Being unable to sell my house and get a bungalow for my mum’s convenience, I decided to extend into my already tiny garden, incorporating a shower loo, so that mum could spend her days on one level. The garden was lovely and now for three months it has been a building site. the work was delayed on account of the extreme weather over the Christmas period, but now the extension is beginning to take shape.
11th Feb 2011
It’s 1.45 and Mother is on the rampage again. She woke me an hour ago and in the space of 15 minutes had me up four times with her messing about. Now I can’t get back to sleep and she is muttering away in that awful deep voice that she conjures up in the night.
This current situation had been going on now for over two weeks. Occasionally she is shattered and will sleep most of the night, but I am so used to her waking me up that I wake up naturally and then have to go and check on her.
I am particularly alert at the moment, as she fell over last evening and hurt her leg, so she is walking worse than ever and I am frightened she may fall again and do herself a serious injury.
Before going to bed I let her soak in a warm bath, thinking it would help ease the sore joint and it was only when she took her clothes off did I realise that she had badly bruised and cut her arm as she put it out to save herself as she fell. I had been dozing on the settee on account of last night’s lack of sleep due to her pacing across the landing incessantly. Just as I was dozing off she would leap up and head for the kitchen. As it is in disarray at the moment, with boxes all over the place on account of have the improvements done (for her benefit). I didn’t want her setting foot in there in case she collided with something. “What are you looking for?”
“The toilet!”
“There is no toilet in the kitchen, you are going the wrong way. It is upstairs.”
“So I can’t go to the toilet then?”
“It is upstairs, you are going the wrong way.” The conversation continues in the same way until I had to get up and take her to the toilet – and so it continued for about an hour. Finally I was allowed my 40 winks then suddenly I roused to find her off to the kitchen again. “What do you want now?”
“The toilet.”
“I keep telling you, the toilet isn’t through there, it’s upstairs.” Still she takes no notice and heads for the kitchen. Still dozy I leap up to get her, by this time she is a yard into the kitchen as I take her arm. “Now look – where is the toilet in here? There isn’t any and never has been, but soon there will be one in this direction.” I try and lead her out, but she turns violently and pulls away from my grip – only to end up on the floor, no doubt blaming me as she always does, but to any onlooker it would be obvious why she fell.
I have to get her to her feet, which further exacerbates my bad back, caused by Sunday’s performance. I see she is limping more than usual and check out her leg. I can see no visible sign of damage apart from a few scratches, but I guess it will soon become bruised. I then decide on the soothing bath. What a joke that turned out to be. When she got undressed I discovered a great bruise on her arm and a couple of gashes where she must have banged herself as she put out her arm to save herself. I suppose it could have been worse, as last time she broke it!
I tucked her up in bed around 11pm and I retired around ten to midnight, but couldn’t sleep at first as I was wondering it my dishwasher would be delivered between 6am and 8am as promised. I guess I dropped off before 12.15am only to be wakened by mother half an hour later – and that was only the beginning of a night of no further sleep whatsoever. She paced around constantly until in the end I decided to film her, as it was apparent that it was pointless me returning to bed. I ran the batteries down in my camera and while I was trying to get a bit of charge back in them I went on Facebook and also sent a few emails. I made a few audio recordings as even when she was in bed she was talking incessantly in that deep masculine voice. Then the pacing started once again. I got dressed around 4 am.
Though I hold the late diagnosis of her urine infection partly to blame (how can it take 10 days to get a result?), she had been on antibiotics for over a week now, so therefore feel that this is the dementia moving on to a different stage.
My dishwasher arrived at 6.30am – marvellous – so now it is adorning the sitting room, as the kitchen still isn’t finished.
I will have mentioned this before, but it is still foremost in my mind; four years ago, soon after Big Ben struck in 2007, Paul suddenly collapsed and died. Consequently this is – and always will be, the worst time of year for me. I struggled through Christmas Day, but wanted to stick my head in the sand over this 24-hour period and had declined an invitation to dinner. My friends Dot and Pete usually drop in after taking Dot’s stepmother to Accrington, but this year they were spending it with Pete’s brother in Scotland. Fortunate as it happened, as Mum had an appointment at the hospital to see the vascular surgeon at 4.20 – and it could take up to three hours, as she would need a pre-op assessment and scan.
At 9am I received a call from the department, asking if I could take Mum for an earlier appointment at 1pm, as the scanning department would probably be closing early for the holiday. ‘Yeah – right!’ – and they didn’t understand why they had given a new patient an appointment so late, anyway.
I was glad of the earlier appointment, as it took me further away from midnight where I had spent those awful hours four years earlier. We made our way to a totally empty waiting room, which didn’t fill me with confidence. I sat there listening o the staff wishing each other a happy new year and all the best and all the other greetings heralding in the coming year and the parting of the old one. ‘Please, will someone get me out of here!’ Eventually a tall slim nurse strode towards us and I realised it was Paul’s relative – another reminder of his funeral. She took the notes through to the consulting room, but then returned to tell us, that having read the notes, the earlier appointment hadn’t been necessary, as Mum would not be having the scan etc. She apologised profusely and offered to make us a cuppa, as the vascular surgeon wasn’t yet due in.
Fortunately the surgeon did arrive early and we only waited about an hour. Given my mum’s age, he didn’t think the surgery was a good idea and I concurred, but said my concern was due to the GP telling me that if the aortic artery ruptured, an internal bleed would be very painful. He agreed with this, but said if it just leaked, then medication could be given for the pain, but if it did rupture, then it would be over very quickly. However, he was obliged to tell me that this condition usually ran in families and there is a one in four chance of me having the same condition. As I was 65 he asked if I wanted a scan. Deja vu! Some 12 years earlier when I had my dad at the hospital regarding his many blood tests, it was discovered he had the genetic condition, alpha thalassaemia and after a subsequent blood test, it was discovered I carried the disorder too. At the time, the surgeon said it was in no way dangerous, unlike beta thalassaemia, and would only mean we could be (and often were) inappropriately prescribed iron supplements, which had always made Dad and me unwell.
Later, when I was to research the condition on the Internet, I discovered that in fact it results in less oxygen to the brain. As Dad was suffering from dementia I felt really depressed regarding my old age and especially now that Mother has a mixture of dementia and Alzheimer’s, so my future really looks bleak. Apart from that, my research told me that I could also have passed the gene to my sons and if they do have it, then so could their children. (Now the nasty bit) …
What is alpha thalassemia?
Thalassemia is an inherited disorder that affects the production of normal hemoglobin (a type of protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen to the tissues of the body). Thalassemia includes a number of different forms of anemia. The severity and type of anemia depends upon the number of genes that are affected.
Alpha thalassaemia
The alpha chain is produced by four genes and the severity of the condition depends on how many of those genes have been mutated.
If all four genes are mutated, the result will be the most severe form of alpha thalassaemia, known as alpha thalassaemia major. Infants with this condition are unable to produce normal haemoglobin and are unlikely to survive pregnancy. There have been some cases of unborn babies being treated with blood transfusions while still in the womb, but this type of treatment has a low success rate.
(Excerpt from NHS Choices).
Neither of my sons has taken the test!
Having told the vascular surgeon that I would like the scan to ascertain whether I have an aortic aneurysm or not, I drove away from the hospital wondering whether, in fact, I should. Would it affect my holiday insurance (it is already loaded on account of my cancer) in the unlikely event of me getting out to Hong Kong next year – or any holiday, for that matter? What would happen to my mum if I had to go into hospital? Wouldn’t I just be better popping of quickly without knowing about it? So many ifs and buts!
I tried to do some retail therapy on the way home from the hospital, but everywhere was gridlocked and I only got as far as Matalan where I found nothing to buy in the short time I could allow myself in the store, with Mum waiting in the car. I found a purple hat at £2.50, which I quite liked, but when I saw the queue I returned it to its rack.
Feeling really depressed we continued home and I looked in the freezer for something for dinner, but found nothing other than a breast of frozen goose that I had bought for Christmas – before Adrienne had invited Mum and me to hers, some pork sausages, some vegetarian sausages, some ice cream, some mussels (which Mum won’t eat), two packs of salmon, but although I could have quickly defrosted them, I didn’t feel like peeling vegetables to make a meal. Otherwise there was some bread and a large pack of ice cubes! No frozen dinners for Mum – so clearly I hadn’t been concentrating on my last visit to Iceland!
I was starving, having had an early lunch of a pack of crisps and four Tuc crackers. My mum was only slightly better off with having a cheese sandwich and a mince pie! Now feeling really down, living every moment of the run up to that New Year four years earlier – ‘what if – what if?’
I defrosted a couple of sausages for Mum and did a fried egg for both of us. Mum had bread to dunk in the yolk and as I was still peckish I had a chunk of cheese.
Now heavily into the Crabbies Mac I was becoming more and more maudlin. Everything I watched on TV had a New Year’s party in full swing, till at 10.30 I could take no more and got Mum and me ready for bed. I had the common sense to take the hands free phone with me – on the off chance that I got a midnight call, totally forgetting that my mum, now sleeping in the small bedroom where the computer is, can also be disturbed by the phone.
Just after midnight the phone rang – Stewart with his best wishes and telling me they were watching the fireworks at Edinburgh castle, which they could see from Isabella’s bedroom. When he hung up I had to go and get mum back to bed and no sooner had my head hit the pillow than the phone rang again, ‘hello, hello’, but nobody answering. Thinking it was a wrong number I stayed silent for a few minutes hoping to receive an apology from the caller, but none came. The racket continued and I realised I recognised those voices – they belonged to the revellers at Craig and Tony’s dinner party – that meant (probably) it was Adrienne phoning me. ‘Adrienne, Adrienne, I can’t hear you, can you hear me?’ Still nothing, but then I heard her voice talking to someone and it was then that I realised that perversely I had been thrown into the midst of the dinner party that I had declined, because this night is one of those when I just can’t cope with the jollities! I text Craig to ask him to tell Adrienne her phone line is open.
Sleep now eludes me, as it does Mum. I toss and turn all night long and Mum is up and down too. Morning comes, but it is so dull and dismal that I don’t realise the time and drift off to sleep again – only to be disturbed once more by the phone. It’s Joan, very kindly phoning from Zambia. I don’t tell her that I am still in bed, but of course the phone has disturbed mother too, so I have that to contend with.
We chat away and I tell Joan about last night and my Christmas Eve up the ladder etc and she says I really do have rotten luck. I say that in the grand scheme of things it isn’t too bad – like I haven’t just had a daughter murdered, or other family tragedy. I have a home, heating and everything we take for granted, but the little things that go wrong are relentless and slowly grinding me down. I always knew how good Paul was around the house, but now I am constantly being reminded.
Craig responds to my text from last night and I call him back. He says how perverse that I was unwittingly thrown into the dinner party that I was so anxious to avoid and through no fault of my own. Like I am viewing it from some parallel universe.
I have texts at midnight from Cath, Leo and Justin, but haven’t responded to them because I was otherwise occupied with the Adrienne phone call. I reply to Justin and Cath, but the one to Leo doesn’t go and I receive a message that I don’t have enough credit!
Eileen calls me and I have a nice chat with her. She knows where I am coming from and the emptiness of being a widow.
Come 2pm I asked Mum if she needed the toilet, as she hadn’t been since lunchtime. She looked at me as if I was off my trolley – how could I possibly imagine she needed the loo? Even with all her protestations, I insisted she go and what a good thing I had, as she was about to do a monumental crap. A crap that just emphatically refused to flush away even though time after time I tried!
Just after dark I remembered what was lurking in the porcelain and so I went upstairs to try again, flicked on the bathroom light switch and all the lights in the house fused! Now whereas most people can go and trip a switch on their consumer units and lights are restored, I cannot do that. I have to pull out the correct fuse from the electric box, get a screwdriver and loosen the screws, then take out the broken wire, cut a new piece of the correct wire, thread it through the holes and tighten the screws without breaking the wire again. Hardly difficult to do and I’ve done it once before, but not easy in the dark. As today is the anniversary of Paul’s death – the day my lights went out metaphorically, then it seemed symbolic to sit in semi darkness for the rest of the evening. I fixed the fuse next morning.
On Christmas Eve morning I was in the shower and realised the water was lapping around my
feet and instinctively knew the waste pipe was frozen (either that or it was the facecloth that mum had flushed down the loo a few days earlier!)
Fortunately it was a frozen pipe, so there I was in my black & white furry coat (for warmth), boots, hat and rubber gloves, up a ladder defrosting the pipe with a hairdryer on an extension lead. The pipe suddenly dropped off, showering me with the dirty water, soaking me, but fortunately not electrocuting me – though leaving me looking and smelling like a wet Dalmatian!
All of a sudden the defrosting of the pipe suddenly got easier, I just took it inside filled the sink with hot water in which I stuck one end of the pipe, bashed it a few times, turned it over and out came a metre long sausage of ice.
The chances of getting a plumber on Christmas Eve in freezing conditions in the most appalling winter for years, was nigh on impossible – and even if I could get one I didn’t feel like waiting around for one to arrive, especially as I promised Paul’s aunt that I would go and visit her in the afternoon. So, on my way there I stopped off at John’s Cut Price and bought some lagging.
Back home after visiting Edna, I was up the ladder again, trying to attach the lagging when the pipe dropped off again and I realised the bit adjoining the elbow joint had actually broken and as it is half embedded in the rendering I didn’t want to make matters worse by chipping the rendering away to get access.
I thought I could tie the bath waste pipe to the wash basin pipe directly above it, but having had cupboards ripped out of the kitchen to accommodate the washer & drier, I couldn’t remember which box I’d packed the string in, so I fastened the pipe up with a carrier bag! 11 days later, so far so good.
My building extension first going to plan in the summer, suddenly actually started in a flurry of activity in November, but then ground to a halt with the weather. Since then the two builders found alternative work and so my project manager, is having to look elsewhere. He has arranged to come with a friend on Monday – if it isn’t raining. I don’t know what the forecast is for Monday, but it’s currently snowing again!
It has come to my notice during the past few months that certain individuals have been plagiarising Adrienne’s blogs an passing them off as their own. However, these purloined blogs appear to have been taken from a translation (presumably also plagiarised) and retranslated into English by the authors of the blogs, making them hilarious and worth a read.
The curious thing is that both blogs are referring to me in one way or another and indeed one of the plagiarists even uses my bio for my hour on the 4th Plinth in Antony Gormley’s project One & Other.
So, herewith is a full transcript of Tim Lam’s version of Adrienne Seed’s blog entitled ‘One & Other’ (the original version you will find on Adrienne’s blogs, www.hivine.wordpress.com dated 9 August 2009 and also at www.hivine.com )
Both sites reproduce my images so I should be grateful for that – even if they didn’t get my permission!
(version by Tim Lam http://timlammxdj.livejournal.com )
October 26th, 2009
Hear ye, Ohio hear ye – the clip holds come for the crier or should I tell the web weeper to do the heroic annunciation that Willo, best friend, artist, neighbor and honorary member of our local HIV support grouping is about to mount the pedestal as portion of the One and Other task, a unrecorded art by sculpturer Antony Gormley where 2400 participants corresponding every part of the Britain each get to pass an hr solely to make their thing on the empty footstall in Trafalgar Foursquare.
When the task was foremost denoted I too employed for a spot, believing it would be an fantabulous chance to raise consciousness about HIV, but cognizing my circumstances for such things and in the postcode lottery I was not chosen. Ne’er mind, weather Willo is attending sleep with for us and is too attending give my book, “ The Spider and the Fly, ” which will be call at November in clip for this Existence AIDS day, a sinewy stopple.
I must tell, as the clip forces near, I make n’t really envy her the terrific project she holds before her and equally ever I admire her braveness in confronting to life ‘s challenges of which she holds lived many, the worst of which was losing her darling mate Paul or Pavlito as I ever named him, in what should hold been the prime of their ages. Stillly, I am sure he will be with her in spirit and looking downwardly on her with huge pridefulness. Anyhow, she is taking him au fait the footstall with her in the signifier of the astonishing plaster sculpture she doed in his memory and she is too attending do another plaster live the web Cam so she is trusting it wo n’t rain. In the event that it makes, she holds buyed a glorious stripy umbrella chapeau, so it will be deserving log in merely to see her wearing that.
So Tenderly He Loved Me
Willo means to speak whilst she is busy working about the many charities she supports and about her ain cancer, which, with her unsubduable spirit she lasted and if she holds ( in her words ) the nervus, her colostomy bag, in order to invigorate other cancer sufferers and give them desire. The heading painting for this blog which is by Willo and entitled Fille Colostomy and the Windbags ‘ is about celebrities such as Baton Conelly and Ruby Wax doing jests about colostomy bags in their repertory.
The Jarman Centre in Blackburn holds bestowed Willo the vast Redness Thread which is dragged out yearly on Creation AIDS Day at Blackburn Cathedral and holds too donated the tremendous bag of pied and multi-flavoured safeties she is attending flip to the crowd. How large the crowd will be is debateable because unfortunately she holds the 7am to 8am slot, but the footage will be exhibited on the Sky Humanities channel so her message of safe sex will hopefully get across to the land.
So hear ye, hear ye, naming all positive people too as people who are n’t – the brave and fearless Willo is supporting us so we must besides support her by log in to the one and other site.
Day – Midweek 12 Thursday Aug
Clip – 7am to 8am – yes, I cognize it Holds rattlingly early in the forenoon, but it will be deserving getting upwards for if but to see what Willo ( who is cognized for her flaky frock sense ) is wearing – aside from the umbrella lid!
Delight see the One and Other site advance where you can plight your support and direct her your messages of encouragement.
From hivine – thanks Willo – Willo the Wisp you are definitely not! Willo the Wonderful more like.
Willo – Life for One and Other
Part: North West
I will be on the 4th plinth during week 6
About me
Ab initio I conceived the task would be an astonishing forum to raise the profile of the groupings and charities that involvement me, but since being took, my friends experience I should utilise it as a platform for myself. I am still undetermined about this.
As a long-run subsister of assorted signifiers of cancer ( including secondary os cancer ) I considered I might boost Christie Infirmary,where I haved most of my interventions over several eld. I ‘m besides a admirer of the Colostomy Association, Ambit, YMCA, the Big Issue, NSPCC, Childline, British Bosom Foundation ( my mate holding perished suddenly of bosom related malady on New Eld Day 2007 ), Leucaemia Research ( my ex’-nephew went of leucaemia at the age of 14 and I hold a friend presently undergoing intervention ), assorted tertiary cosmos charities and a local Aids/HIV support grouping. Several friends are infected with the virus ( one of whom holds indited her travelling yet witty autobiography – you can read a couple of chapters of it advance of publication at: www.hivine.wordpress.com or www.hivine.com ) and some hold exited of Helps connected maladies. The general world looks to hold small or no thought of how the virus is now distributing through the heterosexual community – with many of the newly named being teen, so along with other members of the grouping, I am anxious to encourage cognizance.
I presently hold my 91 twelvemonth old mother accepting me who holds a mixture of dementedness and Alzheimer ‘s and my late begetter likewise endured from dementedness and prostatic adenocarcinoma, so they are other countries that relate me.
My first grandchild was born at 27 hebdomads in Queen Madonna Infirmary, Hong Kong. He weighed to a lesser degree 800 gs and his endurance was in the balance for many months. He is now 13 and I am indebted thereto infirmary and neonatal attention. I firstly seed him when he was 6 months old, on O and still excessively weak to raise his caput by himself. I maked an oil picture of him with his mum and named it Miracle Boy.
I hold a background in art and hold at assorted times, negociated to do money from it, not least when I was sleep in Zambia. Alas not so in recent geezerhood and presently it is nil to a higher degree a avocation. With being a full-time carer I hold small trim clip ( nor tendency since the loss of my mate ) and that is mostly utilise au courant DIY in my midget old house splitting at the seams with all kinda dust ( that might merely come in utile ) and my mother ‘s furniture and effects.
I hold two shavers, five grandchildren, assorted step-children and their progeny that I think of my ain. Sadly none of them inhabit nearly by, so I make n’t oftentimes see them.
Africa holded a profound upshot on me and I experience favour to hold inhabited there for some 17 geezerhood. Not without its hairy ‘ moments though, like being faithlessly collar twice, for being a spy ( when I was simply out sketching on assignments for the excavation company ).
I do clip for a few activities – t’ai chi chuan and salsa, both of them being my clip to chill-out from the emphasises of day-after-day life and the latter being a Brobdingnagian sum of playfulness.
For many ages I hold been an friend of Antonius Gormley ‘s work and hold seen it in assorted scenes, but none so impressive as The Angel of The North which I espied by accident on a train journeying from Edinburgh. I should hold been locomoting via the west sea-coast, but somehow we were deviated. Admiring the position intent on sea on the east seashore I suddenly espied it altogether its richness. It was breathtaking and a sight I shall ne’er bury.
Like so many of the participants I ne’er anticipated to be took by the computer for this labor, so I am still instead overwhelmed – and terrorized! Stillly, I reckon it an laurels and I trust I can do the most of my hr and not fail it!
7 July 09: It Holds now six years since I heard I holded been took and I am beginning to explicate a progrgram, but much of it will be contingent on the conditions. I hold n’t yet timed this, but considered it might be possible to do a cast whilst upwards there on the pedestal, though this may not be acceptable to the production squad. As it is healing I could exhibit some of my 2D work in print/repro signifier ( I hold been de-cluttering lately by donating them to the Brits Bosom Foundation ). If there are adequate people surpassing on their mode to work I could found the prints downward to them. On the dorsum of the prints could be a listing of causes I am interested in and if the receiver was willing he/she could direct a contribution to one of the causes. I hold only been watching the unrecorded webstream and seen several people go by, so it may work. If there is a deluge or ululating gale so this progrgram will neglect, so I ‘ll simply need to risk abashing my house by making some dance and peradventure tai-chi. I ‘ve assured them I wo n’t sing!!!
Adrienne & Me with choir in Edinburgh
Willo and me swinge in choir
__________________________________________________________________________
The blog by the other plagiarist can be found at http://rdwhitleyrg.livejournal.com/#post-rdwhitleyrg-9647 dated Sept 18th 2009 – or read below. Adrienne’s original account you can find on her latest blog posting at www.hivine.com or www.hivine.wordpress.com
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1){kind=small}
rdwhitleyrg
ikon: hotswirlwillowilliams
Did anyone ticker “
U.K.
‘s Got Endowment ” over the Easter weekend? If you maked you will hold been astonished, like I was, by that unbelievable grouping of male terpsichorean, “ Flawless ”.
I ‘ve ne’er seen anything rather like it – from time to time it was nighly like watching an old black-and-white film the style they flittered from move to motion, from frame to frame of their brilliantly choreographed dance routine.
A little like when we were tike drawings sketches in a book and so tossing the pages to do them seem to locomote. Some people, such as the jr. contemporaries for instance, belike wo n’t hold a hint what I Get on some with the wonderful artworks we hold now in the years of wii – as opposed to yore. The royal wii – I inquire if Charles and Camilla hold one. I can but ideate Charles playing Stone Star ‘ and giving his Royal Salmagundi performance of the Deep Purpleness classic, “ Smoke on the H2O. ”
Bam Bam Bam, Bam Bam barium Bam, barium barium Bam, Bam Bam.
Wham Bam thank you maam.
Talk about performances and dance routines, I fear my years as a choreographer and daring I tell it as an old flamenco terpsichorean, are eventually over. This is not an age thing as some robust older people transport along dancing until they drop, Bruce Forthsyth e.g.. But sadly, terpsichore is yet another of life ‘s pleasances that HIV holds cruelly stripped me of – that and not being able to sit in the Sun, so I ca n’t get tangoed in either sense of the word.
Recently, I ‘ve been accompanying my best friend Willo to salsa saltation lessons. This is more for her benefit than mine, because as I ca n’t whirl around anymore, thanks to vertigo maked by the MEd, I can simply participate in the initial portion of the session, which is more for old soots and no hopers like me and where there is really small twirling regarded. I say I should really essay a gentler descriptor of workout with no twirling whatsoever, swimming for instance, which is all up and ain in consecutive lines, but I ‘m not lamented on getting moisture.
There are other grounds why dancing is no more an option for me; my skew-whiff hip, my deficiency of bottom thanks to the feared lippo besides done by the MEd, which intends unless I wear trousers my breecheses hold a disposition to fall, like my pinafore – not that I would ever wear a jumper to salsa. Although some of those longer jumpers that the more voguish Italian and Spanish servers wear look rather cool, so perhaps I should begin a new tendency – jumper dunk as opposed to skinny dipping.
Oh, those happy years when I applied to whirl the phase making my Carmen circle. The only association I need to Carmen these years is my reluctance to give upwards pansies and if fiscal things make n’t ameliorate, a really strong likeliness that I will finish up working in a manufactory or lurking in a taproom like she maked – although it would should be Yates Vino Lodge on the once infamous Barbary Seacoast in Blackburn, instead than in Seville.
Our salsa dancing instructor is a rattlingly cool African hombre who was once a Macrocosm Champ. He holds germinated his ain manner and unequalled mode of pedagogy where he speaks us through the assorted salsa locomotes – “ You take de miss to the door, you swirl de girl about so you trow de girl out, so you convey her back again. ”
Well, the piteous bozo who should partner me, when it comes to the component where they need to throw me out the door – it Holds a trifle like a chucker-out tossing out a drunkard at shutting clip as I will more likely, after an endeavour at a three-fold kink, finish up on the flooring in a mound.
Willo gets whirled about like a veritable teetotum, but me; I can simply roughly action one pathetic twist if I ‘m lucky without losing my balance.
“ Sorry, I ‘m strictly a one kink miss, ” I should constantly apologise as we trade mates.
Salsa can be quite savage dance and some of the footings to draw the assorted movements tell it all; Whiplash, the Hammerlock, the Arm Fan and the Broken Arm, the Challenge Place and the decease holding Caput Cringle. You can fetch up getting tangled upwardly in knots and throttle each other if you ‘re not careful.
Willo and I attended an Argentine Tango lesson the other nighttime. Now that was more like it, hardly any twirling, especially if you were hale to take along the male office as I dollarfish to the deficiency of unattached manpowers. There was one measure where you need to position your leg between the woman ‘s genus and coerce her legs unfastened like a scissors. Goodly, I must state I rather relished that. I would force Willo around the flooring for a little, so when she was least anticipating it, do the scissor advance her. She recently squealed that she is still harbouring a firing desire to make the splits, which for a woman of her age is an unusual and not I would hold believed a particularly wise dream. But if we transport along tangoing together, the opportunities are she will make but that whether she desires to or not, at least if I hold anything to make with it.
Recall that picture, Last Tango in
Paris
‘ with Marlon Brando, which maked such a furor at the clip because he employed butter. Goodly I make n’t cognise what all the pother was about rattlingly, because now, it is a known fact that butter is really healthy, much healthier than oleomargarine. I make n’t cognise about last tango in
Paris
, the justly tangoing I ‘ll be making these years is slue up and down the aisles around Aldi with my streetcar. Last tango in Aldi!
The conditions over here to the north holds been glorious this Easter, but tragically for me, the other feel good fibrinogen can no more indulge in and this is once more thanks to the MEd which hold given me hypersensitivity to the Sun, is wallow in it. I can wallow in clay if I so want to my bosoms content and I can wallow in miserableness, which I quite frequently make, but not the Sun.
So I need to rest an unhealthy pastelike white color, without even a opportunity of getting slightly sunburned or tangoed like David inexpensive as flecks Dickenson, although at least I can still eat them thanks to my fantastic Tefyl Actifry which proceeds to whizz about on a nightly ground like a whirler. But even watching that spin round does me vertiginous.
Maked you cognize that when a woman does one of those sexy backwards kicks when she is making the tango, she is verily sympathize with the size of the man ‘s pocketbook – good business for the Argentinean gaucho that she is n’t checking the size of his other certifications.
Another dance that we hold begun to larn is the Merengue – “ Would you wish a bar or a merengue – no you ‘re right, I ‘ll hold a bar. ”
Make n’t worry if you make n’t get it. It took me ages to work it out. The trick is to tell it with a Scottish accent.
“ Would ye like a bar or a meringue? No ye ‘re right, I ‘ll hold a bar. ”
This one Holds a trifle easier – “ Would you wish a stone bar – goodly take your selection. ”
Oh goodly, I might not be able to dance anymore, or get a sunburn, but at least I ‘ve still got my humor. HIV will ne’er strip me of that, disregardless how difficult it attempts. I will but need to forbear from twirling, or like John cash, make a point I walk the line. Although resting in line, or towing it for that thing, holds ne’er been one of my strongest points. Uttering of which, I haved 100 mulct yesterday ( 50 if I pay within 28 years ) for infringing the jurisprudence by parking exterior of the lines on the Staples and Matalan park. Can you believe it? The machine immense parkland was virtually empty at the clip so I turned into the close slot without detecting my dorsum Sur was slightly over the painted line. When I came back out, I encountered a ok prodded under my wiper blade. Absolutely savage and indignant, I ramp back into Staples seizing the mulct to my heaving bosom to kvetch.
“ This is happing day in and day out, ” the store director stated me, agitating her caput sorrowfully, “ We ‘ve even pose an article in the local paper about it, but there Holds zippo you can make. You can contend, but it Holds pent here in black-and-white, ” she indicated to subdivision seven, “ That you hold infringed the jurisprudence. ”
The line constabulary ‘ apparently conceal in a grayish metal box ( for fearfulness of reprisals ) someplace on the Brobdingnagian parking area, waiting to swoop on the unsuspicious automobile Parker who hold no thought they run the hazard of a mulct as it is n’t a earnings and show and there is no mark upwardly to state it is possessed by NCP.
I drove around the park in slow imperilling circles looking for the box where they conceal, but they holded obviously travelled it to a more invisible spot to avoid being vanquished upward by the angry, as opposed to nosey Parker.
The terrific artworks for this blog on this juncture hold been furnished by Salsa Queen and I ‘ll make the splits one day if it kills me Willo Williams herself – artist, carver and graphical decorator of considerable fame. You can encounter more of her astonishing art work by snapping the nexus Willo Williams on the blog roll.
This young woman is beautiful and inspirational. Everyone should take a look at her videos at
Witchypoo
Being closely involved with the HIV support group, Thrivine, I am very much aware of the stigma still surrounding the virus and those carrying it. It was with this in mind that I searched Twitter for HIV and was pleasantly surprised that most of the comments (well, the ones in English at least) were helpful, supportive – or people commenting on their own status (unlike the stigma that many people with the virus receive in their day to day living). I then looked up ‘colostomy’ and was sickened with the multitude of nasty, vitriolic remarks.
Being able to laugh at oneself is a valuable lesson to have learned – and very necessary when having to undergo all sorts of otherwise humiliating examinations to your nether regions – and when a doctor doesn’t recognise your face – as this isn’t the part of your anatomy he’s familiar with!
Like all ostomates, I accept and can even laugh at some of the jokes – ‘shoes to match you bag’ and all that sort of light-hearted banter. My sons were teenagers when I had my surgery and I was quite happy for them to refer to me as the ‘bag lady’. When I went back to college I was quite bemused at how often the word colostomy was used in a flippant manner to poke fun at anything and everything, but it was harmless and my peers would have been mortified if they had realised one of their group had a colostomy. This, I suppose, is my point; would you knowingly insult or hurt people who have done you no harm? Well clearly, as my research has shown, some people would!
So back to Twitter and the colostomy tweets – nobody would wish to have an illness that necessitated such radical surgery. Generally speaking, it is ‘colostomy or die’ and when faced with such venomous remarks then some ostomates may wish they had chosen to die. As the diseases, accidents, disabilities or illnesses that lead to colostomies do not discriminate, I can’t help wondering how the foul-mouthed disparagers would cope if they were forced to make such a decision. It is coincidental that I notice how ignorant the majority of these people are, most of them not knowing there are major differences between a colostomy, ileostomy and urostomy. Nevertheless, none of them would like to undergo any of these life-changing surgical operations and the trauma attached. It also seems to escape them that young children and babies sometimes need this kind of radical surgery in order to survive. Contrary to popular belief, a stoma of any kind isn’t restricted to the older or demented person.
This is turning into a bit of a rant; perhaps that is on account of the pain I’m currently experiencing in my nether regions. I’m perched on one leg (as is my wont) trying to relieve the pressure on my bum, which many moons ago, was the recipient of 10 radium needles (‘needle’ is a bit of a misnomer, as they resembled very fat 2 in nails!). Needles that were sewn, with silk threads, into the area surrounding the back passage and remained in situ for nearly six days. Unsuccessfully curing my cancer, but successfully giving me severe burns to the entire region, exacerbated by the subsequent surgery excising the entire back passage. Then further damage caused by later radiation for secondary bone cancer, which additionally caused burn damage to my bladder, urethra and all the ‘woman’s bits’. Subsequent plastic surgery from a gynaecologist did not alleviate the problem and only caused further damage from scar tissue and basically a job badly done. (Mental note – don’t allow plastic surgery to be performed on you by someone who doesn’t specialise in that field).
Through the gaping hole that once was a perineum I can now see my uterus (a very scary sight), no longer contained by the other bits that once held it in place. This constantly tugging away at my burn-damaged urethra leaves me in constant pain similar to that of cystitis. On a scale on 1 -10 the pain is never less than three and currently running around eight, just bearable to remain in, an albeit scrunched up, seated position. All this is in addition to problems that arise directly from the colostomy. Colonic irrigation suits me best and that gives way to another batch of bad taste jokes. Bur hey, I’m alive and if you research my numerous and various cancers, especially the secondary bone cancer, you will see that I am very lucky to be sitting here writing this blog. So I’ll just have to stop whinging and try to ignore the mindless prats who seem to derive their sadistic pleasure from other people’s afflictions.
Lovely warm day on Saturday and Adrienne and I did Tai chi with Chi – on the banks of the canal.
Willo & Chi
Adrienne receiving the £1500 cheque
Congratulations to Adrienne & Cath for their sterling efforts in presenting the ‘Positive Picture’ project to the ‘Dragon’s Apprentice’ and successfully obtaining funding for the project. Read all about it on Adrienne’s blogs at :
Picture 1 was taken just before I went into hospital for chemo and picture 2 a couple of months later – not long before it all fell out – after being told there is usually only 10% hair loss with my drugs – Mitomycin & 5 FU.
