Note: This is without pictures – No picture function on the new computer – call me a fool! I will not talk about normal – but try again next week.
It’s been quite a two weeks, having got through the disappointment – with myself as well as the specialist – of hearing half an expensive tale (I thought it would be a short cut – hah! -private medicine), the computer went where good computers go – and all that ensues, followed.
Pam the Painter, of a sensitive disposition, rang sounding as upset as I have heard her, her house infested with mice. And if one more person mentions peanut butter – listen, they are mice, they eat what they eat and we hope it’s poisonous. A funny, kind patient person, Pam was torn between inveighing against pest control, being grateful for old friends and longing for the little swine to emigrate, so she could sleep.
A dear friend who has been living with his male partner in a folie a deux for many years emerged into the sunlight of simple pleasure (except it’s never simple) to discover in dramatic terms what many in his circle already knew -that his erstwhile Significant Other, provoked, is a shout you down and lash out angry bully – and in between gouts of tears, threatened suicide. My son broke up with his longtime girlfriend. And I fell over – no six inch heels, no swigs of wine – uneven paving stone, thank you local council under any political party dominance, weight of body on smallest two fingers of left hand, bloods thinners making bruising dramatic.
Like most right handed people I am very right handed, I take the left hand for granted but the last few days have been sobering – carrying, moving, shifting – heavens, wringing out a dishcloth, washing that side of my face. I am being taught a new lesson in patience (see Edith Wharton whose poem on patience I clearly need to read again.)
When Rosemary (NHRN) arrived for coffee – drinks it black, is a former athlete, has perception and uses it – she looked at me, I looked at her and extended my swollen hand and she was on the telephone to her equally admirable husband almost before her bottom hit the kitchen chair. He said one of the three A&E’s which are equidistant from me, ice pack and so on. I could still move the fingers so I opted for the ice pack. And Rosemary put her foot down because she can and I am a wuss about ice other than in a rare favourite drink (brandy and tonic).
I have spent two afternoons reading Tudor period fiction (thank you CJ Sansom) with the strap on ice pack Rosemary immediately ordered and far from feeling cross, I am grateful I was brought so swiftly to my senses.
Son having dropped 10 kg weight on foot in gym (see annalog /when you can) went back to GP who referred him to clinic which can’t see him till 24 December, remembered a unused medical insurance, chased it up and after much to-ing and fro-ing, has an appointment next week, the second round at A&E (in desperation) having revealed what the first didn’t – two broken toes.
Second and third rounds with unhappy (understatement) friend saw death recede, practicalities emerge and the weight of denial for years and the chains of civil partnership prove sobering.
By this time I was tempted to what we used to say at school when there was a run of wrong things – “God’s gone off me.” But in the matter of temptation , I’d always say “be tempted, don’t fall.”
I didn’t break my fingers (thank you heaven). My son came to supper and though tired and sobered by his emotional and physical travail, seemed like himself – and in writing to say thank you, added to that impression (tyh). When, on the day I fell, I couldn’t open a can of soup and issued into the street saying aloud “I need a man !” , swanned up to the very young delivery man opposite, channelling all my mother’s formidable charm and said “Excuse me, I have hurt my hand, could you help me open this” and he beamed at me, and did. Chicken soup of course. Thank you heaven.
Annalog 