Day ninety

I was lying in bed this morning trying to get into a position where it didn't hurt. I was trying to keep my mind off a conversation I had yesterday, and failing in the process. I gave up after what seemed like a very long time, and decided to get up. I looked at the time and it was 4:30am. It is now 4:50 and I have to write to get this sorted out in my head.

I said when started this blog 90 days ago that I was going to write about what it felt like to be me going through all these tests and scans and how it felt to be poked and prodded in hospital; stripped in front of female nurses and just another person in the waiting room to be dealt with. The one thing I didn't expect to be experiencing happened yesterday. Although, I say I wasn't expecting it, yet every time I followed medical advice and went for a walk; every time I went shopping for food, I half expected someone to see me and so I would experience this. But I was hoping that was just my paranoia. Turns out it wasn't.

So today, instead of writing what I intended to write, I am going to write about my birthday.

Yesterday morning began OK. Anne gave me a couple of presents. I am wearing one of them. The other was a DNA testing kit. I had thought for a while (as an adopted person with no family tree) that it would be interesting to see what my ethnic origin is.

Then I decided to go for a walk, so I took the kit, with my DNA, to the Post Office and then I called in at the Second-Hand Bookshop to talk to Emily the 35 year-old owner. She had been telling me about her traumatic childhood last time I was in, so I wanted to hear the conclusion. And then I went into the coffee morning at the URC/Methodist church. The greeting I get there is always overwhelming. I don't think they realise how overwhelming I find it. After an hour, when I decided to leave they all sang "Happy Birthday" to me. Again, you need to see inside my brain to understand how that felt. Words fail me, so I can't write about it.

Back home my daughter gave me a couple of presents. I won't write about them.

And then we went to the Foodbank. Nick from the Benefits Office was there. He's a bit younger than my daughter - he always asks what the progress on my health is; Stevie from the NHS Mental Health & Wellbeing Team was there (the team is being made redundant this weekend! She is keeping her job). I don't know what age she is, but probably around my daughter's age, and she has recently been diagnosed with arthritis in her hands and an extremely rare liver disease. So we make quite the team.

I had a few people in, only one voucher issued today. Then a couple from the Norton Subcourse Methodist Church called in. They were in Southwold for a day trip. They had a conversation with me about my health, and told me how they were praying for me every week at their prayer meeting.

And then, just before we closed at 4pm my district chair (woman) phoned me and my birthday was ruined. She is nice enough, but she doesn't know me. If she did she wouldn't have told me what she did in the course of her pastoral phonecall.

Someone told her that they didn't believe I was ill. If I am still keeping the Foodbank open I can't possibly be ill. They told her this, so I imagine they have lied to other people in the circuit as well. There is no one medically trained in any of my churches, so it wasn't a medical diagnosis. It was just some despicable individual. who obviously has an issue with me and hasn't the courage to say it to my face.

My immediate reaction was to ask who and to make suggestions. She assured me that it wasn't any of the retired ministers, and that she had put this individual right. So I then worked out that in recent weeks she has chaired the circuit leadership team meeting and led services in 2 of my churches. The paranoia grew! Who was it? Who hates me so much to make up lies like that?

I know some people reading this have had lies told about them at work in secular work. That is bad enough as a Christian in a secular setting. I had that many decades ago, so I get that.

But as a minister, to be falsely accused; someone bearing false witness. This is obviously someone who hasn't phoned, texted, or emailed, to ask how I am. There has been no Get Well card from this despicable individual.

And the self-justification has kicked in. In March it will be 36 years since I became a minister. I have lived and ministered in places where angels fear to tread. I have never taken the holidays I am entitled to; I have never taken the days off I am entitled to; sometimes going several weeks without a day off. I remember when it came to my first sabbatical - the Methodist church threatened me if I didn't take it.

I missed one church service when I had a severe migraine - so bad I couldn't get out of bed. Even when I have lost my voice I have still struggled through services. I spent 4 days in hospital once with a pulmonary embolism. Not my fault - I couldn't breathe so they kept me in!

I worked for a year with this pain and I didn't mention it at all for the first 6 months until I first went to see a doctor. I then worked for the next 6. months, having to take time out for appointments; cameras and scans.

And then it got so bad I had to go off. And someone is lying about me saying I am not ill. If they talked to the chair of district, who else have they lied to?

So, no, I'm not taking it well!

And it ruined my birthday!

Something always does!

But I am wondering now what it will be like to go back. I'm still processing the news that both my lungs are partially collapsed. This is worse than anything else, medically. I know it can be fixed, but I also know it can lead to pneumonia and lung failure. And someone is telling people that there is nothing wrong with me.

Just a few days ago I was reading a book that talked about that verse: (Romans 12: 19), Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.

And I know I will do nothing about this false accusation. I will probably take the pile of letters from the hospital to the next circuit meeting and offer to give it to any sceptics, but I don't know if this individual is on the circuit meeting.

But I leave it to God to repay.

Yet this is how my mind works, and that's what this blog is about. Yes, I'm angry, but I am also despairing, and I have tears in my eyes as I write this. Such hatred`! Why?

I'm not going to write anything for the next couple of days. I am seeing the GP on Tuesday morning, so I'll write about that after I've seen him.