Wee'll Meet Again

You may feel this blog has strayed from the disability issues theme, what with parties, sick children and elephants of late. Well never fear, the disability factor is back. You may want to cross your legs for this.

Polly, as you know, has recently been accepted to train as a Clown Doctor. This involves a training schedule that would stretch your average neurosurgeon and which started this week. From Tuesday she has had to be in Islington or at Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children by nine o'clock each morning so has had to leave by 7.00am and does not get back until 7.30pm. This has involved some pretty fancy childcare arrangements and a great reliance on family and friends to get the boys to school (particular thanks to Andi, Emma and Pam) and to cubs, swimming and what have you.

I feel I should say at this point that on more than one occasion Polly has been assured that if she wants to work full-time then she most definitely can. The whole social-care system will facilitate her to fulfil her destiny and will step in to help provide care for me should the need arise. Her needs are every bit as important as mine. Thus reassured Polly and I feel that a bit of Clown Doctoring is well within the realms of feasibility and a not unreasonable ambition. Polly wants to do it and I want her to do it, too.

Kalepo and Godfrey come and get me up and can hang around until about 10.30am, so the last time I can go to the loo is at about 10.00am. Polly therefore dutifully rang my care manager and told her the situation, giving her the dates and asking if it could be arranged for Kalepo and Godfrey to pop in mid-afternoon over the course of the 4 days to give me a hand. No. Since I've been transferred from social care to medical care it would be cheaper if the district nurses came instead. Okay. Two of them came around one afternoon and Polly and I explained the procedure. All well and good.

Tuesday came and my mother-in-law Pam came over to take the boys to school. As it turned out Sam had been sick again and was off for the day so she kindly stayed here to look after him. The hours passed and there was no sign of any district nurses. Pam had been supplying me with a steady flow of coffee and so by late afternoon I was beginning to really feel the need for the loo. Eventually, I had to ask Pam to help me. She graciously and with good humour pulled legs and passed bottles and generally helped me get sorted.

You may be wondering why I didn't phone the district nurses and simply ask where they were. This would tell me you have never had dealings with district nurses. They are akin to the gold at the and of a rainbow, forever just out of reach. You can't call them directly and so have to rely on messages and answer machines. Or, just as effectively, ESP and smoke signals.

That evening Polly rang, left messages, released carrier pigeons, and so on. Wednesday would be sorted. A good thing too as there would be no Pam around today.

You can probably guess what happened. Nothing. Without Pam around I had been able to severely restrict my fluid intake, but, even so, nine and a half hours is an awfully long time. To make matters worse I had to take the boys out to tea and take Sam to his swimming lesson. Splish splash. I made it, but if there are awards for iron will and endurance I deserve one. I was relieved in so many ways when Polly finally came home.

That evening there was an extensive, frank and comprehensive phone exchange between Polly and someone at the district nurses administration. Finally, everything was sorted.

Which brings us to today. At 1.00pm two nurses arrive. I hardly need to point out that 1.00pm is not mid-afternoon. Still, only six and a half hours 'till Polly gets home. Fingers (and legs) crossed.

Love And Biscuits

One more story about the early days of my relationship with my mother-in-law, Pam. In the run up to the wedding Polly was busy converting my flat into our home. She was treading the fine line between respecting my tastes and possessions and despairing of my tastes and possessions. We eventually compromised, in that I surrendered completely with one proviso, that we keep my books. I had hundreds and hundreds of books. One wall in the living room was lined floor to ceiling with shelves, double stacked and there were two more bookcases in the corner. In the bedroom, in an alcove were another two long shelves and there was a bookcase in the hallway. Yes, I know, all very geeky, but there you go. I'd love to be able to say that all of them were philosophical treatise and books by Russian authors exploring the nature of humanity and suffering. Truth be told, there were a fair number of John Grisham and Terry Pratchett.

Pam came to visit and assess her daughters prospective domiciliary arrangements. Her eyes brightened when she saw the books. “Oh lovely,” she said. “The church is having jumble sale. There's bound to be a bookstall.” I don't think she heard my whimper.

A. few minutes later she and Polly were surveying the bedroom so that Polly could seek her advice on the best place to position the double bed we intended to purchase. Pam looked thoughtful for a few moments and then said, perfectly seriously, ”the room's quite small. Have you thought about bunk beds?” Polly had to help me clean up the mouthful of coffee I had sprayed across the living room.

Today, as Pam came over to help look after her grandchildren while Polly was at work, and amidst the frequent offers to make coffee and whilst declining the full English breakfast she wanted to cook for me, I felt a wave of affection for this wonderful and generous woman who has so completely taken me into her life and filled it with love and biscuits.

Food For Thought

Pam, my mother-in-law popped round today, laden with food as usual. When Polly and I first got together she was not best pleased. Her darling youngest daughter had been away for a year in Romania looking after the babies with no mummies and daddies and now she was back and everything was going to go back to how it had been before she left. Paula had recently married and moved to Ramsgate and Irene was in Texas. Polly was going to move back in to the family home, go back to nursery nursing and that would be that. Unfortunately she hadn't taken me in to account.

The first time I met Pam was when I brought Polly home from the airport. A friend and I had picked her up from Stanstead Airport. It had been the first time we had laid eyes on each other since the phone call in February (see A Fine Romance (Part 2)). The meeting with Pam was brief but cordial. Polly was hustled in side and Pam thanked me politely. It was all a bit anti-climatic after all the anticipation.

A few hours later Polly was standing on my doorstep and grinning from ear to ear. From then on we spent as much time together as possible. And the more time we spent together the less pleased Pam was. Pam's displeasure caused Polly a great deal of distress. She and her mother had always been very close and the tension was hurting both of them. When I proposed to Polly a few weeks later matters came to a head. The situation became intolerable with Polly torn between her family and her fiancé. I recognised that Pam had legitimate concerns. She didn't know me, she'd only briefly met a guy in a wheelchair who had snared her daughter, of course she was worried. She also felt she was going to lose Polly if we moved away like Paula and Irene. So, one evening I settled down to write one of the most important things I've ever written, a letter to Pam.

I can't remember exactly what I wrote but I do know that I assured her that no one would ever love Polly as much as I did. I sent the letter and that was it. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Pam's acceptance was total. I was family. Pam is of a generation and background that doesn't express love with hugs and words. She uses food. The first meal she ever cooked me was steak and chips, mushrooms, tomatoes and onion rings. British readers will know what I mean when I say that the plate was piled high like an illustration from the Beano or Dandy. It was the kind of meal Desperate Dan would tuck in to. It was enormous. And I, wary or my new welcome status, felt obliged to eat it all. My stomach tighter than a drum, I forced the last chip down to Pam's obvious delight. She immediately bustled out to the kitchen to prepare a second serving. I silently pleaded with Polly to intercede and then heard her assuring Pam that a second steak would only spoil me. Pam was only mollified when she was able to present me with a vast meringue and ice cream confection..

Throughout the years of my marriage Pam has rarely arrived to visit with out a bag full of cakes, biscuits and chocolate. If I ate everything she brought for me I would be the type or person who needs a fire crew and team of engineers to get out of the house. Polly assures me that if she stops bringing. food she will have stopped loving me. So far there's no sign of me going hungry.