God Loves A Trier

 I’ve had my hair pulled, face slapped  and my face mask pulled off several times tonight

Violence seldom happens in the hospice and it’s usually only a product of terminal agitation.

Everything is quieter now but I’m watching the sleeping patient closely. 

Intensive care prepared me well for such occurrences.

It’s only 1.13 am

I’m not complaining , I’ve just read that my former colleagues on the local intensive care unit are having a real crap time of things see link

https://www.dailypost.co.uk/news/north-wales-news/north-wales-intensive-care-consultant-19570872?fbclid=IwAR2PTgdI6rXp6rEvr6fNjSZ5tjGU01XRJ8agZ-PKCWz2qzV_iX2Rj14MLGA

I send them all my love and respect

So many people have forgotten those Thursday nights 

When we clapped for those on intensive care who tried so hard to help the victims of the first wave.

I will leave you with some frivolous and some hastily snapped shots of Albert who has decided that in Winnie’s absence he will settle for a “mini me” in the shape of a somewhat perplexed Dorothy.

God loves a trier 

Never Far From Me

My patient was listening to a message from a best friend living under lockdown in another country

I was changing the medication in their syringe driver and was doing so very quietly.

The message was in the form of a song that I recognised and it’s effects were understandably profound and incredibly moving to watch

I’m on nights, covering sickness then I have a week’s leave.

I try to book a weeks holiday every eight weeks or so.

The stressors of hospice work are very different to those exhausting times, I remember on ITU and Spinal Injuries. They are subtle and insidious and lockdown makes recharging a little more challenging 

Any time I feel low
I just don't know how you know
You are never far from me
You are never far from me

Once again, there goes the phone
How could you possibly know

You are never far from me
You are never far from me

Before the time that you go
There is something you should know
You will always be in me
You are never far from me

The song is a beautiful one. 

The scenario I observed was a beautiful one too...but terribly sad......

And after two night shifts, I’ve sorted out to cover sickness I am off for a whole week 

Weak Sun

 

The chimney sweep is here!

A visitor! 

How wonderful.

He’s a cheerful chap, behind his mask and has already asked where his “ Big bear helper “ was.

He was genuinely  sad  when I told him that she had died.

To give him covid space I took the dogs into the Churchyard and sat on one of the benches facing south.

The weak sun took an age to warm my face and for the first time in weeks I sucked in as much vitamin D as I could.

I didn’t notice old Rowenna’s walking stick until it poked me in the back

“ Mr Gray ! “ she said brusquely but not unkindly “ I haven’t seen you in a long time!” 

“ I have been on night shifts” I told her

“ I have been told you are working too much” she told me 

Word gets around , I thought

Rowenna is a stalwart of the Church and strangely is a far distant relative of mine. She lives next to village elder Islwyn who she always refers to as Billy. Her sister Barbara used to be the champion baker in the village and could knock out fifteen different cakes and a pot of jam in just one morning before the flower show.

Like many older women of Trelawnyd She has a sing song welsh voice and seems always in a hurry.

Dorothy grew bored with the conversation and started chewing my crocs so I made my goodbyes and walked back to the lane where I bumped into Meirion from Maes Offa

He was walking alone , so I just knew his old dog who always accompanied him, had just died . 

He looked awkward as dog walkers always do when without a lead in their hands.

We shared dog stories as Dorothy tap danced for attention again.

He looked sad.

And I tried to be kind.

I put the dogs back in the car and watched my cottage for a while. 

I was waiting for the sweep’s brushes to poke up through the pot before I returned home.

The cottage looked warm and sweet in the weak sun, and the walled bluebirds flying towards the lane , glinted briefly an azure blue

Neighbour Mandy darted down the lane and she waved 

Then jumped when Bluebell’s horn let off a sharp Parp! 

Dorothy again, this time jumping on the steering wheel

Merv’s racing pigeons scattered above the lytchgate   

I waved back at Mandy and looked up at the cold blue sky

I am home 

Eartha

England heading to tier 5

Let’s smile at this fantastic piece

Ms Kitt singing in Japanese 

I LOVE IT 

 

Hostiles

The final scene of the film Hostiles is one of the most powerful, I think,  in recent times.

PTSD sufferer Christian Bale is saying goodbye to the woman( Rosamund Pike)  and child he saved from an Indian attack  and now finally after a whole lifetime of abuse he has the option to join her ( and salvation ) or carry on hating his Indian foes and perpetuating his hatred for ever ....at the very last minute he quietly chooses salvation, and I remember leaving the cinema after I had witnessed this , elated and rather hopeful

How many choices do we all have that actually shape our lives for the better like this 

Answers on a postcard please.

Sunday Lunch

Tier 4 has gotten  me into some awful ways .

My day off and after walking the girls at 8am, it was back to bed until midday.

Not good and a very bad habit to get into.

I’ve chided myself for it this afternoon and had a brisk and very cold walk on the beach in way of penance.  

When I returned home I roasted a lamb shank and made Yorkshire puddings from scratch. 

When they were cooked crisp, I shredded the lamb and filled them and added proper gravy made luxurious with cranberry jelly.

I ate my lunch watching How The West Was Won 

Mary won the lottery and had the bones all to herself

I washed my uniforms for the week

and read several chapters of The lost Language Of Cranes before falling asleep in my armchair.

Back to normal

Coffee on the way to work 

 

Rubber Chicken Immortalised

Winnie’s Rubber Chicken is being framed for eternity .

I have thought this strange thought ever since I found rubber chicken next to Winnie on the kitchen floor just before Christmas. It’s kind of become synonymous with my dear old girl.

I rang the picture framer the day before yesterday, (the one I’ve used for years ) and asked if it was possible to do 

“ You want to frame a rubber chicken behind glass” the picture framer repeated slowly after I had thrown the proposal to him 

“ Yes” I told him cheerfully “ it was Winnie’s favourite “ 

The fact , that he might think that this question was in any way odd surprised me, after all I could have rang him with the request that he framed the last surviving slipper of sex, which I had incidentally found amid a ton of fluff under the bed only a month ago

The picture framer then  ventured into territory he wasn’t quite prepared for.

“Do you want an insert into the frame  some wording .” He asked 

Oh that’s a good idea” I told him. “What about the following” 

“ Winifred Salote Taupo III Queen of Tonga 200? - 2020 “ 

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone

“ I think we can do that “ the picture framer said finally and rather weakly 

He then paused, obviously thinking 

“ What colour frame would you like ? “ he asked 

“ Pink!” I announced loudly 

“ Of course!” he sighed “ Of  Course you do “