Katherine's Country: surgery and tragedy

The morning was still. Lying in the bed motionless; I listened for signs of life. A dog barked in the distance. A large moth was splayed onto the ceiling. A pigeon cooed. It looked like being another humid, grass growing day. Thirty-five millilitres of welcome rain fell in Woodside last week and the grass responded promptly.

No matter what happens, from tragedy to celebration, life goes on

Meal was withdrawn from the cows and now we’re talking of turning surplus grass into quality silage bales for supplementation in the autumn and then reseeding that field. On other acres the plan is to take off older, rougher grass and make bales to improve the quality of the regrowth. No matter what happens, from tragedy to celebration, life goes on.

Surgery woes

I’ve had elective surgery. I’m grounded and, for now, a care-reciever rather than a care-giver to the family. I lie in bed and try to focus on other things apart from the pain in my abdomen. The surgery has taken its toll on me. Despite knowing what I was facing, I’m still shocked at how debilitated and immobile I am and how painstakingly slow my recovery will be.

I expect that people’s patience will run out from hearing my woes. A better husband, close and extended family is not to be found. They are cooking, cleaning, dropping dinners and goodies and running errands. Although, I am getting one dirty eye when I gingerly venture downstairs. It’s from my grandson Ricky. It says: “Why will you not lift me and cuddle me?” I hold his hand, but that doesn’t placate him. He rocks and reaches, flailing his little arms upwards but instead of lifting him, I head back to bed.

COVID-19 has changed how the health service operates. The care is different, but still exceptional

It was a strange experience; spending five days in hospital devoid of family visits. All interactions with masked medical staff were distanced as far as possible. The Bons Secours hospital was very quiet. Four rooms were occupied on a 27-room ward. COVID-19 has changed how the health service operates. The care is different, but still exceptional.

At 3.30am one morning, I was in considerable discomfort, maxed out on medication and could not sleep. Then my door opened a peep and I saw the welcome little torch of night staff nurse, Niamh. “Are you OK?” she whispered. I told her my woes. She fluffed the pillows and helped me to pull up in the bed and then she asked if I’d like a cup of tea. I thought of the Barry’s tea ad and smiled. It gave me the strength to face the rest of the night. The rain poured down outside on that stormy Saturday night when I was feeling wretched.

Tragic accident

When I got home I realised that John Cunningham, born and reared down our road, had gone missing in Kerry on that stormy Saturday when I was feeling so sorry for myself. It is believed that John may have been tending his lobster pots on Dún Mór head on the Dingle Peninsula. Who knows how the tragic accident happened? John was recovered from the sea last Thursday by divers. A loving son, a loyal brother, uncle, brother in law, teacher, surfer, hurler, footballer, carer and friend has died. I’m thinking of his mum and dad, Teresa and Tom, his brothers Tommy and Michael, his sister Martina and his wide family circle. May John rest in peace.

On Thursday, Philip and Colm joined in the search for John

Poignantly, Conor Buckley was swept from the rocks by a freak wave and drowned, many years ago, on the same peninsula. The two men were neighbours. So our community is once again remembering that awful time and the treacherous nature of a vicious sea. My sons Philip and Colm were only little boys back then. When I came to Cork, John was just a boy and, like all young lads, he moved over and back the road to his neighbours. He was always smiling and never failed to wave in greeting.

On Thursday, Philip and Colm joined in the search for John. On their return, ruddy faced from the sunshine, each son sat by my bedside and told me about the rustic beauty of the wild steep coastline that was marred by the sadness of their mission. Being there when John was recovered is something they will never forget. There is some solace in knowing that John was found but tremendous heartbreak about the circumstances of it all.