Tuesday 21st April

It is the day before I leave this rehabilitation hospital - St Georges - Kew. I am in a 4 room. I remember when I came three and a half weeks ago, it was like coming into, seemingly, Third World conditions. I sat on a chair for over an hour before anyone (physio - Ot etc) spoke to me. At least in The Gables I had my own room. I am 1/3 - room 1 - bed 3. The woman diagonally opposite saw my distress and said I'd soon "get used to it" - and I suppose I did in many ways.

It turned out she had worked at Le Louvre in her heyday - that dress Salon at the top of Collins St. She was a talker but it was quite good though, because she was intelligent. We got on well. Shared a similar ironic sense of humour. I played her some of the music I have bought off the Net. She enjoyed it - so have promised to burn some CDs her daughter brought in. It is interesting in a 4 room - everybody else's visitors also become yours and vice versa. Everyone brings in "real" coffees for the others.

She and a couple of others have now gone. The replacements are not as bright - and not as interesting. The fourth bed - 1/4 - is now occupied by a tiny Vietnamese woman who is in her late seventies - originally from Ho Chi Min City (Saigon). She is like a tiny doll. She speaks no English but is a real character and we have learnt to communicate with sign language. We have laughed a lot. A real cammeraderie developed over time. And we ended up looking out for each other and translating her needs to the nurses. Standing up against the more "bossy" ones for each other. Commiserating in the mornings at the lack of sleep. It was an interesting dynamic. I was not expecting this. When offered a small private room I turned it down as it would have been more peaceful - but lonely. Bill encouraged me to stay too - said it would make me more "humble." I have no idea what he means! Last night I found out, after all the sign language, that Mrs Nguyen speaks some French! I should have realised that! Her daughter also brought me some sandles from Vietnam today - "for my daughter" she said.

The only way you get some privacy here is by pulling blue curtains around you. A strange sense of privacy because you can still see everyone's legs beneath the curtain. So there is this odd sense of voyerism alongside a sense that you are hidden. It is almost entirely false though. Like a child who covers his face and tells you that he cannot be seen. You see all manner of pants, very old mottled legs and worse, sometimes. I now know why lady 1/1 commented on my "good shaped" legs. Because that's what you end up concentrating on mostly.

I have felt even more immersed in old age here because the people are still mentally all there but physically very broken. Slow Rehab they call this. Old aged people repaired and sent home till the next fall. Then the merry-go-round begins again. Many of them have surgery - fall - then return. There are so many old women here too. Husbands died long ago. Most are not very educated and one switches off to the conversations. And the endless day-time television. As at The Gables - I have found some retreats. The few old men here are very frail and seem to be always in blue striped pyjamas. What is it about blue striped PJs that is so depressing? Especially when they do physio in the gym with them on. The sensuality gone. The bent bodies. Old, hairless, white. The innocent child again. That's what happens. We return to a child of sortsin old age - dependent - naive again. At the end though, it's just daily survival. Getting up and going to bed again. Nothing much in between except the littany of woes repeated to whomever will listen.

Again - as at The Gables -for some time - there was an old man whom, at night, they wheeled out to "sleep" here near the lifts - in the foyer. So they could watch him they said. So he didn't fall. Right next to the nurse station and our room (1). It was awful listening to his pleading for a pan and some nurses' seemingly cold, compasionless response. We had to shut our door but felt for the poor, confused soul. Recently he has not been out there so seems to have "improved" a little. Tom is his name.

Here, I have had physical activities to do which have relieved the boredom and given me focus - a goal. The physio, a young bloke with a weak handshake, has been down to earth and interesting. We have had long converstaions while I do my exercises. And - Gradually I have become more independent. Able to shower and dress myself - able to lift the left leg up on the bed by myslef - able to walk fairly fast with the frame. Such seemingly small achievements - but - at the same time huge steps forward. When I could lift my leg onto the bed, it was a watershed because I didn't have to ask tehe nurse to help. Then the visit to the surgeon and now 50% weightbearing instead of 25%. In a couple of weeks fully weightbearing.

So - a long journey is nearing its end. Tomorrow I get sent home with a bag of pills and my old friend , the gutter frame. (Not something one can be seen with at the best restaurants!) I have organised food in the freezer and have bought some lovely new bedding. After these hard hospital beds, new bedding and a softer bed, will be just wonderful. As will be the view from my bedroom window. On the home visit, with the OT last week, it was good to see the garden thriving - thanks to the watering/drip system and Marg's watering in the Summer. It is Autumn. The nights are colder here - I wrap myself up in the red mohair. The lack of heating means I use it every night. I have begun reading fiction again. Bill has leant me "Seven Types of Ambiguity" by Elliott Perlman. I am liking it. I am looking forward to tidying the house - the study - which is full of various "bags" I have carried with me. Full of my "needs." My life in a bag - so to speak.

The afternoon sun is mellow. Marg is coming to help me pack. Kate is shopping - a big $200 shop! I have been visited by the OT and the Social Worker and the Doctor. A send off of sorts. Tomorrow morning I will shower early and be out of my bed by 9AM so the fraction of this room - this blue-curtained- section, I have occupied for these weeks, can be cleaned and disinfected for the next arrival - who will be here by 10 Am. Promptly.