Five people came walking into my room this morning: two doctors that I’d met, their supervisor, and a young man and woman who are probably interns.  Lots of medical power.

The supervisor felt all over my right foot and listened to my chest.  He had lots of questions.  My response was basically that nothing was wrong before the fever showed up on Tuesday afternoon, except for having had pneumonia five months ago.

He looked puzzled.  Turns out he was.

We don’t know what’s causing your blood infection

He talked about further investigations they’ll do, the only one of which I remember is the eyes.

Speaking of which, we made long and pure eye contact as he and his colleagues were leaving.  Connection.

I spent an hour in Ophthalmology this afternoon.  In Dutch it’s “Oogheelkunde”.  Really high tech equipment in there.  Five or six tests on various machines and then an extended time with an ophthalmologist.  The result: normal for a guy getting older – cataracts gradually becoming worse, no disease.

So on we go to the next …

***

So many people at AZ Sint-Lucas have been kind to me.  My very first day, a young woman came towards me in Emergency to take me to my room.  As I settled into the wheelchair, she smiled and said:

“I saw you this morning in Panos on the Langemunt [a coffee, sandwich and dessert place].  You told the staff members that you saw they were happy people, and that you were going to check out the seated customers to see if they were happy people too.  You walked by us and other tables, then went back to the counter.  ‘Yep … they’re happy too!’  I laughed.”

As we rolled along, Céline said that I was so different from the typical Belgian person, who is not spontaneous.  She loved the difference.  I thanked her for saying something.  I was happy that I had made her laugh.  Often I do silly things and don’t know whether folks enjoy it.

I reflected woozily on the contrast: today’s morning Bruce and the afternoon version.  We smiled and waved goodbye.

***

More stories to come, dear ones … but not today

Here’s my current story: The fever is gone.  I’m sleeping a good part of the day and all night.

The doctor visited me an hour ago.  She says I don’t have pneumonia.  Yay!  There’s some type of blood infection, which she’s investigating.

My right foot is red, swollen and painful.  It will get an “echo” test this afternoon.  My right leg colours are a palette of tones.  Lower thigh deep brown from a week of Eastbourne tennis.  Lower leg pearly white since I wear compression stockings.  And the redness below.  Guess I have an artistic body.

I arrived at the hospital late Tuesday with a temperature of 39 Celsius (102 Fahrenheit).  Overnight I was delirious.  Completely lost.  I pressed the call button many times, trying to get cooler.  Sometimes though, the whole body was shaking.  I was freezing and I asked for another blanket.  The nurse said no – my temp was still 38 point something. 

Not much sleep Tuesday night.  I must have called out to the nurses hundreds of times (not the call bell).  What I remember are some phrases: “Please come back.”  “Help me.”  “I don’t know what to do.”  “Mommy!”  I think I picked one and moaned it over and over again till I fell asleep.

It was astonishing to be so gone.  And to be unable to compose a sentence.  I’m used to that in Dutch – but not in English!

***

That’s enough for today.  I’ve met marvelous people at AZ Sint-Lucas.  I’ll tell you about them tomorrow.  And now back to bed.

So immensely strange, this life.  Yesterday’s post on Facebook had this title: “A spring in my step once more … ”  I was heading to the elliptical at Basic-Fit, ready to begin again.

Within the post I said this: “The journey ahead is unknown.  There will be many trials and joys.” 

True.

I thought I was being smart – spending far less time on the machine than previously, and schussing at a slower speed.  Nope.

I got my heart rate up to 117 beats per minute.  That’s good.  Then I headed home.  I was watching the Tour de France on TV.  Gosh, those guys are strong!

And then, suddenly … I was burning up.  I was dizzy.  Cycling and playing cello and singing didn’t matter at all.

I wetted a hand towel and laid down.  I tried to sleep but there was no chance.  A flicker of my male ego said that I’d be fine.  Tough it out.  It’s not really bad enough to go to Emergency.

But then I found myself stumbling down the stairs to the street.  I had planned to take the bus to AZ Sint-Lucas, my local hospital.  But there on the stairs was my neighbour Donia.  Five months ago we had met at pretty much the same spot when I was also sick.  She drove me then.  I asked her to drive me now.

What a great person Donia is.  She walked me arm-in-arm to her car since I was wobbly.  At Emergency, she took my Identity Card and dealt with the triage woman while I slumped in my chair.

***

Well, well, well.  I don’t have the energy to continue right now.  It’s okay, Bruce.  Go back to sleep.

Tomorrow I’ll return.

I haven’t been to the gym for two months.  That after a long period when I was going three times a week.

No, it doesn’t make sense to me either.

It was the beginning of May.  My school life was revving up.  At the Poel, forty of us cellists were working hard on learning the intricacies of six short pieces.  On May 25, we’d be playing them (in four parts) at St. Michael’s Church.  I was a world away from being good enough to perform.

At CVO Gent, the mysteries of learning Dutch were piling atop my head.  So often I was lost in class … and exams were on June 8.

And my nephew Jagger was about to arrive from Canada for a 17-day visit.

There’s no time for Basic-Fit!

Or so I said.  All that fitness slowly leaked away.  Oh, I’ve done lots of walking since, but nothing to get my heart zooming past 120 beats per minute.  Nothing to strengthen those arm, leg and back muscles.  And no stretching program.  (Sigh)

Yes, it’s been a mistake to let my body go for two months.  All the excuses I’ve listed seem reasonable.  And I don’t want to be obsessively busy.  But I need to find a way back to fitness.  After all, I have about thirty years left of living on this planet (or so I promise myself).

My return will be pretty easy in July and August – no school.  The challenge will rear its lovely head in September when full speed ahead will resume in the realms of music and language.  My mind rebels: “At your age, should you really be tackling all this new stuff?”

Silly mind …

Today is now, and within the hour I will lighten the door of Basic-Fit once more.  The journey ahead is unknown.  There will be many trials and joys.  I’m glad I’m in the game.

120 bpm here I come!

Except I’m no longer there.  I’m in London’s St. Pancras Station with approximately half of the world’s population.  As you can see, I’ve sat down in a “Priority Seat”.  I’m the guy with the cane.  And I feel no guilt.  Age has its privileges.

In my week plus in the United Kingdom, I’ve taken several trains and two buses.  The strangeness of advancing on the left side of the road is still with me, especially as a car passenger (“Where’s the steering wheel?”) and as a pedestrian.

While walking, I’ve crossed many streets where we’re to yield to vehicles.  The first white sign on the asphalt says “Look Right”.  Then there’s a little median followed by “Look Left”.  More than once, I’ve been crossing the second part when I hear a vehicle coming towards me from the right.  My Canadian brain keeps cringing in anticipation of my demise.  But I magically remain alive.

From survival instincts to the beauty of place names.  Those buses and trains have taken me to a long list of poetic locations.

Here goes …

Polegate, Glynde, Falmer, Hassocks, Haywards Heath, Blackfriars, Farringdon, East Croydon, Wivelsfield, White Horse, Telscombe Cliffs, Downs Road, Chyngton Lane, Hodcombe Farm, Beachy Head and The Goffs.  As my British friends are fond of saying … “Brilliant!”

***

What’s the truth?  I’m tired of writing.  So with two trains, a tram and a bus to go today, I’m ending this epistle.  I’ve had fun in the U.K. and it’s time to go home.

Until tomorrow then …

This is my favourite spot in Devonshire Park.  I’ve often sat in the shade over the past eight days, looking out over the practice courts and hearing the cheers from the main stadium.

Sometimes I’ve been joined on this out-of-the-way bench by fellow lovers of tennis.  We talk.

But today I wonder: Do I still love tennis?  There are moments, such as a back-and-forth rally of twenty shots, where each player draws the best from their opponent.  But mostly I feel more flat than vivid.  Perhaps the days of Centre Court heat have worn me out … physically and emotionally.  My passion for the game is leaking right now.

Cycling is the sport that thrills my heart today, especially since the Tour de France has started.  I love the colours of the riders’ kits as the peleton flows along.  And the breakaway that’s streaming up a 7% slope ahead of the big group.

***

Last night my friend and Airbnb host Jean accompanied me to a concert at the Eastbourne Bandstand.  A Neil Diamond look- and sound-alike was belting out the hits – Sweet Caroline, Cracklin’ Rosie, You Don’t Bring Me Flowers …  The last one wasn’t a “belting”.  It was a tender duet with Neil’s backup singer Harriet.

I sat next to an eight-year-old girl named Evie.  Her eyes were bright, she was funny, and she ran up to the dance floor to move and groove with a group of women.  I loved her on first sight.

My eyes softened as the evening proceeded.  How I wish that I had become a father, that I could have cheered on my daughter, that I would have heard the word “Daddy”.

Alas …

***

I leave Eastbourne today with a wistful smile

My friend Sue and I went to see a tribute show at the Eastbourne Bandstand last night.  U2 look-alikes graced the stage.  They didn’t grace my heart.

I don’t know their music.  Perhaps I lived in a cave in the 80’s.  I can’t remember.  “Bono” had lots of energy and a fine voice but I couldn’t understand most of the words.  The unfamiliar melodies were okay.

So … I had bought a ticket on the chance that a new and exciting musical experience would come my way.  That didn’t happen.  So how would I create a groovy evening?

I enjoy talking to Sue.  Her life is imbued with Spirit.  But the volume of the music meant that mostly I couldn’t hear her words either.

So what was left?  People-watching!  Of course.  We sat near the bar and there was a virtually constant stream of men coming and going.  Some flowed along but most were solid – stiff jaw and all that.  I wondered what their lives were like.

And then there were the U2 lovers.  Three women across from us knew the words and danced in their seats.  Later they were in front of the stage.  Their joy in the music was marvelous to see.

Across the way was a mom, a dad and a maybe ten-year-old son.  They danced and hugged and laughed.  Mom is in the photo, wearing pink.  You also see two crutches waving in the air.  That guy was having fun too!

***

A fine time was had by all … even me

It’s a matter of creating happiness

Notes from the day:

I’m sitting with my pizza and beer in a pub.  I’m watching cricket on the big screen.  Nearby are eight guys debating the quality of India and England.  I sit passively … unknowing.  It looks a bit like baseball but clearly it’s not.  “What are those people doing?”  I don’t know, and I decide not to interrupt my neighbours’ fervid concentration.

***

At breakfast I sat with two local women who were bemoaning the arrival of “foreigners” in Eastbourne.  “They could at least dress like us.”  Our café hosts were Albanian.  I mentioned how friendly they were  >  “They’re okay.”

Please give me inclusive rather than exclusive.  But despite our differences (they love Trump) we still managed to smile a lot.

***

I grew up in Toronto, where the Maple Leafs were the famous ice hockey team.  I was walking in downtown Eastbourne when I overheard “Are you going to the Leafs game?”  Huh?  Suddenly disoriented, I tried to remember that I was in England, not Canada.

Finally I realized the fellow had said “Leeds game”, referring to the football team of an English city of 600,000.  Ahh … the joys of enunciation.

***

I was in Centre Court at Devonshire Park this afternoon, hoping that the U.K.’s Emma Raducanu would beat Daria Kasatkina from Russia.  I wanted Emma to play Canada’s Leylah Fernandez in the final on Saturday.  It would be a rematch of the final of the 2021 US Open in New York City, which Emma won.  I was there that night.

I started noticing that Daria was dominating the contest.  More importantly I began watching how she moved.  It was almost a dance.  Her shots weren’t powerful but they were so well placed – often just beyond Emma’s reach.  Daria was an artist plying her trade.  And she won.

***

Leylah was playing this morning in a court  for which I didn’t have a ticket, and her match was sold out.  (Sigh)  On a whim, I showed up anyway and found an exterior winding staircase that on one of its turns offered a view of 3/4 of Leylah’s court.  I got to watch for half-an-hour.  Then I was kicked out because the stairs were a fire escape route.  (Sigh again)

But … I found an entrance gate to the court.  The volunteer lady let me stand there.  I got to watch the rest of the match.  And Leylah won!

***

Life works

And it’s awfully good stuff

Folks from here, there and perhaps everywhere.  I meet them in Eastbourne coffee shops, pubs and at Devonshire Park tennis.  Some names I remember.  Most I don’t.  I wish them all well.

1.  She’s a 79-year-old Brit who sat beside me today to watch Katie Boulter and Emma Raducanu win their matches.  She played on Centre Court decades ago.  Her husband died recently and she dearly misses their 48 years together.

2.  Bob joined me for coffee this morning on the patio of The Cappuccino.  He looked across the street at a now-closed cinema where he and his beloved cuddled so many years ago.  He called me “Bruce” countless times and repeatedly said he was delighted to meet me.  A big man with a big accent and a big heart.

3.  Fiona and Gary live near Eastbourne.  She talked a lot, he less … and the love they felt for each other was obvious.  Gary is in the wine business.  I asked if he had a free sample on him, but sadly no.  They’re heading to Vancouver in Canada soon to visit a loved one.  I told them not to miss low tide at Spanish Banks Beach.

4.  I had a lovely talk with a woman who knew little English.  So I ventured into my small history of speaking French.  She enjoyed l’attention française.  For me, newly initiated into the mysteries of learning Dutch, returning to French felt so strange.  Somehow the words of a third language flowed from my mouth.

5.  Another Devonshire neighbour was an Irish woman in her 30’s who could talk tennis “until the cows came home”.  Only after an hour or more did I find out that she was a physician – a general practitioner.  I asked how many years she had spent in medical studies.  Including two years in Internal Medicine training, the answer was … 14!  Wow.

***

So there you have it

Fine representatives of the human race

And I’m one of those too!

I was prepared for today.  Layers of sunscreen and a full water bottle.  If I was a wiser human being, I’d have worn a hat … but I hate hats!  Two out of three ain’t bad.

For breakfast I had smashed avocado on toast at Urban Ground, washed down with a delicious cappuccino.  Usually this is the time I take my three daily meds and some supplements, but I forgot.

Onto the tennis grounds, eager to see the first match.  Too eager.  I remembered the pills and tried to hurry their consumption.  The Omega 3 is a huge one.  I had learned (and now forgotten) not to take it first.  I took it first, with not enough water.  It stuck in my throat.

I kept drinking water but the nasty little guy was immobile.  Two voices chimed in:

1.  You’re fine.  Suck it up.

2.  You may not be fine.  Find some medical person.  Happily I chose Door #2, although my male ego was leaning the other way.

The event information fellow pointed me towards two uniformed guys.  They listened to my story and escorted me to the first aid office.  Four medical-type people turned their eyes and voices to me.  One gentleman suggested I eat little bits of my Powerbar with water.  Another said that my mind may be tricking me.  The pill may have dissolved partially in my throat and left the scene of the crime.  My brain may be saying it’s still there.

Ten minutes later the interior lump was gone.  Thank you, dear first aiders.

***

I watched two-and-a-half tennis matches in the unrelenting sun.  I slowly got dizzy and weak, despite remaining well hydrated and sunburn protected.  I was praying that Katie Boulter would win her match against Petra Martic in two sets rather than three.  She did.  And then I zoomed off to a shady bench.  Lots of folks were nearby, watching the action on a big screen TV while luxuriating in reclining chairs … in full sun!  “How are they doing that?  Why are they doing that?”

***

I’d had enough of tennis.  My legs were wobbly and my head fuzzy.  I needed to eat something for supper.  All my vacant mind could come up with was McDonald’s.  Such a sad choice.

My Big Mac didn’t go well with an irritated throat.  I did a wee vomit on the counter, and another on the street.  (Sigh)

I stumbled home to my Airbnb.  Hours later here I tap, thoroughly done with today.  Goodnight all you probably air conditioned folks.

Perhaps I’ll buy a hat tomorrow