Potted about at H's, not much to do.
His son came in a little while after I arrived, he'd come for dad's slippers. According to him his dad was caught smoking in the ward! He'd also pinned a note onto one of the patients. God knows what hell the man is going through, but whatever it is it must be sorted out sooner rather than later.
Anyway the highlight of my morning was when Blackie and Ging sprawled themselves across my lap. They were lit by a brilliant strip of sunshine which beamed through the large window their sleek bodies warm, and without fault, shone like nothing on earth. So perfect did they look that I wanted to lick their heads but instead I let my fingers roam around their necks. The purring was thunderous.
After bagging up some of the son's clothes I bagged up my rubber gloves and pinny and left. When I was outside locking up they both appeared on the windowsill, their small heads on their thin bodies left me weak with love. I really am an idiot.
Cooking tonight Pork Chops Italienne. No idea about pud probably something chocolately.
Here is a poem I posted then deleted, won't go into why I deleted it suffice to say I can sometimes be a wee bit fractious.
Here I am
deep down in love
its magic flouting all the rules of life
yet no-one to witness it you see
Looking for sense
I try on a new dress
its perfect folds annoying my heart and mind
no-one to ruin it you see
Waiting for words
I hear not one from you
your distant e-love leaves me e-sick
no-one to wipe it you see
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
My Day Off
At 10 a.m. I was listening to Woman's Hour and making fish cakes, by 11 I was dealing with an hysterical daughter and sublimely cool son. Henry had discharged himself from hospital.
Henry had called as I was shaping the cakes his voice was high pitched, his words nonsensical. He wanted his bed moved and cupboards shifted. I got dressed and drove there to find his eldest daughter on the drive crying, her baby yelling, the only island of calm being Henry's son, J.
His son, J, told me that Henry had been caught smoking, had reacted violently when confronted by nurses, who had, in turn, called the security people. He later walked out after calling both his daughters very early in the morning. His son had hopped on a train from London to deal with dad.
"What can I do?" I asked
"Watch him please while we go to see his G.P."
And so they left, I meanwhile went inside and found H. in bed, purple, spitting and talking about Asian prostitutes.
I looked at him not really knowing what to do, I have to admit I was a bit worried, I wondered what I'd do if he fell out of bed or became 'difficult'. I needn't have worried though because he soon fell asleep leaving me to watch the cats and wait for his family to return.
After 30 minutes of wandering from room to room they returned, his daughter with baby in tow, began crying again, more in anger than sadness. Her dad was the kind of person, she said, who wouldn't listen to anyone, who always thinks he's right and who is a compulsive liar.
His son, still the epitome of cool, suggested that dad might need to see a psychiatric nurse. I tentatively agreed.
Henry has been all over the place these past couple of months, drinking himself into a stupor and losing days and nights like they're nothing thereby isolating himself from everyone around him.
His violent outbursts when anyone suggests he sees a doctor or speaks to a counsellor are becoming more frequent. It has got to the stage where people just stay away.
A cup of coffee was made by me as his son phoned the hospital to see if he could take dad back to resume his treatment. They said yes. Then we heard a thud, it was Henry making his way to the kitchen where he calmly told us to go because he had to grab a shower and get to work.
What followed was so painful. His daughter ran out crying, his son remained calm whilst gently urging his dad to go back to hospital. But Henry was having none of it.
I left the kitchen to sit with the girl who spoke incessantly about her father. Then the youngest girl arrived saying she was having no more to do with him. Meanwhile J. persisted in trying to get his dad to see sense. He didn't. Instead Henry went upstairs to bed.
So the four left behind swapped stories of our dealings with the NHS and difficult relations. Then the door bell rang, it was Henry's G.P. he'd come round to have a word...
After telling Henry that he might die if he didn't get treatment, Henry reluctantly agreed to go to hospital. A huge commotion then occurred as Henry came downstairs demanding clean socks, pants and his briefcase... I packed it all up, wished them well and watched out the window as Henry climbed into the daughter's car wearing only his pyjamas.
After a few minutes I too left.
It had been quite a morning and I was mentally exhausted.
I hope with all my heart that Henry behaves properly and does what he's told because if he creates trouble he'll have his choices made for him and that will be much worse than being on an oxygen machine.
Now I'll finish the fish cakes.
Henry had called as I was shaping the cakes his voice was high pitched, his words nonsensical. He wanted his bed moved and cupboards shifted. I got dressed and drove there to find his eldest daughter on the drive crying, her baby yelling, the only island of calm being Henry's son, J.
His son, J, told me that Henry had been caught smoking, had reacted violently when confronted by nurses, who had, in turn, called the security people. He later walked out after calling both his daughters very early in the morning. His son had hopped on a train from London to deal with dad.
"What can I do?" I asked
"Watch him please while we go to see his G.P."
And so they left, I meanwhile went inside and found H. in bed, purple, spitting and talking about Asian prostitutes.
I looked at him not really knowing what to do, I have to admit I was a bit worried, I wondered what I'd do if he fell out of bed or became 'difficult'. I needn't have worried though because he soon fell asleep leaving me to watch the cats and wait for his family to return.
After 30 minutes of wandering from room to room they returned, his daughter with baby in tow, began crying again, more in anger than sadness. Her dad was the kind of person, she said, who wouldn't listen to anyone, who always thinks he's right and who is a compulsive liar.
His son, still the epitome of cool, suggested that dad might need to see a psychiatric nurse. I tentatively agreed.
Henry has been all over the place these past couple of months, drinking himself into a stupor and losing days and nights like they're nothing thereby isolating himself from everyone around him.
His violent outbursts when anyone suggests he sees a doctor or speaks to a counsellor are becoming more frequent. It has got to the stage where people just stay away.
A cup of coffee was made by me as his son phoned the hospital to see if he could take dad back to resume his treatment. They said yes. Then we heard a thud, it was Henry making his way to the kitchen where he calmly told us to go because he had to grab a shower and get to work.
What followed was so painful. His daughter ran out crying, his son remained calm whilst gently urging his dad to go back to hospital. But Henry was having none of it.
I left the kitchen to sit with the girl who spoke incessantly about her father. Then the youngest girl arrived saying she was having no more to do with him. Meanwhile J. persisted in trying to get his dad to see sense. He didn't. Instead Henry went upstairs to bed.
So the four left behind swapped stories of our dealings with the NHS and difficult relations. Then the door bell rang, it was Henry's G.P. he'd come round to have a word...
After telling Henry that he might die if he didn't get treatment, Henry reluctantly agreed to go to hospital. A huge commotion then occurred as Henry came downstairs demanding clean socks, pants and his briefcase... I packed it all up, wished them well and watched out the window as Henry climbed into the daughter's car wearing only his pyjamas.
After a few minutes I too left.
It had been quite a morning and I was mentally exhausted.
I hope with all my heart that Henry behaves properly and does what he's told because if he creates trouble he'll have his choices made for him and that will be much worse than being on an oxygen machine.
Now I'll finish the fish cakes.
Monday, 8 February 2010
The Show Doesn't Go On
The cats were pleased to see me and my basket.
Colin the put-upon painter laid down his brush and tried to get the 'new' dryer to work.
I made pork chops Italienne for Walt.
Just another morning at Henry's.
He is still undergoing tests and no-one is being told anything least of all me. I spoke with him on the phone and he made no sense at all, I think he must be on some super painkillers or something of that ilk because his speech was slurred and rambling.
No-one except me, John and his children have visited him, a man can be in no sorrier state than to be devoid of true friendship.
Pottering around his house in silence save for the occasional bump and thump from Colin upstairs feels very unreal.
No blaring radio or filthy banter and suddenly the cold creaking castle lies still and colourless without its main character.
Colin the put-upon painter laid down his brush and tried to get the 'new' dryer to work.
I made pork chops Italienne for Walt.
Just another morning at Henry's.
He is still undergoing tests and no-one is being told anything least of all me. I spoke with him on the phone and he made no sense at all, I think he must be on some super painkillers or something of that ilk because his speech was slurred and rambling.
No-one except me, John and his children have visited him, a man can be in no sorrier state than to be devoid of true friendship.
Pottering around his house in silence save for the occasional bump and thump from Colin upstairs feels very unreal.
No blaring radio or filthy banter and suddenly the cold creaking castle lies still and colourless without its main character.
Friday, 5 February 2010
I Have Henry's Socks In My Handbag.
After messing about with Walter's sausages I rang the hospital and found out that H had been moved to a respiratory ward so after eating another part of the pig (bacon sarnie) I tootled up there.
He was on the edge of the bed in a flashy blue backless number, red in cheek with some plastic tubing in his nostrils.
"Hello Angie" he snorkled
"Hello you" I grinned
And so we sat... Me watching as he ate two of the oranges I'd brought him.
"Thank you darling, I can't find my glasses and these socks are no good..." The rest of the conversation went very much along those lines. He doesn't like the doctors or the people around him, he distrusts the food and he wants to come home.
"I'll get myself out of here" he said worryingly
"No don't do that Henry" I said sipping on the insipid tea nursie had brought.
He went on and on in a frantic manner, talking nonsense about carpets, boilers, new sofas, parties, lime green paint and his glasses. I felt like a member of a crowd who had gathered to hear the rantings and preachings of a town centre preacher. Only this preacher used expletives.
After an hour his daughter arrived and both she and I were asked to leave for a bit whilst a scan was taken of something or other. A little while later we were back by his side and he was attempting to peel yet another orange.
After some chit chat about the daughters work and weekend she left, leaving me with dad.
"I'm feeling a bit knackered now" said H
"And that's my cue to hop it is it?" I piped up, in as cheery a fashion as I could muster. It had been a hardish two hours with him and for him, but I think a little good came out of it.
On the drive home I hoped that after this scare Henry would finally see sense and stop smoking and limit his drinking to a glass or two of wine, because if he doesn't one day his body will do what so many have done, refuse to work for him...
He can be a cantankerous man with a brattish cruel streak, a man who is impatient not only with himself but with everyone and the whole damn world. But he can also be funny and helpful and has just about the most infectious, rudest, and out and out exhausting sense of humour of anyone I've ever met. All in all he's an almighty pain, but a pain I can deal with, providing there are islands of relief, such as text free weekends and call free nights!
Tomorrow after some much needed fun shopping John and I will visit him and I will take along a pair of glasses I found behind his bar and another pair of socks because the ones he's wearing feel 'awkward'...
Cooking tonight: Not a clue.
He was on the edge of the bed in a flashy blue backless number, red in cheek with some plastic tubing in his nostrils.
"Hello Angie" he snorkled
"Hello you" I grinned
And so we sat... Me watching as he ate two of the oranges I'd brought him.
"Thank you darling, I can't find my glasses and these socks are no good..." The rest of the conversation went very much along those lines. He doesn't like the doctors or the people around him, he distrusts the food and he wants to come home.
"I'll get myself out of here" he said worryingly
"No don't do that Henry" I said sipping on the insipid tea nursie had brought.
He went on and on in a frantic manner, talking nonsense about carpets, boilers, new sofas, parties, lime green paint and his glasses. I felt like a member of a crowd who had gathered to hear the rantings and preachings of a town centre preacher. Only this preacher used expletives.
After an hour his daughter arrived and both she and I were asked to leave for a bit whilst a scan was taken of something or other. A little while later we were back by his side and he was attempting to peel yet another orange.
After some chit chat about the daughters work and weekend she left, leaving me with dad.
"I'm feeling a bit knackered now" said H
"And that's my cue to hop it is it?" I piped up, in as cheery a fashion as I could muster. It had been a hardish two hours with him and for him, but I think a little good came out of it.
On the drive home I hoped that after this scare Henry would finally see sense and stop smoking and limit his drinking to a glass or two of wine, because if he doesn't one day his body will do what so many have done, refuse to work for him...
He can be a cantankerous man with a brattish cruel streak, a man who is impatient not only with himself but with everyone and the whole damn world. But he can also be funny and helpful and has just about the most infectious, rudest, and out and out exhausting sense of humour of anyone I've ever met. All in all he's an almighty pain, but a pain I can deal with, providing there are islands of relief, such as text free weekends and call free nights!
Tomorrow after some much needed fun shopping John and I will visit him and I will take along a pair of glasses I found behind his bar and another pair of socks because the ones he's wearing feel 'awkward'...
Cooking tonight: Not a clue.
After yesterday's hullaballoo all I want to do is shop! But that will have to wait till tomorrow, when I will cut a classy swathe all the way to the 99p shop!
But today, what about today? Well, after a little breakfast I'll gather some sausages, veg and a mini trifle and tootle down to Henry's where I expect to be met by cowboy Colin the painter, who yesterday said there was 'a place in heaven for me'.
I tutted and made a bacon sandwich.
I won't be doing much today though, this is more of a mercy mission for the sake of Walter, the poor beanpole hasn't a lot to eat so I'll brew up a casserole for him.
After doing that I'll check the cats, try to get Colin to move the new dryer for me, look at bulging bin bags and then have a cuppa whilst phoning the hospital.
If all goes well I'll be scooting up there this afternoon to check upon the man who would be an M.P. if he could. Local politics is/was his life and the burly cheese eater is aching to get back in the blue fold. Got to get his red face sorted first methinks...
But today, what about today? Well, after a little breakfast I'll gather some sausages, veg and a mini trifle and tootle down to Henry's where I expect to be met by cowboy Colin the painter, who yesterday said there was 'a place in heaven for me'.
I tutted and made a bacon sandwich.
I won't be doing much today though, this is more of a mercy mission for the sake of Walter, the poor beanpole hasn't a lot to eat so I'll brew up a casserole for him.
After doing that I'll check the cats, try to get Colin to move the new dryer for me, look at bulging bin bags and then have a cuppa whilst phoning the hospital.
If all goes well I'll be scooting up there this afternoon to check upon the man who would be an M.P. if he could. Local politics is/was his life and the burly cheese eater is aching to get back in the blue fold. Got to get his red face sorted first methinks...
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Bugger
Oh my God what a day.
Never thought I'd be so pleased to walk into my chilly room.
My day off was kind of planned, look at a few books, watch a movie and generally chill out, but at nine fifteen this morning Henry phoned from the doctor's car park saying he was unwell and that he had to go to hospital.
After arranging to meet him back at his home I drove down there hoping for the best. He arrived some forty minutes later having decided to drive around town for a little bit. In the meantime frantic calls and texts were being sent and received, some from his youngest daughter, others from his secretary, but Henry being the arse he is left us all in the dark.
So as I talked to the painter who had come to do the bedroom, Henry called saying he was on his way and would I get his things together.
Scrambling about in his wreck of a room proved weary on me so I just grabbed a few obvious bits and pieces and packed them into a hold all. Then Henry turned up looking like hell. I've seen him in many states of unwellness but the way he looked this morning terrified me.
After I prised him off the back of the chair I phoned for a taxi and ten minutes later we were on our way. On the short journey he continually shut his eyes, falling forwards and asking where we were going. I felt sorry for the big man because for a big shot this must heave been humiliating. We got there and as I staggered with his holdall and blasted briefcase nurses and doctors ushered him into the acute ward where he was prodded, pricked and had all kinds of stuff done to him. Henry meanwhile sat with his eyes barely open.
"How did you get here?" he asked after two hours of me sitting with him.
"Taxi, darling" I said
He closed his eyes.
By this time his youngest daughter and son had arrived, it was an emotional time for all concerned.
"Make sure" she said to me "That you tell them the truth"
"The truth?"
"Yes about the drinking, he lies about it"
By now I was feeling a bit exhausted but I stayed till all the nurses and one doctor did their stuff. Then Henry in his own inimitable way told us all to leave.
"Go on bugger off" he said
So we left him waiting to be taken to the Respiratory ward.
I left the hospital to catch the bus lugging his bloody briefcase which I told him he wouldn't be needing for a few days.
Did he listen? Did he hell. But that's Henry for ya.
Never thought I'd be so pleased to walk into my chilly room.
My day off was kind of planned, look at a few books, watch a movie and generally chill out, but at nine fifteen this morning Henry phoned from the doctor's car park saying he was unwell and that he had to go to hospital.
After arranging to meet him back at his home I drove down there hoping for the best. He arrived some forty minutes later having decided to drive around town for a little bit. In the meantime frantic calls and texts were being sent and received, some from his youngest daughter, others from his secretary, but Henry being the arse he is left us all in the dark.
So as I talked to the painter who had come to do the bedroom, Henry called saying he was on his way and would I get his things together.
Scrambling about in his wreck of a room proved weary on me so I just grabbed a few obvious bits and pieces and packed them into a hold all. Then Henry turned up looking like hell. I've seen him in many states of unwellness but the way he looked this morning terrified me.
After I prised him off the back of the chair I phoned for a taxi and ten minutes later we were on our way. On the short journey he continually shut his eyes, falling forwards and asking where we were going. I felt sorry for the big man because for a big shot this must heave been humiliating. We got there and as I staggered with his holdall and blasted briefcase nurses and doctors ushered him into the acute ward where he was prodded, pricked and had all kinds of stuff done to him. Henry meanwhile sat with his eyes barely open.
"How did you get here?" he asked after two hours of me sitting with him.
"Taxi, darling" I said
He closed his eyes.
By this time his youngest daughter and son had arrived, it was an emotional time for all concerned.
"Make sure" she said to me "That you tell them the truth"
"The truth?"
"Yes about the drinking, he lies about it"
By now I was feeling a bit exhausted but I stayed till all the nurses and one doctor did their stuff. Then Henry in his own inimitable way told us all to leave.
"Go on bugger off" he said
So we left him waiting to be taken to the Respiratory ward.
I left the hospital to catch the bus lugging his bloody briefcase which I told him he wouldn't be needing for a few days.
Did he listen? Did he hell. But that's Henry for ya.
Monday, 1 February 2010
On The Food Programme (Radio 4) cookery expert Mary Norwak said a true trifle contains no fruit or jelly, so the little effort I made yesterday was a no-no. But come the weekend I will make the real thing, even forcing myself to splash out on a bottle of sweet sherry. I did gain some comfort though because Miss Norwak uses jam filled sponges just like I do.
******************************************************
Got my under-the-sink cupboard sorted out this afternoon. Found twenty unused dish cloths, three half full bottles of bleach, three cans of furniture polish, several sticky stains, a bag of weed killer, two photo frames, egg cups, Stardrops cleaner (unused), box of screws, a yellow bowl, a sugar cannister filled with packets of lettuce seeds (use by 2008), and a host of incredible cleaners...
********************************************************
Today's work out at Henry's nearly ended in bloodshed. I was in a foul mood and he had bad legs. Result? Sharpness from both sides.
He said he might want me full time if and when his business picks up. I made more tea as his watery eyes started to close at the kitchen table. Time? Midday. Advised rest so took him to his room along with his £7.56 cough medicine, tablets to help him quit smoking and a bottle of orange squash. Full time nurse? Me? Only for a shed load of wonga.
**********************************************************
Fried myself a piece of steak for lunch and ate it whilst watching Mary Queen of Scots on C4. Fabulous performances from all. Especially Glenda Jackson, Timothy Dalton and Vanessa Redgrave. Made in 1971, it was a sumptuous affair beautifully shot and directed. But I have to say I was very surprised that the censor bods at C4 allowed it to have an afternoon slot, because there were extremely gory scenes of people being butchered to death. Ms Redgrave (Mary) did look lovely though as she knelt for the axeman.
***********************************************************
Got another informative email from The Southend Poetry Society. Gang of woolly wearing caravaners.
****************************************************************
Got a ton of stuff to catch up on via video tape. Simply must get a Humax. Recorded the remake of The Omen. Damn fine film the original, but will give the updated version a go. Also have 'Vacancy,' some tosh about a couple in a motel room getting embedded in snuff movies. Could be worth a watch. University Challenge on tonight, usually manage to get a few questions right. Love Paxo's delivery.
***************************************************************
Now back to where I began. Radio 4 and P.M. With tea and a shortbread finger.
******************************************************
Got my under-the-sink cupboard sorted out this afternoon. Found twenty unused dish cloths, three half full bottles of bleach, three cans of furniture polish, several sticky stains, a bag of weed killer, two photo frames, egg cups, Stardrops cleaner (unused), box of screws, a yellow bowl, a sugar cannister filled with packets of lettuce seeds (use by 2008), and a host of incredible cleaners...
********************************************************
Today's work out at Henry's nearly ended in bloodshed. I was in a foul mood and he had bad legs. Result? Sharpness from both sides.
He said he might want me full time if and when his business picks up. I made more tea as his watery eyes started to close at the kitchen table. Time? Midday. Advised rest so took him to his room along with his £7.56 cough medicine, tablets to help him quit smoking and a bottle of orange squash. Full time nurse? Me? Only for a shed load of wonga.
**********************************************************
Fried myself a piece of steak for lunch and ate it whilst watching Mary Queen of Scots on C4. Fabulous performances from all. Especially Glenda Jackson, Timothy Dalton and Vanessa Redgrave. Made in 1971, it was a sumptuous affair beautifully shot and directed. But I have to say I was very surprised that the censor bods at C4 allowed it to have an afternoon slot, because there were extremely gory scenes of people being butchered to death. Ms Redgrave (Mary) did look lovely though as she knelt for the axeman.
***********************************************************
Got another informative email from The Southend Poetry Society. Gang of woolly wearing caravaners.
****************************************************************
Got a ton of stuff to catch up on via video tape. Simply must get a Humax. Recorded the remake of The Omen. Damn fine film the original, but will give the updated version a go. Also have 'Vacancy,' some tosh about a couple in a motel room getting embedded in snuff movies. Could be worth a watch. University Challenge on tonight, usually manage to get a few questions right. Love Paxo's delivery.
***************************************************************
Now back to where I began. Radio 4 and P.M. With tea and a shortbread finger.
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