Empower at St Pauls Church Gardens aka Sheffield Peace Gardens

Yes, I'm being pedantic.  It's been the Peace Gardens since redevelopment after the Church was demolished in 1938.  But I get a bit fed up with former faith ventures being assimilated into civic space and squishy liberal values.  Just thought I'd say it.

So, Empower.  Mary and I left Sheffield to go to Leeds in early 2006.  By then the momentum in the city for church leaders to meet together was rapidly evaporating.  In years before that - probably a legacy of the House Church movement, Billy Graham and John Wimber - the lively churches used to do stuff together regularl.  These were often in the University Octagon theatre.  We've been to some excellent events.  True, they were pretty middle class affairs, but those were the churches making the running.

When we came back to Sheffield, towards the end of 2010, I sought out old connections.  Things had moved on.  But a small group, half typical churches and half black majority, was venturing a quarterly praise and prayer celebration.  We liked it, and became Empower regulars.

What do I like about it?  Well, you'll have gathered it's diverse and grass-roots.  The worship is led by a team committed to supporting the vision, and they do well.  The events go from place to place (that is, church to church), so the ministry takes a wide swathe of the city in its interest.  And it isn't stuffy.  You can creep to the refreshments table at any point.

A warm welcome for all

 Gathering for an outdoor event was a 'first', and the evening couldn't have been nicer.  Mary and I arrived a few minutes after the worship got underway, and found a bit of shade.  Folks were aimiably sitting around enjoying the fine weather.  The celebrants for England's 6-1 win were back down Division Street, so not intruding.  With my critical ear for the music, I winced at the over-driven speaker system.  Somebody should have assembled a bit more kit and allowed us a kinder sound, especially as the band were giving it their best.

The Street Pastors were much in evidence, partly stewarding it seemed, but also engaging in lots of conversations and handing out lollipops.  This ministry has emerged in the city fairly recently, and it's doing well.  There are Hospital Pastors in A&E at Northern General, too.

From the stage, various leaders led in prayer around six areas of public life.  They used the template widely adopted by 'Gather' and 'Together' groups: politics/government, education, health, business, faith, and arts and media.  The mix was good.  I've never prayed for the on-line gaming industry before (even though our grandson Ben aims to make it his job).  Our old friends Ray Booth and Martin Lawton wandered by and said, "Hello."  But after and hour and a half, sadly, support began to drift away.  We stayed for the final shout: "Jesus Christ is Lord!".

A great way to spend the evening.  It's one of the things we'll be sorry to leave behind when Mary and I land in Warwickshire.  Nike, Jon, Mousa, Laura and Jonathan - keep building up the work.

You’ve just got to handle it

Earlier this week, I found myself in an interesting conversation with Jon.  Jon’s an interesting character anyway.  He’d just called round on the off-chance, for a cuppa, and to pass the time of day.  

I usually ask him how work’s going, because he’s self-employed doing painting and decorating.  And then I ask him how his parents are doing.  They live in Chalfont, and Jon’s father is in his 90’s, so the question’s usually relevant.  Jon’s a fit guy (for 60), and seemingly his father enjoys the same constitution.  Just a year ago, he bought a new BMW 5-Series to tootle down to the village for the morning newspaper.  Ambitious, is the word I’d choose.  Jon, who’s single, gets to see then when he can.  This time he replied that his Dad was getting forgetful, and related a couple of examples.  Jon hoped this may be a stable condition, but he wondered…

“I’ll tell you how it went with my Mum,” I offered.  “She was in her late 80’s in an independent-living flat in Hull, and we were visiting every fortnight.  One day the warden called us over.  “I found Mum wandering around the laundrette, confused.  Can I have a word with you?” 

She went on to outline how dementia develops.  “First, there’s denial.  This can mean arguments and outbursts.  Then there’s accommodation, when the person just can’t cope, and they give in to being helped.  Finally, they experience decline.  This can be distressing because they’re no longer the person you knew.” 

“I know that Mum’s been a bit delusional,” I'd added.  “She imagines someone’s moved stuff around in the flat.  And she won’t have it that she’s had a lapse of memory.  It’s her way of filling in the gap – making sense - when she’s faced with a situation she can’t reason through.”  “No, it’s beyond that,” the warden pressed.  

“I suggest you arrange for her doctor to carry out a dementia check.  Get Power of Attorney sorted out, too.”  “Mum has spoken about maybe moving to Sheffield”, I added.  “Get the doctor to comment,” was the warden's advice.

“So, Jon, I don’t know how it may work out with your Dad.”  He nodded.

“There are important changes you have to face yourself.  First, elderly parents just have to take up more of your time.  Don’t think that just because they’re coping okay now, it’s going to stay like that.”  Jon and I had discussed this before.

“Second, you have to move from a position where you are basically the child and they the parent, to one where they become your dependent.  That can be difficult.”  I explained how I’d seen carers who couldn’t be assertive in the way this transition requires.  Like I said, difficult.

“Third, you’ve got to get over any feelings of guilt and loss, because ultimately the person fades away from you.  You have to be emotionally independent.”  I was okay here, because Mum landed in Sheffield in quite a miraculous way.  She was in Cairn Home just a mile away.  She qualigfied because she was registered blind.  There was nothing to regret.

Mary added, “I recall when Mum couldn’t remember me when I visited.  It was very painful.”

“There’s one other tip that my friend Phil (who’s a community psychiatric nurse and has specialised in Alzheimer’s), gave me,” I added.  “When they start to ramble on, don’t contradict them.  My Mum used to talk about the children coming home from school.”

Jon rubbed his chin.  “I suggested to Dad that we should clear the gutters.  When I got out the ladder, he insisted that he knew how to do it better than I did.  He was a top engineer,  But there was no way I could let him go up there!  Mum said I handled it well.”  We laughed.  Yes, I think that Jon will handle it okay.

Medical Review Licence - part 2

If the term 'pop-pickers' prompts memories, then this affects you.  A normal/full Driving Licence expires on your 70th birthday (check it).  Thereafter you get three-yearly renewals.  DVLA are helpful and send you a reminder, and they urge you to do it on-line for simplicity.  This is fine if you just have car (category B) driving entitlement.  I did it for Mary: first you get a Government Gateway portal login to confirm your ID, then click on DVLA's advised link.  But, if you've got other category entitlements, including minibuses (D), then it's a different matter.

In fact, DVLA have no simple mechanism.  What you do is renew the 'vocational' category (like D), and they will throw in the other 'lesser' ones (like B).   The big deal is that you have to undergo a full medical eight-page examination.  The system is so strangulated that you can only get the necessary D2 (Application) and D4 (Medical) forms from a main Post Office.  Applying through DVLA's on-line order site will yield you nothing.

Still with me?  Then here's a cautionary tale involving my friend Barrie.  When he was 70, he tried to get it right with on-line renewal.  For 18 months he tootled around in minibuses.  One fateful day someone asked him if he'd checked his category entitlements.  Gulp.  So he set about trying to get belated renewal.  Medical letters multiplied.  Barrie had serious health issues: eventually he passed away in Northern General's Critical Care Unit.  The DVLA medical team continued to write.  I phoned to draw a line under the matter.  Because I had all Barrie's details, I passed all the ID checks, then confirmed his death.  "You're committing a serious fraudulent offence," the lady exploded.  "Okay - just tell me how I can spare you the effort," I countered.

Before Easter, I let my local Medical Centre know that I would be asking them for an appointment to satisfy the examination.  Last time it had been a double session, and set me back £75.  This time it needed three sessions (and cost £120).  Have you tried to get three back-to-back doctor's appointment slots lately?  My GP was relaxed and helpful (well, I hadn't come with an ailment).  He reprinted my consultants' letters.  They amounted to my cardiac (and haematology) condition being stable.  "After all," my GP encouraged, "you probably had all this going on at your last examination and renewal.  It's just that we've now had them diagnosed.  That's an improvement, really."  I didn't resent the fee: if DVLA should escalate my caseload, as they had for Barrie, he would more than earn it.  For good measure, Specsavers supplied the opticians examination section on the basis of my last eye-test.

I sent off the D2 and D4 forms to DVLA, and waited.  They won't deal with an enquiry until three weeks have passed.  They passed, and I got a reference number - and confirmation that my Application was at the medical review stage.  DVLA even sent me a text message explaining what to do about continuing to drive if my birthday passed.  I started to worry.  But hang on, my friend Ed got his renewal without a blink, and he's had major cardiac surgery.  I was due for a driver training session, and would need my Licence.  I used the DVLA 'view-my-driving-licence' on-line link [ https://www.gov.uk/view-driving-licence ].  Expired, it confirmed.  This week, a month after my birthday, DVLA sent an explanatory letter, and my new Licence followed two days later.  So, on 8 June next year, I may become a compulsory pedestrian.  Sigh.  It wasn't meant to be like this.

Medical Review Licence - part 1

Until earlier this week, I'd never even heard the term.  But now DVLA have sent me one.  They reckon I may keel over at the driving wheel, and want to check me out every year.  It's a long sad story.  It started with raging diarrhoea in December eighteen months ago, and culminated this May, when I needed to renew my previous Licence at age 73.

Let's stay with the Medical.  India hasn't been kind to me.  First time (2011), I went down with Delhi belly, appropriately enough at the YMCA in the city centre.  Let's be blunt - I had to mop up the bedroom floor with Jesus Streetpapers and hostel toilet roll.  Second time (2013), I was caught in a general strike in Mizoram, and had to hazard five roadblocks to reach the Airport.  This time (2016), I thought I'd escaped.  But once home, I went for three days being able to do little else but groan in bed.  Day four, I self-administered my emergency travel ciprofloxacin supply.  On day five, I tottered down to our Medical Centre, vaguely feeling a fraud.

Mercifully, I got a full check-out, including stool samples and blood tests at Hallamshire Hospital.  Within a week I was back for results.  "No infection that we could find.  You probably killed it.  But has anybody mentioned your irregular pulse?"   "Er, no."  "It's very pronounced.  Feel this..."  The GP gestures to a medical student sitting in on the appointment.  "Mmm..."  "Has anybody mentioned your low blood pressure?  You've had two readings in a row."  "Er, no."  "Do you feel faint when you stand up after sitting down for a while?"  I blushed.  At weekly Choir practice I always dread the: "Come on, on you feet, let's sing it right through..."  At this point I would clutch for the chair in front of me.  I admitted so.  "Do you keep up your fluids?"  More blushes.  "I'm really bad at having enough to drink from after lunch onwards."  "You should do something about that.  And I'm worried about your blood proteins: a bit high.  Better have some more tests, and an ECG."

I'm back again in another few days.  My blood pressure is better.  The ECG records ectopoic beats all over the place.  "Not a real problem; plenty of people have them with no noticeable effects.  But you'd better have a 24-hour test.  And we'll refer you to Cardiology."  Three weeks later, I was wired up for the ECG in Hillsborough, and set loose on condition that I didn't have a shower.   I headed for the gym, and pounded out a five-mile run.  I'd wanted to do my two-hour drive down the M1 at rush-hour, too, to record more stress levels.  I wondered how near the edge I was taking things.   The results showed that under exertion my heart-beat self-corrects.  My low point is the middle of the night; I may just not wake up one morning.  My GP referred me for chest X-Rays, for safety.

Cardiology at Northern General was another world.  Blood pressure, BMI, another ECG, more blood tests, and then the consultant.  Dr O'Toole squints at me.  "I think we're looking at Mitral Valve leakage, here.  It's probably your ectomorphic body - higher susceptibility.  You could have had it for a while.  Better see if you need some repair.  You've got 16% ectopic beats.  And there's evidence of Nutcracker syndrome.  We'll need to check your blood for cultures.  Watch your dental hygiene - an infection could be serious."  The next test was an Ultrasound scan, the common procedure for pregnant mums.  I watched the screen in fascination.

This was now a year on from my first tentative appointment.  In parallel I needed investigations about my blood proteins: another story.  I'd had more medical consultations than in the entire previous decade.  Finally, Dr O'Toole - reassuringly thorough - pronounced that all seemed stable.  He referred me back to my GP for 12 months.  He sent off a further letter that reads like a page from a cardio encyclopedia.  Shortly this document will make its way to DVLA's medical team, and - in measure - govern my foreseeable existence.  Meanwhile, I bought an electric tooth brush. 

IKEA - the future?

Nice to be back.

Today was my IKEA initiation.  Like they say at the best training events, "What did you come expecting?"  I'd heard about the hotdogs (50p).   In fact, in terms of food, the value of IKEA's all-in breakfast was so renowned that Coventry Jesus Centre stopped offering theirs.  Drop-In service users had defected to the nearby Store.   I'd heard how, "You can't get out...  You just keep going round and round."  But I was dubious.  And I hoped to be mildly impressed by Scandinavian design.  

Mary and I were reasonably focussed.  We needed to get a 80" bookcase to match the one we bought second-hand last week at British Heart Foundation.  And we needed to try out some sofa-beds.  

"It opens at 10am," Mary offered.  Well, civilised.  Time to go to the gym, have some breakfast and a bath with no problem.  The Sheffield store is new, and there are road signs as you approach.  Unfortunately, not at the vital final right turn.  "No, no, not here - further up, by the flags," Mary directed.  That is, misdirected. 

Mary had done her homework.  "Section 3," she announced.  We found it on the first floor- and the sofa beds.  The names confound.  Model 'Lycksele', with Lövås, Murbo or Håvet mattress, and Ebarp, Vallarum or Ransta cover.   Rolls off the tongue?  No?  Maybe a Gräsbo or Vansta cover, then, available on the other model?   Once we'd found information sheets, we could tick what we thought best.  "Just show them it at the Check-out," I resigned.  Like ordering at at an Italian restaurant; pollo, funghi, cacio.

Two sections on.  Wey-hey: 'Billy' the bookcase!  Are we in Legoland?  "Hmm," muttered Mary.  "The spare shelves are £12 each.  I thought they were £7, from the website."  More ticking of information sheets.

That's it, then.  An hour or so usefully gone, and we're on our way out, heading for the Picking section and Check-out.  But not so straightforward.  We consult the information board - for all the world like a London Tube Line map.  "We go out through the Family and Children's Rooms," Mary points out.  We're temporarily distracted.  I by the luggage - I've lost my best flight holdall, and Mary by searching for a bedside lamp that clips on the headboard.  A voice breaks over the muzak, announcing that there will shortly be fire alarm tests, and please don't worry.  I hear none, and do.

Hittarp/Metod with Utrusta

Back on the ground floor, we head for Section 23, Picking and Check-out.  Mary remembers she wanted to see some kitchen shelves, and I wanted to look at corner units.  Back to the first floor again.  We wind round the displays, eyes fixed down on the arrow gobos from the suspended projectors.  I fantasise about turning some round so customers are condemned to eternal wandering.  Mary spots a circular rug.  "I've been looking for one of these, and it's reduced," she smiles.  The computer won't process the order.  I walk away.  Mary's more patient.  The assistant assures us it will be ready for collection.

"Good afternoon, customers... " the fire alarm voice intones again.  It's well past 12 already.   "This is worse than Blenheim Palace maze," I mutter.  Fourteen stations of the Cross, and 23 Sections in IKEA.  We gather more information sheets on the kitchenware.  "How does so much stuff get designed and produced?"  My words fade into the air.  Mary is investigating plastic yucca plants.  Definitely time to head for Check-out.   

In the Picking bay, I try to heave a 'Billy' pack from the rack.  Thirty kilograms I can usually manage, but not this.  And anyway, 80" is too long to fit in the car.  We negotiate the pick-and-deliver, adding £35 to the bill.    Two ladies we'd seen earlier stand in the queue with a dismembered 'Lycksele'.  The Check-out lady helpfully directs us to the Collection point where we'll find the rug.  A young couple are struggling to get two trolleys-worth of boxes into the back of their Audi.   As we walk to our car, the guy, defeated, heads for the Info desk and the order-and-deliver option.
Tomorrow - 'Billy' cömes.