Uncomfortably cold

The mornings are cold at the Trash Palace, which discourages throwing off the bed-covers and leaping out to greet the day.  It’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow some good somewhere.

I now realise how comfortable my life has been for the past few weeks, while I have been waited on hand and foot by those reliable members of my support team who volunteered to step up to the convalescent plate.  

  At Somerset Rise Palace the MahJong Queen has all mod. cons:  underfloor heating which means the luxury of bare feet on bathroom and living room tiles; a fluffy doona on the bed plus an electric blanket and in the evenings watching television in the snug comfort of the small TV room where the heater not only warms the room but offers the strong possibility  of a scorched sofa.

At Pig-iron Drive there is no underfloor heating; but there was an electric blanket, a new addition to the guest room. Initially I was puzzled by the strange placement of the on /off switch but I solved the mystery by reading the instruction leaflet.  

MyVeryBestFriendCarmel was not impressed when she was asked to reverse the blanket. 

The box where the heating element connects to the power cord is located at the foot of the blanket and then fitted through a loop to carry it to the head of the blanket.  A very peculiar arrangement which made me think there might have been stuff up in the factory and this was their way of overcoming the problem.   

Underfloor heating, electric blankets and fluffy doonas are unheard of at the Trash Palace.

I need to toughen up.

Returning home

The time has come to leave the cosseted world of the support team and return to the real world at the Trash Palace.

It’s another cold morning in Shepp, typical for this time of the year, when temperatures are low and frost is thick on the ground. I’ve managed to negotiate a civilised departure time and spent last evening packing the convalescent travel necessities in the small, red suitcase.  

MyVeryBestFriendCarmel had suggested she could accompany me on the train to Melbourne and do all the bag carrying; I wasn’t so keen, train travel is OK when you are fit and well but the idea of taking public transport right now doesn’t hold much appeal.  The Godchild has offered to come to Shepp and collect me but it seemed a half-way meeting point would be less travel for everyone.

MVBFC has persuaded her friend Madeleine to come along and provide company on the return journey.  Madeleine is a non-driver and the trip to Seymour is just that, time spent in a car watching the passing scenery, chatting and entertaining us with her family stories.

The lead story today is about her grandson who, at the ripe old age of nine, aspires to be a champion footballer but is currently plagued with injuries and has his own method of dealing with this setback.  His firm belief that watching television in a warm bed, shared with his Grandma, will benefit his injured knee, seems to have some merit; they both fall fast asleep and around 3 am Grandma is shaken awake to be informed that the knee has made an astonishingly rapid recovery and he is now game-fit. Grandma shares his delight briefly, before turning over and going back to sleep.

The other story is about her sister, closer to ninety than nine; a retired school teacher who at this time is revisiting her old schools in the Northern Territory to help out with admin needs on a voluntary basis. J taught for many years in the primary school system both in Darwin and Daly River, and loved the climate, the lifestyle and above all the kids she taught each day. Retirement saw her return south to the regional city where her own children live but any opportunity to return north again is eagerly embraced.

The traffic is light on the highway; anyone with any sense would be at home out of the cold today.  We arrive at the Seymour meeting place and I investigate the Railway Hotel to see if I can wait there.  The interior of the hotel is uninviting and the temperature only slightly higher than outside on the street.

Within minutes The Godchild arrives and luggage is transferred from one car to the other.  MVBFC and Madeleine are gone in the blinking of an eye; Madeleine has to be home by mid-afternoon to babysit a grandchild or two and MVFBFC will relax only when she is finally back at her house.  

This has been a long drive for her; she worries about problems on the road and will be truly stressed until her car rolls into the garage at 42 Pig-iron Drive.

Seymour on Sunday

Seymour , on this end-of-July Sunday, is a bleak, uninviting prospect.  The sky is grey, the main street deserted and the wind would chill you to the bone.

Only one thing postpones our departure – the Godchild and I are both very hungry and on the way into town she had spotted tearooms, with a board outside advertising lunch.  

We stop to investigate.

We walk in and the clincher is the heater with a wood fire blazing merrily away.  There is a table for two right by the fire and in less time than it takes to tell we are seated at this table and poring over the menu.

The menu is basic and in short order we have decided; pumpkin soup for the GC and mushroom risotto for me.

Risotto was not the smartest choice but I persevered  much to the amusement of the GC.  I left a few spoonfuls  in the bowl; there is only so much gluggy rice I can eat before calling it quits.

Once we were out on the freeway the kilometers rolled by with only a stop to refuel.  The trip was uneventful apart from the distressing  sight at the fuel stop, of a handsome set of antlers protruding from beneath the tarp covering the back of a utility.  I couldn’t help but think the remains of a very dead deer was concealed beneath the tarp.

A trophy  for the great white hunters.

Moving on

All good things come to and end; living the good life at Somerset Rise Palace ended today.

After packing the bags and having the general factotum, aka The Mahjong Queen, carry them out to the Royal Red Wagon, I took one last look about for the inevitable possession that missed the pack. 

Well drugged up – legal painkillers, of course - I sit in the passenger seat; the MahJong Queen decked out in her chauffeur's livery starts the motor and we cruise away on the next leg of my recovery phrase.  Today we are off to that regional city best known as Shepp. There, over the next ten days, my every need will be attended to by MyVeryBestFriendCarmel.  Or at least, this is what I am hoping for; this is the plan.

The sky promises rain and a few showers come our way before we arrive in Benalla.  We agree Benalla would be a good place for a coffee stop and to my surprise we don’t turn towards the main street but pull off the highway near a service station.  Parked to one side of the service station is a mobile coffee cart – there goes any idea I might have had about having coffee and cake while sitting at a table.

We talk for a few minutes with the coffee vendor; she took over the running of this coffee cart and found she had a lot to learn about running a mobile café and even more to learn about making cups of coffee that kept customers returning.  After an initial down turn in trade she spent some time and money learning the basics of coffee making and slowly but surely the coffee cart fortunes turned around.

As we arrived on the outskirt of Shepp the MJQ talked about an article she had read about a new food venture in town selling local produce. We also talked about a café which serves Thai food, the one which I always refer to as the Straw Bale.    

MVBFC had a light lunch waiting for us and it was not too long before the MJQ was on her way back to the Capital of the North-east, MVBFC was driving down town to meet friends for afternoon tea and I was sound asleep in bed.  

Jamieson

Today I let the moths out of the purse and treated the MJQ to lunch at Jamieson, a short drive out of town.

It has been the usual cold winter day; as we left town we saw a good number of people in the street who were on their way to or from nearby Mt Buller.   A trip to the snow or a skiing holiday in winter was something I looked forward to each year in the days of long ago.

That was then.

 

Now I prefer to be driving out to a small restaurant for Sunday lunch and I’ll leave the cold, wet and discomfort of the snowfields to younger people.

The restaurant is in an old house and has a space created from opening out two rooms.  There is an open fire and it is cosy and warm; two medium sized groups are already part of the way through their meal.

Mingo's

I finally settled on a Thai green curry fish dish with rice.  There was a problem.  No rice.  Would I be happy with pasta instead?  No.  I want rice.  I am petulant and three years old, stamping my tiny foot in a rage.  The chef is taken aback. 

No, the chef is not so much taken aback but irked that I am sticking to my guns.  Further tossing around of alternatives reveals the rice problem is one the chef is entirely responsible for, he neglected to pre-cook enough rice.

Can I wait while he cooks some rice?  Of course I can – after all I have been the one doing the foot stamping so the least I can do is wait while he cooks the rice.  The heat from the flaming gas jets in the kitchen would fire a rocket to the moon; heating the rice water will be easy and cooking rice does not take too long.

Open fire - well screened.

It is worth the wait, the dish is very good.  We finish our meal and our wine, decline coffee and after a short chat with Mingo the chef, who hails from the Canary Islands, we climb into the Royal Red Wagon and retrace our outward journey.

Heading out of the City

Leaving New Street Day has arrived; the MahJong Queen arrived this morning and carried my belongings out to the Royal Red Wagon and away we went. 

Home first, to collect a few necessary items to see me through my country convalescence, off to the bakers in Swan Street for some decent bread and then we are away.

Well, almost.

Along the way there is a stop at Brand Mart, or whatever it is called, one of those enormous buildings that are devoted to selling, supposedly at lower prices, all those things you really do not need and one or two that might be useful.  It is a visit to Consumer Central, quite a culture shock for some-one whose most recent venture has been to the familiar territory of the local corner shopping centre and  then only for coffee and cake.

The MJQ is collecting two very large boxes of Crabtree and Evelyn gifts which will be part of the Christmas parcels for the organisation for which she volunteers. 

Like this, but not exactly the same contents....

While she attends to this transaction I wander about the nearby shops; there are long pants that draw my attention but I absolutely refuse to even lift the hanger off the rack.  I don’t feel now is the right time for me to be even considering new clothes, let alone actually buying them.  Some time later maybe.

I find the only shop selling electric throws; there are two colour choices, one a shocking purple and the other an odd silver and grey combination.  The MJQ pours a bucket of cold water on my idea of buying one; she thinks the colours are hideous.  I sigh and walk on, thinking how cold my place will be when I get back to it; one of these blankets would be really useful.

We grab a bite to eat at an unremarkable café nearby; the food is ordinary at best.  

There are no stops on the way to Somerset Rise Palace, apart from the necessary one to fill the Royal Red Wagon with fuel.

Night falls early at this time of the year and driving three hours in the dark, with the prospect of rain, is no fun.

Golden opportunity

The Godchild came to visit today and this presented me with the golden opportunity to deliver the cards and chocolates to the hospital and allow me the great feeling of having accomplished another task.

The Godchild arrives with The Boy; he sits in the back, eyes glued to the mobile phone screen. It is colder today and the sky has a dull, even grey cover of cloud with sporadic spatters of rain on the windscreen.

We do not waste time when we arrive at the hospital; we pile out of the car and take the lift up to the ground floor, then down the concourse to the other lifts which to take us up to Ward Six. The Boy demonstrates his not inconsiderable skills regarding hand hygiene when we step out on the sixth floor; he puts me to shame, when I was a patient I hardly ever used it, in spite of the fact it is right in front of the lifts and has a big sign asking all visitors to use it.  However I am a visitor today, so I comply.

The nurse at the station takes the parcel and envelopes and assures me the card for Day Surgery will be forwarded through the internal mail system. 

Job done.

The Godchild, The Boy and I allow ourselves a treat to celebrate Mission Accomplished.  We take a detour to my café of choice in Bridge Road and I settle down to a chip-eating contest with The Boy.  He really puts my through my paces.

 What bad mannered, greedy pigs we are, as we race to the last chip in the dish  

Clean clothes and other important chores

New Street does not offer a laundry service to respite residents; this means I have to rely on one of the Support Team to escort me to a nearby laundrette where I can load the clothes into a machine, have the person in charge of the laundrette put the washed clothes through a dryer, fold them and have them waiting for me later in the day.  

La Madeleine came over to New Street to chauffeur me around yesterday and do the heavy haulage; carry the heavy items like the bag of laundry.  We left the laundry tossing around in the wash cycle, crossed the road to Andy’s and had a coffee. Something was seriously wrong with the coffee; it was definitely not up to the standard I am accustomed to drinking at Andy’s.  I did not complain as I have a suspicion the fault lay, not with the coffee, but with me.

Coffee drinking disappointment behind me, we drove to the nearest big shopping centre where I searched for suitable Thank You cards.  I want to deliver these to the hospital before I leave the city for my country convalescence; if I don’t do it now it will never happen.

It was a time consuming exercise; I only needed two cards. I looked at what seems to be every damned card in the shop which might serve as a Thank You card and quite a few that would not serve as Thank You cards but which were wonderfully illustrated and had quirky and amusing captions.

 Eventually I made a decision and away we went, back to the laundry where I made the irritating discovery that the clothes drying had been completely overlooked. 

I was not a happy little Vegemite.  I had to remind myself that worse things have happened at sea and in the larger scheme of things in My New Life, damp clothes are a mere bagatelle.  However it meant going back to collect them today and I was lucky Neighbour Heather came to the rescue.

She was happy to collect the laundry but not enthusiastic when I requested trip to the card shop.  I had considered the cards again last night and changed my mind about one.  It did not reflect accurately enough what I wanted to say.  I stuck to my guns and along the way to the shopping centre discovered NH had played tennis this morning and hadn’t had time for lunch.

We found a café still serving lunch and she ate up and brightened up.

Being on my Support Team can be very demanding.

Xtended departure time

At last!  Departure day.

Pearlie Shirley has volunteered to drive me over to New Street.  There are certain conditions attached: I am not to offer unsolicited advice on the best route to take. I will have to remind myself to keep my mouth firmly shut; a large strip of adhesive tape across my mouth might be the best solution.

Pearlie Shirley has warned me the process of leaving would be a lengthy one and she was right.

If I thought it was a simple matter of dressing, packing my bag and leaving I was making a serious error.  There is a long and complicated process around medications; those I had brought with me, those which had been prescribed since my arrival and those which fell into another mysterious in-house category.  The latter group were the sticking point; I was not to leave the hospital with any of these in my possession.

After much questioning, checking the drug drawer and reviewing the medications packed in my take-home baggage, the pharmacist and the nurse in charge of getting me out the door agree and it only remains to pick up more medication at the pharmacy.

Finally we take the lift to the car park and I have my first close encounter with the real world of a busy car park and my total inability to speed up in the face of imminent contact with a moving vehicle.  I find this experience very unnerving.

The next breathtaking experience is the speed with which Pearlie Shirley exits the car park.  It’s as well I have the metaphorical tape over my mouth.  This is the fastest I have moved in a whole week and it seems like the speed of light.

PS gives me a rundown on the route she intends to take.  I smile and nod. Away we go; as the kilometres go by I recognise a few landmarks.  We approach the Eastern Freeway, the tape slips and I make a suggestion about turning here.   I am quickly reminded of my role, which is to keep my mouth firmly shut.

I keep it firmly shut as a corner passes by and we miss the turn.  I make the tentative suggestion that I may be able to get us back on the right track.  This offer of help is accepted and soon we are back on track. 

Twenty minutes later we are at New Street; PS is not altogether impressed with my temporary abode but I am familiar with it and it will be a suitable place to spend the next seven days.

Undoable

Undoable: an awkward looking word. 

A word which, if given a good shaking or a vigorous pummelling, might possibly rearrange itself into something less awkward and clumsy-looking.

Awkward and clumsy is also a fitting description of how I looked and felt over the past two days when the list of apparently undoable activities was a lengthy one.

 However on the fourth day things are on the improve.  Many of those basic, everyday undertakings which were in the undoable category yesterday, are now doable.  Sure, there are limitations but the walrus roll and flounder to get out of bed  has given way to the wriggle and shuffle and the oh-so-smart idea of lowering of the bed, which means reaching the floor and slowly standing is now a far easier proposition. Why didn’t some-one tell me about this?

Struggling into the antique dressing gown, which has absolutely no stretch or give, is no longer an insurmountable problem and practise means the process is now streamlined.  All the attachments which had to be trailed around have been removed and each meal is now taken sitting out in the chair. 

Things are definitely looking up in the daily activities department. 

Coughing is no longer the difficult, painful process it was and a crafty plan has been devised to beat the machine that reveals how a patient’s lung capacity is not quite up to the desired reading.  The plans greatest craftiness lies in its simplicity; when the machine arrives at the bedside start breathing deeply and by the time the machine is hooked up the reading will be much higher.

Smart eh?

Neighbour Heather arrives unexpectedly in the early afternoon during the after-lunch rest time.  I am both surprised and impressed as due to past circumstances hospital visiting, especially to an oncology ward, is not high on her preferred activity list. 

I show off my improved getting-out-of-bed skills and move around to sit in the chair; we chat about this and that and she leaves two books for me to read. I came prepared with an easy-to-read book but I’ve found that my ability to concentrate on a one page magazine article is quite beyond me.  I will keep the books and  take them with me on my convalescence.

As NH leaves we walk down to take in the view from the small visitor/patient lounge area.  The hospital was built on a site near the top of a hill and windows in this area overlook the main street of the shopping centre, the stretches of suburbia beyond and off to the far distance, where the blue outline of the Yarra Ranges can be seen.

 I walk with my first visitor through the ward doors for the first time, all the way to the elevators; well outside the comfort zone of the ward. 

Today the elevators. Tomorrow? Maybe the café downstairs.