Thought Soup
There are many people whose contribution to excellence remains unnoticed - some for political reasons, others because some megalomaniac had a friend in the patent office who helped them claim everything they ever looked at was theirs - I'm looking at you, Thomas Edison. But then there's others who invented something magic, and never got the attention for it because, well, because nobody can really work out what individual invented it in the first place.
Like soup, for example. Nobody knows really who invented soup. If you try to look it up, you'll find a whole load of names of people who might have made a fancy soup here and there, but as to who actually decided to put something in a pot, and boil it with water to make something tasty, remains a mystery. And a mystery it will likely stay because soup dates back to the Neanderthals, who, though famed for their big brows and stocky demeanor, were not known for their award ceremonies or commemorative plaques.
And do we even think about Neanderthals when we’re tucking into a wee soup and sandwich lunch? Never.
Actually, I tell a lie. Years ago, I worked with a guy called Stephen, and the way he ate lunch - jeez, you couldn’t help but think Neanderthal.
Anyway, yes, my thoughts are a little all over the place this week, largely because I have been on some extraordinarily heavy drugs pre, during, and post surgery.
And I would be a shit drug user. I am not really a fan of opioids. I'm never convinced that they ever actually make me feel better, as much as they just ensure I can't make my escape.
But now, after the surgery, and off the particularly crazy drugs, I am home with a fresh appreciation of the simple things in life. Sitting in my chair under strict instructions to do buggar all for a couple of days, looking out the window, and thinking of things I never really thought much about before.
Like soup, for example. I can’t say I've spent much time thinking about it during my time on the planet. Right now, though, confined to a post-surgery liquid diet for two weeks, I have to tell you, I am full of appreciation for soup. And yoghurt (invented in Mesopotamia in 5000 BC, by the way). And smoothies (invented by Julius Freed, early 20th century) and tea… but then I have always, always loved tea.
It's like you have to take some time away from yourself to remember what simple things you enjoy.
I am not a medical professional. My wee wander into the hospital for surgery might as well have been through a wardrobe because it's as foreign to me as Narnia. It's all machines that beep and syringes and scrubs and bodily functions and paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.
The nurse who first took care of me when I landed on the ward after surgery said I didn't look like I should be there. He said I looked too young and healthy. I answered in my half-haze that if that's what he thought, then I guessed I wasn't the only one of the two of us on opioids, and he laughed.
I liked him because he was cheeky. There's something about reemerging from anesthetic where I crave light, movement, life. Like a diver returning to dry land. There are parts of the ocean that are so deep and dark that nobody knows what exists there, yet when I come out of anaesthetic, that's where I feel I've been.
My nurse came from Oregon. He told me he loved living in LA. It was like new life. I asked if he had to get different certifications for California, and he replied, “Nah, people all have the same organs underneath their skin.” I liked that a lot, and thought that maybe it should be a slogan somewhere.
I agreed to take some more meds if he agreed we could walk. Like I say, as soon as I resurface, I want light. And so, dressed in something that looked like an old curtain, wheeling along my IV, I walked with my new pal round the ward.
And then I slept. I wasn't happy at staying overnight, but there are times to choose your battles, and when you've just been sliced and diced and are off your face on medication, isn't the time.
The guy in the room next door apparently didn't get the memo though, and was yelling through the night about who he was going to slap and people he thought deserved a punch. He was like his own Trump rally. For a guy who was determined to let nobody else sleep, I found it a little surprising he was so anti-woke. Honestly though, I didn't really care because when I wasn't asleep, I was walking.
In the morning, my wee French surgeon appeared and told me he was very pleased with how the surgery went. Then he told me not to lift anything, not to exercise, to make sure I walked more than a mile every day, and for two weeks have a strictly liquid diet.
(And I remarked to myself how that was pretty often the same method I used when performing at the Edinburgh Fringe.)
As he was talking, a vague thought came into my head that I may have shown people my bare arse during the night. I have a hazy recollection of walking, and a nurse came up and tied something at my back to save my modesty. I thought about being embarrassed, then shrugged it off: As bad as it was for me, it has to have been twice as bad as for the people who had to witness it. (Yet another thing I learned at the Edinburgh Fringe.)
Anyway, now I am home, cosy under a quilt beautifully sewn by my Mum-in-law, sipping soup, as invented by Neanderthals millions of years ago, and basking on my zero gravity chair - given to us by Mark’s friend Matthew who flew to France to set up an animal sanctuary with his pet pigs (because pigs really can fly, given the right documentation). And I am happy, and enamoured with all small things I normally never really think about.
It has been a bit of a week this week, not one I plan to repeat any time soon, or indeed ever. But my overwhelming feeling is gratitude.
As much as the world is currently a bit of a shit show, when you stop for a moment, there is still so much to see that is simple and amazing.
As any diver might tell you, there are wonders to be found when you plunge to the bottom of the deep, dark ocean. But they only serve to remind you how great it really is to see the sky.
XO
PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji on this post to like it, a wee Neanderthal gets an award. That’s a lie obviously, but it does wonders for my algorithm and I am incredibly grateful. xo
P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle this Thursday at Fish and Bear. This Thursday we will be back a MacLeod’s in the Magical No-Kings-dom of Van Nuys. xo
And because I am totally showing off - look, I have a book for sale. Written when I had two fully functioning arms - though no better grasp of punctuation.
Volume 2 is available now: US, UK, Can, Aus
Audiobook link https://amzn.to/3Dh0MVP
If you do buy a copy, please leave a review on the site as it helps people know that I write in proper sentences… erm sometimes xo
I am sending you a boat load of good wishes for a speedy recovery. So glad you have the comfort of your family and the cozy blanket and chair. Thank you for the reminder of gratitude and to look up at the sky. Each day is a gift even when our arse is hanging out for all to see. Best always. Linda
Glad you emerged suitably healed courtesy of M Doctor
My mother, she of infinite wisdom, insisted I learn to iron and know how to cook certain basics. The ironing, I’m convinced was basic child labour, is a thing of the past. The making a pot of soup would be basic qualification in skools.
Thankfully the creation of my own ham, chicken or beef stock is courtesy of the Knorr family.
Stay well with a variety of soups. 🥳