Spring has sprung

Spring has sprung. What shall I write? Write about coronavirus, write about living in hospital, write about my mental health, write about autism, write about the seasons changing, write about fear and hope, despair and trust?

Today I'm not going to apologise for the long gap between posts. I write this blog for me, not for you (no offence!), and I didn't have anything that wanted to be written. Life has taken on a new temporary normal for the last few months and I have been doing other things with my time and my words, but the blog itch has lately returned and I find myself sitting down now to satisfy it.

 Spring has sprung, and it feels incongruous. I have lived in hospital now for over five months. I left home in the summer and when I emerged from the general hospital it was autumn. I watched autumn turn to winter, grateful for the circumstances that let me daily observe the gradual progress of time. Now spring has sprung, it's quite literally all baby bunnies and daffodils outside, and I don't know quite what to make of it.

Just when my life is set to be expanding once again, it is reined in. I am again drawn back to the birds, the trees and the solace that the Quakers built here. The paring back, the simplifying of life, brings relief in amongst the fear and unpredictability. It's a little incongruous: my fear about the future intensifies as I realise how little practice I will get before I'm plunged back into life, and the uncertainty surrounding what will happen in the coming months is almost intolerable. Yet when I pause and look at right here, right now, I have been gifted simplicity. There are few choices in this moment; the choice is in what I do with the situation. I can't change it, but I can make the most of it. I can accept the period of rest even if I feel I shouldn't need it or if I worry that I won't be able to cope in the future. Right now there is the option to invest in this moment and nourish myself with sunshine, birdsong, time curled up in bed with my sensory lights on, messages to friends and family and as much or as little connection with the outside world over media as I feel is right.

I can spend time thinking about my gratitude for where I am situated, despite its difficulties and pain. I cannot be at home with Mr Peggy or my family and the amount of time I can spend with them is ever decreasing instead of the reverse, but I am surrounded by twelve other people who understand how it feels, some of whom will be friends for life. We pick up the pieces of each others' lowest moments, we joke, we laugh, we silently hand each other the tissues. We have a team of dedicated staff who are sacrificing time with their own families to keep us safe here. When they are at home they stay away from grandchildren so that they can safely come to work. Instead of being with their children or parents on Mothers Day, Mothers are comforting those of us for whom the day brings pain and sorrow. They are prepared to sleep over if we go on lockdown, and to barrier nurse us if we contract the virus. Our OT brings her dog in to cheer us up as our visiting activities are all suspended. I have many things to be grateful for. I am fit and well and normally able to access the outside world: many, including my own close family, are not so fortunate. Isolation is every day. So I'm off to look at the baby rabbits and to hug the trees and to breathe the spring air, and I'll come back in and write some postcards to people I can't see.