So this is how we do The Dentist thing.
Wait - this is how we used to do it when I was little;
My mother would collect us from our schools, load us into the car, drive 40 miles to the dentist she used to use before she was married. We would wait in the elegant dining room, reading "Giles" cartoons until it was time for our turn to cross the hall full of antique clocks to the carpeted, curtained, restful converted sitting room that was used as the surgery. Climb up into the big brown leather chair, and watch the little flickering blue and purple flame of the meths-burner sterilizer.
Our friendly dentists would poke about at our teeth, do any fillings (we all had loads - no fluoride, no sealants back in them thar days) and then we'd all travel 40 miles back home.
I wonder how many dentist surgeries we passed on our way?
I thought this was normal - that everyone took a day off school for the dentist, that all treatment followed instantly upon the check-up, that dentists filled their houses with collections of early matchbox cars and antique clocks...
So, the first time I went to a different dentist, at University, I had a rude awakening. Up a shabby stairwell to a modern bright-white-lights-and-shiny-lino waiting room, and then through to an aseptic surgery. "You need a filling on your back left" was the verdict. So I stayed in the slippery plastic-vinyl chair, waiting... the dentists turned round, showed surprise that I was still there, and sent me to make the appointment for the filling. You have to wait? That was news to me...
Well, many years later, I made my way back south again, with my husband, and needed a dentist. Well, hey, our old dentist was only 20 miles away, and although he had retired, his successor came highly recommended.
History repeats itself; for the past 30 years we (the whole family together) have been travelling 20 miles to the dentist, taking a half day or even making a whole day of it. The checkup, cleanup, and any treatment, all happens at the same time.
Normal service has been returned. Everything is as it should be.
Monday, 23 February 2015
Sunday, 22 February 2015
Sunday 22nd February - Traditional Family Weekend
Well, that was a fun weekend
apart from the dentist bit on Friday morning - and that wasn't too bad for most of us
The dentist bit was the reason why we were all together this weekend. I think our dental appointment arrangements require a separate post, so I'll leave that for now.
We (me, BestB, Number1Son, FavouriteDaughter) all had lunch at the Costa once those of us whose teeth had been remodelled were ready to eat, and then made our separate ways home according to whether we were old and cold or young and active.
On Friday night we celebrated Chinese New Year - well, we had a Chinese meal - and played the board game that we bought at Christmas. It is called "The Witches" and is based on the Terry Pratchett "Discworld" stories. I was Petunia Gristle, and nearly won.
On Saturday we visited my parents at their new flat - tea, coffee, shortbread biscuits. They moved in just under a fortnight ago and it's looking as though things are settling in well. That's worth a whole load of posts too....
In the evening we celebrated Shrove Tuesday with pancakes and Real Maple Syrup brought by friends from Canada (you know who you are!). I set fire to the stub of the 2014 Advent Candle, which had only got as far as 23rd December. We played "The Witches" again, and FavD won again. I was Dimity Hubbub and was less of a winner than last night.
By the end of the evening, the candle just about burned through 24th December, so I decreed that Sunday would be Christmas Day with presents.
On Sunday morning, number1son had a lie-in, (FavD might have had one too? Dunno, as she was at her own abode) I played the organ for the early service (traditional; Holy Holy Holy Lord God Almighty; In Heavenly Love Abiding; and Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise). I was on the rota for prayers for the second service, but decided that there were enough people around that if I sloped off no-one would miss me. BestB researched CD players (that's another story) and had a quiet morning.
We all four of us had lunch together at a favourite place, known to us as "The Bonkers Teashop" because of the idiosyncratic décor. I produced presents!
Later that afternoon, the youngsters left to resume their normal lives. And we resumed ours. Normal life, that is. If only I knew for sure what "normal life" is these days????
The Advent candle still has a way to go before it is completely finished. How many days until Christmas?
apart from the dentist bit on Friday morning - and that wasn't too bad for most of us
The dentist bit was the reason why we were all together this weekend. I think our dental appointment arrangements require a separate post, so I'll leave that for now.
We (me, BestB, Number1Son, FavouriteDaughter) all had lunch at the Costa once those of us whose teeth had been remodelled were ready to eat, and then made our separate ways home according to whether we were old and cold or young and active.
On Friday night we celebrated Chinese New Year - well, we had a Chinese meal - and played the board game that we bought at Christmas. It is called "The Witches" and is based on the Terry Pratchett "Discworld" stories. I was Petunia Gristle, and nearly won.
On Saturday we visited my parents at their new flat - tea, coffee, shortbread biscuits. They moved in just under a fortnight ago and it's looking as though things are settling in well. That's worth a whole load of posts too....
In the evening we celebrated Shrove Tuesday with pancakes and Real Maple Syrup brought by friends from Canada (you know who you are!). I set fire to the stub of the 2014 Advent Candle, which had only got as far as 23rd December. We played "The Witches" again, and FavD won again. I was Dimity Hubbub and was less of a winner than last night.
By the end of the evening, the candle just about burned through 24th December, so I decreed that Sunday would be Christmas Day with presents.
On Sunday morning, number1son had a lie-in, (FavD might have had one too? Dunno, as she was at her own abode) I played the organ for the early service (traditional; Holy Holy Holy Lord God Almighty; In Heavenly Love Abiding; and Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise). I was on the rota for prayers for the second service, but decided that there were enough people around that if I sloped off no-one would miss me. BestB researched CD players (that's another story) and had a quiet morning.
We all four of us had lunch together at a favourite place, known to us as "The Bonkers Teashop" because of the idiosyncratic décor. I produced presents!
Later that afternoon, the youngsters left to resume their normal lives. And we resumed ours. Normal life, that is. If only I knew for sure what "normal life" is these days????
The Advent candle still has a way to go before it is completely finished. How many days until Christmas?
Thursday, 19 February 2015
Thursday 19th February - All about ME!
Where have I been all these weeks?
Not properly on this planet, that's for sure.
I'd left my current book downstairs last night, so amused myself by reading last year's diary entries for February. They read the same as this year - "week off work with chest infection" blah blah blah!
Anyway, it's half-term at the moment, which has meant a break from teaching, or trying to teach, or discovering that I'm not well enough to teach. So I have spent the week travelling up and down to London for routine 6-monthly hospital clinic appointments. (Looking at my diary, that's exactly what I did in the February half term last year) I have to say that I was a little anxious as to how things would turn out. BUT, the good news is that the cardiologist, after getting side-tracked checking out the wonders of our modern mobile phones (he's still using a prehistoric thing with a KEYPAD, can you imagine) reviewed all the tests going back to 2007, and pronounced me stable and in reasonably good nick, all things considered. And he was adamant that I should keep on working, even though I was exposed to all the bugs and germs of the little people that I teach, that keeping active and busy was the best thing for me. Good-oh.
The chest consultant was of the same opinion; a little concerned that I had had three or so chest infections this winter but not alarmed. In spite of everything, the various lung function tests, and the "walk test" (walking up and down a measured length of corridor for 6 minutes and seeing how many metres I travel) produced similar results to previous times.
I am pretty convinced that maintaining a positive attitude to life is a major part of staying well. This is backed up by what all the consultants have advised over the fifteen years I have been in their clutches. Yesterday, my mother asked me if I didn't get fed up with this illness. Well, no, I don't. Not with the illness,
But
These are the three things that really do sap my energy and happiness
Sorting out the myriad hospital appointments and tests is a bit of a nightmare. I get them all lined up at sensible times on a day that suits me and causes tyhe least aggravation to the rest of my life, like over halfterm, or in the school holidays, and then letters arrive changing them all around. This is just a background, on-going hassle.
Sorting out my prescriptions - I take a colourful medley of pills and capsules several times a day, some prescribed by my GP, some delivered by one of the hospitals, another delivered by an independent agency on behalf of the other hospital. Keeping track of what I will need replenished, and when, is a major headache, especially when the independent agency has been really quite inefficient and needed a lot of interaction from me. That can be a real pain.
Fending off well-meaning advice/suggestions/opinions offered by friends and family is, weirdly, exhausting, in a way that everything else is not. Things like
"Poor you."
"All those horrible tests".
"You do too much."
"Isn't it time you gave up work, or cut down".
I know these type of comments are loving and sympathetic and well-meant. But...
A friend who also has a progressive disease (MS, in her case) made exactly the same point recently, so it's not just me.
I've been pondering my reaction - and have come to the conclusion that the problem is that this kind of sympathy is all directed to emphasizing the negatives. Here am I, determined to stay positive, count my blessings, focus on what I CAN do, rather than what I can't.
In reply to this kind of sympathy, I don't want to agree with the implications "Yes, I am a poor thing, the tests have left me drained and exhausted, I'm tired all the time," because that is just NOT how I see myself. It's NOT how I feel.
I want to say
"I'M NOT A POOR THING
THE TESTS ARE ON THE WHOLE USUALLY NOT A PROBLEM (although the tube down the nose for 24 hours must rate as the mankiest test so far)
I'M PERFECTLY SENSIBLE AND OLD ENOUGH TO MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS ABOUT WORK
I DO LISTEN CAREFULLY TO WHAT THE CONSULTANTS SAY AND FOLLOW THEIR ADVICE"
and biting my tongue, making a gentle and appreciative reply, restating what I've been saying all along, is the really, really, wearing bit.
Anyway, enough. Just one appointment left, with the Rheumatology clinic, sometime in April, and then it's all done for another 6 months.
I'm fine. I'm stable. I feel well and happy. I'm drinking a sherry to celebrate!
Not properly on this planet, that's for sure.
I'd left my current book downstairs last night, so amused myself by reading last year's diary entries for February. They read the same as this year - "week off work with chest infection" blah blah blah!
Anyway, it's half-term at the moment, which has meant a break from teaching, or trying to teach, or discovering that I'm not well enough to teach. So I have spent the week travelling up and down to London for routine 6-monthly hospital clinic appointments. (Looking at my diary, that's exactly what I did in the February half term last year) I have to say that I was a little anxious as to how things would turn out. BUT, the good news is that the cardiologist, after getting side-tracked checking out the wonders of our modern mobile phones (he's still using a prehistoric thing with a KEYPAD, can you imagine) reviewed all the tests going back to 2007, and pronounced me stable and in reasonably good nick, all things considered. And he was adamant that I should keep on working, even though I was exposed to all the bugs and germs of the little people that I teach, that keeping active and busy was the best thing for me. Good-oh.
The chest consultant was of the same opinion; a little concerned that I had had three or so chest infections this winter but not alarmed. In spite of everything, the various lung function tests, and the "walk test" (walking up and down a measured length of corridor for 6 minutes and seeing how many metres I travel) produced similar results to previous times.
I am pretty convinced that maintaining a positive attitude to life is a major part of staying well. This is backed up by what all the consultants have advised over the fifteen years I have been in their clutches. Yesterday, my mother asked me if I didn't get fed up with this illness. Well, no, I don't. Not with the illness,
But
These are the three things that really do sap my energy and happiness
Sorting out the myriad hospital appointments and tests is a bit of a nightmare. I get them all lined up at sensible times on a day that suits me and causes tyhe least aggravation to the rest of my life, like over halfterm, or in the school holidays, and then letters arrive changing them all around. This is just a background, on-going hassle.
Sorting out my prescriptions - I take a colourful medley of pills and capsules several times a day, some prescribed by my GP, some delivered by one of the hospitals, another delivered by an independent agency on behalf of the other hospital. Keeping track of what I will need replenished, and when, is a major headache, especially when the independent agency has been really quite inefficient and needed a lot of interaction from me. That can be a real pain.
Fending off well-meaning advice/suggestions/opinions offered by friends and family is, weirdly, exhausting, in a way that everything else is not. Things like
"Poor you."
"All those horrible tests".
"You do too much."
"Isn't it time you gave up work, or cut down".
I know these type of comments are loving and sympathetic and well-meant. But...
A friend who also has a progressive disease (MS, in her case) made exactly the same point recently, so it's not just me.
I've been pondering my reaction - and have come to the conclusion that the problem is that this kind of sympathy is all directed to emphasizing the negatives. Here am I, determined to stay positive, count my blessings, focus on what I CAN do, rather than what I can't.
In reply to this kind of sympathy, I don't want to agree with the implications "Yes, I am a poor thing, the tests have left me drained and exhausted, I'm tired all the time," because that is just NOT how I see myself. It's NOT how I feel.
I want to say
"I'M NOT A POOR THING
THE TESTS ARE ON THE WHOLE USUALLY NOT A PROBLEM (although the tube down the nose for 24 hours must rate as the mankiest test so far)
I'M PERFECTLY SENSIBLE AND OLD ENOUGH TO MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS ABOUT WORK
I DO LISTEN CAREFULLY TO WHAT THE CONSULTANTS SAY AND FOLLOW THEIR ADVICE"
and biting my tongue, making a gentle and appreciative reply, restating what I've been saying all along, is the really, really, wearing bit.
Anyway, enough. Just one appointment left, with the Rheumatology clinic, sometime in April, and then it's all done for another 6 months.
I'm fine. I'm stable. I feel well and happy. I'm drinking a sherry to celebrate!
Sunday, 1 February 2015
Sunday 1st February - Brain Powers
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| http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Animations_of_fractals |
It's like this.
If it involves data, especially complicated data full of variables, and if it involves choices and optimising the choices, then hand the task over to BB every time. Hey, I've (somehow!) got a maths degree, I'm not scared of numbers, I can compare and contrast as well as anyone.
But data "talks" to BB like a piano "talks" to me. It's his thing.
Give me three notes, a chord, a snatch of music, a rhythm, and a world opens in glorious technicolour, full of pictures and sights and smells and tastes. Actually, these words are only a shallow effort at attempting to explain what can only be expressed through the sound itself. It's why I absolutely CANNOT listen to certain recordings, and CAN listen, endlessly, to others. It's why I wait for That Particular Note in the middle of a piece, because it is, of itself, so beautiful I could cry.I have been known to be late for work, because I needed to hear the end of whatever I was listening to in the car as I was driving, to hear "how the story ends".
For BB, I suspect that data is the same for him as music is for me. It makes shapes and patterns and opens worlds in his brain. I'm pretty certain that trying to explain it is like me trying to explain music - not possible.
However, this is why, when he says "this is the best choice", I say "then let's go with it", whether we are talking insurance policies, washing machine purchases, computers, storage layouts, travel routes, whatever. I might add in a few variables "I don't want a silver washing machine", "Could we visit Ludlow on the way?", "What about having 'monkey-tail handles?" (on our proposed double glazing). He somehow incorporates this into the n-dimensional grid virtual grid that twirls inside his brain, and comes up with a solution, and the reasons why it is, or isn't possible.
So, this is how it goes. I play the music, and he plays the data. The reverse would be just plain silly.
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| http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Animations_of_fractals |
Hooray - Sunday 1st February - Hello February
The sun is shining (into my face, actually, and onto the laptop screen which makes it quite hard to type, but I'm not complaining).
I'm still in bed. All the time I sit here, I feel well, and energetic, and ready to go. Then, when I get up, I realise that it is just an illusion. Simple answer, stay in bed.
With my entertainments all to hand, and a tray full of drinks to last. The mugs contain hot water (what a friend used to call "an old lady's drink" but it's what I like drinking at the moment). The advantage is that it doesn't taste horrible when it goes cold, unlike tea or coffee.
BB is off round to the parents again. They are moving, hopefully on 10th February, which is a major undertaking at any stage of life, and a mega undertaking when one is "of maturer years". They are managing pretty well, and are now in the pre-move phase of de-cluttering and sorting ready for the packers in just over a week's time. (Keep your fingers crossed, though. I don't like to tempt fate). There is a huge amount of work involved in fitting the contents of their current flat into the new flat. I should be there too, going through clothes, sorting books. But I'm not, and it can't be helped.
I'm always exhorting my piano students to practice things slowly, ("no, properly slowly"), and in very small segments, in order to learn them faster. Time to take my own medicine; do things slowly, in small segments, in order to get better faster.
I'm still in bed. All the time I sit here, I feel well, and energetic, and ready to go. Then, when I get up, I realise that it is just an illusion. Simple answer, stay in bed.
With my entertainments all to hand, and a tray full of drinks to last. The mugs contain hot water (what a friend used to call "an old lady's drink" but it's what I like drinking at the moment). The advantage is that it doesn't taste horrible when it goes cold, unlike tea or coffee.
BB is off round to the parents again. They are moving, hopefully on 10th February, which is a major undertaking at any stage of life, and a mega undertaking when one is "of maturer years". They are managing pretty well, and are now in the pre-move phase of de-cluttering and sorting ready for the packers in just over a week's time. (Keep your fingers crossed, though. I don't like to tempt fate). There is a huge amount of work involved in fitting the contents of their current flat into the new flat. I should be there too, going through clothes, sorting books. But I'm not, and it can't be helped.
I'm always exhorting my piano students to practice things slowly, ("no, properly slowly"), and in very small segments, in order to learn them faster. Time to take my own medicine; do things slowly, in small segments, in order to get better faster.