a sunny hospital corridor…

I had no idea what to expect at yesterday’s hospital appointment. 

I mean, they had already written me off, hadn’t they? Too old, too frail, not fit enough for surgery…

All of my misgivings magically vanished the minute the doctor welcomed me into his office. He was a short, cheerful man, reminding me of a cheeky schoolboy. He explained that he had been on duty when I had been admitted to the hospital last year, after my first collapse. And when he came across my name recently with all of my latest problems, he wondered why my spinal problem hadn’t been treated. 

He proceeded to check the strength in my legs and my reflexes. He asked a million questions about my health, including the aneurysm in my head. I wanted to ask questions myself, mainly about the other aneurysms, but he made it clear that he wanted to help with the spinal problems, as there was no way I could regain all my strength until my spine healed. 

He was kind and helpful, and determined to sort me out, organising an appointment with the Pain Clinic. Something that should have happened last year. 

Although I was by now elated, I wouldn’t be able to leave without asking the one question I desperately needed answered. So, I crossed my fingers and asked. “How long do I have before the aneurysms explode?”

He smiled, and it was a smile I will remember for a long time. I didn’t have a clue what kind of smile it was. Was it one of those sad smiles, usually reserved for bad news?

“Actually, I don’t foresee that happening in your lifetime…”

He went on to explain that the aneurysms were slow-growing, and providing I didn’t exert myself unduly, they would not misbehave.

I could have kissed him, but had to make do with one of the best handshakes ever…

***

Trouble is, I am having trouble thinking properly today.

From a head full of sad, insurmountable problems, to one filled with possible joy and happiness, I am dizzy with possibilities…

For several weeks now, I have not been able to galvanise myself to do anything much.

For some reason, my enthusiasm and also my duty of care has been missing. My brain has been trying to opt out of any enthusiasm for anything, and I have hated every minute. This has been a strange state to find myself in, as I can usually manage to find just enough to get jobs done.

But… I found myself getting everything ready for a repotting session. The weather was good, and I wasn’t needed for anything, so I seemed to be operating in automatic mode as I chose the bonsai that seemed to want my help the most.

This could have been an awkward moment as there are almost twenty to choose from.

For some reason, I chose the Japanese Quince. The one had been unceremoniously dumped in a large flower pot and was currently sharing it with a huge clump of grass.

The wood pigeons had left a few flower buds alone, and it was bravely showing some slightly tattered scarlet flowers. Half an hour later, it was as if I hadn’t been among the missing, as I waded through the grass and soil to find the precious roots. Just like old times, I was soon up to my elbows in potting soil, as happy as Larry.

My mind was deliciously empty as I worked, nothing to think or worry about, and it felt wonderful. The Japanese Quince looked happier when I had finished too…

Almost without thinking, I tackled one I didn’t recognise, and started looking at the apple tree. This was very large and hadn’t been out of its pot for years. Probably the reason it hadn’t flowered this year. Tackling a bonsai this big was a challenge, but by now I was on a mission and set to it. I decided on a partial repot, removing 50% of the old soil and replacing it with new soil.

At this point, I realised I was pushing my luck, my energy levels were fading fast. But I felt rather pleased I had done something. Maybe now I had broken the ice, I could gradually make all the others happy too…

I desperately needed this time out, as I haven’t been looking forward to the hospital appointment on Wednesday. I nearly cancelled it, as the air of doom was beginning to choke me. But I have questions that must be answered, so whether they like it or not, I’m going…

I have never liked waiting, so faced with yet another wait, I am more confused than ever. 

Half of me would love to have a good think, to sort out the muddle in my head. And to be honest, I have tried to think it out.

But whatever is going on inside my head, it is just not conducive to any constructive thought.

So, I gave up trying to think. It has been peaceful, and I have tried to ignore the little nag that was quietly growing.

Then, I received a copy of the consultant’s report, and reading it has blown any chance of helpful thoughts out of the window.

He carefully listed all the problems in my head, and they seemed horrendous when seen in black and white. Then, right at the bottom, he adds that due to my age and frailty, he wouldn’t recommend surgery. This is obviously despite the possibility that what was going on in my head was keeping me weak and fragile, and ruining any chance of me being fit and strong for the other aneurysms.

He did mention his meeting with the other consultant, the one I saw about the aneurysms in my abdomen, and I can only imagine that they had discussed all the possibilities.

To be honest, my first thoughts were negative, ranging from playing with the traffic to a nice quiet overdose. Of course, these were fleeting thoughts, I am much too stubborn for any of that.

And I will skim over the next load of thoughts, suffice to say that I dropped down the depression tube rather fast. 

This didn’t last long either, and I seem to be in limbo at the moment. I have wondered about my appointment next week. 

Should I cancel it, admit defeat, and finally give in?

Not on your nelly. I have a multitude of questions, not that I am hoping for a miracle, but a small one would be nice…

Swan Song: Why I thought I wrote it…

I heard this title somewhere, a long time ago, and it stuck in my mind. I was thinking it would be a good title for the new outing of my Detective David Snow.

So I went ahead and started the outline for Swan Song. I even made a working cover.

The expression Swan Song usually means someone’s last effort, or a final act before death, or retirement.

This could be Snow’s last opus, and I didn’t know this at the time, but it could be mine too.

There is an ancient Greek legend about a certain breed of swan that sings the most beautiful song as it dies.

I did wonder if there was any truth to this legend, for all of the swans I knew about were mute.

When I researched this, I discovered there is a swan that can sing. It’s called a Whooper swan.

The more I worked on this story, the more uneasy I felt. Was it right to possibly kill off my favourite character? And then my thoughts turned to me. I was still struggling to regain my strength and rejoin the human race, but should I be thinking that my end could be near?

The plot of this story, and my own, seemed to be merging. It is becoming harder to see where either of us is going.

So much has happened since I started this post, and I still don’t know what’s going on. 

When I realised that something serious was occurring, I began to panic. Should I be working on all those unfinished plans, all those ideas that were still in the pipeline? Just in case something happens to my future? 

I actually believed this idea for a while, and spent a lot of time frantically attacking my scribbled notes and research material. This was before Spring decided to turn up after all, and I went outside. Walking slowly, I visited my bonsai trees and some of the shrubs in the garden. I thought this would depress me, for so much had been neglected, but it didn’t. 

I found my missing joy in all those developing buds as everything began to wake up. 

But the best part was what happened when I came back inside. 

All that panic had gone, and I relaxed for the first time in months.

I do still have those sad moments, when I really see what could happen to me, but they are fleeting and not a problem. I look out of my office window and remember that Nature doesn’t give in or give up, and I feel stronger… 

I didn’t think my life could get any worse, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Since I collapsed, semi-paralysed last March, I have often wondered why that happened and why I had suddenly become so weak. Despite my colourful medical history, I have always managed to bounce back from some of the worst health conditions. I haven’t really done the weak and helpless bit, so you can imagine my frustration.

During the last twelve months, I have fought long and hard to regain some strength and have almost achieved what seemed impossible at the time. Almost, but not quite there yet, as the weakness is still there, hiding in plain sight. I am the only one who knows how much I have struggled to keep it hidden.

So, finding out about the aortic aneurysm was a shock, and when they stated that I am just not fit enough for surgery made it so much worse. But little did I know there was more to come. Two weeks ago, I had an MRI on my head to find out why I have been having such awful headaches, earache, and vision problems. When time went by, and I didn’t hear anything, I assumed they hadn’t found anything, and that was the end of that.

So when I received a letter from the hospital at the weekend, with details of another aneurysm in my brain, my world literally imploded. It was only when I researched this kind of aneurysm that I discovered this had probably been the cause of all my weakness and fatigue of the past year, and probably the reason for the aortic aneurysm too. 

Somehow, it would seem that they need to solve one problem to help sort out the other. So, I am now in the care of the Neurology department at the hospital and awaiting news of appointments and treatments. Time is not on my side, but I hope it changes its mind and helps out when and where it can. 

When all this was happening, I reached the very bottom of my endurance. Quite frankly, I accepted that I was going to die eventually, and although this was a very sad scenario, I accepted it. But now, I know there could be a way to fix me; I am so much more cheerful. 

Hope has given me back my will to live, and I will be hanging on to that with everything I have… 

When I was told that I wasn’t fit enough for surgery, I didn’t know what to think. When I got over the shock, my first thought was, I can get fit, no problem. I just have to exercise more. 

I ended up fretting about this so much that the more I searched for a way to do this, the more hopeless it seemed to get. With every new routine that I tried, the harder it became, and somewhere along the line, I stopped looking.

One of the reasons for this was the loss of a much-loved family member last year, who was found to have the same problem. He died on the operating table.

Now, I am 82 and have been mostly unfit for years. It is possible that no matter how hard I try, however fit I manage to become, I am likely to die on the operating table too.

Having thought long and hard about this, I have decided to do my best, slowly and carefully, and see what happens. I may never be fit enough, but I must come to terms with this. No one can live forever, but I am not going to risk what life I may have left worrying about everything.

I am going to enjoy whatever time I have left…

Best wishes… Jaye 💖💖