A week of multiple failures

A bad day on Wednesday with high fever and numbness in both hands. Next morning, we phoned the oncology nurse who said to come straight in via A&E. They ran a batch of tests and sent me to the oncology assessment ward awaiting their decision, then admitted me overnight. It seems I have AKF (acute kidney failure), so was given high volume fluids through a drip and started on antibiotics. My immunotherapy session, due this morning, was naturally cancelled, though there is vagueness about it being causative.

lip service again

don't tell me 

everything is going to be okay

because it is not,

don't patronise

or condescend

keep your platitudes

for your own grieving

I only need honest friends.

by Annie Elliott

I arrived on the ward without even a book, let alone clothing, toothbrush or pyjamas. The hospital still bans visitors for 48 hours (presumably they are magically safe after that period), and Edwin has a heavy cold, so kind Andre crept up to the ward door where I stood waiting, towing my drip stand behind me, to sneak it open and take a bag of things from him. Ann was not allowed to see me at all, after leaving me at the door of A&E. So often, the caring person is assumed to be alright and getting on with life, and gets too little sympathy. Ann has been through much recently, and lives in the dark shadow of more to come. It cannot be an easy burdon, so often bourne alone.

The oncology ward was crowded with nine beds in my bay, filled with men who looked older and more ill than I, and the nurses were kept busy. With age comes a degree of detachment and acceptance, almost resignation in many cases, to an inevitable outcome. Much harder must be nursing on the adjacent ward, which I noted was "Teenage oncology"; that and the paediatric oncology unit must be emotionally exceptionally draining, and take a special kind of nurse to deal with the emotive nature of those cancers. 

Mistletoe at Addenbrookes

For various reasons, MA is unable to see Ann on Mothering Sunday, but was going to take her for lunch yesterday as a treat. Unfortunately, Ann lost even this treat as she suddenly had to come to the hospital to pick me up. MA hopes to take her next Friday to make up, so hopefully all will go well. Waiting in the sun for Ann, I noticed a huge ball of mistletoe in one of the trees at the entrance to Addenbrookes, easily visible before the leaves of summer. I had noticed that mistletoe is very abundant now, possibly following two years of lockdowns and a lack of Christmas demand. In Druidic mythology it occurred in the Ritual of Oak and Mistletoe, and evidence from bog bodies suggests its Celtic use was medicinal. The Romans associated mistletoe with a way to the underworld, but also with peace, love and understanding and hung it over doorways to protect the household, and mistletoe continues to be associated with fertility and vitality. All in all, it is an appropriate if accidental symbol over Addenbrookes.

After many years' silence, my son Dan got in touch to suggest we meet up and try to repair an old rift. He suggested I visit London this weekend, but I am still too weak to go far, and will be unable to travel to or across London, so the reconciliation has been put on hold.

The world news grows daily more alarming, with Herr Putin rattling his nuclear sabres, and demented Biden managing to open his lips to tell us the US is prepared for a first nuclear strike. The MAD world (mutually assured destruction) has risen from seventy years of dormancy as a fresh spectre to haunt our dreams. Nowhere is safe from such lunacy. War creates nothing more than poets to lament the dead; only working together with mutual support ever generated peace and prosperity, and such mutual trust is rapidly dissipating. I believe no one appreciated how delicate the world's interconnectedness is, or how quickly it can be broken. At this rate, we all face utter devastation, with a real fall into impoverishment and loss of hope in the world not seen since events such as the great plague, or the Hundred Years' War.  

We celebrate Andre's birthday and the boys' new home

Ann relaxing

 Edwin and Andre invited us over for the afternoon for the double celebration of Andre's birthday, and the housewarming. The house is looking immaculate now, clean brick and old flint on the outside and warm and welcoming inside, set off with their usual flair for tasteful decor. Ann immediately claimed the cushioned window seat, created by the massive thickness of the walls, while I sprawled on their three-seater settee next to the nibbles. 

Two other couples, Brazilian work friends of Andre, were also due. The women arrived first, having come from Cambridge by train, and not long after the two very fit men also arrived, both having cycled a distance of some 30 miles. Food was served from a help-yourself buffet, with a great choice of quiches, cheeses and salad stuff, beautifully prepared and presented. Thank you, boys.

Mark Rylance has long been one of my favourite actors, and yesterday we saw him in his new role as the Phantom of the Open, another British true-life comedy about a Barrow in Furness crane driver who in late life was suddenly inspired to take up golf as a "professional". Brilliantly entertaining, and well worth a trip to the cinema, I recommend it. Later, in Prezzo, I found voice mail from an agency asking me to call back. I did so, but I also had to leave a voice message. Five minutes later, another agency rang to see if I was available for a job. I said I was, and would send my CV. A moment later, the first agency rang back to offer the same job. The pharma company had just put it out simultaneously to both agencies. Not sure that I will be able to manage it though, for even if they overlook my age, I cannot, and feel I will be unable to do more than a couple of days a week now.

Coming home from Sainsbury's today, Ann got a message that our bank balance had altered. "Did you withdraw some cash?" she asked. "No," I said, "I just filled up the car!" Such is the horrific price of diesel now that it is making a noticeable hole in our finances. Ann has also ordered a refill for the oil tank, so we dread to see what that bill will look like. Thank goodness we are suddenly in a mini-heat wave, with temperatures today touching 20 deg. C. 

We fly the flag for Ukraine

JK Rowling - True Woman

I have put the finishing touches to a portrait I have done of J.K. Rowling, taken from a press photo of her. I am titling it True Woman, much to the annoyance of the woke brigade. Also, I am progressing with a portrait requested by Ann's sister, Jane. It is a memorial portrait of Michelle, her daughter who died so tragically a few years ago. Naturally, I want this to be a worthwhile memory of a beautiful girl, so I am taking especial care with it, and bring it in for Ann to judge at regular intervals. She kindly points out where change is needed: a cleaner curve to the cheek, a narrower and shorter neck, a less ruddy lip. It is taking a lot of time, but will I hope be worth the great effort, and a portrait I hope Jane will be pleased to display.

Two estate agents visited yesterday to assess our house. The main problem is the huge cost of running our home, with council tax, heating oil, water rates and electricity even before we start spending on ourselves. They each flattered the decor, liked the size of the rooms, the location and the cross-country views. They both asked what we were looking for when we move, so we described our ideal property: smaller though still with room for a study and studio, old and quirky, with all-round gardens, quiet and isolated, rural with trees around, off road parking, and almost anywhere that we could afford. I think we suddenly realised that - apart from smaller and old and quirky - we were almost describing our own house. Certainly, looking at the market, there is nothing available that looks even half suitable, and even smaller properties in need of upgrading seem to be going for almost the same price as ours even before we add in estate agents' fees, removal costs and stamp duty. We are definitely going to have to rethink this whole retirement business.

Sewing the flag

As mentioned in a previous blog, our Chinese-made Ukrainian flag came without any means of attaching it, so I have sewed a cord into it, and today we were able to fly it in support of that devastated country. A brisk breeze ensured it was proudly waving above the saloon. 

Today I had a professional haircut. Not usually much to write about, but it is two years since I have been, relying instead on Ann's good attempts and me hacking it with scissors before the bathroom mirror. At least Ann once worked as a teenager in a hair salon, so everyone thinks she must know what she's doing, although as she keeps reminding me, "I was only a Saturday girl taking the appointments." It's amazing how much one can learn just by being round people who know what they're doing. Kelly, the hairdresser, has a reputation for clumsiness, once spilling a bowl of water over Ann, and often dropping her things. Everyone is still wearing masks in the hairdressers, and at one time I thought she was going to cut through one of the elastics, sending my mask pinging across the salon, but she managed to swerve and miss it. She does a good job, though, and I look much better than when I went in.

Flying the flag

 

Support for Ukraine gets delayed

Floods in Clare Country Park

There was heavy rain yesterday through much of the day, and the sky was dark as a winter storm. This, we were told, was due to "Sahara Dust", and sure enough the windscreen was running with rivulets of red water, building in streaks across the bonnet and doors. This morning, it was clear and warm again but the house windows and all outside surfaces were coated in a dirty red film. The river at Clare was running high, blocking the path with its flood waters.

I met Ann in the Swan for lunch when she emerged from the hairdressers. Ann has been cutting my hair for nigh on two years supplemented by me attacking it with scissors and a mirror, but today she has made an appointment for me to see Kelly, her own hairdresser, who happened to have a cancellation on Saturday. It will be strange indeed to look in the mirror and see a tidy head.

Enjoying lunch at the Swan

We have taken the first steps to downsizing, with two estate agents coming tomorrow to value the house. As part of the process, we went to Newmarket earlier in the week to view a potential house by the technique of "drive by". Alas, it was right on a main road, so we left to walk the dogs in Thetford Forest. I must be getting fitter, for I walked a full mile, albeit at a slow pace and on good level ground. But I am encouraged, and will try to do more to strengthen the limbs and lungs.

On the domestic front, our flag pole had broken in the recent gales, so today I have replaced it with a more sturdy version. Ann ordered a Ukrainian flag to show our support for that beleaguered country but it came, with typical Chinese workmanship, minus any fixing hole or tape at the top blue end. Our support will have to wait a day or two until we can fix the flag. 

Walking with the dogs in Thetford Forest

Sunday lunch by the sea

The Seafront at Frinton

The Bath House pub in Walton-on-the-Naze serves one of the best Sunday lunches we have found. We have the nut roast option, and it is superb with perfectly cooked vegetables to accompany. It is a fair drive to do casually, taking the best part of one and a half hours to cover 48 miles down slow winding Suffolk and Essex country roads, but well worth a visit. We got there early and they were able to 'lend' us a table provided we were out by 2pm, but the place rapidly filled and they ended up turning away several families, so I recommend booking in advance if you want to go there. 

Sadly, we noticed a 'For Sale' sign up outside. Not sure if the current owners are struggling, or just want to retire, but it must have been a difficult couple of years with the Covid restrictions. Whatever, I guess the chef will change with the new owners, or perhaps like so many pubs we pass nowadays, it will become just another bordered up shell. 

Walton is a fine town with its long pier and the famous tower where I walked the dogs. It also has a marina, though it is hidden inland and opens onto the River Twizzle rather than the sea. Later, we drove out through Frinton, a stuck-up little place that thinks too much of itself, but where I walked the dogs a second time. Frinton is a very tidy town, with a neat row of tidy High Street shops, and a pretty green overlooking the sea, but it lacks charm or even mystery. The streets pretend to be American, with "First Avenue", "Second Avenue", etcetera in monotonous straight rows. Strange to compare it with Jaywick, only a few miles further down the coast, which was labelled by a TV documentary as "Benefits on Sea", and is a dilapidated conglomeration of poor housing where one can buy a three story house with a balcony and a garden opening directly onto the beach for a relatively low sum.

Berlin welcomes Ukrainians

The boys are now back from Berlin, and Edwin starts his first day at a new job in Ipswich. He was quite nervous, but Andre kindly drove him all the way and took him for breakfast first to bolster him for the day to come. He sounds to be enjoying it thus far, though, so we wish him all joy and success with it.

Spring is in the air

The first leaves of spring

Touches of spring are around us. The hedgerows are brightening with blossom and the willow, among the first, is cloaked in fine green budding leaves. The garden birds are nesting and Ann even glimpsed an early swallow above the trees. 

Edwin has taken Andre on an away for a surprise weekend in Berlin. He only found out the destination in the boarding queue at Heathrow.

For Herr Putin, the season brings his Spring Offensive. A full blitzkrieg against the defenceless women, children, invalids and  the aged in the cities of Ukraine. 

Yesterday I had a phone call from the offices of IKEA responding to my letter to them. I had recommended they consider the old Debenhams store to bring IKEA into East Anglia. The lady was very courteous and thanked me for my great interest but apologised that they would be unable to ease my evident love for their stores. They need a bigger population than East Anglia can provide and won’t be opening any new stores this year having just dropped plans for one in Sussex. She said I would just have to continue my love of IKEA shopping by travelling to one of their big southern stores. Little does she know me - I haven't been to an IKEA for nearly twenty years, but thought the boys might like a local one now they live in Bury St Edmunds. The grandchildren too enjoy taking Ann to IKEA once a year for a fun day out.

Yesterday, too, I had a call from one of the old companies I used to work for asking if I was available for urgent cover work, as their physician was leaving at short notice. I am available, but they have also placed an advert and requested the help of an agency, so they have a few CVs to consider. 

Just a quiet weekend

A spring day at Gorleston-on-Sea

It is spring, with trees in bud and blossoms bursting out all round. Alas, in our garden, there is a great gap where the fencing man ripped out the heavy ivy that had covered the old fence. Mum's old bird table, where Ann faithfully fills bird seed dispensers each day, used to swarm with small hedge-row birds that nested in the ivy, but have now disappeared and the bird table is deserted. Determined to try to woo them back, we visited a garden centre on Saturday to buy some replacement hedging. I get too breathless to dig now, but we got a friend in the village, keen to earn a little extra, to dig them in: two varieties of ivy, and some New Zealand shrub that is supposed to grow quickly.

Life is certainly much quieter since I am winding down at work. A visit to the pub or a meal out represent the limit of our adventures at present, and we had a fine day out at Gorleston-on-Sea at the weekend, with a good lunch in the Pier Hotel. I cannot walk too far now, even with my stick, but I enjoyed a Sunday afternoon shuffle along the front. Even driving tires me now. Coming back from staying with Ben and Kaz in Wales was exhausting, and I spent most of the next day in bed recovering. 

Ann's sister, Jane, made an unexpected request for me to paint a portrait of her daughter who died so tragically a few years ago. Jane does not use the web much, and I don't think she can have seen many of my pictures, nor does she ask for many favours, so it was a surprise for her to ask for this. I will naturally do my best to oblige her, but Michelle was such a beautiful girl, so full of sparkling life yet with so many hidden depths that it will be hard to do justice to her memory. 

Today is International Women’s day. Nowhere is this more appropriate than in Ukraine, where there are two million more women than men, many of who are learning to fight, lending the Ukrainian resistance to Herr Putin’s invasion a strong female face. Ukrainian First Lady Olena Zelenska, posting on Instagram this week, paid tribute to the women of Ukraine, saying she “admires” and “bows” to her “incredible compatriots”. “To those who heal, save, feed... And those who continue to do their usual jobs – in pharmacies, shops, on transport, in utilities, so that life lasts and wins,” she wrote. “To those who take children to shelters every day without panic and entertain them with games and cartoons to save children’s consciousness from war. To those who give birth in bomb shelters.” 

Death

They do not see the tiredness
the lack of hope,
they do not see the apathy -
the loss of self,
they do not ask
and do not try to seek
the loneliness and finality
of the ice cold grave
and the never ending sleep.

by Annie Elliott

Ukrainian women’s magazines illustrate how drastically life has changed. They now offer advice on how to give birth underground or register a baby in the midst of a war, with instructions to chop off acrylic nails so that you could hold a weapon if you needed to. It's not just active combat – a number of women are working diligently to provide care or supplies for their military, such as this group making camouflage nets and learning how to use a Kalashnikov. This is women’s equality carried to the extreme of war.