The South African Aids Crisis.
A few years ago, I interviewed Dr Schwarz, an inspirational man.
From 1975-1984, Dr John Schwarz was the medical superintendent of a mission hospital in South Africa. The light radiating from those he tended,the hypnotic pull of burnt sienna sunsets and stars peering through a velvet cloak, saw Dr Schwarz and his family fall in love with the country. He eventually set up a medical practice on the…
I found a hand-crafted nest by Melissa Fraser the other day. My daughter and I looked at each other, she with a twinkle in her eye. “You have to get it, Mummy,” she said. She has been enamoured with eggs and nests all her life. Long before I explained that she came from one precious follicle, my IVF miracle. After three cycles of IVF, I had reached the end of the road. Despair was my constant companion. I changed clinics, and somehow it felt right to give it one last shot. Due to have my ovarian activity evaluated, I went for a walk in the park. Some of my cycles had produced no activity, and only one had brought forth a solitary follicle which was tiny. I held a glimmer of hope this time around, for reasons unknown. I was about to take a step, when by my feet fell a little bird’s nest, complete with a blue egg. I could see the jagged edges, where a chick had pecked its way out. I picked this little nest up, and brought it home. A hopeful sign. I had the one follicle, and was asked if I wanted to go ahead to egg pick up. There was a chance this casing wouldn’t contain anything at all. Referring to my precious nest, I said “let’s do it.” An angel is in my life because of it.
I bought the precious nest from a gallery, and my daughter placed two fabric birds in it, our penultimate symbol of hope.
A few years ago, I interviewed Dr Schwarz, an inspirational man.
From 1975-1984, Dr John Schwarz was the medical superintendent of a mission hospital in South Africa. The light radiating from those he tended,the hypnotic pull of burnt sienna sunsets and stars peering through a velvet cloak, saw Dr Schwarz and his family fall in love with the country. He eventually set up a medical practice on the outskirts of Sydney, and made a trek back to South Africa. Dr Schwarz knew of the AIDS crises, but when he and his son’s toured medical centres, the situation made its way into the fibre of his being. The trio documented the indelible trail of grief and anguish they witnessed.
“In 2002, three million people died and over five million more were diagnosed as being HIV positive. There are now 13 million orphans. Little boys become thieves to survive; little girls, prostitutes.”
When people saw the documentary, they were so moved that money was donated. Dr Schwarz formed the African Aids Foundation as a result of this goodwill. The funds go to God’s Golden Acre, situated in Cato Ridge. Heather Reynolds, a South African nurse, tends to the orphaned children, and assists families when children struggle to provide palliative care.
“Palliative care entails these children feeding, washing and taking care of all the daily requirements of their ailing parents. I went to a home where the kids were cooking their mother a solitary potato. The mother was taken to a mission hospital and given vitamins and proper care. She survived another six months. When she died, Heather Reynolds took her children in. Young adults and babies are those most affected, with young women suffering more than young men, as it is easier for them to contract the disease. The average age of sufferers is between 20-40 years of age. We may feel that this problem doesn’t concern us, but Africa is only an eleven hour flight from Australia. These people are no different to us. The parents and grandparents love their children, just as we love ours.”
At the time of my interview with Dr Schwarz, Heather Reynolds was able to care for around 90 children full-time. God’s Golden Acre assists 1000 children through regular visits, food parcels, clothing and medical care. They dream of expanding their refuges, their paediatric hospice and their skills training programmes. to support the work of the African AIDS Foundation, go to African AIDS Foundation on Facebook, or visit http://www.africanaidsfoundation.org.au
Eyes dabbed with cornflower ink,
Sprinkled with Herkimer diamonds.
Curls prepared from sandalwood shavings.
Cherubim cheeks and rosebud mouth.
A dear little girl sent from heaven.
We whisper in a language known only to a mother and child.
Your visage is my inspiration to cope, to work, to live.
Darling girl, who dreams of butterflies and fairies.
Beautiful girl, who plays until the sun grows tired.
Beloved of the heavens and earth.
The angels chorused when you were born,
“This child shall do extraordinary things!”
I can feel it.
Your spirit radiates like a blazing sun,
It exudes the promise of joy everlasting.
I can’t wait to see the woman you become.
The charming, confident, assured young lady.
by Grant Snider | incidentalcomics: Poet in My Pocket
I will stop:
1. The belief that anger is wrong. Righteous indignation feels very good indeed. When starting rehab after my spine was broken, I found feeling pretty ticked off gave me fuel. It has encouraged stoicism, and stubbornness which has helped me immensely. It is okay to be pissed off.
2.Beating myself up. How cruel we are. Wincing when we see a photo of ourselves, comparing our acheivements to others. I have come to the conclusion that other’s accruements have nothing to do with mine. They are two separate entities, so what does it matter what they have amassed, and when? I have my own travel itinerary.
3. Craving approval from outside myself. It has never been useful as a salve from self-doubt and inner longing. I have known people in the public eye, and they can be adored, asked for autographs, and generally told how excellent they are, but it means squat if one doesn’t approve of oneself.
4. Being disengaged. Appalling to be chastised by your child midway through her puppet show for paying more attention to your phone or laptop than her. Multitasking doesn’t work. Its true, that you can do many things all at once, but the attempt is half-arsed for all the endeavours you are undertaking.
5. Having no room for spontaneity. Seeing that calendar groaning from the weight of obligations… No time for reflection, having a cup of tea, a lovely surprise visitor. Not good at all.
6. Being all things to all people. Can’t be done.
7. My silly to-do lists on little scraps of paper, that I rebelliously refuse to read. A list of suggestions in a funky journal-wherein I state what would be delightful to accomplish within a month-is much less antagonistic.
I can think of many others, but this shall do for now. I have a daughter to pay my full attention to. What are you willing and desperate to stop doing?
I have had insomnia since I was a child. When I was lucky, I could snatch an afternoon nap, or four hours sleep at night. Other times, the insomnia was more severe, and I didn’t sleep at all. I was determined not to get hooked on sedatives, after seeing the damage they could do. I tried self-help books, hypnotherapy, essential oils, herbal medicine and everything in between. You name it, I have tried it. After several weeks of no sleep at all, I hit the wall. I was unable to recall the most trivial of details involved in the minutiae of life. I stumbled over sentences and couldn’t get my thoughts together.
Insomnia is a form of torture. Too tired to read or work in the middle of the night. Too tired to even watch infomercials, which is just as well, as I would be the proud owner of several tonnes of crap by now. Too tired to cry in frustration. A caffeine hit and hot shower and busy days with no time for rest. By six pm I would be exhausted. I put myself through an elaborate winding down ritual. Sadly, I wonder how many of those we read about in the media have been lost due to insomnia scrambling their cognitive processes? I can imagine them swallowing a few more tablets in the early hours, desperate to get some sleep. There have been studies done on this.
http://www.abc.net.au/health/library/stories/2010/01/21/2797098.htm
I don’t know if I have been feeling more stressed, or whether my chronic pain is exacerbating the insomnia. Whether the detritus of the day is having a party in my subconscious at night. None of it matters at the moment. I just need sleep. I had been putting it off, but relented and got some sleeping pills. I took a low dose, and within thirty minutes, I was out! I woke this morning with cognitive clarity and felt on top of things at last. I know its not a long-term solution, but its a start. I had to cancel weekend plans, as I felt like passing out every time I stood. I couldn’t answer simple questions and driving was too dangerous to contemplate. Insomnia was taking over my life. It was being drained of all colour. To my insomnia comrades, I salute you and your ability to continue with your busy life. The effort involved is extraordinary. I hope we all get some shut-eye consistently from hence forth!
I am going to republish this post, after hearing of the passing of Robin Williams.There are many amongst us who are battling depression. Brilliant people, who seemingly have the world at their feet. I can tell you from firsthand experience,that when you are feeling low, you have fallen into an abyss where the stars aren’t seen. They are smothered by an unforgiving cluster of coal, smeared across the light. I almost succeeded at ending my life at fifteen. In fact, I had a few serious attempts. Serious enough to have claimed my life each time. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop. I had to be brought back after my heart stopped. I awoke several days later in ICU,after dancing between life and death. I wasn’t pleased to still be here. I felt like a stranger in this world, without a home nor tribe. It seemed that circumstances including severe abuse- had conspired to push me out, and so I spun around in orbit. I tried to cling to a glimmer of hope, but in that dark moment,I couldn’t imagine anything changing. This was before being thrown off a building. This was before more pain, and a lengthy recovery.
I am a grown woman now. I would say to that teen, “little girl, don’t give up. Don’t react in an act of violence against yourself. There will be growth after this anguish is done. You will get away.” Have you ever seen a forest after a bushfire? Black, the trees devoid of life. Then, regrowth. New shoots, tremulously and shyly start to peek out of the hollows. When I see this spectacle, I get emotional. That is what a person battling depression must cling to. New shoots will grow. It wont always feel like this. Today I talked to a friend, was helped by a friend, my daughter told me about her day, and we played. I had a few of her friends rush up and give me a hug. I have been loved. I have eaten good food and smelt citrus fruit. I have heard my little canaries melodic song and patted my guinea pig’s soft fur.
Those with sensitive spirits, the wounded and vulnerable. We need more of you. You are the healers. Defy the pain that wants to take you out of this world. Just keep breathing. The answers will come to you in time. If you speak and aren’t heard, put it down to a dodgy connection, and try again with someone else. I love the saying, ‘If you are brave all the time, people will come to expect it of you’-Mignon McLaughlin. Nobody sees your suffering if they don’t know it exists. It is true, that some won’t understand when you speak your truth. Keep talking. I know Lifeline is stretched, and sometimes they can’t pick up every call. Try again. The stakes are too high. You are fighting for your life. You are precious. We need you. Lifeline, 13 11 14 in Australia. xxx
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 