Category: Hospital stays

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Mirror, mirror on the wall…

Recently I’ve noticed new, small changes to my body which have made me pause and consider. As in, think about the stance I always had on aging. ‘Oh it won’t bother me!’ said I, ‘Wrinkles are a sign that you have lived and laughed in your life, bring it on!’.

Hmm.

Yes well, they ARE. And I do still agree with what I’ve always spouted about aging gracefully and refusing to walk around with skin that looks like it’s been pumped full of liquid rubber or stretched tightly over a drum.

But I must confess there are moments nowadays when the mirror asks a lot of my pure intentions. More than I expected, to be quite frank. In these moments I find myself quietly raising a finger to pull the skin above my eyelids gently upwards “just to see” the difference it would make if I were to… (what? I don’t know!) get something done I suppose, to the slightly sagging skin that is now making its presence felt around my eyes.

It’s confronting, but quietly done because I don’t want anyone to spot me being so vain and frivolous (including myself).

Then there’s that favourite black evening gown hanging upstairs which I must finally acknowledge no longer suits me. Having worn sleeveless tops/dresses for most of my adult life, I am more than a little shocked by the change in my upper arms – when did the muscles start to hang from the bone like loose meat fillets?? And why can’t I make the bodice fit snugly like it always did? Nowadays it bites into my body in strange ways. Looser skin I guess, or something like that.

Geez.

Ah well, chances are I’ll never do much about any of it. I’m too chicken, too poor, a little bit too lazy and even principled on the topic to take any drastic measures but that doesn’t stop me being surprised I even considered it. When you get right down to it, I guess aging is difficult to accept no matter how ‘wise’ you’ve become. I’ve had to work my way through a fair few unexpected health challenges this past year (knock on wood) which shook the balance out of life for a while. Moving away from my private pyjama party on the sofa is a very welcome change let me tell you, with simple things like walking to the bus stop or going shopping for an hour finally back on the agenda. I’m hugely thankful for it.

And yet I can occupy my mind now and then with silly irritations about my skin losing elasticity. It’s too silly.

Maybe I need this little reminder to chill out a bit more.

I’m ready for a good year, I’ve waited and hoped for it so fingers crossed my friends and let’s all be a little easier, kinder to ourselves in 2016. Because life’s just too short for silly worries and irritations.So right now my eyes are looking pretty ok to me, and I’ll be damn happy to go out feeling fabulous in any evening dress, under my own steam this coming year. How’s that for starters!

plastic surgery
I wonder, maybe, what would it be like if I had that bit lifted??
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A paler shade of pyjamas!

My PJs have long ago decided to mix and match perfectly, for ever!

Since coming home from hospital last month, it’s the funniest thing really but I’ve totally become Queen of the Pyjamas. Every shape and colour I have in the house – with a few new ones thrown in for good measure – they’re all I want to wear right now.

And – slightly to my surprise – I find wearing them, lounging around in them a seriously enjoyable change from my normal routine! Slowly pulling a nice, soft, comfy (loose!!) top from the drawer and sliding it over my head before shrugging on a wide-banded pair of loose pants that won’t bother me in any way is so relaxing!

No fuss, no bothersome mix and match skills required… just one, happy and cosy little collection of pale pink, blue or grey cottons on offer, morning after morning. Fuzzy slippers. Fluffy socks. Maybe a bed jacket? or should I go all out and wrap myself into a bath robe? Decisions, decisions. Easy little ones without a hint of pressure butting in to spoil the mood.

Take today, for instance. I woke up wearing the loose, soft grey oversized T that I wore to bed (no surprises there, aint a lot of action going down these days, thank the lord!). After breakfast and a shower, I quietly and very slowly made my way back up two flights of stairs to ‘change’.

Now, under normal circumstances, i.e. when I’m working (which I’m not right now) and my health is good (which it aint right now), this routine would see me galloping at top speed back upstairs, my morning coffee threatening a reappearance as I raced to get into an outfit suitable for the office to make it out the door by 8am.

Sometimes – it all worked perfectly, because I’d more or less decided what to wear the evening before – and the vibe was good. But there have also been days when Mother Nature played tricks on me and the anticipated warm weather turned into wet, cold, rainy skies. That’s when my careful deliberation raced straight out the window into the damp mist. That’s when a mild panic would kick in. With 12 minutes left I’d be shovelling hangers back and forth, frantically pulling skirts and blouses from the closet in a rush for the bus but also to ‘look the part’.

Not so on the good ole PJ days! Lying quietly in wait for me, my PJs have long ago befriended each other and agreed to mix and match perfectly, for EVER. So the minute I’ve chosen just one piece, the rest of the gang join in like a happy little choir and I’m greeted by a humming, muted array of items, all perfectly amenable to being worn with my first choice.

What more can I say? Happy days. Pleasurable even, which is not what I expected at the start but just what I need right now.

So yay for PJs.

Yay for a calm and relaxed start to each day.

And yay to my on-going recovery, in the palest shades of grey.

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Hospital Shenanigans

“It’s not every day you’re yanked out of your life and dropped head first into Critical Care, now is it?!“

The thing is… I ended up in hospital for most of last week. One of those weird, unexpected medical emergencies that can jump at you out of the blue – the kind you think only happen to ‘other people’ – suddenly leapt at me and dragged me by the heels into a nightmare week. I got the whole shebang… strapped to a stretcher, a speedy gallop in the ambulance to Emergency Aid while my insides (seemingly) took flame. I’ll spare you the details. It’s not been pleasant.

But… as always, I couldn’t help but notice and wonder about the nicer elements that dribbled onto my path during the more ghastly hours. Moments to remember and either cherish or just plain snigger about. Like the wife of the Moroccan man who shared my room.

A complete stranger, she showed me such love that it took my breath away. Watched me carefully during every visit, as one would a child, and was faster on her feet than any nurse to gallop for a tray when my face showed danger signals… then washed it gently and sat stroking my arm until the wave passed. My “Moroccan Momma” I called her later. It made her smile.

The professionalism of the ambulance doctor/driver who calmly guided us through that first terrible hour, reaching me through the haze of pain and (like a mother tiger) successfully pushing me to top slot in A&E upon arrival. No mean feat.

The pretty, English lady who occupied the bed beside me for two nights. Sweet, clearly in a lot of discomfort, she quietly drew my curtains as needed, listened to my woes with patience as I did hers. Smiled a lot. No pressure.

The night nurse. An angel in slippers. Quietly checking I could cope with the nausea (I couldn’t) she helped me feel a little secure, a little cared for, in that hugely unfamiliar environment. It meant a lot.

And then there’s me. Bursting into tears two minutes before the entire medical team landed at my bed end on day three. A classic. Peeping out from behind a washcloth, I groaned inwardly at their fresh, youthful, sparkling white appearance and (mildly surprised) reactions to my mini melt down, for which I make no apology. I mean, it’s not every day you’re suddenly yanked out of your life and dropped head first into Critical Care, is it?! Worn out, Watered Down and Withered is how I felt looking up at them, a sad little voice yelling in my head “oh just you wait!! I’ve had many good years, I’m not always this pathetic!” and more of that ilk. When I finally reached for my list of ‘prepared questions’, drawn up at 5am that (sleepless) morning, I could swear their eyebrows lifted even higher. Hah! Made me laugh later anyway, always a good thing.

Odd though, the temporary relationships you can form with others, even with yourself in these unexpected situations. Intense, because on a physical level there can be no hiding. Intimate because there is a need for ‘connection’ to get you through the challenges, or sleepless nights. And real. It seems to me, that with all guise of our normal lives stripped away, we easily, ungrudgingly become equals again and barriers are lowered. We reach out, with greater ease. Our tolerance levels rise, our togetherness flourishes.

Might do the whole Euro Summit group some good, don’t you think, a quick spell together in the old A&E? Just one week, I’m not greedy.