A Dire Week

 For several days I had been getting night sweats, and my temperature spiked to 39+C. Finally I phoned the GP and was surprised to be given an appointment the same morning. He diagnosed a chest infection and started antibiotics, which seemed to do the trick. But then, for a few days, Ann was ill with a fast pulse reaching 150+, and a feeling of pressure on her chest with breathlessness. At first she thought it was heat exhaustion from the unseasonably hot weather we had had (it reached 40C on one day - a UK record). But as it went on, she too phoned the GP on the Monday after I'd seen him.

Ann, 24 hours in a chair 

We really cannot fault Dr Bone. He ordered Ann straight down to the surgery, listened to her heart, and sent her up to see nurse for an ECG which he reviewed with her as soon as it was ready. He looked serious and said she would have to go to hospital at once, through the A&E department as an urgent assessment. He even phoned the hospital to prepare them to take her through as quickly as possible. But at the hospital things happened less smoothly. I was not allowed in due to persistent Covid restrictions, so left her at the door, going on to wait at Edwin's for further news. It was six hours before Ann was finally seen for a blood test and repeat ECG. The A&E department was overwhelmed with patients, many standing waiting, others sitting on the floor for want of chairs. They could not find even a trolly bed for Ann, but when I finally visited late at night she was in a tiny curtained-off bay next to resuscitation, still in a chair like a dentist's chair, but old and worn with the lining coming through. She was confined to that chair for 24 hours, with sleep impossible, and the following afternoon had been given nothing to eat nor even a cup of tea. Edwin brought some juice and sandwiches, and later in the evening she was transferred to an "assessment" ward. There, she did have a bed, but it was complete bedlam with beds being wheeled in and out all night, demented patients shouting for attention, a psychotic patient screaming about the voices telling him to end his life, and some violent drunk being restrained by the police who had to be called. The old lady in the bed next to Ann finally went silent: she had died there alone. 

Next day, I was finally able to take Ann home. She had probably had a heart attack, Although the gap of a few days meant the acute changes were missed. Ann was put on  a beta-blocker to control the heart rate and anticoagulants to prevent blood clots breaking free with the potential to cause a stroke, and an appointment with the cardiologist tomorrow. Later we heard that that Monday was their all-time busiest on record, to the point where they would have to close A&E completely and divert all ambulances to other hospitals. Ann is still getting very tired, but hopefully is on the mend, and we will finally get the verdict of a consultant soon.

Picnic by the sea

 

The sun sets over camp

What a glorious end to a wonderful day we had yesterday. Ben and Kaz had been to stay for a couple of nights as a break from their camping holiday, and yesterday they invited us to join them on the campsite for a day of total relaxation and being spoilt.

The campsite was idyllic, a quiet field overlooking the sea, yet with full amenities. It even provided picnic tables above the cliff edge, though Bronte provided a moment of drama when she slipped her collar and wandered up to the edge.

They cooked a great barbeque, with lamb kebabs and sausages for themselves and veggie burgers for us - the most tasteful we've had, served with wine and salad. Later, Kaz cooked melted marshmallows on skewers for desert. The barbeque was later converted into a fire pit, heaped high with driftwood to provide a welcome blaze as the day grew colder. Even that was not without incident, as the wind caught one of the chairs after we left, toppling it into the fire where it immediately melted the plastic and started burning merrily, till they threw copious water over it.

A warm welcome from Ben

Among other problems, I seem to feel the cold more than I used to. Ben and Ann between them solved this by wrapping me in Ann's coat and scarf, and a snoodie from Ben = a thick hooded wearable blanket that left me looking like Obi-Wan Kenobi, but was incredibly warm. Then, as darkness fell, we reluctantly had to head for home. It has made us realise, though, how good life could be if we had our own motorhome to take to places like this. We could stay up as long as we wished, drink all we wanted, then just roll into bed! Ideal.

I warm up in Ben's snoodie

A belated but welcome Father's Day

Ann adjusts her scarf before tackling Cocktail in a Book

We went to see Union Gap in Haverhill on Thursday, a real blast from the past. The group had performed such hits as Woman, Woman, Young Girl, and Lady Willpower, back in the 60's-70's, so it was a night of happy nostalgia.  

With most of the children living far away and Edwin and Andre in Oxford, we celebrated a very quiet Father's Day last week: just Ann and I over a good meal she had prepared. Last night, Edwin and Andre compensated in style, taking us to Sakura, a brilliant Sushi restaurant in Bury. It was up to anything we had had in Japan, a lovely drawn-out meal with good wine and conversation. It only opened just before lockdowns, but has built a good reputation with many repeat visitors from far afield.

We left well satisfied, so walked in the cool air to let it settle. Except we were drawn into a Nightclub/Speakeasy bar down one of the little side streets. Bury-St-Edmunds is a remarkably lively town late at night, a place we oldies would never see without the boys leading us there.  The Speakeasy, hidden downstairs, was still closed through staff shortages, but the bar upstairs was full and lively. 

They had a stack of games including Perudo, which we played with noisy enthusiasm. Each player has their own dice cup and set of dice which are thrown in secret. There follows a round of gusty bluffing and bidding until someone calls a challenge. The loser of the challenge forfeits a dice, and the game continues until there is just one player - the winner. Edwin and I were out quickly, but Ann, with her perfect poker face for such games, battled gamely on until Andre just pipped her when each had one dice. Almost incidental to the dice game, we had cocktails - Ann's naturally hidden in a book, Andre's in a smoking fairy grotto, then back to the boys' for more drinks or - in my case - a simple tea. It was very late then, near half-past midnight, and though the boys could go on all night and Ann for another hour, I was exhaused and could only shuffle to the car to get home and crawl into bed.

In remembrance of times past

Ann and MA when first we met

Yesterday, we had a final vet visit to sign Byron off. He is much improved, and reacted with indignity rather than indifference when she shoved the thermometer up his bum to check his temperature. If it's not the dogs needing attention, it is ourselves, reminders of the passing years. I attended my appointment with the Chiropodist this week, and then Ann had a routine blood test. 

The Chiropodists are a happy family group in Haverhill who kept going through two years of lockdowns. We were chatting about the recession, and how it affected her business. Carol has been forced to raise prices for home care because of the rising fuel costs, but has not increased her charges for those of us still able to walk in, on the Tesco principle of "pile it high and sell it cheap!" She prefers to keep a high footfall at small margins rather than the diminishing returns of increasing her fees, but getting fewer customers. It is a lesson our chancellor should learn in relation to taxing the country. Higher taxes do not equate with greater revenue. Carol went to one lady and said, "that will be thirty pounds." The lady said, is that per foot? Apparently, she had had one home-care chiropodist who charged per foot rather than per visit. If Carol's costs continue to rise with massive inflation, she might be reduced to charging per toe.

How we were - more than 30 years ago

I have been looking at some old photos of myself and Ann from over 30 years ago. How the days have flown - we were so youthful and full of hope. We have done many wonderful things together, including running our poetry magazine, Exile, starting a dating agency, Avalon, getting married and having Edwin, home-schooling him, and moving house a number of times. We have travelled widely and visited many great countries, including our own when we had a caravan. It has been a good life, mostly in harmony and without rancour, and a privilege to have shared it with such a wonderful, imaginative and resourceful person, who could always be relied on to have her "contingencies" whenever things went pear-shaped. Now she is still there, a huge support and strength as my own fades. Our ambitions now are more limited, but not yet completely absent, and we hope to do a little more between us before the day is done.

Byron is ill, and an old friend is remembered

Edwin comes to nurse Byron

Byron has been very ill. We went to Kent for a few days last week after Ann's birthday. Alas, on Friday, the hottest day of the year thus far when temperatures reached 33C, he seemed to collapse, vomiting and weak. By Tuesday, when he showed little sign of improvement, Edwin came over to help take him to the vets. They suggested one or two things and started some treatment but next day, seeing no improvement, we took him again. This time, he spent the whole day there being X-rayed and ultrasound scanned. They didn't find a lot, but said he had a mild temperature and was too fat. They started him on antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, and prescribed an expensive low-fat diet.

Today, he does seem much better. Ann had her glaucoma check-up in Bury-St-Edmunds this afternoon, and we returned to his loud bark and greeting, and knew things must be improving. He is eating well again, and even went on a short walk in the cool of the evening. It is incredible how much one misses the presence of a dog when they're not there, or are just lying listless. Encouraged by this, we are cutting out all treats and extras for the dogs and vow not to feed them any titbits from the table. The only sign now of his illness is a completely shorn tummy.

Last month, a good friend and former colleague of mine, Dr John Carter, died. I used to work as a locum in the Clare practice, and we always enjoyed a regular three-hour lunch at the expense of a drug rep, in the days when that was considered normal. They were initially held in the Bell, but this began to decline even twenty-five years ago, so we transferred to The Bull in Cavendish. John had an enormous fund of stories about the dear people of Clare, but also had helped found The Nethergate Brewery, then in Clare. He used to take an annual trip to some small family vineyards in France to buy their year's vintage for the people he supplied. On Saturday we were invited to celebrate his life in the garden of his home. Alas, Ann felt she couldn't leave Byron so didn't go, but it was a big crowd. They had commandeered a farmer's field opposite the house, to take the many cars, and had a large team of caterers to supply a wonderful assortment of nibbles and wines, so John had a good remembrance. 

Some thoughts on suicide

I used to think that suicide was the coward's way of dealing with life. We all face problems through our lives, and must of us have to deal with them, or cope with the consequences of the problems, or of our wrong handling of them. Suicide is the ultimate method of ignoring a problem by walking away from it. Unfortunately, it leaves everyone else to deal with your mess, while adding to their misery by having to come to terms with your own ultimate cowardice. I have been fortunate in life, for I don't get chronically depressed and don't usually have thoughts of my own suicide. Recently though, when my skin is particularly bad and I'm pacing the floor at three in the morning desperately trying not to scratch, yet knowing  the bed is going to have to be changed from pillow to bottom sheet yet again, I do see that with death the terrible itching will ease. At these times, I suddenly realise that, in fact, perhaps to commit suicide is also an act of bravery, daring to take on the power of the life force and confront the reality of eternal silence. Certainly, I have not come near to the brink of actually attempting the act, and I hope my health does not deteriorate to the point where I consider it as an option.

On a lighter note, today we drove into Cambridge, nominally to find a summer top for Ann. But so many shops in the Grafton Centre are now closed, and the few remaining offer such poor choices, it must be back to the drawing board. In an attempt to try an alternative to shoddy shops, we have treated ourselves to a Singer sewing machine. Ann will buy some material and patterns, and I will attempt to assemble them into a passible blouse. At the very least, perhaps it will give me some distraction if I am pacing the floor again in the night. We will keep you posted.

Lunch at the Cambridge Arms

A weekend in pictures

 

Walking with Ben; Sunday lunch with all

We had a wonderful weekend with Ben and Kaz's visit. We talked and laughed late into the night, helped by several brandies. Next day, he and I walked the dogs on the hills behind Clare, before he cut the lawns for us, front back and side! Then in the afternoon Edwin and Andre invited them to see their new house where we enjoyed Edwin's home-made coffee cake on their sunlit patio before we all retired to the Angel Hotel for a fine Sunday lunch. 

Walking with Bronte and Byron

They even brought us gifts of a bottle of Prosecco and fresh scones which we later enjoyed with traditional cream and jam. Thank you both for an enjoyable visit.

Looking forward to afternoon tea