The Bleeder in Bed One.

As some of you already know, up until last Tuesday, I was, as they say, “incapacitated”. About a fortnight ago, early hours of Monday morning, I awoke vomiting blood — after passing the dreaded “black stool” the day before (sorry about the detail, but it saves having to fill in the gaps for people individually… it’s surprising how many people are fascinated by blood and stool 😉 ). My father immediately dialled 999 and I was admitted to accident and emergency.

To cut a long story short, it turns out I’d had a stomach bleed (we think.) A few minor ulcers that didn’t really explain the huge drop in my haemoglobin level — something that it is now believed was a false reading — but, we assume, something that could explain the bleed I did have.

I won’t dress it up; it’s been a pretty tough couple of weeks for me. Endoscopies, blood levels all over the shop (top up the potassium, down goes the phosphate — you get the picture), a central line put in my neck (the carotid artery, I believe) when getting blood in through the existing line became untenable and my signs were so screwed up they couldn’t get a line in anywhere else (this was an especially enjoyable process involving a mini scanner and what felt like a hand drill going into my neck… even that took four attempts!)… and, of course, numerous other indignities to boot, such as catheters etc!

It’s fair to say, I don’t think I’d have managed it had it not been for the constant support of my parents — who were there for me throughout the whole process, questioning when I couldn’t and generally keeping me strong and sane. Love you, guys!

Also, of course, the staff of The James Cook University Hospital were — for the large part (I’d be lying if I said there were not one or two nurses I didn’t get on with quite as well) — were quite wonderful, and I would just like to take this opportunity to thank them for their help, care and expertise. I know quite a few of them will possibly be dropping by because, naturally, my father never being one to miss an opportunity, whilst attending to his other fatherly duties, also managed to push my book quite heavily! (At one point he was — I kid you not — heard to say “Just think, one day you’ll be able to hold the book up and say, ‘I took his catheter out.'”!)

So how am I now? Improving — quite considerably. I’m still extremely weak and very much doubt that I’ll be back up to speed up for a week or two, yet, but I’m on the medication for my stomach and already feeling the benefit (no acid reflux whatever I eat!) I will try to respond to everyone individually when I can but, in the meantime, thank you for all the kind thoughts and good wishes. They’ve meant a lot. Truly.

To Tweet or Not to Tweet…

Even people I know who’ve never so much as glanced at a computer are suddenly talking about the not-so-new new “fad” (that is actually anything but a “fad”) known as Twitter. It seems that you can’t turn on the television or open a newspaper without stumbling across celebrities or panels of experts expounding on the merits and, more often, the utter nefariousness of this new obsession.

So what is Twitter? (Just in case you’ve been in a coma for the past few weeks.) Well, Twitter is a micro-blogging service — a condensed version of what I’m doing here. Think of it as soundbite broadcasting for and by the people, if you’re feeling grand (and why not?), a way of sharing, in no more than 140 characters, a thought, a witticism, a mental fart. The principal question that drives Twitter is “what are you doing?”, and some people take the answering of that quite literally. Jonathan Ross announcing that he is just going for “a poo” a pretty good example.

Childish and banal, yes? Well, actually, no.

I’ve been using Twitter for a while now — BSF, in fact (that is, Before Stephen Fry helped to popularise it by announcing on television that he’s a Twitter user.) Initially, it was something of a slow burn. It seemed little more than a lot of noise, mostly pointless (at least to me.) And then I started to follow more people, people with similar and diverging interests — my own following growing daily — and the real value started to become more apparent. I found after a short while that one minute I might be using it to talk about Wittgenstein, the next sharing my progress on the outline I was working on or simply enjoying a #Twittercuppa with a few Twitter friends. It became useful very quickly, “useful” defined in a number of ways.

So I was amused (and, yes, it’s such a ridiculous generalisation that I really can’t take it seriously) to read this morning in the Times Online clinical psychologist Oliver James stating that: “Twittering stems from a lack of identity. It’s a constant update of who you are, what you are, where you are. Nobody would Twitter if they had a strong sense of identity.”

Where do they get these people? The very idea that (all) people using Twitter do not have a strong sense of identity is simply quite absurd. Anyone who’s read my blog for any length of time will probably agree that I know exactly who I am. I do not need to define myself by constantly seeking feedback or approval. But even if I did — what about Barack Obama? As someone who used Twitter to get himself into the White House, does he lack identity? Is he perhaps a mass of insecurities in constant need of reassurance, confirmation, perhaps, that, yes, he is still President and worthy of the position? I think not. I think he is, quite simply, a man using a new medium in a way that suits and benefits him.

Celebrities might bicker and bitch on Twitter. Teenagers no doubt use it to flirt in text speak. I’m sure some tragic individual will at some point (if they haven’t already) announce their impending suicide in no more than 140 characters. Like all new technologies — from telephones to Internet chat rooms — Twitter is as diverse as the world we live in and reflects just about every aspect of life imaginable, from the mundane to the quite simply astounding. As another tool, I find it invaluable. One brief message from my phone, no matter where I am, is immediately on Twitter, my website — see the sidebar to your right — and my Facebook page (with the help of some neat applications and widgets.) Friends and those who are interested in my writing always know what I’m up to (within reason… I’ll leave the poo announcements to Jonathan Ross!) and it isn’t a chore. Quick, efficient and vibrant.

And Oliver James will never know. Too wrapped up in his own superficial analyses he’ll simply never take the time to try it.

But I doubt he could ever answer the question “what are you doing?” in 140 characters, anyway, or, at least, not without answering the question with a question.

© 2009 Gary William Murning

Singularly Toothsome — Stephen Fry Chats to Clive James.

For some time, cultural commentator, author, poet, television presenter, etc, Clive James has hosted his own online interview show, creatively titled Clive James Talking in the Library (in case you haven’t quite managed to work it out for yourself, it features Clive in a library — his, I believe — talking to various people.) I heard about it a good while ago and, as is often the way, promptly forgot all about it.

Last night, however, I managed to catch an episode that happened to be showing on one of the Sky Arts channels — an interview with the novelist Nick Hornby. I enjoyed its conversational tone so much that this morning, once I’d finished reading through last week’s work and making notes about what I plan to write this coming week, I tootled along to YouTube and, delight of delights, found an episode featuring that driver of London taxis and all-round sagacious wit Stephen Fry (okay, so he’s a Mac user — but we can’t all be perfect, right?)

Naturally, given my generous nature, I felt it was my duty to share this discovery with you. I simply wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night knowing that you (yes, you!) had missed out on such charms and witticisms. Feel free to thank me if you must, in whichever way seems most appropriate. But please bear in mind that I’m a delicate chap, and whilst I would encourage you to be creative in how you choose to show your gratitude, please allow me a few moments to get my breath back every once in a while.

Part One.

Part Two.

Part Three.

© 2008 Gary William Murning