Hi
First of all I wish to apologize to the readers for the problems I have had loading this new posting. No matter what I have tried it has not formatted as it should and my patience has run out. So I hope you can read it as it is.
I hope to get this problem fixed before the next posting.

Cheers Cynthia.


Letter
From The Other Side; From Cynthia. ‘Hoy! I’m Down Here.’

Dear Del,
Aren’t doctors
an annoyingly pompous group sometimes?
Have you ever
been told by someone about the same age as one of your grandchildren that it
might be time to begin using a walking stick? Last week when I was adding yet
more money to my doctor’s slush fund toward her annual cruise around the Great Barrier Reef, she made that suggestion to me.

I was not
having a good day pain-wise and during days like that the brakes which should
work between my brain and my tongue don’t always function very efficiently so
before I could stop them the words of advice of where the said walking stick
would be perhaps more usefully be employed were out of my mouth.
She did look
a little taken aback, but with a wry smile suggested I would probably decide
for myself when to take my mother’s stick from the stand where I have kept it
since she died.
I had another
occasion during one of my recent sojourns in the hospital to become an irritant
in the doctor’s day.
As he and the
nurse stood over me chatting about my condition and what might be done about
it, some of the stored memories of my long days in hospital as a child must
have been dredged up and I felt I had reverted to the way I felt then. They
ignored me during this discussion as if I was incapable of hearing or
understanding anything such important people may say.
I had once more been transformed into a
‘condition’, not a person.
I suppose I
was feeling vulnerable while sitting up in a bed in my night wear, which these
days is not of the slinky and seductive kind but more closely follows the warm,
comfortable and modest mode. My hair was all mussed up, no make-up on and I
know I looked pale and elderly rather than interesting as women ‘of a certain
age’ are bound to become.
However, since those childhood days of illness
when I lay motionless in my bed while the grown-ups chatted over my body, I
have found my voice and lost the reverence toward the healing community my
parent’s generation seemed to hold and tried to instil in me. In fact my mother
was so impressed by doctors it wouldn’t have surprised me if she had
genuflected to them when they entered our home. She rather reflected the
fawning mannerisms of Basil Fawlty when a couple who were doctors graced the
guest list at his incredibly dysfunctional hotel.
I think it
helped me be more of a realist by going to school with two girls who became
doctors. They always passed their exams brilliantly but didn’t appear to be
able to retain a great deal of what they had learned for any length if time. I
know to this day if ever I walked into a surgery with one of them seated behind
the desk I would probably say ‘Hello’ and pretend I had just popped in for a
chat even if I did have to pay for the privilege.
Anyway, as I
was telling you these doctors were enjoying a great old discussion across my
prone body and the old feeling of being treated as a deaf and stupid nonentity
returned.
I raised my
hand as high as I could and said loudly; ‘Hoy! If you are going to talk about
me have the grace to at least acknowledge you know I’m here.’
There were a
few, ‘Oh,.. ers, yes sorry Cynthia.’ and we became comrades again.
Years ago I
used to volunteer at a school for children with disabilities and when we took
the pupils on an outing or just to enjoy a morning tea in the local mall we
were always aware of the occasional person who would make a quick involuntary
step back when the doors of the elevators opened to reveal the wheelchair bound
bodies and disfigured limbs. Then there were those who would shift away to
other tables because some of the older children handled their food like
toddlers, spreading it on themselves, their clothes and quite a lot of it on
the floor. I suppose to people who don’t live with it every day it can be
confronting.
Sometimes to
ours and the children’s pain we were told by an obnoxious individual that we
should not have had them in the shopping area or even out in public.
Why I bring
this up is that the same thing begins to happen to older bodies and the young
and healthy find it hard to witness. They often don’t realize how difficult it
is for the elderly people themselves to experience these changes, because
inside they still feel the same. In fact I tend to think that the character
inside is often an improved version of the one that was there when they were
young and healthy.
The medical
profession should be the one section of the community which should have the
training and the capacity to allow older people the respect and dignity they
deserve.
To this I add
that for me, and I’m sure many others, I resent the hospital cost cutting habit
of filling a ward’s beds with both male and female patients.
Flinging ones
legs out from the height of a hospital bed and padding about in one of those
gowns which have the opening down the back or for a gentleman to have his
pyjamas fall around his ankles and not be able to bend to pick them up is
demeaning.
Even during
the swinging sixties we were allowed the privacy of having the sexes separated.
I have heard both men and women say how confronting and embarrassing it can be.
What has
happened to our country? Years ago when
the population was smaller we were able to afford the first class medical care
of the day and have hospitals that contained happy and well contented staff
with the best of training? Where did the money and the caring priorities for
the patient begin to flow to?
Ooh I am
going to be a pain in the neck if ever I have to be cared for permanently. I’ve
already told my family I don’t want them to do it, because I want the capacity
to sack someone if I’m not happy with the treatment. I have already dispensed
with one doctor’s ministrations, or perhaps I should say lack of patient care.
I’ve also been known to discharge myself from a hospital after sitting in a bed
for five days without having a doctor come near me. That was a very large crack
I must have fallen through and no one knew why.
My present
doctor was quite surprised when I presented him with copies of all my latest
tests and discharge notes that I had requested through freedom of information.
I think he should become used to it because there will be many more in years to
come as people realize they have the right to access their own records.
So my advice
is to remember the old saying about the squeaky door getting the attention.
Squeak up for yourself.
Cheers
Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side; from Cynthia. 'When The Doors Of Life Begin To Close'.

Dear Del,

It has been months since I wrote, I hope you have noticed my absence but will take it on the chin if time has passed by without you missing my letters.

Most of my life I have tried to see the humour and irony of our days but I have been sorely tested since Christmas morning when I found myself looking out the rear window of an ambulance at a sullen stormy Christmas morning sky.
At around 6 a.m I had walked into the kitchen to make our morning cup of tea. We were expecting family to arrive from down south so I was up bright and early and feeling very excited.

As I held the kettle of boiling water my hand began to shake and I was aware of a most peculiar sensation. I tried to speak to Teddy but the only noises I could emit sounded rather like baby gurgles.

The next few hours seemed to be a constant blue of faces asking me a stream of questions I found difficult to answer and tests in machines that bumped or clanked and others which would have looked right at home on a stage where a magician was going to do the old ‘saw the lady in half’ trick. I would have liked to share some of my thoughts with the people around me but didn’t have the energy.

The upshot if it all was that I was admitted to the hospital with a suspected stroke.
For the next few days I shared a ward with two ladies suffering dementia and a poor young woman who had been kicked in the face by a horse. The conversation was bizarre in a rather humorous way. It made up for the lack of Plum pudding and cake. I wasn’t feeling very festive anyway despite the nurses walking around in Christmas hats and various decorations not usually seen on the wards.

One lady was convinced I was sitting in her bed and I was making it all wet and repeatedly told me to get out of it. When she wasn’t abusing me she was trying to take her oxygen and drip lines out and tying them into knots. The nurses earned their money as they fought with this frail little piece of humanity to keep her from damaging herself.

Another lady, a large Dutch woman, told everyone off in her native language. I may have been misjudging her she could have been saying happy things, but they didn’t sound it. Unfortunately she kept her barrage up all night. One doesn’t go to hospital for a rest. The other lass was too swollen and in too much pain to say anything much at all. By comparison I felt quite well and after yet more tests, I was sent home two days later.

Well, I have had two more trips since then following similar episodes and further tests. Each one making me a little more fearful that I indeed had a problem.
The result of all this tedious activity has been one of those times in life when doors has been unceremoniously slammed in my face and the world has become an unfamiliar place. My days this year will be the beginning of a new and difficult faze.

Have I ever mentioned that because of an accident when I was a toddler I spent some of my childhood in a cervical brace? Well I did until I was sent to boarding school when well away from my parents reach and with no house mistress who would check my behaviour, I threw the brace into the school furnace. No teenage girl wants to be seen wearing something like grandma’s corsets or be teased by her dormitory mates.
I have spent the rest of my life exercising and being reasonably fit but with a constant ‘bad back’ which has become worse during the years. Something I put down to getting older. We put everything down to getting older don’t we?

The tests have shown up a few unexpected bad jokes.

It seems I have a few tumours on my spine and my ability to do many of the things I have spent enjoying doing all my life may be taken from me.
Now, the prospect of having almost all my avenues of enjoyment taken away is a daunting and frightening thing and I can’t claim to have taken the news passively.
My speech and memory have returned, for which I am grateful, although the mental exercises and the crosswords I have attempted have been full of some creative ways of spelling. In fact I managed to make the words I wanted fit the squares rather than trying to think of the right word.

I’m going to chronicle some of this journey with you because it may be interesting and helpful if you or anyone you know is coming face to face with doors that are shutting them into what seems to be an ever shrinking life and world.

Over the years my reading has included many biographies. Reading how others dealt with the highs and lows of their lives has been enlightening, very educational, thought filled and supportive at times. I’m now interested to see how I am going to face them. I think at least at this stage I am able to be subjective enough to be honest with myself and also with the reader.

Teddy saw my frustration as I realized sitting at the computer to write is almost beyond me and so trotted off down to the op-shop and found a small lightweight desk on wheels. He cut it down to size, welded up the bits again at a more comfortable height and brought it in for me to try. Now I am able to roll it around the house and put it in front of me wherever I am sitting. I need to move fairly frequently into a new place to change the position of my muscles to help prevent the painful spasms and also to get to the furthest end of the house from the maestro when he is practising his trumpet….. He can almost play ‘Blue Moon’. This feat is a testament to his tenacity and to the forbearance of our neighbours.

His ingenuity in converting the desk has broken one door down which I thought had been closed and I am immensely grateful. All those years of inventing and making strange things may at last be going to pay off.

While I wait to see if the neurosurgeon can cement up the holes made in my vertebra by the tumours, I will spend time recording all the many letters I have written to you over the years. The local library is interested in keeping them in the section of audio books and of course, I will add some to my blog.

As well as the compression fractures and tumours, I am missing a couple of disks between my vertebrae, which explains some of the pain I’ve had and also explains why I am turning into the shape of a capital C. The rate things are going; I suppose I could become a lower case c.

This year hasn’t started well for a few of our friends and for a couple, it didn’t start at all. Death came suddenly to them and one wonders, is that perhaps kinder?
If like us you are finding it difficult to see a rosy side to life, try and kick some of those damn doors that have slammed in your face open again or maybe find a few new ones and rattle their knobs. We really have no other choice do we?

Instead of sitting aimlessly on our veranda doing very little, it has given me an opportunity to watch the birds in our summer garden and take part in an internet site which helps record birds throughout the country. It records their numbers and their conditions, breeding etc. I have also found another site which records a wide variety of wildlife including frogs, lizards, snakes and wombats and because we live where we do, I can help with spotting eagles, possums and other shy animals that live away from the cities.

It is only a small thing, but it gives me the feeling I am doing something useful.
So there is one piece of self discovery I have made already. I know some people who are happy to play cards, go to clubs, play computer games, do jigsaws etc but unless I am able to find what I think of as useful things to occupy my days I know depression will be looking over my shoulder. I have read that older people make up one of the largest percentages of the depressed persons in our community.

I can no longer bend and have become very proficient at picking things I have dropped up with my toes or failing that, the barbeque tongs.

Walter our spaniel is a wonderful help when it come to cleaning up spills until Teddy can wipe them up a little more hygienically. Walter also bullies me up out of my chair to take my daily walk out to get the post.

I don’t know who invented them but I would like to say a big thankyou to whoever invented remote controls. So if you know the person, please pass my thanks onto them.
I have always heard that these times in life show up your true friends. How right that is and how grateful I am to have a few who have gone through life with me right from school days. Those people whose faces still shine out at me from behind the wrinkles and the fading hair.

Although this year has begun very differently for us, others are facing far worse such as devastating floods, war, killer cold weather and personal losses of every kind. The world goes on in its muddled way and so must we.


As the old song said, we will try and ‘Walk On The Sunny Side Of The Street’.
Cheers for now,
Cynthia
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