1. Tony/Dad/Jen and the family: As I said on Sunday, Jen has come to terms with Tony's death. I mean, you can't ignore it, and no amount of tears and swear words will bring him back. Doesn't mean she don't miss him, we all do, but there is a stack of things to do. Starting with clearing out what of his possessions she does not want to keep. Of course there are reminders of him all over the house, from packs of rolling tobacco, his glasses, his medicines, photographs and on and on and on. Cath has been helping, and Jools goes round each evening. Jools is still working, she says it is best to work through it. She is pragmatic about it, so, has told people at work so they know things may not seem to be as normal.
Jen is waiting to hear from the coroner as to the cause of death and then for the body to be released and only then can the funeral be arranged and the certificate be issued and finally the death be registered. She has her best friend from Bolton coming down on Friday, so Jen is going to meet her off the train in London. A day out for her and John, who lost his wife last year. It has been that kind of year, really.
2. Mum is much better. For a while she was disconnected from all machines, but as you will see from below, she now has a new box of electronic tricks to help with her healing process by gathering the fluid that should not be in her body. I mean it is easy to forget that she had such a major operation, and recovery is so fragile. But the doctors and nurses will not commit to a timeframe of how long she is going to be in hospital. How long is a piece of string was the only straight answer I got. All depends on how well she heals, the work needed to be done at her home and whether she does the exercises she is told she needs to. And then in the long term is her life choices, she changes. Or doesn't. If she doesn't she loses her son, some of her friends and will not be able to have any more medical care like she has just had.
3. And finally, allergies. Despite having couple of close shaves with sneezing fits and stuff, but as I am two months into my allergy season and not to have suffered a poor nights sleep, so poor it needs me to take a day off. There is no real reason for this, I can't say I have been more careful with shower gel and deodorant that in previous years, but I have been largely free of anything resembling an allergy attack. And long may that continue of course. And on top of that, my egg intolerance is over too. Might be connected one might think, only the allergy attacks have been going on for at least six years, and the intolerance only began two years ago. But all in all, pretty positive stuff.
And so onto the great Mum chase.
I knew, and said to Mum that this is what would happen, that she would get 5 minutes notice that the ambulance would be waiting and she would be away back to James Paget. And as I never got an answer from the early morning shit at Papworth, I had given up on calling until the afternoon shift began after midday, which meant that if I did that, I would not get to the hospital until three or so. Monday, I did not call the hospital at all, just set off for the hospital in the hope that she would still be there. If not she would be well enough to be moved. So good news either way, really.
I go for another walk to Fisher Row and along Oulton Dyke. It was another glorious morning, all clear blue skies and the promise of many fallen leaves after the wind the night before. So I park at the church and make my way down the lane to the edge of the marshes, checking my time to ensure I arrive at the foot crossing at the same time as the train to Norwich passed by. Would it be a pair of 37s?
In a word, no. I could hear the sound of overworked DMU engines long before I saw the 156 round the bend under the bridge with carried Prospect Road over the line.
I walk on, seeing more dragonflies and butterflies, even on a breezy day. I meet a couple of people, pass the time of day with them, and remark how lucky we were to be out on a day like this.
At the other crossing, also carefully times, I wait for the service from Norwich, and as two weeks before, I was rewarded with a single car 153 rattling along which would have been uncomfortable for any passengers on board.
THere is always another church or two, and Simon had recommended another handful in the Diss area that I should visit. So I set off at eleven once again, sighing as I drove out through Somerleyton to St Olaves before picking up our old friend, the 143, then plodding along behind a series of truck and tractors until I reach Diss, and then a few miles further along I turn off and drive out towards Redgrave.
Redgrave church could be seen as the lane meandered through the farmland and fields. I knew we would get there, at some point. The church stood on a slight rise, about ten feet above the level of the lane which lazily passed by. Inside the churchyard were two cars which partly spoiled the view of the church, but once inside I saw that there was a stage either being built or taken down, and there were two chaps doing the work. After a bad experience in deepest Suffolk a couple of years back under similar circumstances, but this was to be different. The two chaps were wardens, or guardians under the ownership of the CCT, and one of them was very keen to point out to me the points of interest of the church. Turns out we have a mutual friend, John Vigar, so we swapped news, then when I said I live in Kent, the other gentleman was from Shepherdswell, and so we discussed the church there and at Waldershare.
But time was pressing, and I was off to see another nearby church which I was told was good if you liked the unusual. Burgate was again at the edge of the village, and I saw it about half a mile off. Outside had been largely rendered, so making any blocked doors of arches hard to see. And inside it had the most glorious roof, the same width even into the chancel, with what looked like carved medallions where the rood would once have been. There was a war memorial with candle holders made out of old shell casing, and various nooks and crannies around the walls, with figures making it seem higher than it probably was.As ever, time had beaten me, so I left after signing the visitor's book and got back on the 143 and carried on towards Bury. I stopped at Tesco for some lunch and to get change for the parking at the hospital. That there is such a thing is effectively a tax on the sick and their families. Two pounds fifty gets you a couple of hours no matter how little your actual stay is, which was to become an issue this day. As again there were parking spaces, driving round and round until there was a tricky space in which I could squeeze the Corsa into. I get the ticket, put it in the car and walk to the private building, up the stairs and along the corridor to room 10.
It was empty, the bed bare of bedding and the floor washed. Either Mum had transferred or had taken a turn for the very worse. I go to the nurse station, and they check their notes, yes she left at half two, some half an hour ago, meaning I had passed her on the Cambridge by-pass I suppose. There was nothing to stay for, so I say thanks and go back to the car for the drive home.
Much the same as before, I make good time to get past Cambridge, then to Newmarket and to Bury. From then on it is always a lottery as to whether you could drive like the wind for an hour or get stuck behind tractors and truck thus more than doubling the journey time. The night before was better, as half of it was undertaken as it was getting dark, and farmers would be at their tables having ham and eggs or something. Tuesday was not a day like that, lots of tractors about in the late afternoon light, going hither and thither. The trip took two and a half hour in all, getting back just before six.
I have time to have a coffee and clear up the last of the custard creams before driving over to Gorleston to see Mum and give her the dressing gowns I had washed the night before. I find her on ward 2, connected to a box that would speed up her recovery, but she was disoriented, and unsteady on her feet. She is down, really quite down indeed. Although she is well on the road to recovery. I think it is having a box plumbed back in, after thinking she was past all of that. But for me it has been a long day, six hours driving, then to Gorleston, and I have yet to eat, so I promise a long stay in tomorrow, saying I will tell her friends that she is close to home and they can visit her, and I will come in the evening, as I had a day of yet more cleaning planned, the final parts before I can bid the old family home goodbye.
I call into Fir Lane chippy for Skate and Chips, and freshly cooked they were too, so when I got home and had made a brew, the battler on the skate was still crispy. And so much of it. So many chips. I tried but could not eat them all. I was beaten.
For the rest of the evening I sat in the armchair, all puffed out listening to the football on the radio. More European games. So ended yet another day, but I had come to the conclusion that one more day and I would go back to Chez Jelltex.
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