Some 23 years ago, in desperately sad times we tried to explain death to our children and nephew ( now son#1) . My dearest friend Patsy suggested a book called Waterbugs and Dragonflies. Adult or child it really helps. But hold your tissues close.

So many very ill friends and family this week it is tough going. They are all awesome, stoic and just bloody amazing. If you are reading this you know who you are. You know I am limping one footed in to see you with gin or fizz or even a grape.  You can do this.

One, my Dad, had a terrible Monday but I remonstrated with the GP and eventually a District Nurse appeared. We could have hugged her, but the scissor blades sticking out of her bag, held me back. She told wonderful rude  ‘willie’ stories, stemmed the bloody leak from his surgery, found more dressings and all in all was a delight. She continued to be all week! My poor Dad is trying to be stoic. Keeps saying he is fine. My poor very squeamish, mother, tried to stick a hospital issue dressing on herself. It was the size of a postage stamp and of course was double backed. Think Blue Peter, sticky back plastic. She will be the first to admit she is rubbish with sellotape let alone plasters. So Nurse Me with my 9 years training since urology world hit, ..I sorted that whilst we waited for bonkers nurse. Showed mum how to do it, but gave up when she looked so confused. I lay on the bed with near naked Dad as we waited,  we laughed a lot.  One story was about tins of peas. You see, he was in the British Embassy when Tehran went bonkers. Think the film, Argo. The Americans were helped by the Brits to get to the Canadians. The film lies. Meanwhile Dad was shredding and burning papers. When through the window flew a tin of peas. A prized epicurean delicacy at that time and much enjoyed later that day!

The rest of the week has sorted itself. I did make it to a patient participation meeting at a London Hospital I am particularly fond of. It was an inaugural, as in,  first ever meet of its kind. I was the only patient. Some complainers had been invited, but refused to attend. The others there were senior clinicians, a very posh carer and a lawyer. It was a very good energetic meeting.

Over a very nice lunch I  learnt about the butterfly scheme. This is a scheme where hospitals sign up to a patient carer support . With due consents signed up,  a butterfly image, coloured in ( dementia) not coloured in ( some memory confusion) , is put on the notes, doors, screens etc etc for that patient and their carers. It means everybody knows to slow down, reassure, put the water near, make sure food is eaten, only ask one question not 100…it is simply wonderful.  Reassures, rather than raises anxiety. Staff working with the patient and their families,   allows them to know what to expect throughout the process! mmm. Needless to say I am writing to my Dad’s gp and hospital trying to politely suggest it might be a good scheme to sign up to.

Yes. I have another infection.

No. I have no idea what to do. I did get a culture from a week ago. But no sdvice. I am not sure what to do now…Who to ask?

Yes, foot still broken. … I used to think if I had a broken something I might get a seat on a train…I thought my hidden bladder disability obviously precluded that.

No. I confirm that did not happen.

Yes. Fellow passengers still stop suddenly in front of me with their wheelie suitcase…crashh. oops.  ouch .

Messages , anonymised,  WhatsApps, smart phones, what ever did we do before them?….

‘Disombobulated nipples’

‘Lets get this show on the road’

‘Trick or treat when you find a bottle of Merlot on your doorstep’

‘I am bringing gin’

‘Veuve, at St P. It would be rude not to’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bonkers. Yes.