Injury Update

On Sunday I was looking on the internet to find out how long my rib injuries were likely to last. Three weeks seemed the most optimistic possibility, so I gave in and took Ibuprofen, which I have to say made a vast difference. the next time I see anyone being kicked in the ribs, and I hope it’s part of TV drama rather than footage of a brawl, I shall be much more sympathetic. Really, I had no idea. Coughing, sneezing, even sitting up caused me to wince in pain. I found myself walking along covering my right ribs with my hand as though to cushion them from further harm.

Then, as if by magic, on Monday something shifted. I can still feel my bruised ribs, but they aren’t troubling me. My knees have faded to a grubby yellow, the left one adorned by two healing scabs, and the bruises on my forearm have faded to nothing. I’m left feeling quite chipper and impressed by my body’s recovery. I can’t be in such bad shape is how I interpret it. The warm sunshine may have helped too. I’ve been outside quite a lot, and those healing rays must have contributed. So onwards and upwards. Though toady is a paperwork day, so I’m inside spending time on the ‘phone and at the computer, taking a break from my tasks to write this. Continue reading


The train is surprisingly full. A lot of the passengers are eating their lunch. I did too. Well I have had the substantial sandwich I made last night, drunk most of my water, and I have cake and apples to sustain me for the rest of the journey.
I am going to see Mother. I had a message yesterday to say the doctor had visited as Mother had complained of an abdominal pain. The doctor has told staff to monitor how Mother is. It may be nothing, it may be a touch of constipation, it may be a hernia. Or, as the doctor put it, it may be something more sinister.
We move into the alert zone.
Keeping Mother out of hospital is a top priority, so she is not being whisked in for tests. After I have seen her I can call the surgery and arrange to speak to the doctor early next week. Maybe we can stand down from the alert then, maybe we’ll be scaling up. High alert. We have been there before.
This time two years ago, Mother made a miraculous recovery from near death. I stayed twelve days with her. Twelve days of anxiety, relief and joy. Continue reading

Outlook Positive

Despite a tearful Cat moment on the way home this afternoon, it’s been a good day.

My course was energising and fun; I met some interesting people; the sun shone and London was a wonderful place to be.

No one called from the hospital to tell me something dreadful had happened, and when I rang, I was told that Mother, though still very tired, is brighter and more alert, has been sitting out on her chair and tucking into her food.

So it is with a lighter heart that I’ve been chucking clothes into a bag, though I’m taking more than I think I need, just in case. Continue reading

The Come Back Kid’s Return

She’s amazing. How does she do it?

Is it pure determination and stubborness, or does her tiny frame belie a strength invisible to the naked eye.

I’d be yelling “Rejoice!” had Margaret Thatcher not forever tainted the word with her offensive nationalistic triumphalism.

Mother, who was baptised at home back in 1919 because she was not expected to last more than a few days, has confounded and delighted us. She had two sets of visitors today. Both have told me how happy and active she was.

She became sad when she realised Favourite Grandson and Girlfriend were leaving and told them she was frightened, which they found distressing.

However, to keep poisitive, she’s eating, socialising with the other residents, and it seems her blip into tiredness on Thursday may have been after a number of them made a big fuss of her when she reappeared amonin the dining room after several weeks’ absence.

I discovered during my extended stay East that she has at least two male admirers among the scheme’s residents.

Still no luck with the teeth, but I’m thinking of asking my dentist for advice.

I’d love to think I’m a chip off the old block, but lacking Mother’s stamina, I’m headed for a bath and a very early night.

Cat is out of sorts. His upset tum meant both of us had a disturbed night last night, and he’s rather subdued now, but that may be because he’s missing all the love and attention he had from his expanded group of admirers while we were away.

Keeping Up With Mother

It was half past one when I got to bed last night, and I slept as though welded to the mattress until eight this morning.

I came back in from the cold last night to find Mother halfway to the bathroom, using various pieces of furniture for support.

Supported by the one carer on duty, we got her to the loo. She really did need to go, but I spare you the details.

The trouble was, afterwards she was so tired it was a marathon to get her back into bed. We tried waiting and talking as she was as determined to achieve this alone as her journey out, but she was visibly wilting.

Cat slept throughout the whole episode; comfortable on the fleece blanket at the end of Mother’s bed.

I was worried that she’d try her escapology act again in the night and be a cold bundle of bones on the floor. But that trip seems to have satisfied her.

Things went well this morning and she sat in her wheelchair in the sitting room sunshine from the ned of morning. The doctor, who I learn is something of a heartthrob among the elderly ladies here, arrived as she was happily devouring her tiny lunch.

He was very pleased with her progress and we had a profitable discussion about reducing as much of her medication as possible as she finds it so hard to swallow her pills. He’s going to see her again next Monday, unless I call him before that. as Mother told him that she loved him, I think she’d be quite happy if he saw her every day. Continue reading

The Indomitable Mother

Cat and Mother are both asleep on the same bed, though only one of them is under the quilt.

Cat has endured being called a lovely girl, which for such a macho boy (well, a macho It), must have been tough.

On the other hand, Cat has bagged the middle of the bed, so Mother’s legs are pushed to one side. She seems to be happy with the arrangement.

If his presence could keep her in bed, I’d be delighted.

It’s been quite a day.

The third dose of antibiotic turned Mother from a very sick nonagenarian into a woman determined to do everything for herself. It doesn’t seem to matter to her that her temperature was raging until lunchtime. She wants to get to the loo on her own. Her legs are stick thin and wobbly.

I am, obviously, as proud as Punch of her indomitable spirit, and the carers were almost cheering, but it is a bit of a worry for tonight.

We were smiling like proud parents willing on a stumbling toddler as she said, “I like to be independent,” and “I want to do it myself”. Continue reading