Weight a minute Conan

Better late than never.
I have just watched ‘Roger and Val’ with Fred Molina and Dawn French. I think it is wonderfully funny, poignant, well written, tastefully acted and a must see. I even bothered to watch it on BBC iPlayer.
I am warming to ‘Grandma’s House’. Simon Anstells piece. The programme is easing into itself.
So now my Mondays are completely ruined with two lots of ‘Corrie’, ‘University Challenge’, ‘Grandma’s House’ and BBC iPLayer.
I cannot believe I have just told you my viewing habits, but it’s 23.15 and I was meant to be writing.

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Third Chapter here I come

I interviewed a writer who gets up at 5.00 every morning, writes for three hours, takes a walk on the Heath, then writes a bit here and there throughout the day.
I need to follow in her footsteps, but I am bushed. I am also lazy and frayed.
This evening I have homework to do, loads of books to read.

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The saddle awaits.

The flat is awful quiet after three weeks away.
You would have thought that nearly a month in the country would have been peaceful and full of nightingales and cream teas
As it is I had thee weeks of hospitals, travelling to them and back again. Doctors, travelling from them to hospitals. Chemists travelling to them from the doctors before the hospitals.
Having to relax my rigidity has not been easy. Pre-back-op on August 7th, would have had me shouting the loudest about MRI scans, x-rays and rectal examinations. Post-back-op and I have nothing but admiration for the Kent and Sussex Hospital, Mr. Yo, Hurstwood Park Neurological Centre and their team of surgeons, not to mention the army of extrodinary men and women who nurse, clean, manage, help, laugh, comfort, calm, feed and mend hundreds of patients – including my daughter – who are ill, in pain, demanding and often old.

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Operation operation…..

From osteopath to MRI. From MRI to hospital. From the fracture ward to the neurological centre. From the single room to the operating theatre. From 10.59 to 5.21 on the operating table. From Sunday without Morphine to Tuesday without Wolferine to Wednesday with a splint for the foot. If I hold my breath long enough … Read more

A Month in The Country

I did my work out after midnight. Groaning into the burn was a blessed release.
The cottage was sleeping. Bee, fitfully, Jim cautiously. I couldn’t rest. I set the alarm for 5.30.
Watching my daughter hobble, her dropped foot dragging along beside her, is heart breaking. Trying to imagine that everything is ok is a mission. Hearing the old git trying to stifle his pain is a double whammy. I am caught between my rock and her hard space.
Dealing with ones own pain is easy, dealing with somebody elses pain is draining, frustrating and exhausting.
I thank you all for your messages of support.

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Get Well Soon

Whilst the world spins I am in a spin trying to get my daughter better. The old man’s back is mending but B’s foot is still dead. An MRI scan on Wednesday, and hospital consultations with Doctors who have about as much compassion as a frozen gerbil. All this makes for a fearful, tense time. … Read more