Weary

 I’m home, feeling rather weary and very sore.

It’s been a tiring 24 hours.

I’ve seen the efficient side of our beloved NHS when I attended a cottage hospital for a routine kidney ultrasound yesterday. I’ve had no pain or discomfort so and the technician and I  were somewhat shocked to find out that I was in urine retention . 

Fast forward to six hours later when a testosterone filled Urology Registrar and a diffident Surgical Reg, passed a catheter through a blockage in my urethra. 

I have never screamed as much as I did last night, so much so that after the deed was done and I was shown back into reception, 2.5 litres lighter, at least 10 patients sitting along the corridor eyed me with ashen looks and worried faces. 

I was sent home with the catheter in situ and sometime in the night , the catheter literally snapped in half    ( you couldn’t make it up) so back I went, waiting another 5 hours in order to see two more urology registrars brandishing more pain inducing catheters! 

They used tons of local anaesthetic this time ( and by 2 pm I was beginning to lose some of my natural good humour) but the deed was done and I was sent on my way to pharmacy with a prescription for strong antibiotics walking like a man who looked as though he’d shit himself. 

I was near dropping when the pharmacist told me my prescription was only usable for community pharmacies so resisting the urge to throttle the technician with the straps of my leg bag, I walked to Bluebell, only to find I’d lost the prescription somewhere en route. 

I hobbled back to A&E where a delightful nurse , sorted things out giving me the tablets from her store. 

I could have kissed her

It was nice to get home. 

Nuala has been fab in phone support, even stating she would be on the next train to wales if I needed her, 

😀❤️

But like I said, it’s just nice to be home

Therapy

 I still find it a little difficult to think that I am a professional counsellor.

That is something I know I have to work on, and to be honest have worked on over the past few years. Stepping out of a nurse uniform was a big step for me, and without that uniform I literally felt somewhat exposed and naked, with old vulnerabilities gnawing at my psychi of “you can’t possibly do that ?”

I know that I can do that, and I can do that rather well thank you very much, but it was a difficult lesson to learn.

My supervisor at the charity has started to give me paying clients, before I was concentrating on nhs clients with a view of bringing the waiting lists down, this subtle change has allowed my imposter syndrome niggles to re surface and thoughts like , am I giving people their money’s worth? rears its ugly head from time to time. 

I’m getting better at ignoring these dissenting whispers

☹️ fuck!

Roger knocked my wireless headphones into the dogs/ cat’s  water bowl this morning

Fuck

Not Saying What You Want ( Prada Spoilers)

One of the themes running through The Devil Wears Prada 2 was that most of the characters were never quite able to say what they wanted. Miranda couldn’t share her thanks and admiration for second in command Nigel, who in turn could not ask his boss for what he wanted, ie recognition and promotion. and Emily wanted Andrea’s friendship but backed off from asking for it, even though she was desperate for contact and affection. 

On my counselling days I often see this in therapy. The unsaid, the not asked for, the I’m not worthy, the fear of rejection. 

I’ve seen it in my own life, and in the life of others close to me, in fact it’s a central theme to one of my most favourite film scenes….the ferry scene in My Best Friend’s Wedding

We all need to practice to say what we want and what we need 

I’ve done it today , and feel better for it, even though the outcome wasn’t the best 🌈❤️

Hey ho

I’m relaxing watching Andre Rieu on tv ….a beer in hand , Roger is playing with Bun and Weaver upstairs 

God only knows how that happened ….they are racing around like lunatics 

Mary is on my knee 

A Rather Nice Arse

A dog walk on Colwyn Bay Promenade to photograph the new Terry Jones memorial sculpture, a homemade chicken dinner, a couple of chapters of Transactional analysis Theory, a 90 minute video chat with Nigel ,chores, fire lighting, feet licking ( Mary licking mine) cold roast potatoes for supper

 

Cerulean Blue ( spoilers)

The Devil Wears Prada 2 ( I hate the title) works only because all four of the original cast have returned to their original roles….its a clever reworking of the original with Hathaway in sudden need of a Runway job, 20 years after magazines have been made redundant and the internet is king. Miranda ( Streep) remains iconic in her role .Stanley Tucci remains pleasing as her 2nd in command and Anne Hathaway remains the fresh new girl trying to make the best of things , Emily Blunt ( now head of New York Dior ) has all the scene stealing lines and has proved herself a talented comedienne and the subtle non saccharine moments as all four bond in their own ways is so incredibly moving to watch , especially when Nigel finally said to Andy “ you’re forever my girl “ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Interesting to note that some of the plot was based clearly on the Sex and the City rerun And Just Like That  with Andy’s old apartment looking remarkably like Carrie Bradshaw’s….clever move

It was lovely to go with my two sisters who missed the cinematic Easter eggs 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_egg_(media)

The constant cerulean references to Streep’s iconic speech in the first movie were great fun to pick out and on the way home , we all laughed long and hard as Janet realised that she was actually looking for chocolate Easter eggs in the narrative …duh

Golders Green

 Near to the hospice there is a holiday complex used by the Jewish Community. I’m presuming the clientele are from communities within urban areas of the Uk and its a common site to see visitors walking around in traditional dress. The men in their tzitzit vests and black fedora type hats , the women , in long skirts , their hair covered in scarfs, the children with buckets and spades and bags of beach toys. 

I was driving into the hospice entrance when a family group stopped to let me enter, I waved them on with a big smile, making sure I looked welcoming and friendly given the recent news in Golders Green and the family moved on with the father eying me suspiciously. 

How awful must it to feel threatened in your own country? To be mistrustful of a friendly smile which could be a mask of some sort of a preemptive attack. A stabbing, a car road rage incident, a bombing? 

As the father looked at me, unsmiling and hostile, I tried to acknowledge his feelings by another smile and a nod

If I hear antisemitism I will call it out. If I see it, I will call it out

We all need to .

Hey ho……it’s going to be a restful day and a nice week

No more hospice shifts until next Saturday. 

Lots of catch ups with friends on video this weekend.

Touching base with old chums😀

I’m drinking coffee at the kitchen table now , the sparrows that bicker like schoolboys in the honeysuckle have moved to the back garden because Weaver is sat watching them from the open lounge window. 

Bun is asleep with Mary on the kitchen reading chair and the coffee is good. 

I don’t know where Roger is, sometimes he sits by the gate with his nose poked through the bars, waiting to catch the eye of passing walkers. 

I’ve only yelled at the yappy dogs next door twice this morning ! A record

I’m meeting both sisters for. The Prada sequel later

Return

 Overnight the Montana has flowered over the secret garden gate of my back garden, it always looks a picture. The clematis like the bluebells and white bells in the garden borders are friends who reappear every year, as do the black tulips by the gravel path and the mock orange by Finlay’s grave.

The ribus bush is tinged red with flowers and the honeysuckle is already densely green around the front door, shielding the sparrows who are planning to nest there. 

Every year the flowers and shrubs return

And every year I am grateful