What a relief

I have to admit that whenever my boys play I die a little.
But credit where credit is due England played well last night. Well at least I think they did. They won 3-0. Can't do better than win.
I dare say pundits will moan about this that and the other but they walked off the Wembley turf with a good score tucked in their shin pads.
So well done Roy and the boys, have a little sit down and look forward to next Wednesday.
I know I will.

On the home front....
Took mother out this morning. And have since spent the rest of the day lifting her, putting her down, finding things, wiping spills and feeding her.
We also moved her bed.

After giving her feet the once over in a plug-in pedicure spa type gizmo Hairy Suit and I ran away to Four Seasons garden centre and Mr Horsehound escaped to the top of the hill to play with his new radio. Ham radio being his thing.And, as I await his return, I'll watch Andy Murray at Roland Garros with mum who, in turns is either sombre or barking out orders, Life at the bungalow is rarely dreary...
By the way Hairy Suit is tenderly planting courgettes.

This morning as mother and I....

greet the ladies in our favourite charity shops my  mind will be on Roy Hodgson.
The man who, if his players play their part, could be knighted if his England team win the World Cup.
To achieve this, Roy's boys need to do well in the Group stage then and only then will the lads and their avuncular, well-read manager start their true trek to the latter stages.

To get them in the mood.... a nice friendly game against Peru tonight.

Hello Glorwia, many thanks for your tireless support. By the way the boys and I would love to see you in your kit. All the best. Woy x

Hello Roy, as regards my kit, I'll get Mr Horsehound to pose me then if I don't look too awful I'll post a nice pic. Keep Believing.  

Here you are boys...Eagerly waiting on the subs' bench and best of friends in the team bath afterwards.

Here there and everywher

Shopping on my own much to the chagrin of mother.
Returning to find her in full attack mode.
Never a moments peace.

I had to laugh though because even though she knows I have my own health concerns she relented NOT.
After I gave her a bed bath I said
"I'm having an hours sleep"..........
Four times she called my name. In the end I stood in the hall not knowing where to go.
It's a funny old game this life thing. It's precious and soft, like when in love and tender at times, when you get gooey over kittens, cute pups and snowflakes and the kindness of others but then there are days and nights when it feels as if you're being buried alive. You're not of course, it just seems that way.

Friday Fun Anyone?

When I write my shopping list later today there'll be fancies to chomp on, to savour, for when we watch England v. Peru on Friday night.
For our tea I expect, infact I know, I'll be making bowls of something.... or other...... Chilli possibly or even some kind of chickeny one pot thing. Probably plump for the bird.
As kick-off isn't till 20:00 hrs there'll be ooodles of time to cook.
Can't wait!

Lisa popped in yesterday tea time to do my hair she also gave Mother a bob. Lisa's a funny woman, not in a comic sort of way, she rarely cracks a joke or dabbles in double entendre, but in an monosyllabic uncreative I don't have a clue what you're talking about sort of way. Mention anything other than pubs and she's lost. Still, I like her.

Tennis from the French Open will be on my tv screen this morning, I'll  have to push the mute button though when Andy from the palliative care team arrives. He's coming to look at Mother's feet. And slip in gentle words of support for me.
Oh dear, oh Mother, what have you done to me?

Has the pressure of looking after you damaged my ticker?
Deidre, the nurse practitioner almost hugged me yesterday after my consultation. And, after telling me to have a check it all blood test and ECG, she worried me with her parting words...
"You MUST take things easy".

So on the drive home my imagination went beserk.
Was I about to keel over? Would I need a pacemaker? Will I see 58? But being an optimist I answered myself. Hope not. Doubt it. Of course.

Mother has no real idea of what is going on. She lives in the squalor of her imagination that sees her living at home again. With help of course. And so many times I've had to be brutally honest by informing her that being independent isn't on the cards. My love.

But today, as I sit here feeling funky with my cool haircut, all I want to think about is Friday:)

Very Worried

Nick Clegg, current leader of the Lib Dems, Ed Miliband, current leader of the Labour party, David Cameron, Prime Minister and Roy Hodgson. England football coach.
Four men, in the public eye, who have much to be concerned about.

Cleggy on account of failing catastrophically in the European elections and having his ambitious colleague Mr Danny Alexander dying his hair and crushing his spectacles. Hmmm....

Milibum because he looks weird. Which I think is cruel and unfair. He does though make me ponder the idea that the Labour party would be in a far better place if his Brother, David was leader.

Camiknickers, because Farage has Dave's bum firmly clenched by his beer stained teeth.

Hodgo because to lose against Peru would be serious. Like...if Roy's baby boy team can't smack Peru on Friday then what will they do when faced with the Italians on June 14th. Excitement doesn't get more exciting than this.
To sum up....
I feel for the guys, I really do, especially Hodgo. He's tense I expect, as am I. He's hoping for a positive outcome as am I, and most of all....he's eager to get a good result, as do I.
 I have an appointment this morning to see Nursie. No doctors being available.
On the bright side the nurse practitioner I'm seeing is lovely.
Nurse Deirdre.

Mother is wailing so I've been on the phone and tomorrow Andy will be checking her feet.


Now I must fly, have to gorge myself on politics whilst eating me porridge.

Shocking News!

Yesterday as I was reading about the massive property portfolios of the members of boy band One Direction I had a funny turn.
One moment I was tut tutting about their super wealth the next I was on the floor.
Silly woman.
According to Mr Hairy Suit I just dropped off the radar.
He then ran into the other room to get Mr Horsehound.
I was in and out of consciousness apparently, so being ultra cautious Mr H dialled three nines and within five minutes a para medic was bending over me.
What a twat I am.
An overworked overwrought underweight 57year old menopausal woman getting the vapours when reading about a boy band.
Mother meanwhile said nothing.

After many questions he, that's the medicine man tested my heart, a bit of a bad beat apparently, and then did blood glucose test, bit low too. All pretty banal stuff really but he said I should see my GP to get a blood test. Over or under active thyroid? Anemia? Silly old trout doing too much? Could be anything! Stress/Not enough food/old age/trying to please everyone. Oh good lord the possibilities are endless old boy!
He also questioned my persistent cough, and listened to my lungs with his chilly stethoscope, according to him, I have crepitations in my right or is it left, lower lobes. Oh lovely...
Sitting hunched on the settee  (I looked drunk) I wondered what next.

Mother said nothing.

Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit were fantastic. Calm, confident. I was so lucky to be with, to be saved by, two fabulous MEN. The para medic was glossy with perspiration and talked too softly. Could barely hear a word he said. He also asked about my lycra underwear. Some ladies he told me unpin their elastics when on the point of fainting. Really? Why are all people in the medical profession bloody comedians?
I could not laugh. I was a bit concerned, thought I might be having a heart attack.

I can't say I'm surprised at my silliness, I haven't felt well lately. But to have to go to the docs on Tuesday is something I can do withoutt.
I'm concerned that my GP will tell me to go the A & E with a letter. I joke a lot but I can't quite chuckle about this.
Who will look after mum?
I'm biting my lip.

But by nature I'm an optimist, glass half full and all that.
So, on Tuesday, armed with my new handbag and cardiograph I'll hablar con alguien with my Spanish GP.




Other News....

I've cut my fringe.

Happy Birthday Mother!

You've reached 77 years.
Well done you.


Over on  my other blog I've posted pics of recent food successes.

Watched the F.A, Cup Final last night. Plucky Hull City gave Arsenal a scare by going two ahead in a very short space of time. But the Gunners rallied and killed the Tigers off by bagging three goals. They needed extra time though!
It was a thrilling match made so by the underdogs scoring miraculously early and Arsenal running around like mad frogs in a hat box.
We, that's mother and myself, watched it all from the kick off to the final whistle. We're talking again now...
So tactics and what would happen to Arsene Wenger if Arsenal lost....were discussed..... as we dived lovingly into our tea of Chinese style chicken. I was dubious at first as to whether or not mum would embrace the dark red chicken and veggie mix....but mum really liked it.

It's been a hard week. Really tiring both physically and mentally. But now, on this gloriously warm sunny day Mr Horsehond is snoozing on the settee after doing an hours gardening, mum is drifting in and out of lala land and I'm talking to you while a nice piece of pork shoulder roasts.
Human Beings eh!
Life? What an almighty joke!


Do check my Table there are pictures of my food.....

If Only

mother used her tongue on others as she uses it on me.
She ripped into me at 7 45 I mean she really gave me both barrels . In a word she loathes me. She has too. The ridiculous sentiments that were flung my way could only come from a woman who despises her daughter.
Apparently I only get up early because my mate rob comes round after work.
Er....I'm up early EVERY DAY mother dearest. You know changing your underwear and washing you.
These small things so easily forgotten.

And then the killer blow.
She told me to get proper carers in.
Hmmm I thought. If it's soooo bad here why not book yourself into a hospice like the doctor suggested.

I  yelled. My heart in tatters. My mind completely at a loss as to what to do now.
In the heat of the moment I reminded her of something she said to me a few years ago..
"I wish you'd never been born"

She conveniently forgot she ever said it.
But she clearly remembers something dad said to her as he lay in his hospital bed
 "You've ruined my life"

He is the only person she ever took notice of despite the verbal cruelty. Me? I'm the afterbirth. Yuk.

After

After the district nurse left ( 2pm ) mum wanted to go out.
So we did. Mum, Rob and myself  dawdled down the sunlit road coming to a halt at the Faith Hope and Charity shop on Ashingdon Road.
After a quick look around mum wanted to leave. (I bought a 50p scarf, very William Morris)
It was obvious the expedition was too much for her. So after a quick nip into the Co-Op for juice and spring onions we went home.
And within minutes she was asleep.

I admire her tenacity but I think she's taking this determination to carry on as normal a tad too far. It simply exhausts her. It defeats her. She hasn't been out of hospital long and there she is out and about wearing a camel coat and no socks.
Her resolve borders on madness.
But I can't deny that it's her madness that's keeping her going

Despite lengthy chats about the wisdom of acceptance we always come to the same conclusion. Namely she will not accept that her life has irrevocably changed. And that for her to go back three years to the time when she was well is impossible.
But my God how this woman fights.
Fights to maintain dignity by refusing help from carers associations. ( " My daughter does things for me" )
Fights to maintain her home which is, I'm relieved to say, a fight she's now almost prepared to give up.. Not though without constant consideration. Her home, she says, is what gives her hope. But even she now realises that the dream of returning is made of dust.

She has, in the past few days, reluctantly and sadly agreed to end her tenancy, but she has said and done this before so I'm taking everything mum says with a pinch of salt.
I can't blame her for wanting to hold on to the home she shared with dad but at the same time clinging to it is holding her back. By hanging on to the keys she's denying herself any hope of starting afresh.
Afresh? Sounds rather silly doesn't it? A terminally ill woman kick starting a brand new life with her daughter and son-in-law in a quaint place she doesn't particularly like and which holds no real interest for her.
I've done my best to make clear to her that life is here. Not the life she wants,  I know, I understand that, but going home, back to London is impossible.
So if she's the sensible woman I think she is, she'll ditch the clanging noise and exorbitant prices of London living and agree to become an all singing, all swearing Essex girl...

As for me. I'm pooped. Exhausted. What's keeping me upright I don't know. From morn till night my life is put away, in a cupboard, and a robotic me dances wearily and tearily to mum's never ending tune.
She can't go to the bathroom now. An indignity too far as far as mum is concerned. An intolerable and expensive round of ladies paper underwear unwrapped and flying over the bed sheets.
It's good I've discovered my businesslike no nonsense side otherwise I'd be clawing the walls.


I've recorded Masterchef because it takes along time to get mum sorted and settled this time of night.
And I'd like to watch it calmly without having to run for the unperfumed washlets every ten minutes!

I'm Still On It....

Monty made me laugh this morning...
As Rob stood stirring the porridge, Monty by his side gazing up, he, that's Monty, said
"Know the arse, can't place the face"

Other hilarity this a.m. included diabetic mum sucking on a toffee.
Me bouncing around on account of being able finally to grab my lustrous grey locks into a ponytail. A short stout one, but it dangles all the same.

As we wait for the the nurse to arrive I'm polishing table legs,  mum is comatose after eating a toffee (not really)  and Rob is keeping busy with a wet cloth, dabbing his stains.

I'm on it

According to the BBC's Body Clock experiment which is taking place today. I am, as I type this, at my peak, I mean I'm on top of the world ma, I'm being efficient, hitting all the right notes, basically I'm flying...
Just as well.
Seeing as the early part of the day ( 6am - 8am) saw me gently shoving mother on the bed in an attempt to (a) dry her out (b) replace lost dressings and (c) get her to stop talking utter gibberish.
I failed on only one.
Mother's body is a mess only exception being her mouth organ. That sings/barks loudly and often. Her lyrics being full of four letter emotion.

On a lighter note, Rob entered the fray at 8:30 bearing edible gifts of three McDonalds breakfasts. I thought he was having a laugh. But no. Clutched in his hairy paws was a bag of hot meat, bread, potatoes and squashed egg.
Yum.
On being served, Mother smiled thanking the hairy deliverer profusely.
And so there we sat, Rob and me on the settee and mum on her high tech high level bed (air mattress delivered yesterday).
I have to say, having something hot to eat and without having to hot it myself was a real treat.
I liked it. Thank You.
And as we sipped our tea mother started choking again. It seems the McD brekkie was a wee bit adventurous for her tiny tum and what followed was a few minutes of retching, coughing and general spluttering.

I've just finished the ironing, Rob is asleep, and mum sits propped up constantly asking me what time it is...

I feel that my peak performance time is winding down now....and good job too. My body and brain need a rest....

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday was a mix of being patient and keeping my tongue firmly between my lips..... as Rob and me waited 8 hours for hospital transportation.....Earlier in the day I'd been told on the phone that mum would need to be stretchered out of the hospital. Ok. So Rob and me sat with a very weepy inpatient mum waiting for the phantom stretcher.

It never came....

After several chats with the ward manager I decided to grab mother by the scruff of her pale pink hospital gown and get her the hell out of there.
And so after a gentle word with staff nurse Godfrey we took mum out into the late night air in a wheelchair wrapped in a soft blue blanket

The delay in transport wasn't the nursing staffs fault there'd been an error in the transport office somewhere along the line of command.....
And as usual no-one was available for comment or to take responsibility.

We arrived home very late and before you could say bedpan my little soldier was propped up in bed with a beaker of tea. (the hospital beaker being 'lifted' by me).

It had been such a day.
And I was relieved beyond belief not only at being home but at having mum still with me.
She hadn't spoken much, hardly a sentence passed between us but she was fighting once more to live and that was good to see.

Much later round about 11:30 some 'palliative carers' turned up. Oh my Lord. It seems mother needs a proper bed. Like one you use in hospital. Ok.
So after much chattering and note taking it was decided a new bed would be delivered. At some time. All I could think of was "Oh no, my romantic creative type earth-mother drawing room is going to end up looking like a disinfected ward"
Blow You!

After many natterings the three man team legged it. Leaving mum wishing she was anywhere but here,
Ouch.
After some small hand holding I left mum, fully comfortable in all regions, and headed wearily to bed.

This morning, after a light breakfast, I made mum presentable. Dry shampoo, clean fingernails and garments and waited for more palliative carers to turn up.
They did. And how. Absolutely awful.
Two youngish tattooed women wearing too much jewellry and having too much to say. After hearing about what I'd already done for mum ( feeding, meds, personal care, etc they kinda looked stunned.
There wasn't anything for them to do except maybe tackle a toe nail.Slowly.....
Good God give me strength. If I was ever in need of assistance I would want to have faith in my carers. These two made me want to say shove off.
I'm sure they mean well. Or am I? But this 'care' they offered would be, I thought, for sick elderly people who didn'tt have anyone. Mum already has people. A whole army infact. Myself, John, Rob and the District Nurses.
Maybe I'm being ultra critical but I can manage, albeit with occasional emotional breakdowns quite well. Thank you.

It's sunny and mum is grumpy and so she should be. All this near to death stuff and icy bed pans..... it's enough to make anyone give up..................... 

:)

I'm making a Fish Pie. 

Oh dear

Mum is in hospital.
But will soon be home where I can take care of her.
McMillan will be popping in too.

When Rob drove me home from the hospital yesterday after a grueling couple of days, I broke down. Sobbed like a mad brat in the car. At last. Even Queens have their orf days.

After I, along with two excellent district nurses at home and a nursery of young handsome doctors at the hospital had been fussing around mum like she was royalty it got to the point where I couldn't do or talk any more so I left Her Majesty in the ward with a beaker of milky tea telling her I'd be back tomorrow. She dissed me. Wonderful.

Just had a call from Dr Barker who is looking after mum on the kidney ward.... my old bean is drowsy and basically dying and after a long conversation about kidneys, resuscitation yes or no and hospices I've decided to bring mum home.

I relish the prospect of wearing an apron, being lovingly bossy and having mum back!.

I sound positively upbeat don't I?
What a fine actor I am.

Sleepless

Last night and through to the dawn chorus I sat with an in pain, raging often incoherent mum.
The pain in her tummy was too much.
And I had the pip. On account of mum having been seen by three nurses. And still no relief. I'm hoping that the morning visit will be fruitful. For example...Mum's agony ends.
I called the district nurse liaison at 6:30 and spoke to a charming woman. I'm still waiting for a call-back.

And after doing the neccessaries regarding mum's cleanliness she begged me to get the doc.
Receptionist to me on phone.
"Dr B..... said if the pain is that bad call 999".

Mum shrieked.
I consoled.
We're still waiting for the nurse.
Mum is trying to fall asleep. I'm trying to stay awake.

New Day

It's been an exciting, exhausting, enlightening few days.

Firstly my 'new' table is wonderful. It's Ercol, it's a deep glossy rich brown wood with legs to die for. Bought, NOT from a charity shop but from Les and Garry's emporium. (House clearances etc).
Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit got it on Sunday while I looked after mum and did the potatoes. Snooker being my tonic. Selby by the way lifted the cup AND the massive cheque. £300,000.
Anyway, as the boys carried the table up the path I knew I'd chosen well...
But I wasn't there so how did I get the perfect one?
Photos of course. From Hairy's mobile to my in-box. I don' have a snazzy phone. AND DON'T NEED ONE EITHER.

Mum has been very ill.
Palliative District Nurse came yesterday. Gave mum the once over and left a prescription which I must collect this morning in order for the next district nurse to do the bizzo.
Poor mum. The indignity of it all. Still, she's opened up to me a lot recently and we've come to many agreements. Mostly that it's not shameful to accept personal care from your daughter.
Which reminds me. I was up at four this morning,...Two men looked through prison bars, one saw mud the other stars...
As I did what needed doing I heard joyous birdsong............

Mum is bed bound now. And when I see her there. All I want to do is sing.
Sing my heart out because our situation has brought us closer together. I've discovered a mum whose tenacity is legendary but to this degree was unknown. And I've discovered a lot about myself and I quite like it.

Busy Bee

Up at 4.
Mum in a pickle.
Ok.
And so after much chattering we're waiting for the district nurse (palliative section) to arrive.
I can honestly say I can't keep still. Mum even told me to sit down.
"But  you can't" she said sadly "because you're worried"
Can't fault her on that one.
I am a wee bit concerned about what nursie might do or say.
But I know that whatever transpires, mum must feel better.

Last day of the snooker final today.
Selby is being trounced by O'Sullivan but if Selby is the player I think he is, he'll come back........

NOT GOING!

Said mum as I gave her some early morning tea.
Yesterday's pain and discomfort and subsequent eagerness to see a doctor being clearly forgotten.
I wasn't surprised.

What did surprise and shock me though was when she "Don't go, don't leave me" when I said I was going out this morning to get a table for my sewing.
I never thought it would come to this. But it has. And so I'll adapt and accept as all sensible people do.

Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit took off in search of an old table for me.

And so while I make Sunday lunch...Roast chicken and salad followed by apple and blackberry crumble I'll be able to hear mum's cries/orders/requests via the baby monitor hooked to my belt.

We're looking forward to watching the snooker final this afternoon. I'm supporting Selby, not because he's a fantastic world class player, but because he's gorgeous and makes jokes.
!

Mum has been very poorly today, so after hours of discussion she's agreed to see a doctor tomorrow.

We'll all ( mum, Mr Horsehound, me and Hairy Suit)  be watching the semi-final of the snooker tonight between Neil Robertson and Mark Selby. It's proving to be a real tussle, two of the best players in the world hammering out every frame for the chance to meet O'Sullivan in tomorrow's Final.
As I've been otherwise engaged (helping mum) I haven't made anything for tonight's tea so a Chinese take away has been ordered. Hooray!

Must dash now. Snooker about to start and my tummy is making an awful racket!!!

I Want

A secondhand table for the front room so I can sit at it doing needlework. I envisage...Me at a shiny table, aida in hand or in a frame, cross stitching or blackworking delicate pieces. I bought twenty skeins of thread yesterday in the charity shop for just £2. Unused. All colours. An incredible bargain.
A garden of lavender. Pots everywhere and shrubs.
To go out in the sunshine smiling. Either dawdling or power walking. Depends on footwear.
Lots of 14 point Aida cloth in Ecru. Have been re-stung by the sewing bee.
A sewing box/basket. New would be good, secondhand is fine
A big brown watch. To match my new brown glasses. Hoping they will be ready next week...
A picnic in the back garden. Cheeses, crackers, elderflower cordial, olives, roasted tomatoes, garlic, lemon cake, digestive biscuits, hummus, carrot, red pepper, honey spice cake. Lemon tea.
Tea and toasted buttered buns in cafes. Listening to chitchatting patrons as they drown their sorrows in plates of fried food. Like yesterday. When Hairy and myself earwigged fellow slurpers as they chattered away over their big plates of eggs and beans.
Long walks. The longer the better.
Pots of white flowers either real or artificial in jugs of yellow green or brown.
Open windows.

As you can see from my list I don't want much.

Woken by a scream

At 6:30 I ran into the bathroom and found mum on the floor.
First thought being "has she broken anything?"

No my bottles of scent were ok. Phew!

As I cradled her in my arms I wondered how I was going to lift her. But after a few calming words and yelps of pain I got her to her feet. If anyone was watching, like God or someone, we would have made excellent viewing. Me in my white vest and mum in wet pyjamas.
"Oh God" she said "Help me"
"He's busy" I merrily quipped and we jaywalked to the front room and her bed.

Although we'd planned a massive morning out shopping for rags and bags I don't think my amazingly robust mother will be able to muster any more get-up-and-go. She's running on empty. So a quick trip out to get the papers and soap then back.

We're loving the snooker.
I'm rooting for Mark Selby in today's semi-final.
He's a very funny guy.
And although I like his opponent, Neil Robertson, I'm plumping for the Jester from Leicester.

The other semi-final between O'Sullivan and Hawkins will be, I expect, another victory for Ronnie. I've never warmed to him but as he's playing The Hawk I might break my own rules and stick up for O'Sullivan. Hawkins did the dirty of the Urban Spaceman Dominic Dale by winning. And I was so looking forward to watching a Dom v. Ron match. A mismatch made in heaven.
Loveable Dale did wonders by clawing his way back to 12 12 then Hawkins pipped him on the line. Unforgivable.


Must Dash

Breathtaking

Dawn.

Made for Hope.