Covid is the Elephant in the room that just won't leave and it is shortening our lives and pleasures.

Since 2020, my passage of time has been counted in years and the medical procedures, operations and scans I've undergone for cancer, heart disease and newly discovered illnesses. An MRI, 3 colonoscopies, 7 CT scans, a rectal ultrasound, 10 radiation treatments, a low anterior resection of my bowel to remove a cancerous tumour, two heart stress tests and a pending lung function test for interstitial lung disease.

All this prodding, probing, irradiating, cutting and palpating didn't take to me like water off a duck's back. It was life-altering physically and emotionally. Sure, I am alive, and there is much consolation in that. But like the trapeze artist who earns his living on the high wire without a net, I am feeling a strong breeze pick up.

So far, this voyage through ill health has been unnerving, humiliating, terrifying and sardonically hilarious.

There is a monotony to illness and its treatments that include so many tests to check the progress of the disease or whether it has been eliminated or kept on a leash. This uncertainty of whether you get to be here for a while longer creates a fair amount of weariness, depression, fatigue, anger, self-pity and- many times denial through wishful thinking.

 I am still in my Horatio Nelson, "I see no ships" phase- when it comes to my demise. This week, I ignored my curiosity when a ping on my phone informed me I could check on the results of my lung CT scan done last Thursday. It was ordered by a Respirologist months ago to assess the progress of fibrosis killing my lungs. But I don't want to know just yet. You see, this disease always ends with the need for a coffin.

The Hapsburgs had their noses and my family dodgy lungs. My brother, aunt, distant relatives and father all had their own variant of this killer, which took their breath away.

I won't get to be long in the tooth with this disease because there are too many wild cards against me: poverty, other comorbidities, and the elephant that won't leave the room, COVID-19.

I am not afraid of dying. I am terrified of existing in a state of incapacity that will come with the end stages of this disease. I refuse to be at the mercy of a neoliberal society besotted with fascism when my stage of dying becomes real.

Tenderness is a thing of the past in our society because it stopped being a Welfare State and became a concierge service for the whims and profits of the 1%.

I refuse to have the same death that thousands of working poor senior citizens endured at the onset of covid if they resided in for-profit LTC homes. They died miserably, alone in filth and fear because our governments put profits before the lives of ordinary people. I won't let anyone, any ideology, any hedge fund, any centrist or fascist make me go that way.

Civilised society doesn't exist as much as it once did, and what's left of it will expire long before I do. The way- the world is now run; if I want a peaceful end to my dance to the music of time, I must make preparations now for how I want the tune to stop for me.

That's why I am putting off reading my CT report because I want to savour my ignorance of what tomorrow will bring me for a while longer. I will know soon enough because my specialist will inform me in September about how long I can live to fight another day.

In the meantime, I'll be 60 in October, and I will see that milestone. I am pleased with what I have done with my life. I am in ecstasy with what I've seen of this world, and who I have loved and who has loved me in return.

It's all gravy now. Still, I must work hard to finish the tasks I've set to keep my dad's legacy alive when I'm dead. I am so proud of it  because what I did alongside him is my David.

You have all been a great help in keeping the flame alive. In the almost 5 years since Dad died, I've made much progress considering the obstacles I have faced. Beyond being a keeper of that Last Stand legacy, I scratch much pleasure, even joy, from my existence. So, I will leave you as I want to take a walk while the weather is calm. Down by the lake near me, nature is still in its abundant summertime mode, despite the animals and birds beginning their first preparations for winter.

Paying my rent has become a rather pressing concern this month. So thank you for reading my sub stack posts. Your subscriptions are needed now more than ever to keep me and Harry’s Last Stand going. August has been a killer month for medical expenses and coming up with the scratch for my rent. I am still slightly short of my next month’s rent. Your subscriptions to Harry’s Last Stand keep the legacy of Harry Leslie Smith alive and me housed. So if you can join with a paid subscription which is just 3.50 a month or a yearly subscription or a gift subscription. I promise the content is good, relevant and thoughtful. Even sharing my posts helps the cause. Take Care, John

Photo by Meg Jerrard on Unsplash