Alternate world...

... for Knots in the String.

I’m in my alternate world – as though I’ve slid through Alice’s looking-glass. Gosh, with the help of meds, I might even have met a white rabbit and pink flamingos. Who knows?

Things happen differently here. Their routine is not my routine. If I’m asleep, I’m woken to have obs taken. If I’m awake, I’m asked if I need pain relief because I should be sleeping, but it’s all fine; it comes under the umbrella of Care and I appreciate it beyond measure, I can tell you!

However, there is frustration too. I’ve had abdominal surgery (the poor Princess of Wales – so much sympathy, especially as she has a worse complication), so movement is difficult, and bending is a no-no. Gone is the upright ballet position. Thus, as the Fates would have it, I’m constantly dropping my glasses, my bed controls, my ‘everything-else’ call controls. I drop my Kindle, my phone and my tissues.

Mainly because the space for my possessions is rather small and my ability to lean over is limited. And of course, my grasp isn’t strong just now.

But I’ve moved ahead from being ineffably frail and flat on my back on Tuesday, with a quantum leap to walking with a walker, showering myself, eating a little. Tiny things to anyone else but to me a giant leap for mankind.

Following on, I had to walk unaided and with the physio alongside. I had to climb stairs.

They felt like the height of the Eiffel Tower , stretching to infinity and when I stared up at them, I looked at the statue of Mary and muttered quietly: ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God!’ I’m not Catholic, not at all religious, but maybe She heard me because I made it up and back.

I blow into a nifty Lotto ball apparatus five times a day, aiming to get all three balls (lovely blues the colour of the ocean – they knew I was coming) in the air, which I do and hold them there, hovering. This is to prevent pneumonia (Thank the stars for swimming - I suspect it might have enlarged my breathing capacity over the years).

I wear snazzy white compression stockings and my own PJ’s – better than a hospital gown, and I have a pure silk covered pillow to sleep on, a gift from my daughter. I shower with Chanel 5 soap and spray Chanel 5 perfume (gifts from my husband) generously.

I’ve received sweet videos from a little ballerina, dressed in her ballet gear and with the crown I made for her. Another video with a message from my adored grandson.

Today, as I gaze outside, it is brightly blue. Our mountain, Kunyani-Mount Wellington stands bold and intimidating above the rather gracious roofs of the homes of Mount Stuart. They stand elegant in the last amber and garnet of autumn. My son, a carpenter when he’s not being a farmer, is working just up the hill and there’s a comfort in that.

I am, as any writer would say, a Work in Progress. And progress means moving forward, being positive. I’m aiming for that first walk with the Terrier and husband.

It’s enough…

(If you wonder why the Terrier is not off-lead, its because there are herds of Angus cattle on one side of the road and mobs of Merino ewes and wethers on the other. Free run domestic dogs are not appreciated by the farmers.)

(My hooch pooch…)

Post script:

Thank you to all of the friends I’ve made through Substack, to my ballet friends and my coastals. For your words which drove courage through my veins. I’ve written everything you’ve said in my journal because I want it to be for posterity, for my family to read in the future and to see two things:

Firstly: the power of kindness and support.

And secondly: that there can be an affirmative side to social media.

Music? After my mammoth climb yesterday, it has to be…

… a song about the le Tour Eiffel…