Month: September 2023

Press The Button and Wait

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Being under the hospital for five years after cancer treatment means getting advice quicker than going through your GP. Which is how I came to be having an appointment at the Lymphoedema Clinic.

When the oncologist said I would have to have lymph nodes removed she said there was a risk of lymphoedema, but I was unlikely to get it. I replied ‘Oh good, I don’t want to wear one of those awful sleeves.’ No doubt she thought there were worse things that could happen and I assumed I would not get it, especially after two years had gone past… until I noticed that my right forearm seemed a bit puffy…

My appointment letter included a map to find the hospice where the clinic was located, the good news was it was just up the road from the bus station, but the instructions didn’t sound very welcoming.

‘There is no waiting room so please don’t arrive early… or late. If it is sunny there is a bench outside. Press the buzzer below the lymphoedema clinic sign and wait for instructions.’

It was a sunny day luckily, but I was sure nobody would answer the buzzer. I arrived just in time to hear a woman announcing she was Janet. She was let in, that was hopeful, but I guessed they would say go up in the lift, even though it was only a two storey building. I hate lifts.

The greeting was friendly and I was told to come up in the lift and turn left, or was it right and sit on a chair in the corridor. The other Janet was sitting waiting and she said ‘Oh I could have kept the door open for you’. Lucky she didn’t as it later transpired that on no account were we to enter if the door was open without ringing the buzzer to announce our arrival!

I was soon called in, by which time the other Janet and I had exchanged the complete medical histories of our families.

All readers need to know about Lymphoedema is it is difficult to spell and not to be confused with Lymphoma. Our lymphatic system is a wondrous thing we don’t take much notice of unless we have swollen glands, or doctors start talking about ‘spreading to the lymph nodes’ in cancer patients. If you are in normal health it is very clever at fighting off infection and cleansing the body of impurities. It works fine if not interfered with by surgery or radiotherapy. The salient point is that your blood is pumped round by your heart, but your lymphatic system has no pump, it relies on the general movement of your body. For the very immobile and the elderly this is why they can have swollen legs as it drains down but can’t drain up.

My diagnosis was done with a tape measure to compare arms, but also a clever high tech thingy the nurse presses at various points that reads how much fluid is lurking and where. The dreaded pressure sleeve doesn’t squash fluid out, it makes your muscles work harder, the better to keep lymph fluid moving. The condition can’t be cured but can be managed. Like all things medical there are dire warnings of what might happen like cellulitis, an infection of the skin. Any sign and you must get antibiotics straight away, so there is a card to carry on holiday in case a doctor doesn’t believe you!

Chocolate Moose is glad he doesn’t have to wear this.

The Four Big Things we have to do are skin care, exercise, pressure and lymphatic drainage which I am learning on my next appointment. In the meantime the sleeve is quite hard to get on and the awful colour makes it look like I have an artificial arm. But compared with all the multitude of medical problems people have I’m not complaining. If people ask what’s wrong with my arm and they do ask, I am tempted to say it got chopped off or I have third degree burns, which sounds much more exciting.

Monday Musing – Fifteen Seconds of Fame

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Would you like fifteen seconds of fame, or would you avoid it? Perhaps fifteen minutes or even one of those weeks that is a long time in politics. There are many ways to achieve brief fame; it could be accidental or you could plan your life to achieve it.

You could pop in to Pret a Manger if you hear a prince happens to be visiting, like Karl Burns our regular Bournemouth Big Issue seller, who subsequently appeared on the television news… repeatedly.

But perhaps you will be unlucky and your stomach will be filmed walking by for one of those obesity items on the news. Just unfortunate that everyone you know recognises the hand knitted jumper your wife made you.

Your brief moment of fame could be multiplied many times over if it appears on every news bulletin. You didn’t even know your town was having an important by election and are totally unprepared to intelligently express your views as you only popped out in your old DIY clothes to buy another tin of paint.

‘Do you think Tom Wilko stands a chance of getting in?’

‘Not if he closes all his stores, where am going to get paint in future?’

‘Well, it seems locals have more pressing concerns than what happens in Westminster.’

How Do they pick people to interview in the street and more curiously, who are those people who get interviewed in their own homes? Do they knock on doors to surprise you or give you three hours to give the house a thorough clean and mow the lawn. No one has ever asked to interview me or anyone I know. The ‘family interview’ asking how they will cope with mortgage rises, hospital / school / shop closures has the puppy and sweet toddlers playing in the foreground. It would be far more interesting if the dog bit the presenter, the little child’s only words were poo poo and the smoke alarm went off because something was burning on the stove.

And what about the viewers? Does the husband who abandoned his wife and children last year feel guilty when he sees her describing their visits to food banks and being thrown out by the landlord as they couldn’t pay the rent?

Have you ever had a brief moment of fame or seen your neighbours on television?

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Overheard

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I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping, well only in my capacity as a writer. Often you can’t help overhearing people on their mobile phones, in the street, on the bus, in the toile…toilet?

Usually in the Ladies only banal conversations emanate from inside cubicles.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a wee George before we go, Mummy’s going to have a wee, are you sure you don’t…   Daisy are you washing your hands properly, Daisy are you still there, wait till Mummy’s finished, don’t go out… Daisy, DAISEEE?’

I know from films and TV thrillers that men have endless dramatic conversations at the urinals, threatening, exchanging important information, dealing drugs or even assassinating each other.

The other day at our local busy sports centre the Ladies had a more interesting conversation to overhear.

 Surely she’s not taking her phone into the cubicle, she’s actually carrying on talking while she’s going and I can hear the other person clearly, must be on speaker.

I felt almost guilty intruding on their conversation, but I was in my cubicle first, I didn’t ask her to move in next door.  

‘Oh my god Bella, are you sure, whyever would you think that?’

‘He was late home that night.’

‘Was it his darts night?’

‘Till 3am! Creeping in but woke me up anyway. I asked where he’d been and he told me not to worry and go back to sleep. As if I could, especially when I could hear him putting the washing machine on.’

‘But that still doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.’

‘Oh what shall I do, ring that number they gave out on the news?’

‘Bella, you can’t seriously think Dave could be involved, they would have needed a chainsaw.’

‘He’s got a chainsaw.’

‘Oh, well that’s probably because he is a tree surgeon. Don’t do anything yet, you don’t actually know anything.’

I didn’t dare flush the toilet, I did not want her to know anyone was listening in to what could be an incriminating conversation. Nor did I want to miss a word.

‘Bella, have you told anyone else yet?’

‘No, of course not, I just had to tell someone, do you think I’m crazy?’  

‘Yes er no… is there anything you have not told me about Dave?’

‘No, well there was that one time I got a weird phone call from his ex.’

‘As she was still alive that’s reassuring. Where are you now?’

‘Walking the dog in the park.’

‘And where’s Dave?’

‘He was asleep when I left.’

‘Not the park where they found the body parts!’

‘No, that’s still taped off and police everywhere.’

‘I suppose you could call that number anonymously… and don’t go home.’

 The toilet flushed and the door banged, I did not hear any more, didn’t dare creep out till she was gone. But what should I do. Back out in reception and the café it was so busy there was no way of guessing who had been in the Ladies. How could I phone the police and say someone called Dave who lived with Bella might be the murderer?

Don’t Lick the Dishwasher

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Holiday Guide for Dogs

Many of our humans take us to stay with their friends and relatives, which can be a bit of an ordeal, but mostly better than being sent ‘on a little holiday,’ their euphemism for dumping us in a boarding kennel.

It is important to beware of the pitfalls of staying in another house, but also to be understanding, remember, there are no bad humans, only badly trained humans.

After a testing journey in an overpacked car or crowded train, how you are greeted is a good indication of how the visit will pan out.

‘Oh he’s so adorable.’

I’m a girl!

‘Who’s a cutsie wootsie little puppy then.’

I’m two… and for goodness sake, aren’t there any humans around here with intelligent conversation?

But that’s better than

‘I hope he’s not allowed on the furniture.’

Where do they expect me to lie, surely not on the floor.

‘Oh good, you’ve brought his cage.’

‘It’s a crate not a cage Mother’ says your owner.

‘Well whatever it is, put it in the laundry.’

No you’re both wrong, it’s my personal safe space which I like to have placed somewhere nice.

After making an effort to enthusiastically greet your hosts it’s time to explore. If you smell something nice cooking be sure to head straight for the kitchen to show your appreciation. There will probably be tasty treats left on the edge of the work top for you.  

Hosts enjoy the fun of having more than one dog to visit and soon their quiet, boring house will have turned into a happy hub bub, causing much hilarity.

‘Si..monn.. come and get your dogs out of my kitchen NOW.’

I wish I had hung onto that stair gate, it’s worse than having toddlers around… DEREK, De rekkk… can you rescue Aunt Mary’s tapestry cushions and put them in the top of our wardrobe and while you’re up there shut all the doors.  Oh my god, what have they brought in from the garden, is it a dead rat? A toy squirrel? When we were children the only toys dogs had were a few sticks and a ball.’

Your host’s garden is bound to be more interesting than yours. They may have a fun paddling pool with real fish, or if they are the sort of humans who decided to have little humans as dog substitutes, there will be balls to chase and swings, slides and climbing frames for you to chase the little humans up. They will love it.

‘Mummmee, he’s bitten my football and bursted it.’

But playtime must come to an end for dinner time. If you are asked to stay in your safe space while they rather rudely eat dinner without you, be patient and stay alert for conversations such as…

‘Yes of course they can have a few leftovers, I’m not surprised they prefer roast chicken to that horrible dry stuff you give them…’

Hurrah, the host is on your side.

‘Balanced nutrition, whatever happened to marrow bone jelly and tins of chum?’

After a lovely roast dinner pop into the kitchen to see if you can help tidy up, but be careful of your manners if the dish washer is open. Strangely some humans don’t like you licking the dishwasher, even when everything inside is nice and clean.

Soon you hear the hopeful words

‘Yes okay, an evening walk in the park to get rid of their energy sounds an excellent idea, you staying here relaxing after your long drive does Not. Your mother and I are not picking up dog poo or running after escaped dogs.’

Everyone’s spirits are high as you run around and explore the local park and make new friends. Your hosts make new friends as well.

‘Oh aren’t they gorgeous, bet they’re a handful, are they yours?’

‘No they certainly are not, just visiting.’

Perhaps your humans will want to catch up with old human friends and pop into the pub on the way back. Lie quietly under the table and hopefully you will get the sort of treats you’re not allowed at home. Patience is required though as humans get so busy talking they forget about you.

‘Has he had the chop then, poor old thing, mind you not a good idea to breed from an ugly mutt like him, ha ha haa. Oh, they’re pedigrees?  Here have some hot and spicy BBQ crisps Mr. Pedigree and Miss Pedigree. Not allowed crisps? Oh oh, they’ve wolfed down two packets each.’

Finally don’t forget to protect your humans from danger when visiting all these new places. A good snarl will tell that dog under the next table to stay put. When you finally get back to your hosts’ house check the garden for foxes and cats and send them running.

‘SiMOn, what Are your dogs doing out there, they’ve set off that wretched dog next door barking.’

At last it’s time for a well earned sleep in you safe space, if you can get to sleep with that overpowering scent of washing powder in the laundry.

Tuesday Tale – Dream House

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I ignored the large envelope, some charity begging letter, it was us that needed charity.  It soon disappeared beneath lunch boxes and homework books. Our tiny kitchen was always cluttered. I opened the back door and the children rushed upstairs to open all the bedroom windows. They knew the drill, at least this unseasonably warm September made it easier to air the house out from the smell of damp and mould.

It was five o’clock already, we had stopped at the swings to get some fresh air before being cooped up for the evening. Time to get on with dinner. I checked their homework books and started clearing space to cook. The colourful envelope had written in large letters across the top, DO NOT throw away, contains important information for the addressee. Definitely rubbish. I put it aside to read the more important looking letter in a white envelope from a solicitor?

I ripped it open, what on earth could it… notice our tenancy would not be renewed… my mouth went dry, I leaned against the narrow work top. We had assumed we would renew our tenancy again next month. That wasn’t the only bad news today, the announcement that the Wilko chain of stores could not be saved had been the only topic of conversation at work that morning. Hope was no longer an option for we staff.

When Mark walked through the door I could not read the expression on his face.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first.’

‘Bad’ I replied automatically.

‘Derek has had a heart attack.’

‘Oh that’s a shock, is he dead?’

‘Not quite, intensive care.’

I was relieved on two counts, the bad news wasn’t ours and at least Derek was not dead.

‘So what is the good news?’

‘I’m taking over his job, supervisor at last.’

‘Oh great’ I tried to sound enthusiastic, Mark’s good news cancelled out by me losing my job and of course The Letter. I grabbed it off the counter top, knocking the junk mail envelope to the floor. Dream House in big letters on the back, probably full of raffle tickets I could not afford to buy…

‘Cheer up Chelle, I heard about Wilkos, we knew it was coming, my pay rise will help till you find something else.’

I held out the dreaded white envelope but at that moment the children came rushing down the stairs and the door bell began ringing frantically.

‘I’ll go, if that’s Maggie I need the money she owes me, but I don’t need her coming in for a chat.’

I opened the door to be confronted by a young man and woman dressed very smartly.

‘Good evening, Mrs Michelle Gallager?’

‘Erm yes…’

‘We have some very good news for you.’

‘I’m sorry, I have my own beliefs and I’m trying to cook dinner.’

‘No, no we’re not bringing you news of eternal life, something much better. You have won your dream home. Did you get our letter today?’

‘Mark, Mark, bring that letter from the kitchen.’

They waved identity cards in front of me, but I was not going to let them in, this was obviously some kind of scam or trick, perhaps we were being filmed for reality TV.

It was not a scam, not as far as we could tell. Mark and I sat up after the children were in bed tapping on the iPad, checking the charity running the competition and the solicitor assigned to us. I go in for lots of competitions; I once won a family ticket to a third rate theme park and another time a year’s supply of washing powder that gave our youngest a rash. I didn’t recall the dream house, the second prize was a holiday to Bognor Regis, maybe that’s what had drawn me in. Apparently I had neglected to tick the no publicity box, but they were holding off on that for a week until we had decided what to do. What was there to decide, the house looked fabulous and right on the seashore.

‘…and we can sell it and buy our own sensible dream house where we want to live.’

I tuned back in to what Mark was saying.

‘Sell… no it’s our chance to have a new life.’

‘Chelle, we still have to eat and pay the bills and there’s my job. We’ve never been north of Watford and we know nothing about Northumberland.’

‘Room for relatives to stay, fresh air and scenery and the children can have a dog and I can get a job in a seaside café, it will be one long holiday…’

On Sunday we travelled up in a mini bus with ‘our team’ to visit the house. They looked shattered by the time we got there, excited children munching through happy meals at motorway services and talking non stop on the long drive ‘Will it have a drawbridge… and horses and a helicopter pad?’

It was a dream house, exotic looking at the front with picture windows upstairs and downstairs at the back, looking over the sea on a lovely evening. The children rushed round screaming with delight, slipping on polished floors and turning taps on in the various bathrooms. The team seemed eager to get away.

‘Now we will leave you alone for a week, it’s fully furnished as you see, bed linen and everything provided and a week’s worth of food. Don’t rush into any decisions, but we will be back next Sunday with the film crew.’

Mark and I stood on the balcony of the master bedroom looking at the stars. We could hear the children still chattering, faintly as their bedrooms were at the other end of the house.

 ‘I am so glad we haven’t told anybody yet Mark. Let’s enjoy this week, who cares if the children are missing school.’

‘We’ll have to watch them on that open staircase and that information brochure says to watch out for rip tides.’

The next day the sun shone on the sea and we went exploring. Glorious sand dunes and rolling heath, no sign of civilisation. I loved it.

‘Mummy, when can we go to the shops?’

‘We don’t need anything yet.’

‘But I want to go to the pet shop, you said we could have a puppy.’

‘…and you said I could have a pony.’

On Tuesday we realised there was no Broadband. On Wednesday it started raining, by Thursday most of the food had run out, our team obviously did not know how much food a family eats and we still had not found the shops. On Friday there was a power cut and the cinema sized television did not work. At least on Saturday the sun came out and we found a field of sheep and walked along the shore till we came to a fence that said Ministry of Defence Keep Out.

‘Daddy, can we go home now?’ said our youngest that evening.

On Sunday we waited anxiously for the charity team to return.

  

Tuesday Tiny Tale- Murmurings

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The sun was going down and my stress levels were going up. It was time to all gather, decide where we were going to perform this evening. I didn’t get any peace during the day either, had they never heard of Me Time? It was a constant ‘Let’s go down the quay’ or ‘Ah there you are, what are you having for lunch? Come on, you don’t want to eat alone…’

There was no chance to grab another bite to eat before the performance. With such a large cast you would imagine my absence would go unnoticed, no such luck. They were all chattering now, so loud I had a headache, but I couldn’t hide for long.

‘Come on, it’s a lovely clear evening, time you got in place, stick with Jet and see if you can get it right this time, we’ve got a big audience.’

I sighed, was I the only starling who couldn’t get the hang of murmurations? How I wished I was a robin, singing sweetly by myself in the apple tree, king of my own territory, friend of gardeners. What was it about starlings, always having to stick together. Even worse than the mumuration was roosting; flapping and squawking, deciding where to settle for the night, then ending up in the same old tree we always went to.

I thought longingly of the garden, robin hopping around as the gardener topped up the bird bath for him, a last bit of digging in the new bed before the light failed. Pausing, staying motionless as her favourite bird hopped closer, grabbing gratefully at the worm in the newly turned soil. Dewy eyed as she marvelled at his stick thin legs, the sheen of the downy red feathers on his chest and the strong melody issuing forth from his tiny beak when he retuned to the apple bough.

Why did I have to be reincarnated as a starling and not a robin? There’s my wife telling all her friends I have come back as her robin. Be just my luck that ‘her robin’ is that awful Derek down the road, who died the week before me in that mishap with his lawn mower…

Silly Sunday – Seaside Special

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If you like aeroplanes, beach life, swimming in the sea, beach huts and sunshine …and people, you might be lucky and enjoy the perfect summer day. The Bournemouth Air Festival usually occurs after the bank holiday weekend and just before the children go back to school for the autumn term, which of course means the weather is guaranteed to suddenly improve. As the festival is held over four days, the chances of sunshine and planes actually taking off are greatly improved. It rained all of August and true to form Thursday 31st August started with torrential downpours.

In the afternoon it ‘brightened up’. Consultation of programme updates indicated nothing was flying all afternoon except the Red Arrows with a low level display at 5.30pm, so there was a mass migration to the cliff top.

The excitement was short lived as they soon flew away.

But the weather improved on Friday…

Though not my photography.

The weekend got sunnier, hotter and busier.