Hunting for Harry

Hunting for Harry  14 February 2018

As my disability got worse and years before I was correctly diagnosed, I began preparing.  I’ve always known, that I was the type of person, who may consider complete incapacity and loss of independence, as a fate worse than death and the closer I came to this reality, the more I realised, I needed to arm myself against the depression and complete hopelessness that was waiting for me, if I didn’t do something to prevent it.  I couldn’t prevent my disability getting worse, that’s a fact. There’s no cure for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and once you’ve reached the top of all the relevant scales (being an overachiever isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when it’s the Beighton Score) and the joints that are vital to your survival, fail, you start to fear, that it’s likely, your life will shortly be spent as a living mummy (not the parent type, the enshrouded, immobile, living dead type).  I have always had an active mind (as many of us with failing physicality do) – if the brain’s the only muscle you can work, you work it right?  I knew that this was the one thing, I could prepare for – how to keep my mind occupied when my body stopped working.  

After another car accident, my career in Psychotherapy, quickly came to an end, when this time, aged 30, I just could not recover.  My injuries would not heal, my right elbow subluxed in the accident and has never returned to its correct  position, my knee caps constantly slipped off, my ribs were continuously broken and dislocated, I struggled to breathe as my breastplate was frequently dislocated, and no matter how much physiotherapy I did, I didn’t appear to be healing.  I wasn’t ready yet to give up all hopes of a career, so I set up my own business ‘Psyched LTD’ and with the help of my Union, I retrained as a Teacher.  After some previous experience of teaching children, whilst at University, I knew, I’d be better equipped to teach adults.  I’d discovered teaching adults, afforded a great deal more freedom and paid colossal amounts, in comparison to the rates for children’s education – it seemed a no brainer.  I’d barely started trading, before, quickly realising I was not physically able to undertake this career either.  I got through delivering a few lectures and seminars by drinking full fat coke, leaning precariously on the edges of desks and hiding wads of tissue about my person to soak up the obscene amounts of sweat that would pour from my body, as I forced myself to stay upright, in agony, at the front of the room for hours on end.  I could not continue like this and even with the really decent levels of pay, I could not work enough to support myself and I couldn’t confidently take on contracts due to being ill and injured most of the time.  

As it became apparent, that my work life, as I knew it, was over, I began to panic as to what I would do to occupy my mind, be productive and find a purpose for myself in my ever degenerating physical state (EDS is not degenerative in itself but life/aging is).  Having an English Literature Degree and having previous, works published (mainly poetry), I contemplated writing again.  This was something I could do from bed and I had technology to support it.  If my fingers and hands were dislocating, I had voice recognition software and if my jaw was dislocated, I had my hands to type.  If both body parts were to dislocate at the same time, I’d be stuck but id worry about that problem, as and when I came to it.  So I thought writing may be a solution.  Easier said than done, though, as I never intended to give up writing in the first place.  I enjoyed it massively, found it extremely therapeutic and productive, had cultivated quite a following for my work and had received many wonderful, life enhancing opportunities as a result. Yet, since my health decreased and the car accident left me broken (literally), I lost my muse and as I generally struggled to find the energy to go from one day to the next, I didn’t prioritise looking for it.  Until, I received the diagnosis, that I had Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.  Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t told this news and suddenly picked up a pen and the words just flew out, oh no, I was numb both physically and mentally for some time, post diagnosis.  Whilst, numb can sometimes feel preferable to the immense pain, waiting for you when you start feeling again, it certainly isn’t conducive to creativity nor is it healthy long term.  To create, we have to feel!

So, first things first, I had to find my muse.  I spend a great deal of time in Edinburgh, particularly since my diagnosis, as it’s my happy place and filled with magic. I cluster all my medical appointments and as a reward give myself a short stay in Edinburgh (or elsewhere if I choose) as an incentive to keep fighting, on a regular basis (with my disability rail card it’s actually cheaper for me to travel to Scotland than it is to travel across my home town of Greater Manchester).  I was sure, I could find my muse there.  Yet, every trip, I was consumed with my limitations and my own mortality.  I wanted to devour every nuance of the city, cast it to memory, and photograph it for prosperity.  When your physical abilities are fading fast, it’s understandable that you may panic and want to experience as much as you can, as quickly as possible.  Yet, concentrating so much on the bodies abilities, doesn’t leave much room, to explore and enhance those of the mind. I’d spend most of my time, trying to distract myself from thinking about my Ehlers Danlos diagnosis, doing all I could to fill my mind with other, less frightening things.  But it was blatantly obvious to me, until I not only allowed myself to think about my condition but to actually, feel it and mourn the loss of my old life, I wasn’t going to be able to write.  I needed to feel it, truly feel it, if I was to create anything at all.

So, instead of searching so hard for my own muse, to no avail, I decided to hijack someone else’s… and ‘when in Edinburgh’.  As a massive JK Rowling Fan, I was aware the Elephant House Café in Edinburgh, was where she used to work on her books, before she was published and I had even passed the place on the way to The National Museum of Scotland, just up the road.  So on my way back, I thought I’d stop in for a coffee and see what all the fuss is about.  I got inside and whilst a massive fan of elephants and generally liking the look of the place, I was at a loss to work out the significant and evident attraction.  Upon entering, the queue is fairly off putting – often out of the door.  Even when armed with a walking stick or crutch, I am not equipped to queue (I simply don’t have the knees or hips for it).  I eyed this fearful queue with trepidation, unsure if I could manage it and not at all sure it would be worth it if I did.  Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and took my place at the end of the line, leaning heavily on a rather large elephant ornament and ruining someone’s carefully constructed display, sending merchandise flying. After what seemed like an eternity, I was finally at the front of the queue (it should be noted after the first occasion, I asked for table service and explained I couldn’t queue).  Thinking, how can all these people be wrong, surely they’re all queueing for something?  Due to my visible walking aid and my own sheer exhaustion post queuing, I was seated near the front of the café, for my ease.  The table was nice enough and the staff very pleasant but still, I felt there needed to be more.  Inevitably, as soon as I’d finished my coffee, I needed to use the restroom.  I made my way, to the back of the café and briefly looked around.  I saw lots of students and tourists, huddled around wooden tables, talking animatedly in several languages, packed in, quite tight.  It looked cosy enough, but I still didn’t understand the popularity.  I went into the toilets and was suddenly slapped in the face with something extraordinary, beautifully hidden within the ordinary exterior. The two cubicles were a complete shrine to Harry Potter.  The walls, mirror, toilet, light, every inch, of every surface, was ablaze with multi-coloured graffiti, in all languages.  I could never have imagined, so many ‘double-entendres’ could be derived from the word ‘Slytherin’.  I was amazed, in awe!  Every inch of the room was covered in this magical, artistic, tribute, to a well-loved book and character.  I stayed in there for some time, just taking photos and laughing at the comments surrounding me. 

       

Just outside the toilets and next to the free water jugs, were press articles and photos of JK Rowling, discussing the Café and why she went there.  Perusing them, it was easy to work out why Harry Potter fans flocked here from all around the world but I was still at a loss to understand what drew JK Rowling to this particular café over all the others, within this magical city.  I attended the café several times over that year.  Every time I went to Edinburgh, I’d go there.  I’d read the graffiti in the toilets and the articles on the wall.  I knew that Rowling came to the café as a single mum, living on benefits.  With very little money, she’d nurse one cup of coffee all day, keeping warm, whilst working on her novel. Now, whilst a café not just allowing but encouraged, a customer to languish all day, without making further purchases, is quite exceptional, I still didn’t feel it was enough to warrant Rowling choosing this place over all others.  I looked around me, at the other customers and it was clear the free water and laid back approach to allowing customers to reside within, for long periods of time, was a massive plus point but I still felt there was something more, here, within.  

On my latest trip to Edinburgh, I once again, went to the Elephant Café to search for whatever it was that drew JK Rowling there.  The draw to Harry fans is obvious every time but what was it about this place that aided her in conjuring up such sublime characters and worlds?  I couldn’t rest, until I’d discovered it.  On this occasion, I was feeling somewhat frustrated.  How many times, had I been here now, how many times had I sat in this same place?   Whilst the café was worth attending for the toilets alone, I couldn’t let go of the belief, there was more to this place.  Deciding the repetition of my visits were now bordering on lunacy, given I kept doing the same thing and expecting different results, I decided I needed to make a change.  So on this occasion, I asked to be seated in the back.  Luckily, it was quieter on this day, so there was more room and less chance of me being injured.  I was seated on a large, round, wooden, communal table, in the middle of the room.  As I sat down, it wobbled furiously and I felt for the student sat three seats down, trying to work on her laptop on the now, unstable table (welcome to my world I thought, with an apologetic smile).  I regarded her for a while, working hard, empty coffee cup next to her and her own water bottle on the side, clearly brought from home.  This obviously, reinforced my belief that the community spirit of the café was indeed true and they were willing to allow anyone to remain in there and stay warm for some time, even if they’d only made one purchase all day.  As such, I could see the draw to students and single parents, like Rowling and those on low income. It made sense and was fairly humbling, in this capitalist day and age.  I decided just to relax and not pursue my quest so hard.  I felt slightly uncomfortable on a communal table, particularly as I tried to control everything from my breathing to my spasms enough to not rock the table and disturb the nice girl next to me.  I had asked for a table to myself but its café policy that large tables be saved for groups and the communal tables in the middle be used for single or smaller groups of customers.  It made sense, given the obvious purpose to such seating arrangements (to allow the maximum number of people to lounge in there all day, utilising the warmth etc) I didn’t want to meither.  So I stepped out of my comfort zone, rested my walking stick against the table, in the knowledge that every passer-by, would likely knock it over, got out my kindle and my notepad and pen (you know just in case my muse was also a Harry Potter fan) and sat back and relaxed.  I looked around the room, at all the different people and nationalities within it.  I looked at the room itself, the structure, the walls, the leaflets and paraphernalia on the windowsill… and then I saw it – THE VIEW!  There, through that window and only visible from certain seats in the room, was the most breathtakingly, beautiful view of Edinburgh Castle.  It was majestic and given autumn had just begun, the sky couldn’t have given it a better backdrop. It was splendiferous and I’d missed it, every time, id visited that café, id missed it.  Edinburgh Castle, is one of my favourite places in all the world and yet I’d never seen this, what I consider to be the best view possible of the Castle, through this window at the back of a small café, further into town.  I’d never imagined the back of the property could provide such views, only ever considering the road, id entered from and what was in front of it.  Compounded by the fact, that through my own limitations and desire to sit near the front of the shop, I’d never considered that, which wasn’t directly in front of my eyes – the interior.  Clearly, my view had been limited, as was my perspective.

I sat there and contemplated my behaviour, my eyes transfixed on the wondrous view outside.  Had I continued, to take the easy option and sit at the front, I’d never had noticed that view.  I’d allowed other people’s perceptions of my limitations and worse my own perceptions of it, to limit my life and my vision.  All of a sudden, I picked up my pen and notepad and furiously, began writing.  The student next to me, looked over, curiously (because of the rocking table or out of interest of what I was writing, I wasn’t sure).  I continued, until 10 minutes later, I’d completed my first full poem, in more than half a decade.  It was pretty rubbish but it was resplendent in its completion, just for being.  I had achieved!  I sat there like a ‘pig in muck’ for more time than I can remember.  Just looking at that view and feeling surrounded by all the magic of Hogwarts and more.

This experience, served as a life lesson and metaphor for my condition.  Don’t let yourself or others ever limit you. Push boundaries, walk a new path (not necessarily literal path) every day, explore new territory (just work out the nearest toilet etc beforehand) and if you don’t like what you see, keep changing direction, until you do. None of us know, what we can achieve, until we try but we Zebra’s achieve great things daily, more than most could ever contemplate.  Don’t hide yourself away in corners, or always sit at the front of the building, for ease.  Life always looks better, from a different perspective.  Push yourself to explore as much as possible and to view the world from as many angles, as you can.   As often, the magic, is hidden, discreetly, round the back, behind the crowd and through a window.