Goodbye Kira

 

Trelawnyd Productions loses its director this week for Kira leaves the village to return back to her native love, her home country of Canada. Only recently has she put down some connections with us locals and I hope we have all been welcoming in our joint venture of the Christmas show , which was such a success only a few months ago now.

We had planned a leaving do for her tonight, which I had to bow out of for obvious reasons, so I wanted to give her a little token of our appreciation, something that would mean something but something she could carry easily in transatlantic luggage 

So I chose three things. A centenary cup depicting the Memorial Hall, a copy of a 1950’s photo of the village and a hand drawn child’s drawing of the hall itself donated to me from a flower show some years ago, The  hall is the building we all want to save for future generations, and was one that received a nice donation from Trelawnyd Productions from a review Kira worked so hard to support. 

Bon Voyage Kira,

Be happy

I Saw God On The Train

I read this poem today and needed to hear it performed 

In person

The pace Lucas Jones gives his own poem elevates it

amazingly

The enormity of having a long time catheter hit me today, even though I’ve spent 1000s of hours teaching young men how to cope with them back in my spinal injury days

I didn’t sleep much, but found some out of date Valium I was once given to get a battling Albert over the vets threshold, which did a small trick.

My elder sister brought me some tulips and punnet of strawberries which was nice
 

Pompeii MMXXIII” — Dan Smith

 Trendy Carol’s hubby came around and has taken Mary for a few days while I get used to the whole catheter thing. I was grateful as I’ve been in a little pain and discomfort. Roger has kept me company, and important note to self “Don’t let your catheter bag dangle when you get out of the shower with a cat in the bathroom !”

Ouch 

I watched David Attenborough’s 100th birthday tribute last night, and was suitably moved by the whole thing. Dan Smith was new to me and I rather liked his hand gesturing performance. 

I hear the village’s Spring Fair was a success 

I wasn’t quite up to it

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