So we were fools ...

So we were fools, were we?

According to an opinion piece I read in a national newspaper at the weekend, the hollowness of the “anti-austerity” campaign was exposed by the failure of the Greeks to overturn the harsh measures which were imposed upon their country.

The Greeks were fools for voting for Syriza, it seems, and we were fools for supporting them in their hopes that a democratically elected Government might just stand up for ordinary people.

But the newspaper columnist, who might as well be paid by the Irish Government to spout pro-Government propaganda every week, believes that we fell for the “seductive slogans” of populist politicians.

He didn’t write a word about the injustice of ordinary, poor people in Greece, Ireland, or Spain “bailing out” a tiny elite of bankers, politicians, and developers who plunged their countries into a mess which was not of their doing.

Instead, he almost revelled in the failure of Syriza to take on the powers that be in the European Union.

So the Irish politicians who flew out to Greece to campaign for Syriza last January should now be eating humble pie.

Those of us who thought there might be another, better way have been forced to concede that austerity is the only option for societies which were riddled with debt by bad right-wing Governments and tiny, smug elites. Or so it seems.

Yes, we’re fools. Fools to think there might be an alternative. Fools to think that people who are struggling to put food on the table should not have to pay for the crimes of the few.

Fools to think that elderly patients should not be lying on hospital trolleys, while our Government slashes and burns – implementing a harsh ‘bailout’ programme – with such a relish.

Or that we shouldn’t have to pay twice for our water while lucrative contracts are handed out to the cronies of the people who happen to be in power.

A street meeting to oppose the installation of Irish Water meters in Galway

The same columnist warns us that our choice is between “stability” and “chaos” in the next election.

In a country in which 54% of the wealth is in the hands of 10% of the population, it could be argued that what he means by stability is really maintaining the inequality of the status quo.

The views of the jobless, the homeless, the patients on trolleys or the couples struggling in negative equity are not taken into account, just as Stephen Collins' cynical dismissal of Syriza's "populism" fails to acknowledge the fact that ordinary Greeks have suffered considerably under austerity in recent years.

His nightmare scenario is that a host of Independents and left wing types will be returned to the next Dail, as opposed to the wonderful people who have led us out of the chaos over the past four years.

When commentators view Irish political life through the exact same prism as our leaders, you wonder about the future of Irish journalism. Surely we need people to question the cozy consensus, to show that there are thousands upon thousands who are still struggling to survive in the Emerald Isle.

When people keep telling you that the Government is doing a mighty job, that the “recovery” is well under way, you wonder if you are even living in the same country.

This remarkable recovery is not evident in the thousands who are still choosing to emigrate, to seek new lives in Canada, Austraila, or Britain.

It’s not evident in the protests against Irish Water which were evident in housing estates all across Galway City over the past few weeks. People in the Westside, Shantalla, and Mervue demonstrated in numbers because they knew they were being asked to pay for a scam.

Who owns the meters? How much are the people at the top getting paid? Is the plan to privatise?

The recovery is not evident in the overcrowded Accident and Emergency Department where I’ve witnessed dozens of people lying on trolleys overnight in recent weeks.

It’s not evident in the Department of Social Protection Office, where people are being constantly urged to join JobBridge schemes – to get their social welfare plus €50 – in order to “massage” the true jobless figures.

Hell, someone was even looking for an experienced solicitor to undertake one of these nine month internships a few weeks ago.

It’s not evident in the homelessness crisis across our cities, or the way in which students are finding it impossible to find affordable places to live.

Homelessness only became an issue last winter when a poor man from Co Kilkenny died within metres of the Dail. Yet charities like the Peter McVerry Trust tell us that we are in the midst of an unprecedented crisis.

It's not evident in the thousands of people with crippling mortgages, legacies from the "boom" days. People who work hard all week but can barely afford a night out on the town because they've been trapped into crippling property debts.

But, according to the newspaper article I read on Saturday, the “recovery” is well underway and the only alternative to the “stability” of our current Government is “chaos”.

It must be great for the Government to know they have such well-paid cheerleaders, urging them on with scare stories about the lack of alternatives every week.

Even if it leaves you feeling that some people inhabit a parallel universe, a long way from the working class housing estates where people have maintained a four week vigil to ensure the Irish Water meters have not been installed.

The article on Saturday might just leave you with a feeling of dread, that we don’t really live in a democracy; and that efforts by parties like Syriza are futile – because the interests of big business and a small elite take precedence over the rights of ordinary people all the time. 

Syriza’s failure to get better terms for the Greek people did not expose the party as “populists” with seductive slogans, it rather underlined the futility of seeking democratic change within the confines of a far from democratic European Union.

But, of course, we are fools for believing that any alternative is possible.

Trip to the hospital ... and learning about acceptance

Four days in hospital taught me so much about acceptance this week.

I had so many plans for the weekend. My cousin was coming into town for the big Galway FC game at Terryland, and we had planned to attend the play-off on Friday evening with a few friends. On Saturday, there was going to be a huge protest against Irish Water in the city centre. A cause to rally around, and perhaps some material for my blog. 

On Sunday, my entire clan was set to gather for my dad’s 90^th birthday, with people home from London, Tipperary, and Dublin to celebrate a significant milestone.

And, on Monday, I was set to start the full-time Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) course which would help me start a new life overseas – and get over the post-redundancy jitters!

I was excited by the prospect of getting out of my comfort zone, meeting new people, and trying something totally alien to me by becoming an English teacher.

But sometimes fate likes to throw a spanner in the works of the best laid plans and I found myself going to the doctor with an infection on my shoulder which appeared to be getting out of hand. By Wednesday, it was the size of a red tennis ball.

On Friday, fearful that the TEFL course was so near on the horizon, I found myself sitting in the A&E Department at University Hospital Galway (UHG) at 2.30pm. Armed with a book, an iPod, and a bottle of water, I expected to be there for about three or four hours. I had been referred there by my GP and hoped to be out for the big soccer game.

Instead of a quick visit, I got my first (and hopefully last) experience of overnighting on a trolley at the Emergency Department at UHG. It’s something I had written about countless times for the newspaper – patients lying on trolleys all night because there were no beds for them in the hospital. 

It still seems shocking that it happens so frequently in 21^st century Ireland and the numbers are documented every day across the country thanks to the ‘Trolley Watch’ figures compiled and circulated by the Irish Nurses and Midwives Organisation (INMO).  

The lump which caused all the trouble!

By 10pm, when the doctor told me I would have to stay the night, on a drip and on a trolley, the only thing that kept me going was the advice of older and wiser patients. They told me not to fight it, not to over-analyse it, but to read my book, relax, and simply accept the way things were.

Halloween night was spent on a trolley, watching the odd drunk girl being escorted along the corridor in the early hours, and then began another long day of waiting. Conversations with patients from Connemara and East Galway, dignified people who bore their frustrations with such grace, forced me to question my own despair.

They told me about their lives as emigrants in America, their families and neighbours, their health problems, and I suddenly began to appreciate just how friendly and down to earth West of Ireland people, my people, can be.

Suddenly, in the midst of pain and boredom, I began to truly realise how pointless all my fears over taking redundancy had been over the previous weeks. I had been full of fear even though I had my health and new-found freedom.

I fasted all day Saturday, in case of surgery, and felt like I’d won the lottery when the nurses found me a bed in a ward at 4pm. Family members came in to help out with clothing and reading material and, as I began to talk to the patients from Donegal on either side of me, I began to realise how lucky I was.

The Donegal man next to me had fasted for eight days in a row, ready for surgery that never went ahead. He was too far from home to receive regular visits and bore his predicament with a grace which confounded me and questioned my own self-pity at the same time.

After a series of tests, I was told I’d be operated on the following day. That meant missing the family birthday celebration but, as the hours passed, I began to see how much pointless anxiety I had put myself through over the previous weeks. Leaving a job can be traumatic, but it is certainly not the end of the world.

On Sunday, I read the ‘paper from cover to cover and managed to concentrate on the FAI Cup Final for two hours. I strolled up and down the corridor a few times and realised how much more fortunate I was than the lads who could not get out of their beds. 

I kept thinking of a friend of mine who survived a horrific motorbike crash ten years ago and how he bore his pain, and months upon months in hospital, with such dignity.

The doctors opened my shoulder up with a local anaesthetic on Sunday afternoon, but soon realised that I would need a full operation. My neighbour doubted the prospect of the surgery going ahead that evening, based on his own experiences, but I was finally operated on after 10pm that night. 

It dawned on me that, even though I had seen little of them, the doctors had been working incredibly long hours all through the weekend.

By Monday, a whole new sense of acceptance had come over me. Yes, I had missed my father’s birthday and had to withdraw from the TEFL course.

Despite all the waiting and frustration, there were valuable lessons to be learned. In hospital, I practiced mindfulness breathing and banished pointless anxieties about the future out of my mind.

It’s amazing how a little kick up the rear end can put previous troubles in their proper perspective.

As I made my way out of UHG on Monday evening, I realised how few troubles I really had in life as long as I had my health. 

That doesn’t excuse the inefficiencies at the hospital. Nobody should have to overnight on a trolley in the A&E department or spend eight days waiting for a routine operation, fasting every day, in the year 2014.

Especially not in a country which spent so much money on bailing out bankers and bondholders at the expense of ordinary, dignified people. I’m not blaming the doctors or nurses, who could not have been more professional, but I got first hand experience that there is an awful lot wrong with our public health system over the weekend.

Yet even the inefficiencies, the boredom, the pain, and the incredibly bad timing of the whole episode, taught me a very valuable lesson about my own life.