Saturday 10th November - Low Blood Sugar?

My mother always met us from school with a biscuit or snack. "Don't say a word until you've eaten this" she would say.

http://forums.doyouremember.co.uk/threads/3529-Cadbury-s-Skippy

Following her example, I would take a drink and a snack with me and give it to the children as I met them at the gates of their infant school. "Here, have a drink, have a snack" I would say, leaving the rest of the conversation until later.

Years later, my husband used to commute to London. Usually he drove to the station, but Occasionally I would have to drop him off at the beginning of the day and collect him in the evening. On one hot, humid summer evening I opened the car window and held out a chilled bottle of Perrier water, beaded with condensation, ready for him to grasp as soon as he reached the car. The envy of the other commuters was almost audible. He had the lid off the bottle and half the contents drained before I had even opened the door.


My mother started the snack-straight-after-school routine, because my brother and I would be grumpy and cross when school had ended. Eventually, my mother realised that we hadn't actually had a bad day. It was just "low blood sugar"; we were tired, hungry and thirsty and it was making us bad-tempered.

Occasionally I have had a busy day and forgotten to eat enough, or drink enough (and I don't mean wine!). I suddenly find that I am feeling wobbly, can't concentrate, and feel scratchy and bad-tempered. If I manage to realise what is going on, then a drink and biscuit is all I need to get back on track again.

Today, when we went to visit my mother, we found her querulous, confused, and confusing. After yesterday it was all a bit worrying and disappointing. We had brought the bridge column in, and a catalogue for choosing tiles for the bathroom renovations, and ideas for the kitchen which is also being rebuilt. None of these diversions were going to be at all appropriate.

As time went on, and after chatting with the nursing staff, we discovered that she had rejected breakfast, and only had a few spoonfuls of lunch. The staff were concerned that she wasn't eating enough, and were very happy for me to see if she would eat some of her favourite yogurt, which we had brought in.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinu_Lipatti

Success! She ate the equivalent of half a small tub, and suddenly perked up. The tiles have been chosen (white for the main part of the bathroom, turquoise inside the shower cubicle), she read a letter from a friend, and settled to sleep with Dinu Lipatti's magical piano playing in her ears.

Half a tub of yogurt. Such a simple remedy.

Friday 9th November - The Week Ends

Friday night, 9:45 pm

What a week this has been.

There came a point, on Wednesday night, when I ground to a complete halt. I reached the point where I couldn't speak properly: I was trying to explain some technical point to a piano pupil and the words came out in a completely random order. I was rather disconcerted, twice over; once at hearing the garbled nonsense I was saying, and twice at the student's apparent lack of bemusement. So, do I normally gibber at them in their lessons? Perhaps I do. Well, they seem to keep coming anyhow.

This weekend will be fairly packed, but at least I won't be in a position of professional responsibility (i e teaching) for most of it. I am due to lead a Sunday School group - 6-8 year olds - after the Remembrance Day Parade. Last year I thought we would beat swords into ploughshares - that did not go entirely as planned, in that we made the swords but ran out of time before we had beat them into ploughshares. Well, we had a great time even if the Bible message got totally lost once we started making swords.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contract_bridge

My mother continues to improve; today's highlight was when she started working through the bridge column of the Times newspaper.

In matters mental she is making great progress. The physical side is going to take a lot longer. It reminds me of the difficulty that my older adult beginners have in learning how to use their fingers in new ways in order to play the piano. It takes determination, patience, and endless repetition. Not forgetting courage, optimism, and undying hope.
 

Thursday 8th November - Random non-sequiters

1. I was remembering the celebration laid on for Uncle Terry, who died just before Christmas a couple of years ago. In accordance with his wishes, we celebrated his life on his birthday, 8th November, by climbing up St Catherine's Hill, just out side Winchester, where he grew up. I don't know how many there were - his brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, brothers- and sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, offsprings of children and nephews and nieces  - quite a party. As dusk fell, we set up two humungous rockets, aimed towards St Cross Church way down below. The rockets had been filled with his ashes. One touch of a match to the blue touch-paper, and the sky lit up with brilliant streaks and stars, and the air was filled with sizzles and splutters and bang. We stood there in the gathering dark, chorusing "ooooh" and "aaaah", sipping champagne and toasting his memory.

It took a while for us to all meet up at the Pizza Express in the city, as the "young things" went galloping round the mizmaze (we could see their torches, and hear their shouts, but it was now completely dark). The rest of us gingerly picked our way along unfamiliar paths, getting lost, discovering unexpected stiles, ditches and bramble patches.

What a day. What a way to go!

2. Today I was attempting to teach a class of 10 and 11 year old children the intricacies of "Sonata Form". We are at the very, very early stages of our journey, and I was trying to encourage a discussion about form, and how we structure poems, stories and music. All my carefully planned, leading questions were completely wasted. We were being terrorised by a large and very dopey wasp, zooming and dive bombing the children as we sat in a circle on the floor. Nothing could be achieved until the wasp finally settled on the curtains some way from our circle, and the muffled screams and squeaks (from the girls) and cries of "squish it", "kill it" "I'll get it" (from the boys) ceased. Gender stereotyping seems to be firmly in place by age 10, however you try and avoid it.

3. My mother continues to improve slowly. At night, when she can't sleep, she constructs elaborate and detailed plans for the improvement of local facilities for nursing care and nurses homes which she can recount to us in visiting hours.

4. I need to sleep. Goodnight!

Wednesday 7th November - Food for a Crisis

A friend knocked on the door today bearing a great dish of beef stew - how wonderful! What with one thing and another, even superwoman has to give in and take a night off, and I'm no superwoman.

My standard response to a family in crisis is to take round a roast chicken, pan of cooked new potatoes and bag of ready-to-eat salad. I reckon that it can all be eaten hot or cold, used to make sandwiches, or even thrown away for that matter. The gift of a ready-to-eat meal is very much appreciated when the rest of your life is being turned upside down.

We have a system at church now that swings into action whenever "meals-on-wheels" looks like being a helpful response. Generally, families with new babies can reckon to have a week or so of a meal being delivered to their door every day. When I think that it could take me a whole day to peel a couple of potatoes in between feeding, changing, rocking, changing, feeding a tiny baby.... I wish this system had been around when my children were born!

.....

Well, the beef stew was delicious, and generous, and the rest is in the freezer ready for another evening. Thank you!

I started this post early in the evening, meaning to add news of my mother. Then I went to bed. So, my first National Blog Promotion Month Fail. I had meant to go and visit her this evening, but as time went on, I knew that I had reached the end of what I was able to do. My father rang from the hospital, to ask if I was going, so that he could let my mother know. He said that she was falling asleep, after a hefty dose of painkillers for her stiff neck and achy legs, so I said I 'd stay at home. She has been moved from the bed nearest the nurses station to the far corner by the windows. Her old place has been taken by a new patient who is much the same state that my mother was when she arrived, grey, semi-conscious, wired up to drips and monitors. In contrast, my mother spends a lot of time sitting in a chair, positioned so she can look out of the window, with all her cards and letters close at hand so she can read through them. She looks more alert, and more relaxed. She reads the letters closely for family news, gossip, descriptions of goings-on in the bridge club, scraps of information about life outside the hospital. And this is all in less than 10 days!   

Tuesday 6th November - The Waiting Game

Waiting is an art form in itself.

I was taught "waiting" at the convent primary school I went to: standing in line waiting for school dinners. I can remember that we lined up in a maze of interconnecting corridors that ended in the dining room. We were allowed to chat in whispers, but were expected to stand still and not mill around or swap places.

The reward for such patience was mixed: it might be something really good, and ending with sponge pudding and custard. It might be spinach, slimy and gritty, or "red" cabbage, boiled to a pale dove grey stringiness. The convent grew acres and ACRES of spinach and red cabbage. I used to see them in threatening rows in the vegetable garden, my heart sinking as I contemplated forthcoming harvest.

Being able to sit and wait patiently is a valuable skill. However, it throws you upon your own resources, especially if you haven't brought anything to fill the time.

I'm a great one for chatting to whoever is sitting next to me, if we are both feeling sociable. Otherwise, I might use the time to plan things - menus, Christmas present lists, lesson plans, holiday plans. It is easier to make lists if I have pencil and paper, otherwise thing fall out of my mind as fast as I try and slot them in.

Sometimes I "play" music through in my head, or revisit favourite places or walks.

I went through a phase of trying to learn poetry, but this is not a skill that I have developed to any great level. Like learning songs, I know the tunes but not the words. Most of the songs I have learnt are the ones I teach all the time: "Bee, bee, bumble bee, stung a man upon his knee, stung a pig upon his snout, I say you're out" or "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I see tonight". Short, and quite sweet, but hardly "literature"!

My mother is having to spend hours and hours just waiting. During the day there is a fair bit going on - doctor's rounds, observations, physio, speech therapy, occupational therapy fills a certain amount of time, but in between, and in wakeful night-time hours she is thrown on her own resources. I wasn't able to visit her today, but I heard that she was moved from her bed to the chair for a while. That will have made it easier to see what was happening around her. She had a go at reading a book, and has asked for a "Good Food" magazine. The CD player and headphones have made a great difference, and the steady stream of get well cards is very, very important. I am telling everyone to keep them coming. Next week, and the week after is when they will bring a welcome breath of the outside world into the slow, constant, unchanging rhythm of hospital life.

Monday 5th November - A new week

Today was sunny and bright and cheerful and dry - a sparkling day, full of promise. What a way to start the week!

On my way to teach samba and djembe (African drumming), I crossed the River Arun at on the A272 at New Bridge, near Billingshust. I didn't have time to stop and take pictures, but after the rain at the weekend, the water level was close to the level of the road, and the surrounding fields were great flat expanses of water. I think this picture below must have been taken when there was a dry spell. When there has been a prolonged spell of heavy rain, it is well worth checking the tide tables, as the bridge can be impassable at high tide in these conditions.

Bridge over the Arun, Nr Billingshurst: 2009

I found this picture on a website devoted to the River Arun; http://www.myriverarun.com/index.html
It is full of pictures and information about the River and its history.

Anyway, I had no problems today and went on my way, nearly into Hampshire.

In the after noon I retraced my steps, and carried on north to visit my mother in hospital. The weather stayed cheerful, and I only got lost once in the amazing labyrinth that is the A23 between Crawley and Salfords. Dusk was approaching, and the clouds were becoming a deeper and deeper pink against the clear blue sky. The message of hope that I read in the weather turned out to be true - today my mother was able to have something to eat for the first time since her stroke last Tuesday. What a relief! I found her sitting up and listening to music (a recording of his final recital at the 1950 Besançon recital) and looking through get well cards. My father and brother stood in attendance, handing the cards over one by one.

 

We finished the day with a family supper - the table is still clear. This could become a habit!