On the Mend and A*******s.
It is Wednesday after a difficult week prior. Suddenly, things have improved. Rozanne and the children have looked after me so well until their departure on the weekend. A clear indicator they think my chances of survival have significantly improved.
"I would like to record Rozanne and my appreciation for all the goodwill messages of support we received from all over the world. We were amazed by the number and the thoughtful content. We Zimbabweans are surely a lost tribe. I also was so pleased to see the support offered to Rozanne, the true hero of this piece." - Peter MacSporran.
Every few days, I go down to the local clinic where they, specifically a lovely lady named Margarida, clean my wounds and change my dressings. We have a wheelchair, so to and from the car minimises standing time. Last week, thirty seconds standing would find me feeling faint; now, I can even walk a few metres.
While we were waiting to be seen, I heard and saw someone at the counter whose voice had that distinctive British English accent and entitled tone. The lady at the reception does not speak English, which only seemed to cause him to raise his voice decibels, which now included anger or at least frustration in its tone.
I said to Rozanne, look at that ‘asshole’. The one way to close communication with the Portuguese, even if one-to-one, face to face, is to be aggressive. Rozanne took pity on the receptionist, who we had got to know well, and went to her rescue, indicating to her what the asshole wanted. Upon finishing, he returned to where I was sitting and voiced his disgust with the Portuguese health system, especially since they did not understand English. He then informed us his wife had just returned from four days in CHUC hospital after being admitted through Urgencia (A&E). There, they had found a number of ailments, but she was now at home awaiting further treatment, and he was at the clinic to find out what the proposed next steps would be.
He said his wife, on admission, could not find anyone who spoke English, and she was therefore unaware of what was going on most of the time, and her questions were simply ignored. I said I was surprised to hear that, as I had just this week also been discharged from CHUC and had always been able to find someone to help with communication and at no time was I ever ignored. He immediately contradicted me, telling me what I was saying was not the case. He went immediately from ‘acting like an asshole’ to a ‘complete asshole.’ I will come back to assholes in detail later.
Late on Friday night, my health suddenly turned for the worse. To remind you, I was still passing a lot of blood in my urine. Rozanne called the urologic surgical ward, from whence I recently came, and they suggested they take me to Urgencia immediately. Here, I was readmitted and immediately given attention and, of course, a host of tests. At least this time, my vitals were within reason. To make a long story short, after the tests and ultrasound scans, it was agreed I had an infection. A nice doctor, Dr. Numes, and I had a chat, and he informed me that he had conversed with my surgeon, and both agreed, if I was happy, that after receiving intravenous antibiotics, I could go home. I was more than keen. I did it with a light heart; I am unsure about my family. That was Saturday midday.
Unfortunately, on returning home, as the day progressed, I got weaker again. I was even too ill to watch the Ireland Vs New Zealand match, and at about ten, my family were in strong mind to return me to the hospital. I said no, four against one, and yet I won. Definitely getting stronger.
“As far as I am concerned, hospital is where you go to get fixed and treated, and home is where you recover. The roles are completely different.” - Peter MacSporran
This depends on your home and family circumstances; many do not have this choice.
The family innovated raising my bed with an extra mattress ensuring my catheter drained quickly, removing the crap (blood) from my bladder. The next day, I was able to sit up and watch the game. I was sad to see my children leave, but as stated earlier, a clear indicator of the lowering of concern.
Being readmitted through Urgencia on a Friday night is the opportunity to see some of the world's biggest assholes. At the top of the list are those assholes that are being admitted due to alcohol or drug abuse. I can understand the frustration of the doctors in just trying to extract from a Zombie what he had taken.
Followed by them, there is a very common form of asshole. That is, those who want instant and constant attention. When you are admitted after a doctor's examination, you are issued with a bar-coded coloured wristband identifying you while also denoting the urgency or seriousness of your condition and what tests are required to ascertain with certainty your illness or trauma. If you lie quietly, things unfold; after all, the computers control the next step in the central console, monitoring and instigating the nurses' actions, physically administering drugs and monitoring the patient.
“In hospital, you are a patient; this is not a misnomer. That means having the patience and trust in knowing things are moving forward while you lie there.” - Peter MacSporran
As I say, there are many forms of assholes. In my musings in bed, I thought I could make an effort in trying to define them. Fortunately or unfortunately, we all have our own definitions of asshole, so mine certainly will not be globally definitive. Here are mine.
“The nice thing about the term asshole is that it is totally gender encompassing unlike dickhead which is male-specific.” - Peter Macsporran
Passing or occasional asshole. This is someone who does something stupid on occasion, especially to the detriment of those around them or even himself. An example of this would be while drunk, he or she tries to make a move on his best friend's partner or simply pissing in the in-laws cupboard while drunk. Most of us have been one of these at some time. In summary, someone who does something really stupid without malice.
Nuisance or ignorant asshole. This is someone who may consciously repeat an annoying action or claim, and his reputation for doing such is lifted, too. Usually, if given advice from a friend, they may desist; if not, they graduate to complete asshole.
Complete asshole. This is someone who, through his own stupidity, will neither learn from his mistakes nor listen to the advice of others. Perhaps not vindictive, but indeed becomes a pain in the ass.
Frustrating Asshole. Always volunteers to help or do something on your behalf, even commercially but never does. Six months later, when you resort to someone else to do the job or provide the service, he will say, "If you had just left it another couple of days, I would have done it."
Parent Asshole aka Cringe Asshole. A parent who wishes to redeem his failures in sport or even academia through the success of their children. They question the capability of the teacher, shout loudest at sporting events, even threaten the umpire, and boast of their children's achievements while the said child silently cringes next to them.
Ignorant Asshole. This is the one that does not know he does not know.
Arrogant asshole. Someone who sees his status and views above all others. The one that jumps the queue, tells exaggerated stories of his achievements from work or sport. Will always have caught a bigger fish, won a bigger prize or even claimed his or her sickness was worse than yours. They may even believe their own stories and are happy to repeat them whenever the occasion arises. Their underlying problem is that they are very dull. Yes, they are boring but not dangerous assholes.
Dangerous asshole. Someone in power or at least with the capability of influencing the lives of others. Many are politicians. They are happy to ignore the truth in favour of their own misguided ego-driven agenda. The law is not for them. They have no empathy for others. A good example was the former First Minister of Scotland, Nicola Sturgeon.
Bureaucratic asshole. Someone in a position to have the power to deny you a document, licence or service they are legally required to provide you. Generally, they are bullies, delighting in your frustration while, more often than not, corrupt, happy to provide what is your right in exchange for some benefit, cash or kind.
Politically correct asshole. Wealthy, well-educated people who declare themselves as sensitive, well-meaning socialists, although their salaries, social circles and accumulation of assets are contradictory to this. They will never be seen in a greasy spoon or a second-class rail carriage. Colour is one of their primary weapons, often very stupidly in a condescending fashion, declaring the victim a victim, although the person was unaware of being a victim. Their motivation is self.
The Greenie asshole. Here, it could be broken down into many sub-categories, such as environmental, stop fossil fuels, vegans, and the use of climate change to interpret any shower of rain or sunny afternoon. They benefit from both the ignorance of their followers and, importantly, false information on our flora and fauna, coupled with selling the sentiment through the media that animals are portrayed as having human feelings and capabilities. As a personal aside, Chris Parkham may qualify here.
The Wokism asshole. Their role is not to address prejudice in colour as they claim but rather promote it. That simple.
Gender asshole. These are some of the most dangerous assholes undermining someone's true biological identity to the detriment of acceptable social structures that go back to the caveman.
The common denominator of all, other than the passive, is everything is built on lies, false truth, preferring their own, and the vulnerability of our present society brought about by having easy access to everything. Boredom perhaps?
Start of My Role as CFU (Commercial Farmers Union) Vice President.
When I joined the CFU, our offices were still in the Farmer House on Moffat Street. A rather scruffy nine-floor building in the centre of Harare with an antiquated lift prone to breakdown. Luckily, I was fit then and took pride in being able to run up the stairs. By the time I left four years later, it was a steady plod.
I was unfamiliar with my President, Anthony Swire-Thompson, other than having briefly met him a couple of times before the congress and my election that year in August 1992. I was to find quickly that his stern, almost taciturn manner was due to shyness and reticence in speaking before he had thought an issue through thoroughly. Because of this, some may have thought him aloof. I soon found he had high integrity, impeccable manners, a strong work ethic and would not tolerate fools. He loved his wife, Deirdre, deeply. The one conundrum I never figured out was his relationship with the editor of the Farmer magazine, Felicity Wood, who became a very good friend of mine. He had an inherent distrust of the press, and perhaps this caused the friction between him and Felicity, both referring to each other through me as "that bloody woman” or “that bloody man.” For me, he was an excellent union president mentor; unfortunately, perhaps I did not match his high ethics in my social behaviour. Anthony is now late, but right up to his death in 2012, he continued to work for farmers, being the chairman of the Farm Families Trust for many years.
David Hasluck was the director then, whom people either disliked or greatly admired. No matter which, everyone who had worked for or with him could not deny his intelligence and work ethic in his endeavours for the union members. He was definitely Machiavellian, but always for the benefit of the farmer and the CFU, not self-interest. I was one of his admirers. Although an executive, David was very much a political animal, and his knowledge offered to us and the government was acknowledged while at the same time instilling wariness and vulnerability due to his deep knowledge not just of the laws pertaining to agriculture but also the historical background of many as individuals.
I found him a reliable and excellent Chief Executive who was always loyal to the incumbent leadership in my time.
“Often, the non-elected executives take the criticism of the poor leadership offered by their elected superiors.” - Peter McSporran
One of the first things he said to me when I arrived was that while I brought many attributes to the Union, he thought Nick Swanepoel would be better at handling the land issue. I kept in touch with him until his death, and when I called him in his hospital bed in Ireland shortly before his death two years ago, at the height of the CSC shenanigans, his view had significantly changed.
Dr. Jerry Grant was deputy director and an animal scientist. He had an impressive stature, although not tall. He was a keen environmentalist and had done much of his scientific research in the past on cattle, an absolute favourite with the ranchers, both game and cattle, in the south. Underneath his sometimes stern veneer was a real softy. Unlike David, Jerry did not have the guile to handle political matters. He and David were easy to work with; unfortunately, they are now both deceased.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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