Flashbacks: Patterns of the Past (reblog)

This is a reblog from a post on my new website. I thought you might like it

We’re surprisingly well adapted to find problems.

In essence our unconscious mind uses our senses to scan everything in our environment like a multi-level radar system. Our brain, which by the way is the most complex system known to science according to that keyboard-playing Professor Cox, is superb at identifying patterns. It matches them to past experience and projects them into potential futures. In the blink of an eye it decides whether we are safe & sound or whether to sound the alarm to keep us safe.

It is simply stunning.

But…

Sometimes the patterns it matches to are out of date, belonging to a you that is no longer here. Things that troubled you as a child are innocuous as an adult but we still feel the fear of speaking to strangers or talking to those we automatically see as authority figures. We respond to bosses as if they were teachers and we were children, either acquiescing quietly or becoming tongue-tied. Being called into the office is so like the walk to the headmaster’s room that we feel the same sense of trepidation and dread. (Or is that just me?)

Sometimes the pattern is more recent but the rawness of it resonates long after it ought to have past.

I got clobbered with one of these last week.

Read More: Click here

Feel the fear. Say it anyway.

Some stories have to be shared, no matter how scared it makes you feel.

I’m literally shaking at the thought of posting this, firstly because I’m unsure of the reaction I’ll get and secondly because it’s so important to me to raise awareness for this disease that I have suffered from for the past 4 years.

To read the rest of Rachael’s story: follow this link…

 

Feel the fear and say it anyway.

This is Rachael’s story.

My daughter’s story.

One step beyond

I ran 5k three days ago. For the first time in many weeks I found enough time and energy, on the same day, to actually return to the gym. One step at a time, I ran 5k.

I thought I’d be struggling far more than I did, especially as it seems that I’m carrying around one or two more bags of sugar than last time I was there. Never mind.

I’m so tired that a good night’s sleep seems to make it worse, ramming home even more just how long all this has been going on.

Perhaps it’s time to call it a day; package everything up and rename it as the Past.

Perhaps it’s time to begin the future.

Another chapter. A different phase of the story I tell myself.

Life from another perspective.

I hope it involves sleep.

That’s not random
© Tony Burkinshaw 2013

Ten days later

You might remember the mill. We’ve been through it often enough. The rollercoaster duly threw in its ups and downs. The screams echo inside and it seems like it’ll never end. One long nightmare ride that can’t be real. An end that never comes into sight.

It takes an age to progress. The future is so far off that time distorts its blanket and wraps eternity around each day. The team is shorthanded. There aren’t enough skills to go around. National policy trumps clinical discretion.

And then the future arrives.

With enough challenging of the accepted norm, we find the one surgeon who believes his own judgment matters. He stands up & gets counted. We count on him.

A long day and five hours pass.

Much sooner than anyone expected, the pain subsides and the healing takes hold.

Much sooner than anyone expected.

She’s home.

Paper Drum
© Vinum

Paper Drum: The EP

Tears and Tantrums

This one might stay with me. I’m not sure if I want to publish how I feel right now, which is a little weird because that means this 100 words a day habit could end up being a journal and that’s something I’ve never understood the point of.

Until now, I guess.

Prognosis has moved three times in the last 24 hours so in terms of rolling with the punches, I’ve given up. This is more about how hard can you get hit and still get up again.

And again.

In large part the determination comes because I have a choice. It isn’t actually happening to me, it’s happening to Rachael. I’m just playing a supporting role.

Sometimes the cracks appear and it’s time for tears and tantrums.

Sometimes they’re not cracks at all and it’s time to let the emotions out to play until the pent up pressure is released.

Yet again, the final answer is surgery next week.
Or perhaps not.

Ah well. Publish and be damned.

what’s down there…
© Tony Burkinshaw 2012

The Choice Option

There’s a glimpse of sunshine. Perhaps two.

Option 1:

Here we go again. Dare to hope or hunker down and wait for the punch that’s always turned up so far.
Every time it’s improved, it’s turned around and slapped us.
Hard.
It’s beyond us. Out of our control.
Life just keeps on happening to us.

Option 2:

Every time it felt like we can’t carry on, there’s been hope. Something has come along and lifted our spirits. A new fact. Uncovering a way of looking at the problem, which gives pause for thought. Get’s the medics thinking again. Trying something new. Adjusting the balance.
Whatever comes along, we’re up to it.
We have to be.
No. It’s more than that.
We choose to be.

External Locus of Control vs. Internal Locus of Control

Simple.
Not easy.

I’ve made my choice.

Enough said.

It’s a delicate balance
© Tony Burkinshaw 2013