In the early hours of this morning, my brain was in overdrive.  Lacking the appropriate off  switch I started to twitter on  (verbally) and hubs was forced to act as if he were listening.  I was rambling on about the wonders of the internet hubs immediately reacted to my use of the word magic.  Not magic, that is for fairy stories, the internet works on established scientific principles, according to the laws of physics and mathematics.  Don’t ask me to explain further its beyond me.

   Later when we were up and dressed, no simple matter these days!  Conversation turned to the television, for some weeks past  the words, ‘there is no connection’ have appeared at regular intervals on the screen.    All recordings and iPlayer programmes have been mysteriously vanished.  After scrabbling around on shelves and in drawers booklets which explain how absolutely simple it is to have the programme of your choice appeared.  I had (yes it was me), had the bright idea of putting new batteries in the remote control.  We stared earnestly at the connections, the telephone link up, the plugs in the wall and wondered what on earth we could possibly do.  Hubs gently pushed one plug gently into the socket.  Suddenly the screen flashed, fingers crossed we pressed the programme listings.  It was there on the screen!   Can we get our recorded programmes, yes!  The extensive list appeared at the press of a button.  Who is non-scientific now?

   Secretly inside my head I thought that’s magic.




My first report for this year: Two young nurses arrived while I was in the bathroom (isn’t that always the way).  They arrived to check on hubs, is he being cared for properly.  He was sitting up, washed and dressed in a casual fashion.  Bloods were taken , scars examined, they are truly hideous.  Many questions asked and answered, all the boxes ticked. Problems?  Feet, the blood seems to struggle to get to the toes.  Advice to me rub some cream on , not on the scar tissue but on the whole skin.  Hubs keen to ensure his diet is healthy, no cakes, no biscuits, no fat, cut down on sugar.  This last not so easy sugar is apparently added to everything even breakfast cereal.  Must read the small print on the packet, where did I put that magnifying glass?

Two alert and pleasant young women, a very reassuring presence  for me in my role as chief nurse, indeed only nurse.  Who knew that dressing an adult would involve such a detailed and orderly set of instructions?  The patient is talking more, able to move more easily.  We have discussed what could so easily been the alternative.  The  shock is beginning to subside.


Hubs is moving more easily and generally making progress.  I’m thinking of pinning a badge on my blouse, MATRON, I do want everyone to know, ‘I’m in charge’.  So many details to remember.  Is it time for the before breakfast pill?  Has he had the remainder of the pills?  Another nurse came this morning, very pleasant, very professional, told the patient how well he is doing.  Promised to inform the GP of the new tablets which need to be put in the tablet box and to have the box delivered to the house.  Altogether helpful and reassuring.


THIS DAY IS APTLY NAMED.  I feel as if I had been 12 rounds in the boxing ring with the world champion.  I am exceedingly groggy but still standing, just.  The match isn’t over, it will go on for some time yet.  Best not to count the days, hope each one will be a little less gruelling.  Two weeks ago my husband had an operation on his heart, according to the medical people he is recovering well, on Christmas Eve we brought him home.

   It has to be confessed we are both old people, he had his 76th birthday the day before his operation.  I am the elder by two years. These are the facts of the matter.  The whole business raced away with us, some complaints about being breathless, pains in the neck and shoulders, pop in to see the GP and the world collapses; within days a hospital appointment and what had looked like a minor problem suddenly becomes a major concern.  A transfer from our local hospital to a specialist regional hospital with expertise in heart operations. Further tests and the decision is taken, a heart by-pass operation is necessary.

A cousin of my husband’s take me to visit. I’m a non driver.  Himself is lying on the bed with tubes attached barely aware that I am present.  Events seem to have a momentum of their own, its Christmas Eve, I phone to say I will visit and he says I will come home with you.  An extremely kind and helpful cousin takes me through, yes he has been discharged officially he can come home.  We travelled home in the gathering dark, the same relative as a Good Samaritan.

Now to get to grips with looking after someone who can do very little in looking after himself.  Who knew that washing and dressing could be so complicated and take so long?   Me I’m the squeamish type,  I feel faint at the sight of blood.  But needs must, be calm in the face of angry read scars make a joke about the problem of getting socks on swollen feet.  Feel a huge sense of satisfaction my man is washed and dressed, collapse in a chair, feel like going back to bed.