So… this Sunday was planned to start off with a lazy cup of tea in bed, a catch up on my iPad, a long bath, slipping into something completely comfortable and hideous before actually having time to sit and have a conversation with my husband over breakfast. Then I was going to prepare the most beautiful shoulder of pork and vegetables for a late lunch, followed by an apple and blackberry crumble - lovingly made with time and gentle patience.
…."I'm sorry? Are you writing about somebody else? Some fictional character in your fuddled head?!"
What actually happened. Drifting in and out of that beautiful moment when you realise it's Sunday, and that self-smugness that one can indulge and embrace when you don't have to get up…… We were shocked into the land of reality and our normality, with the quiet whimpering coming from Meg due to her headache being at a level 10. Bearing in mind, that this is the girl who after five hours of having major brain surgery was sitting up, chatting and eating a chicken wrap like she'd just been to the hair-dressers. After leaping out of the bed, and assessing her, it became very clear that this was no 'ordinary' headache - this was a M & S all-singing all-dancing headache.
So used to this routine, I jump into the shower, Craig rings the ambulance, Daisy get's Megs hospital bag packed ready. By the time the ambulance arrives (7 minutes), we are ready. Stabilising her takes about 10 minutes, and then it's straight over to the hospital. Following the ambulance, I get some time to myself to reflect on the fact that I'm not even stressed. Just numbed by efficient routine required to cope with sadly what has become an all to common occurrence.
There is no point in us all going over and so we perform 'relay', which means I will do half a day, and Craig will do the other. Thus allowing us both to have some 'home' time with Daisy. Seriously, if our version of 'relay' was in the Olympics, we would have an open-top bus reception through Rugby town to celebrate our Gold Medals!
Anyway, moving on…the upshot is after having a CT, x-ray, bloods taken, failed lumbar puncture resulting in them taking CSF fluid straight from the valve in her head (nice), it was noticed that it was not possible to depress the button on the valve - which would point to a blockage, and although the opening pressure was 8 (low), the CSF fluid was cloudy (also not good). I can feel myself wanting to type "blah blah blah". Not in a "I can't be bothered, blasé type of way, but in a "Do you really want to be bored with all the crappy information that means absolutely diddly-squat to you?" - in a word - no. And so she has been admitted and we will see what tomorrow brings. I will update you.
Throughout all of the journeys we have been lucky to embark upon, I try to find humour in at least one point of the day (otherwise I will kill myself….) and todays humour and grounding came from the most beautiful and fragile biddy in the bed next to Meg on the Observation Ward. Her name was Doris - Dementia Doris 💖
I had barely sat on the chair next to Meg when the following conversation took place:
Doris "Hello Dear!"
Me "Hello."
Doris "Where's Suzanne?"
At this point I am briefly confused as my Mothers name is Suzanne.
Me "I'm afraid I don't know where she is."
Doris "Oh dear! Well what time is your test?"
Me "Errrrrmmmmm? I'm not sure"
Doris "Well I hope you've practised! Suzanne was probably before you wasn't she?"
Me "Probably?"
Doris "How old are you?"
Me "44?" my voice questioning my own replies….
Doris "44! You never are! You must be a parent then, what grade is she?"
Me. "What test is it?"
Doris. "Piano!"
Me. "Doris! Are you a Piano Teacher?"
Doris. "Ofcourse I am! Can you play?"
Me. "Yes Doris!"
Doris. "Can you read music?"
Me. "Yes!"
Doris. "Jolly good."
At this point she starts to do something amazing…. something I have never seen or known anybody else to do (other than me), she starts to tap out music on the over-bed table.
I have done this for as long as I can remember… It all started when I wanted to become a secretary when I was a young girl, I was so intent on fulfilling my career, I even had piano lessons, as this was the nearest I could get to pressing keys down with my fingers. By the time I reached High School, we had the most phenomenal Typing Teacher, who taught Touch Typing to music, I had completed and passed both my RSA I and II by the time I was 15. When I wasn't typing or playing the piano, I
was tapping out conversations with my fingers on my imaginary qwerty keyboard, or tapping various pieces of music on the side of the chair or whatever was around at the time. This has carried on throughout my life, like a comforting tic.
Doris carried on playing her 'piano' until the ambulance crew came to take her back to her home. I
couldn't take my eyes off her beautiful melodic fingers. I could hear the notes each finger made and momentarily was lost in the most wonderful and uplifting music.
I hadn't really thought about this particular skill I have before. It is something that I take for granted
and perhaps keep quiet about because I have had it since I was little, and it is just part of me.
Later that night, I told Craig about Doris, unable to contain my excitement about her imaginary piano
playing he raised his eyebrows.....
Me. "How amazing is that! I have never met anybody else ever who does it!"
Craig. "You also do it in your sleep."
Me. "Do I?"
Craig. "Yes, your fingers moving at speed on their own is quite erotic."
Me. "Craig!"
Craig. "I'm always moving your hand over...."
Me. "STOP IT!"
Craig. "It's all very good until you need to go onto the next line of what ever you're typing and whack my b*!#* off because you were taught on an old fashioned typewriter......."
He also should be grateful I don't slam the piano lid shut......
