And so here we are, waiting patiently in number 18 side room in UCLH... Mark, Rob and me.

Both hips are now replaced, tender but loud loving care given 24/7 by a group of medics, all of whom captivated and enthralled by wonderful Mark.

His first op was 6th May, no problems in theatre but  frantic calls to teams when Mark collapsed unconcious shortly after returning to his room.

After much reassurance and many procedures Mark was cheery in bed with a host of people surrounding his bed like an army of uniformed angels bearing sugar coated orders...

Then the next Friday came...and another gruelling wait for dad and me while Dr Dhir and his colleagues worked on Mark.

The building is newish and whilst sipping coffee downstairs in Costas I looked at some artwork, obviously installed to bring on a feeling of calm. It was cool but hardly a Turner more like Pollack. But it did its job, taking me out of the arena so to speak.

People buzzed around like insects going here and there stopping occasionally to chat with each other, masks permitting.

So after draining the cup and finishing off a raisin Danish we plodded up to Mark's room. It's large airy and has a window which doesn't open. Air conditioning is the thing here in this state of the art department. We talked a bit mostly about what's going to happen next.

How long before we leave and how long can you go without sleep before illness sets in. That sort of thing.

Then a nurse popped in and took us down to recovery where Mark lay drowsy of course and wired up. As I leaned over him tears appeared in my eyes. he's not even MY child yet I have the protective instinct only a good natural mum would have.

Enough sentimentality, gets you nowhere.

So since last Friday it has been a case of three sleepless nights, many administerings of drugs in drips, a barrage of excitable nurses, thoroughly decent cleaners, enthusiastic physios and awesome doctors. Mark is in such good hands.

Earlier today we went for a stop and start stroll along the corridor, Mark using his walking frame of course, a fall would be catastrophic. He did well. The standing at a bar doing squats however is not Mark's fav activity.

But bless him he strode along, feet splayed, but he's getting there getting there getting there.

Rob and me have had words. Only natural I suppose. Having not been able to go outside, streetside, fresh air sunshine and wonderful things like that since...28th April. Had to self isolate from that day until we left home for the hospital on 5th May.

It's been eye wateringly frustrating, being in a room, albeit a large one, since the 5th, unable even to leave the hospital for a gulp of air.

gotta go now

Just been told Mark needs blood transfusions.

And another thing..sodium levels critical .

And Mark 'hears' none of this because he is in his own world where everything is fine.

 As soon as the sun shines there I am scrubbing the patio.

And after the clean up it's in the motor to the Potash Garden Centre to stock up on flowers-a-plenty.

And by jiggery jingo have we stocked...

We love the Potash because it's wide and welcoming and bulging with Begonias, Photinia Red Robins and many many more delightful flowers.

And I bought them all. Well not ALL but I've loaded a couple of trollies and spent many of our English pounds.

And all because of an improvement in the weather.

So, after stocking up on all kinds of flowers, I needed to add some quirky bits...

A silver coloured resin hare looking skywards, howling probably.

A green shabby chic three tiered plant holder.

A 30cm high robin infested bird feeder in the shape of an old log.

Big pots.

A ruby coloured dangling wind chime with touches of the East. Nam yehorengekeyo. I do need to unwind sometimes.

Like maybe now for example.

My step-son Mark aka Markie Boy aka Manager aka Top Manager has wrapped his right arm around my stooping shoulders whilst we listen to ENGLAND V. SWITZERLAND. We are already 1 down.

But being eternal optimists we KNOW Southgates boys will and MUST prevail.

Let me rattle off a few lines about my 21 year old shadow...

He is getting a new pair of hips in May.

He has waited eight months and it has been the most excruitiating wait. His dad, my partner, Rob has been like the dog with the bone. And a more ferocious pooch you won't find.

Once he'd sunk his teeth into the NHS he wouldnt, couldn't let go until someone somewhere helped his son to walk again.

Mark collapsed dramatically one day in the kitchen, his hips crumbling due to the after effects of radiotherapy.

After many long hospital visits, heated phone calls, emotional meetings and in a case of desperation last resorts and all that trawling the interweb checking out prices of going private we finally got a result...

The amazing docs at UCLH agreed to proceed with a double hip replacement. Thank you Mr Rajput.

It's been interesting. Devastatingly exhausting trips to London, numerous meetings with anaesthetists, surgeons, orthopaedic fellows and Wednesday's trip to London was particularly tiring on account of a major get together with all the teams involved with Mark's operation and after care.

Mark's Down Syndrome took centre stage during all appointments. Getting Mark's situation across to people is, to say the least, mentally  and physically tiring. Some people just don't get it.

But we did it. We got there. And in a couple of months, Rob, Mark and I will trot up to London to spend a couple of weeks in the caring arms of the guys at UCLH.

England have equalized.

 Back to the garden. Please.

The patio is crammed in a most delicious way with...Lillies, lavendar, miniature roses, pansies, a Forsythia and lots and lots of flowers whose names have left me. Sorry.

It's funny how a little blast of sunshine, a few bob spent on simple blooms and some good news on the family front has lifted my spirits to an almost drug like high.  

I must sign off now because Mark is nudging me kitchenwards and a big Indian takeaway has just arrived.

Feels good blogging again x

 

It's milky black outside

a lacklustre night

birds silent, their warbles silenced

probably by the sight of the local fox

a wrecker

a killer

a bronze coloured beast licking up beefy juices from the violet coloured plate

St Francis I'm not but I do like to adminster morsels to the hungry and hated

 

 

As I was slicing the last wedge of carrot cake into three I remembered most fondly this blog... 

 

As I write this Mark is snuggly beside me writing earnestly his ' tomorrow 'to do' list. A thoroughly long and never ending list containing such gems as...

Sorting my clothes cupboard .

'Hovering' his carpet .

Dusting a clok.

Polish shelfs.

Sorting out Sam's wooden chest. (Sam is a puppet of dubious parentage) 

Use Aer freshener. near shoes.

Sorting bin liners...

And the list goes on.

Mark as you can see is a very houseproud young man. He takes keeping things tidy to a spiritual level . It is helpful for him in so many ways. He loves 'tidy' And he loves it that I am tidy too. We are, infact, THE TIDY TWINS.

And the fact that he is so determined to do the right thing for his room, which he now calls his 'reception' although sometimes it's his 'office' it is NEVER his bedroom It is remarkable because he can barely walk.

We were told a couple of dark months ago that he needs a new hip (s) and that it is urgent and we are still waiting. We are not surprised.

So daily tasks are arduous. Helping in and out of the shower. Keeping his walking frame close by. Clearing paths.

Mark gets out and about by using his wheelchair, although his outings are limited due to Covid.

We went to see his Granma and Grandad yesterday, and what an effort that was. He's a heavy lad and I'm an old dear but we got there unscathed, had a nice natter over tea, coleslaw sandwiches and chats about cat litter, then came home. Slowly.

As you can probably tell by the apalling standard of this post I havn't written anything for ages. But one should never neglect a hobby. One should never dump a friend.

I've barely spoken to anyone today on account of feeling serious. Serious is another word for depressed. So, like Mark, I swept my troubles away by giving my bedroom a total makeover while. Five USA Columbo dissected the case for the umteenth time. Never neglect an old friend....

It now looks fabulous. I've been brutal in my getting rid of stuff way, polished surfaces now gleam and my few ornaments stand stock still watching on as tears drip from my heart.

Mark is looking as I type 'really fast' and wonders what I am writing. I say 'nothing important' and furiously tap on. He's looking forward to going in the car with his dad to collect his mum from work. Soon they will leave and I will glide into my bedroom and smile at the shine.

 

 

Look I really can't think about anything other than tonight's result...

Southgate's boys beat the German boys 2-0.

And this, for me, is the thickest sweetest icing on today's deelish cake. 

Today has been an ok kind of day. Been houseworking and baking. And that's fine. That's what I love to do.

And readers of this blog of which in the past have been many will know how much the antics of the England football team fascinate me.

Tonight's performance had me nearly choking on a piece of pork crackling but I cheered on and with the final whistle gave my pacemaker something to get its teeth into. I now wait for Saturday's match against either Ukraine or Sweden...

Tonight's win was a super special birthday present for me, albeit it a day late, but any win against any team on any day will always be the most wonderful gift.

Thanks Gareth, Raheem and Harry.

You've made a very old girl happy.

 

 

 Rain.

Rain.

And more rain.

Not a problem for me. I'm resting with Mark. Resting? Hardly. But I must try. Doctor Kelly's advice.

He was charming. Very chummy but very businesslike too. And so as I sat boiling with the heat, he said "you will be having a heart scan".

This on account of what the phsyiologist found two weeks ago when I went for a Pacemaker check up.

Apparently I'd had an event, an occurence in the lower chambers of my heart. Which, the doc said, was serious.

Bugger.

But he was so nice about it, about everything in fact, so reassuring. But his soothing friendly tone of voice didn't quite mask the seriousness of my situation.

After smiling broadly we said our cheerios, he went back to his large desk and I left the  hospital walking briskly to the bus stop.

I shopped till I nearly dropped, getting bits and bobs for Father's Day. Bought a gift on behalf of Mark for his dad, and a box of chocolate brazils for Mark's grandad. Don't know if any of that makes sense. Mark, bless him, can't shop, he hasn't a clue about money. We, his family, do the shopping for him, paying for it happily. Mark just does the "what have you bought? thing.

 He really is a wonderful young man. Full of joy. 

And by jolly jingo do we need that right now.

 

The hanging basket filled with apricot coloured begonias looks delightful.

Been very busy getting the gardens in to shape ready for summer . We were planning a party for Mark's 21st birthday, complete with bundles of his chums, a couple of family members and one or two of our mates from the car club. But we've decided to chop away at the guest list on account of covid not going away...

So the garden ensemble will consist of... Mark, dad, me, mum and grandad and granma. 

And, with the outstanding help from the charity Willow, a special appearance by Britain's Got Talent winner magician Richard Jones. 

Willow has been amazing, they help people who have had cancer, by offering holidays and gifts. They will also be supplying a birthday cake. We can't thank them enough. So a huge hug from us to Josie....Hug coming sometime later this year!

We, that's Rob and me, have, with lots of sweaty work and cash, transformed the back garden from a dullish workaday place to a picturesque slap happy lots of nooks and crannies space with fabulous herb garden, fruit and veg plots and a resident resin Buddha who shares a space with a swinging from a branch monkey.

The garden centre which has supplied flowers, ornaments, swing seats and bird feeders is the Potash Garden centre. 

I can't say life has been easy or even bearable during lockdown, it hasn't but, in the words of Marks's gran, "we're getting there".

Talking of Mark's gran, her lot hasn't been a bundle of fun either. Her beloved husband of over 60 years has dementia and what a heap of stress that has brought.

Rob's been getting 5a.m phone calls saying grandad has gone awol. Again. And can we go find him. So being the dutiful son he staggers out of bed and we cruise the quiet streets looking for the 87year old. Last time he went out for an early stroll we found him talking to a cabbie. On talking to the cabbie we discovered grandad wanted to go to Rayleigh. He was in Rayleigh only he thought he was in Stratford. And so it goes on. And so his wife, who is sometimes NOT his wife but an impersonator, struggles tearfully to hold onto the man she loves.

What makes this so painful to watch, to participate in, to feel is the fact that granma refuses to admit he has dementia. According to her he gets 'confused'...

He was in hospital for a week with a UTI, it was successfully treated and he was sent packing, he nows wanders his home in a daze thinking I'm a nurse. 

The hospital showed very little interest in the dementia or how his wife was going to cope, it was simply a case of 'he has family'...

So here we are...

Rob is working from home. Trying to concentrate being his biggest problem

Jeannie works occasionally. Trying to get her to do anything is ours.

Granma is in denial. Those pansies WILL get planted. My husband is back to his old self.

Grandad is the sole inhabitant on his planet.

Mark is blind.

I have a heart problem

I am watching Euro 2020...

Then Wimbledon.