A Week to go?

Friday 20th March

I have been unable to write. One needs inner strength to do so and this has been missing recently. Every now and then I "collapse" emotionally and to restore myself I have to kind of "shut down." Probably understandably, I cannot summon enough "distance" from events to write about them.

Last Friday (13th) - (should have known it would be a bad day) - Marg, Kate and I went "armed" to the surgeon. It was the 10 week visit. X-rays to check the hip and, we thought, time to discuss rehab. But no - it seems I cannot go to rehab - or start rehab till the end of the month (March) - literally. Originally he said 12 weeks - now it's 3 full months.

St Georges Rehab are fine with my going a bit early but he has done nothing to make contact with them. Again, as in the beginning, it seems there are no specific procedures to follow and we end up making all the contacts and trying to get the 2 parties talking to each other. I phoned the admissions person again today - only to find again - that no contact has been made. I will now have to leave it till Monday. I am trying to avoid a situation where I miss a place there because of their lack of organisation. If I cannot go on Friday 27th it will cost another $1000 - another problem.........................I think I should become "The Patient from Hell" ........the book!

As I write this I can hear, in the background, a nurse trying to deal with the blind/deaf 103 year old lady. She is yelling the menu to her..........."I don't want jelly!!!" 103 screams..............I said the same - but quietly. Jelly seems to be the fall-back position of the chefs here. Jelly - jelly and more jelly. Jelly with cream. Jelly with custard. What is it about jelly? A metaphor for old age? Wobbly - bland - ugly.

The elderly lady in the room next to me (4) has gone to hospital because her kidneys are failing. I was sad to hear that and I hope she recovers - but I must admit, I was grateful for a good night's sleep. She talks and yells out repeatedly throughout the night and I find myself feeling sorry for her one minute - then getting "tough" and asking the nurses to speak to her so that she stops............to no avail, however,........it's ingrained. It's what she does to get through the nights. And I wonder whether the deterioration in her condition has to do with being in this place..........it is as if her soul is dying..........now her body is giving up too. She is quiet and silent during the day and she grieves at night. Sometimes, I must admit, when I am very tired and cannot sleep because of the yelling and crying, I think of Raskalnikov and his moral justification of the killing of the old woman...................

Last Wednesday I had an outing with Kate (daughter). Hired a "Maxi-taxi" and, in wheel-chair, travelled to the Rivoli to see "Easy Virtue." Thoroughly enjoyed it - even if Colin Firth didn't do his wet T-shirt routine. Interesting though, when we were leaving the restaurant, two people, who were sitting near us, turned 180 degrees to watch me be wheeled out. I waved at them. The royal wave............ What makes intelligent adults stare like that? Do they have no real understanding of what they are doing? I almost asked Kate to stop, and wheel me back over to them so I could give them the once over. Almost.

In here I have come to know and like many of the "carers." They too like me because, as they say, they can "talk" to me, whereas with most others it's like a loud, child-like monologue. Why do people put on a child's voice to speak to babies and the elderly? The woman the other side of me (R 5- Jean) responded to a remark by the carer one morning. "Come on Jean," she said in a little, rising and falling voice, "they're all waiting for you at breakfast." "I doubt that very much," Jean responded, flatly. And I thought - good on you Jean! Bring on the cynical - the reality!

Anyway - back to the carers. Many of them are Indian and some have other qualifications - physiotherapy and teaching qualifications etc. They cannot use them here till they do a "catch-up" course. I quite enjoy the more intelligent ones though. They catch on to people's needs quickly.............others need every instruction repeated over and over. I wonder, shall I become Miss Faversham when I do go into a home for good?? Shall I find it difficult to suffer fools? I can see this in 103 - she screams at them when they try to give her tablets - blood curdling screams - because she thinks they are poisoning her.

Then there is Bea - a 90 year old with whom I played Scrabble earlier on. She reads avidly and always has about 6 books on the storage section of her zimmer frame. She reads, to relieve the boredom, she says. She talked to me of her husband, who died a few years ago, and how she misses her "mate." The majority of the women here have lost their "mates." How sad that must be. To go through the whole of life together and then be alone for the last few years. It would be easier, I think, to lose them earlier on, would it not? I don't know. And I think, if you meet someone now, you have to factor in the reality of losing them soon. Bette Davis was right - "Old age is not for sissies."

The last couple of weeks I have been trying my hand at drawing some of the small, beautiful seed pods and grasses that Bill brought me from his walking. It has been lovely doing this small, intricate, detailed work. I have done them on the beautiful blank post-cards Kate M gave me. To lose myself in this task is good - and I promise myself that, when I move, I must make some sort of a studio.

I have also found a music site - Folktrax - which sells all my favourite, hard to find CDs - the ones that JB say they cannot get. I have even found some "Pentangle" and "Fotheringgale" - a band Sandy Denny was in. They also have a lot of World music from the Womad etc. A good site.

Ahhhhhhhhhh - enough for tonight. I am finishing a glass of wine. The room is getting darker. The seasons and light are changing. Seemingly passing me by. It will nearly be Winter when I get home. I am using my thick red mohair blanket at nights now. I shall watch Rebus tonight. Nothing like a Scot on a Friday night.