Authors: Matthew Formby
Every morning, a nurse came to each patient. A menu was handed and choices could be written with a pen for the day's meals. Luke always wrote in the section for extra notes that he needed gluten-free food. "That will be fine," the nurses had said but on three occasions he was served food that clearly did have gluten in it. Awful diarrhea bound him up after the mistaken meal deliveries and felt even more tense around people than usual from the foods' effects.
Each time gluten-free food was served him, it made all his efforts seem worthless. Withdrawing from gluten took Luke about three days: at least withdrawing from the worst effects. It was much the same as heroin withdrawal - his muscles ached, he yawned constantly and was prone to bouts of sleepiness - but also sometimes had severe insomnia and stomach cramps, goosebumps formed on his skin and at times he would vomit. A feeling of agitation, greater than gluten itself gave him, gripped him when he stopped feeding his belly its poison of choice. The bacteria in his gut loved to gorge on the opiates that are in gluten. Most people do not experience those opiates as they readily digest what would have produced them but Luke was one of those people who could not digest some foods and so the opiates formed. When the bacteria lost their drug, they attacked his body in a fight for their life until they were expelled. During those assaults he felt raging headaches and spiralled into madness.
If this all seems double Dutch to you do not despair. Even Luke himself took a long time to grasp it all. Further along the details of how gluten itself affected Luke shall be related.
Most of the staff in the hospital were poorly educated and low paid. Luke had no doubt their level of care would be better if the opposites were true. It is incomprehensible that hospitals and care agencies give so much leeway when choosing employees. No matter what they say or write, the truth is they overlook a lack of qualifications. It may well be that they know the more educated person is more likely to stand up for themselves. They would be less afraid to whistleblow about bad conditions and unacceptable practice. It is a damning indictment of our society so ruled by terror. It is the most vulnerable people who suffer the most.
Many workers no longer felt able to be in a union. If workers in a union were vocal about abuses from bosses, sometimes they were blacklisted. Secret lists were handed round to different companies telling them not to employ these workers. It was a purge of the politically conscious and decent minded. What a crying shame - union membership in Germany and France was far higher than in the United Kingdom and they had not fallen apart; far from it, unions and bosses came to agreements and their economies flourished. Their societies weren't so broken either nor crime so rampant. Germany would not be such a major manufacturer if not for its unions' ability to organise, advocate for and educate it workers so effectively.
There were concerns about unions. Sometimes they could be too militant. They could neglect the needs of individuals and focus too much on the majority of the workers. But they had improved in recent years and keeping them so restrained with draconian laws was the United Kingdom cutting off its nose to spite its face.
XXIII
Years were wasted joining societies, clubs and support groups; visiting doctors and making transient acquaintances in this and that social service; volunteering in community restaurants and on wildlife reserves: In return for free labour, Luke was treated invisibly and belittled and resented by the busy bodies and ambitious idiots attracted to volunteering. It was not all bad: but he was in Duldock and it was round here. His sister volunteered on a farm in Scotland where the volunteers were given free board and spending money. They were housed in an idyllic location in which they helped mentally ill people. That was totally different - even tasty meals were prepared for everyone. That was how volunteering was supposed to be done - with due reward for effort.
An ache within Luke urged him to achieve something. What was the point of anything? Well, he would not exist if his life was meaningless. Following his instincts was what he must do. He had to live for love and honour, for he was automatically drawn to them. Happiness always lay that way. Furthering the progress of mankind was his mission. He despised almost everything organized but he buckled under the pressure of so people's advice to aim for a formal education. There were ill-conceived attempts at studying English, history and law; then there was they ear he tried his hand at information technology; and of course that performing arts course all those years ago near the spa town in Wales. Each time, his inability to do small talk with the others led to him leaving from the stress. Eventually though, he signed up for a counselling course and at this point, as sooner or later happens, things changed.
Luke rushed early to Woecaster on the day of his first lesson. He arrived hours beforehand. His countenance and hands were reddened. His nerves tingled. To think of staying even an hour, after he had woken, in the lowlands of Furchurch was unthinkable! It was a suburban nightmare. Except it was real. You could not even relax in the garden. Neighbours in apartments to a right angle from his own block were intrusively nosy. They would rush to look out the window when he filled the outdoors recycling bins.
Walks to the nearby shopping arcade were rendered awful by people who were so tediously blunt. They made eye contact so directly, so long. It was difficult to describe; as though the light rays reflecting from the sun on this corner of the earth refracted in some perverse way to turn the locals into feral dogs. Yobs riding bicycles weaved in and out at people, shouting obscenities then pedalling away. People waiting at bus stops had young boys pull down their trousers and expose themselves. If only Luke could say this was all unbelievable to him - but no, he had seen even worse back in Vester.
To get the bus he would walk to the stop beyond the one by his apartment. The nearest stop was adjacent to a crossroads that teemed with traffic. He would head down the hill to the more leafy stop opposite a pub. Its aspect was quite pleasant since it overlooked a horse stables. It seemed nice; but then usually he would bump into an awful little man that walked his dog along the road. This pensioner would stare belligerently at Luke. If looks could talk, Luke would have heard, "You young, cocky prick. I don't trust you one bit. You ain't been round here long and I've seen bigger than you come and go."
That was Furchurch. Full of interesting folk! At the bus stop one time, two women on horseback had approached. The one in the lead, plump and buxom, wore a ruddy smile and indicating her steed mouthed, "Don't worry! He won't hurt you." Luke grinned and held eye contact with the lady - she persisted in smiling too. Then Luke's smile started to strain, to become false... but the lady was stilling smiling just the same. She passed and the next woman came into view. Luke was still smiling. He considered it the correct action. Her returning smile was more surprised, less wide than the first lady's; so Luke looked away - then back, and the look back was even worse, as though it never should have happened. My God, he hoped to escape. He could endear himself to no one in Furchurch. Oh please! he prayed, get me out of here.
He was in such a hurry to leave this morning that he had misplaced his free travel pass. He had a disabled adult's travel pass but now he could not find it. He usually placed it in his left pocket but when he searched it was not there. So when he boarded his bus, he paid £4 for a day ticket. Then when he reached into his right pocket for his phone he found the pass. He sighed but let it go. It was the worrying about the college that had made him do it.
The journey was long. The bus juttered uncomfortably. Luke had boarded one of the buses that constantly vibrated. It could have been a faulty suspension. It may have been that the driver was not using the clutch and gearbox corrrectly. Either way, it was brutal. On the road, a cyclist was almost cut off by a car on in front. Luke heard the cyclist shout, "Oi! What the hell are you playing at?" The driver beeped his horn in anger and rolled down his window.
"You're getting in the way of cars!" he fumed.
On the route to Woecaster from Luke's ghettoized hellhole, the air about the passengers expanded and the light from the sun shone more brilliantly. Blissfully unaware, the city collected its morning tide of black-and-blue, suited-and-booted merchants and middle men. Luke alighted from the morning bus. He felt a nausea worse than seasickness and he meandered and mawked; despairing, weary, crushed. His arteries were clogged and the rushing blood in his head deafened like a drum roll. Here he was trussed to this forlorn urban crowd, moving only for the sake of expedience and wherever profit lay. His heart beat unevenly, broken.
That long suffering ache of loneliness flared up. What sense could be made of all around him? People with their heads buried in mobile phones and MP3 players. World foods and fashions advertised in windows and billboards to your bank account's content. There was an official agency to investigate anything you would like but none of them achieved anything. He had complained about his mental health team and they had mocked him. He looked to the people here on the street for solace and they too were sarcastic. But then, this was urbanity. The city and its suburbs stretched mercilessly into a amoeba of nothingness. Jean-Paul Sartre had defined the absurdity of profit-driven societies but few had paid attention; his soul haunted the slate pavement slabs and bullish boutique stores. Irony was what made the world go round. Earnestness was not important anymore. Luke could not fit in with this arrangement, not even in a loiter on the street. The philosophy people lived by seeped into each pore of their body and if they were callous and selfish, they could not bear a single second of generosity. Luke was tormented. Dry, withered, puckered faces surrounded him. All he wanted was someone reasonable to talk to.
Woecastrians seemed to feel nothing. They existed to strive, to be distracted, for entertainment and glamour. They were preoccupied with the colour of Luke's trousers or the way he walked. Not what he had to say or where he had come from. Their disapproving looks made him shudder. On the other hand, he would hate to be among them. Their affinity built on twaddle was worse than being alone. When people were friendly, Luke's alert was raised. His skin would crawl at their talk of football or the latest YouTube clip or worse, some pithy observation about the most trivial occurrence
Romance and architecture, gardens, the reform of politics and bohemian lifestyles - there were what Luke longed to discuss. But even those who did dabble tin these topics were mostly dandies. Conformity came ahead of originality and truth in most people's priorities. And at any moment the urbane facade could crack. Fists would fly or worse. It was too dangerous and often boiled down to crowd psychology. The toxicity of an overcrowded environment could be lethal; especially one with a lack of green space and cultural outlets. Such environments have contributed to many a crime and incident of public disorder; but of course people never realize until the disaster has struck.
And so Luke walked. He criss-crossed back and forth, stressed, uneasy. Nearby, office workers dawdled with their effete sandwiches. His body jerked - was that person staring going to speak? Singing broke out. Behind him. Pigeons fluttered by his head. The rustle of a newspaper. His phone. He could hear it ringing. Ah, my own little bubble. He picked it up.
"Hello. Is that Luke Jefferson?" The silky voice took him by surprise. He turned from the office workers, his face softened.
"Yeah, it is. Who is this?"
"Hi. I'm Jolly May. I'm calling on behalf of the Health Service Ombudsman. Is this a convenient time for you to talk about the complaint you've made?"
Luke had never thought they would get back to him. To get his complaint about the mental health team resolved was so important. Even if they did get back to him he was expecting a typically brash, unsympathetic call. Not this. Not this lilting, soft timbered voice.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's convenient," said Luke staring at the blazing sun.
"Can I discuss with you what you'd like us to investigate? We need to make sure we've got all our facts straight."
"Well, um. I, er. I was with the Community Mental Health Team and... they would give me really insensitive advice when I called up feeling suicidal."
"Ah. Oh dear. Yeah, OK. I'm writing this down - just to let you know." A reassuring smile permeated her tone.
"They'd tell me to have a hot bath or go for a walk when I felt like cutting my throat or taking an overdose."
"Right. That sounds really bad. Is there anything else?"
"Erm... no, I don't think so. I think that's it.
"Great! Let me just explain, what we do is, we put all these points into a letter. So I'm going to write everything you tell me in a letter. Then I'll send it to the trust and I'll make sure they answer your questions and concerns."
Luke inwardly sighed. What chance was there of getting justice? This lady did sound nice enough though. "Oh right, okay. Will you get back to me soon after?"
"Yeah, I'll be doing this within the next few days and I'll be requesting a response from them within 6 weeks."
"And they have to respond?"
"Yes, they have to respond. If they don't there are actions we can take against them."
"Okay, thank you."
"Alright, so just leave it with me and I'll get this sorted for you. Thank you very much for your time, Mr Jefferson."
"Thanks," he blushed, unused to being spoken to delicately.
"Bye Mr Jefferson."
"Bye, " he replied. She hanged up and Luke was left holding his phone.
He rushed to his counselling class but on the way was accosted by a homeless man. "You couldn't spare a bit of change, could you?" he pleaded. Luke almost said no but thought twice. He noticed how small and fragile the man was. He fished in his purse for a pound and handed it to the him.