God’s Distribution of Luck


I came out of a hospital yesterday having had a catheter and stent finally removed after, in the case of the stent—seven weeks. I was unlucky in some ways with the operation I’d had, but lucky in others and it’s this thing called luck I wanted to write about.

A bed in a ward was available for me at four in the afternoon last Wednesday, which meant I’d waited only two hours. However, half of that waiting time was my fault. The letter I’d received clearly said–arrive at three! Being early has been a general fault of mine, one I’ve lived with for all the years I’ve been responsible for.

The ward was designed for six patients but held only three, two against one wall and me on my own against the other. It took no time at all to become acquainted with the other two and it’s the one who was nearest to me I want to tell you about.

He was not in the opposite bed that one was vacant. He was in the bed next to that one, to my right. He came from the Orient. Although he was born in China he had lived in England for fifty-six years making him more British than Chinese, nevertheless, he spoke with a heavy influence of his native tongue. It was not an easy conversation we held as he often repeated himself. He, like me, had a catheter in place, attested to by the bag attached to the bed frame which seemed to contain more blood than anything else. It didn’t, otherwise, he would have required a transfusion, which he was not having. Everything seemed okay with him until around midnight.

I had tried to sleep but could not, and that state of affairs was just about to become worse. The man I’m speaking about first let out a soft moan, then he started to cry,  whilst all the time urgently pressing the buzzer for a nurse. My offered help was refused for which, if I’m honest, I was grateful for, not having the faintest idea what to do other than to stand there looking useless. Anyway, as the nurse arrived he screamed in such a manner that it was easy to recognise the extent of agony he was suffering. The curtains were quickly drawn around his bed as another nurse arrived and from the conversation I could overhear he was unable to pass anything through his catheter due to clotting blood. Together those two nurses cleared away some clots. I say ‘some’ with reason, because after half an hour of freedom from pain, he started to cry then scream all over again. This pattern went on for the next three and a bit hours until the nurses changed his catheter and decided to call the on-duty urologist team.

When the privacy curtains were pulled back I lay watching him as a nurse sat beside his bed with him asleep peacefully with an oxygen mask placed on his face and another drip going into his arm. That’s when it happened.

Without any warning he removed the mask and sat bolt upright, coughed and then lowered his head as if he was about to be sick. The nurse grab a container placing it under his mouth, all the time trying to calm him down by saying soothing things such as—‘you’re all right darling. I’m here. I have you.’ Suddenly his eyes closed and the pasty colour of his face turned more to stark chalk. No longer able to maintain this sitting position his head fell back onto the pillar with the nurse frantically softly slapping his face, calling his name with—‘You’re not going to die here my lovely.’

As all this was happening the nurse had rung the emergency bell and the cardiac arrest paddles were being placed on his chest as he miraculously opened his eyes and the surrounding mass of clinicians heaved a sigh of combined relief that was plainly auditable across the corridor to the similarly watching patients as I. All was well or was it? A man with his back to me asked the nurse who more than any other human had saved this man if he had lost consciousness at any time. She replied. ‘Yes, he had. For about thirty or forty-seconds.’

Both of us survived. He was moved to the ICU and then onto another ward where I saw him the following day. To me, he appeared fine and that’s what I was subsequently told when I asked one of the nurses. I moved out of our medically cluttered ward into the peace of the lounge and watched tv for an hour or so, still mystified how God distributes that thing called Luck. I have seen people die. I have been with some who were dying, but I have never seen a person die, then recover before. Perhaps he was close to God in his life, if not he should be now.

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#Still #writephoto

An amazing write

The Light Behind the Story

spring Photo Credit: Sue Vincent


The body, subject to the mind,

reaches for more, grabbing at an illusion

never realized. It seeks to be sustained by want

collecting treasures to adorn it.

False garments of the self dim the light inside.

The body, subject to the heart,

becomes a vessel of love.

Its hands, stilled from grasping,

hold only peace, and its face

reflects the light of the sun

free to move through its skin

igniting the world around it

like a beacon of hope

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt, #still

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I Love My Blogger Group

A ‘Gap’ Closer

Old Things R New

On the Porch

Onisha Ellis

Life has been a combination of hectic and slow this past two weeks. My husband’s breathing and energy levels have swung wildly, somedays hour by hour. I am accustomed to this but it does unsettle me.

On a positive note, Valentine’s day our blogger group met for our annual dinner and everyone was able to attend! We welcomed Janet’s husband to the group. I think he is a keeper. We had so much fun talking and catching up on everyone’s lives. To my delight I learned that Bill Lites will be taking a Fall journey into Canada and may possibly be in Victoria, BC, Canada when we will be there.

Louise Gibson our poet emeritus turned 91 years old on February 13 and she was not able to be with us but her two daughters were. At 91 Louise still has a lot to say…

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I was agonising over my latest visit to the hospital thinking of all the bad stories I’d heard about people with similar problems and how they were affected after having catheters removed. So, when I was discharged yesterday after a successful removal of that sitting have my first coffee in three days, waiting for a cab home, I telephone the consultant’s secretary to thank her for putting up with me regularly on the phone to chase appointments, adding my thanks for the efficient way the consultant handled my problems, asking her to pass them on.
I next called the unit where the catheter and stent were removed. I was not rude to the four clinicians in the room when I entered but equally, I was not shy in putting forward exactly how I felt being there in words leaving them in no doubt as to my position. When they finished I thank them, but with the coffee warming my throat I thought I perhaps another thank you might not go amiss.
But the one person I needed to thank the most did not have a phone line connection. I had to thank Him silently which I did and I’m still doing it.

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Sporadic Acts of Silence

Very strong images there

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Mr. Pebb From a Parallel Universe via photopin(license)

The stranger in the mirror,
The foreigner in my head.
Speaking in tongues
I don’t understand.
In whispers, I’ve learned to fear.

Feeling weird emotions,
Dreaming ultraviolet
Praying that I wake.
Am I the victim
Or am I the villain?

Acting out a drama
That’s far too real.
Am I alone here?
Adrift within the silence,
Crying out; hoping that you hear.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Cheetah and the Dog by Patricia Furstenberg

A wonderful review

Robbie's inspiration

Children's book reviews

What Amazon says

New 2019 Edition with added bonus: Amazing Cheetah fact, with adorable real-life pictures

Why do cheetahs need to live in the wild?
Why should cheetah hunt a bigger prey?
How were cheetah built to live in the wild?

A perfect gift, a story books for 3-5 years, a wonderful bedtime story for toddlers, a great read for grandparents.

“The Cheetah and the Dog by Patricia Furstenberg, like her other animal story books, is inspired by the real life story of Kasi the cheetah and Mtani the Labrador dog and their friendship. The story gives insight on the importance of friendship. Kasi and Mtani meet by accident one hot day on Africa’s wild plains.
Though they both looked different, they liked to chase each other and hide in the dust. One day while playing, they see a rabbit and they decide to run after the rabbit. Later they…

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Thursday Photo Prompt- Storm # WritePhoto


Keep it alive

Sue Vincentis the host of Thursday Photo Prompt

Welcome to this week’s writephoto prompt.#writephoto

This week’s prompt ~ Storm

(For visually challenged writers, theimage shows stormy sky above a ruined tower, perched above earthen banks and ditches )


We fear the ferocity of the storm about to break

Making sure that all safety precautions are taken

Little do we understand that nature needs them

To reset the balance of things that is tipped by

The miscalculated actions we take each and every day

Nature is not the enemy but, alas we are ourselves

The ones who need to be stopped are the humans

Sooner rather than later before some drastic steps

Have to be taken by Mother Nature to preserve

The integrity of the only place we call home!




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cloudy, with a chance of sheep.

I wonder if you knew this?

I didn't have my glasses on....

Litla Dimun, an isolated island often capped by its own fluffy cloud.

Lítla Dímun is the smallest of the Faroe Islands’ 18 main islands. But though it may be tiny, the islet still has the power to influence the atmosphere.

A lenticular cloud often drapes over it like a wet, vapory blanket. These stationary clouds typically form over mountain peaks or other protruding landmasses. Lítla Dímun’s lenticular hovers above its top, occasionally spilling down over the land as it reaches toward the cold sea. Of the Faroe Islands’ main islands, the little landmass is the only one that remains uninhabited by humans. But people do visit the island. For centuries, Faroese farmers have made the precarious journey to Lítla Dímun to tend to the creatures who rule the islet: its sheep.

Up until the middle of the 19th century, Lítla Dímun sheep ruled the little green haven. It’s believed these black, short-tailed feral…

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All about the Pear Tree…

I loved this

France & Vincent


…One of the things they taught me at High Furrow was that love has gone out of fashion.

‘Love, is passé,’ they said.

In fact, so outmoded a concept was love that the people there could not even bring themselves to say the word.

In order to put love in its place they changed its spelling and pronunciation.

They called it ‘lurve’.

Now this is a terrible thing.

The day love dies is the day the world ends.


But I am the last person to speak for love.

To see me struggling about the gaff would be to assume I had slung the woes of the world across my shoulders and that nothing could possibly shift them, ever.

Most of the time now all I can see before me is a grisly end, while the past…

The past looks like a bombed shack.

It is just a mess…

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LOOK! “Mr. Sagittarius is Here!”

A different approach to an interview.



“Is she here yet Lily?”


“Yes! I can see her now!”

“Thank you Lily – wonderful!”

Look everybody! I would like to welcome a special guest to our blog today, the lovely Marje from Kyrosmagica. It’s great to have you here, the first stop on your new book blog tour!


Thank you very much for stopping by to tell us about your new book – help yourself to tea and cake!


We’ve known Marje a couple of years now, and I know Lily in particular has been looking forward to seeing you again.


Lily and Marje were first introduced by our friend Gary, from “Fiction Is Food” blog, when Marje needed a black cat model during the creation of her first Y/A novel, “The Curse Of Time.”

Lily’s picture and one of a tourmaline crystal, taken by Alex is featured, among other things, in Marje’s new book, “Mr.Sagittarius.” Please will…

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