concert on Monday, December 9 starts at 8:00 pm with scheduled acts.  The open mic session will start around 9:00.

Here I come

Here’s a sad story:

Lord Conway built a large castle in Portmore, County Antrim [in what is now Northern Ireland], close to Portmore Lough, in 1664.

The ancient oak, known as “the ornament tree”, was pushed over by a strong wind when standing on the grounds of Portmore’s Castle on the banks of Lugh Bege.  The tree was already well-known for its stance.  Oak was cut, and the timber was sold.  We may infer from the measurements that the trunk’s width was 13 meters.

Almost all the trees were chopped down and sold as lumber for shipbuilding, and the castle fell into ruin.

And so began the decimation of the oak forests of Ireland.  The picture is of an oak tree.  Perhaps the Ornament Tree was as magnificent.

Someone was moved in the 1800’s to write a song about this tragedy … Bonny Portmore.  And I was moved to listen … “Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree”

Here are the lyrics:

Oh, Bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see
Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree
For it stood on your shore for many’s the long day
‘Til the long boats from Antrim came to float it away

Oh, Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you, the more I think long
If I had you now as I had once before
All the Lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore

All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep
Saying, “Where shall we shelter, where shall we sleep?”
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down
And the walls of Bonny Portmore are all down to the ground

Oh, Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand
And the more I think on you the more I think long
If I had you now as I had once before
All the Lords of Old England would not purchase Portmore

I found a glorious version of Bonny Portmore on YouTube, sung by a member of Celtic Woman.  The song and singer have told me to learn the words … and sing them for people.

And so I will

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=k6vQZKNJ7Lw&si=WwCU2n5m3nMD9qpw