It is Wed 18/2. I have decided to detail what is happening to me as my hip heals - as I take this seemingly "endless" journey to walking again - and again - leading a "normal" life. It is part diary - part musing on happenings and experiences.

After a month in Hospital, and having been assessed by ACAT as "needing temporary high level care" while this second hip replacement, deamed "non-weight bearing," heals, I have now transferred to a "nursing home." When I was told I had to do this for 8 weeks, I felt very down because my images of nursing homes were bleak. They had come from the experience, some 30 years ago, of having to find one for our grandfather. This, coupled with the recent press about nursing home poisonings and closures, meant I was quite frightened about spending an extended period of time in such a place. It was also a stressful time for those around me, particularly Marg, who had to find a suitable place because the Hospital Social Worker was totally incapable of having any real input herself. In the end a top hospital administrator assisted us.

The day of the transfer was 45 degrees. I had been cushioned from this heat in the hospital but that day, I was wheeled out into the hot northerly wind which hit me as soon as the automatic doors opened. I was transferred with an elderly lady who was going to "Cedar Court." We dropped her off first, then came on to "The Nursing Home." I had past this many times when driving down the road but had never noticed the place. I suppose, when one has no need of these places, one does not take an interest.

The first shock was being put upstairs in a room (bedroom) that was not air-conditioned. Only the main social areas and corridors had air conditioning. It was stifling. It also appeared that the equipment I had so carefully ordered and arranged to be there, when I arrived, had not come. This included a gutter frame (for transfers) and a monkey bar for the bed so I could sit up aand move. Without these, I was left helpless, lying on a bed, unable to move. I felt like a beetle on its back. Kafka. Helplessness and loss of independence is a frightening, distressing thing. Eventually, with Marg making a fuss and phoning the hire place, it was found that the equipment had arrived but no-one thought of bringing it upstairs and had left it in the basement. A communication problem, evidently. Difficult for Virgos, who cannot see why others can't do their jobs properly, when they do. This upstairs section was also isolated. There were only another 3-4 residents up here so the lounge-room was empty..........for some reason it reminded me of the empty hotel in "The Shining"where Jack Nicholson went mad.........the "Here's Jonny" scenario. After about half an hour of trying to piece together the equipment, the manager suggested I move to a room downstairs. I said yes, as it meant I would be "closer to the action" so to speak. You learn fast that, if you're near the nurses station, you get the attention when you need it - so - I made the decision in order to survive well.

I have learnt many strategies to "survive." One, which I learnt quickly, was to have an "advocate" who can negotiate for you. It is extraordinary how, even with all my faculties in tact, people would defer to Marg as the decision maker. In the book "The Patient from Hell" it suggests this too. You need someone, not in a "disabled" position, to be able to "make a fuss" - ask "difficult questions" and to basically defend your rights. Marg, of course, does this brilliantly. But, at the same time, I cannot help but see that it's rather like the real-estate agent who talks to the husband rather than the wife. Because of my "less-abled" position - I have suddenly become "the wife." The powerless one. It reminded me of another time I was in hospital, and the doctors were running an inservice titled "The Patient and the Professional." They didn't even recognise the implied status of inferiority of their title.

I have also learnt to "cultivate" the "good" nurses. They then look after you that little bit better and favours are done. Saying please and thankyou for everthing is also a must. Particularly for wiping your bottom. I see this as the ultimate humiliation. But as Morrie said, in "Tuesdays with Morrie" - it's something you just have to accept. It's exactly what the nurses say to me. I can see that now, after 2 weeks of being here, I have become less anxious about it. I muse - will there be a time where I will wipe someone else's bottom? Quite probably. And it won't worry me. I also learn to give very clear, specific instructions about what I need when I want assistance. Some good nurses pick it up and remember. With others, particularly those with language difficulties, or those who are a little dull, I have to patiently repeat the same things over and over. I am learning patience and perseverence.

It is strange too, in many ways, being a "young" person (60 years is young) in a nursing home where the average age is closer to 90. I am told I look "young" and that my skin is good. I have learnt to make my own niche here. I spend most of the day in the "library" - a room that faces The Road and affords a view of beautiful trees and is light. Surprisingly, none, or very few, of the residents come here. I am pleased about this as it allows for some quiet privacy. I can play my music reasonably loud. It seems to be accepted that this is "my" space. On a couple of occasions however, I have shared it with a private physio who does her "session" with a 103 year old lady who lives here. Prue is very good with her and massages her bent neck and humped back. The lady moans with pleasure and repeats, when being shown exercises to do, "Be severe Prue. Be severe." This old lady is deaf and pretty well blind but she comes down here somedays on her zimmer frame, carefully positions a chair to face the window, and sits. She is watching the trees she says, because she likes them.

All this has made me think about old age and how, watching the "inmates" here, it seems to rob us of a "robustness." Everyone here seems "meek." Accepting of routine and repetition - childlike. I wonder whether fear of death makes shadows of us all in the end. I wonder whether I have become "meeker" being here. When I put this to my daughter, Lou, she disagrees and uses my "firm" instructions to the nurse as an example that I have not. Sometimes I am not so sure.

The nights are the worst. Perhaps it has to do with the sounds and cries or the fact that a different type of nurse does night duty. Often the odd people. Decidedly odd. I found this was more so in the hospital, however. Here there are some gems who treat me well. There are more night traumas here though. One old woman screams loudly over and over. When I ask about it I am told the sad story. Up until about 6 weeks ago, she had been operating quite independently. Then a fall. A spell in hospital. A change in the mind. Unable to go home, she now relives that fall almost every night. She clutches the bed and cries, believing she is falling. The other women congrgate outside my door and discuss how awful it is that she cries out. They see her as just "not coping" and this seems to annoy them. Part of the survival here is to become almost bland. This woman, in her primal unleashing of emotions, is not bland. A few nights ago there was another scream. It was so loud, it woke me up. When I asked what it was the nurse explained that a husband, in the married couple units, had "hit" his wife. She herself, was upset by it too and said they had often found this man "playing tricks" on his wife. Raising and lowering her bed as a joke. The nurse said that when they reported this "bullying" it had been ignored. This morning I asked her what the result of this incident had been and she reported that they had given him a thorough talking to and he had apologised to the nurse too. It had been made very clear to him that this sort of behaviour was unacceptable. But it made me wonder. What if underlying tensions in a marriage eventually "blossom" into domestic violence when one partner becomes very much the less able one? He said he'd done it out of frustration.

I will write more another day.