Filed under: General
Lots happening in the Gene Puddle at present - but, unfortunately, many of them are not of the easiest nature to deal with. It’s been a bumpy time, since the euphoria left by The Killers earlier in the month. I rode high on that wave for several days but the bump that has followed has been difficult to take.
A friend of mine, who had her first child around the same time as we had William, was due to have a second in about a fortnights time. She loves pregnancy almost as much as me (i.e. not at all) and we’ve had some great laughs as she got bigger and bigger. That came to a shattering halt a few weeks ago, when news reached me that she had lost the baby at 36 weeks. She had suffered a placental abruption, despite falling into none of the “risk” categories that I can find listed. As she also has a clotting problem when pregnant, she was fairly ill, physically, herself after the birth and, needless to say, the psychological effects have been massive. I haven’t seen her - although we have shared a number of messages. She finally got to bury her little boy on Tuesday and we are all hoping she will find some closure in that act.
It must be harder for her to stomach in some respects as, out of the six of us who had children at the same time, three - including myself - had babies whose gestation was shorter than her little boys. One delivered at 28 weeks and two of us had babies at 32 weeks. The only one of us to have a second pregnancy has subsequently delivered a baby that was flat-lined on birth and had to be resuscitated. Her little one was perfect - he just never quite made it, through no fault of hers. I can’t begin to imagine how that must feel - and know that there is nothing that I could say which could possibly make what she is going through easier. She has asked to see me - and another friend - in the coming week or so - as she put, because she know’s we’ll be “normal”. I’m not sure what is “normal” in these circumstances, but I’ll try my best.
Whilst this has been going on, we’ve also been watching one of our dear cats, Snooks, enter her last days. She’s very old (in cat terms) being somewhere around 15 and arrived on our toaster with cat flu. We didn’t know she had cat flu then - and shooed her out of the house. When she was there the following morning (looking worse than the day before) we took her to the Australian vet (who named her) where she was diagnosed. We were told she was very weak and unlikely to live long. That’s about ten years ago. She’s always been a skinny cat - but now her ribs are showing and she’s becoming more hooked on any heat source she can find than she ever was. This probably means her thyroid is not functioning properly and she can no longer regulate her body temperature.
She’s always hated the vet’s and we are trying very hard to keep her at home - and not inflict that final journey on her. In herself, she is perfectly content - not showing any signs of pain and still loves being tickled under the chin, as she always has. If I, for a moment, thought there was anything that could be done for her - or that she was in any form of pain, naturally, that final journey would be made. She’s not. She is still eating a little (mostly tuna, because at times like these, why shouldn’t any animal enjoy what they can?), drinking and her kidney’s are working well.
For the last few morning’s I have woken with a knot in my stomach and have made sure I’m not the first person home in the evening, so that OH can check on her condition before I have to face her. It’s gutless, I know. Our other cat, Cosmo, is by her side most of the time, only leaving when one of us is with her. She knows there is something amiss - in the same way she did when I came home from hospital without William. For two weeks she stalked the house, crying at the door and unable to settle. As soon as we brought him home, she was her old self again. She knew then - and I’m convinced she knows now - that something just isn’t right.
We don’t expect Snooks to be with us by this time next week and it will be incredibly sad when she does leave. We had three cats for a while and since the death of our little lad, Carter, the two girls have been like sisters - lopping chunks out of each other within these four walls, whilst standing shoulder to shoulder when faced with any other cat attempting to breech the defences of our garden boundary. Hopefully, as she has before, some unexplained turn in her condition will keep her with us for a while longer, but I’m not holding onto much hope.
William has also had another hospital appointment since I last wrote. This time he saw a rheumatologist, who confirmed that there is an issue with his walking (the medical profession has finally accepted the one thing we could have told them months ago) and that there is a pronounced difference in his muscle density between left and right leg. As he has no idea why this is, we’ve been referred on to a neurologist and physiotherapist - as a matter of urgency - with a re-appointment to see the rheumatologist in mid-May. As we’ve heard nothing from either of these two new departments, I’ll be getting on the phone tomorrow. I’m aware that, given appointment times and test results, if William isn’t seen in the next three weeks, the mid-May appointment will tell us nothing. It’s the one time I’m thankful that I did my service in the NHS - as I understand the system and know when to start being pushy!
In other news, the Manc Scum turned 35 today, which will be celebrated by a dinner in his honour on Saturday evening. It also means that William will be staying with his Gran and Grumpy for the night, so his Mum and Dad can enjoy a relaxing Sunday morning lie-in. I envisage a sedate evening, a nice Italian meal, and several glasses of red wine. This probably means it’ll be bedlum and we won’t get to bed until gone 3am - but you never know!
Revolver are playing again - on the 6th April at the Dragon Club, Broad Street, Barry. We went to see them a couple of weeks ago, when they played at our “local” (which is on the other side of town) The Borough. Supported by Andy and the Johnsons, and despite some technical problems, the set was incredibly tight and I was seen on the dance floor for most of it. Unfortunately, a new, underwired but not wholly suppportive bra, led to an incident which could have been much worse, had I not been able to get to the ladies and readjust fairly sharpish! Last time I bounce around to “First of the Gang to Die”.
The Welsh Assembly also “broke up” for the election season this week. We used to be able to call this time “purdah” - and it was certainly what it was called when I worked in the, then, Welsh Office. However, according to a Western Mail article last week, this is now seen to be offensive as it may cause offence to certain religious groups - as it is taken from the Persian for “curtain” used to describe the practice of women taking the veil to shield them from men’s view. I don’t often agree with David Davies, AM, MP but this does smack of religious correctness gone mad, given that it has been used to describe this period in the political life of any UK parliament for over a century. I presume it’s just one of the many articles that I’ll be commenting on over the next few weeks.
Work is, hopefully, going to be a little less hectic during the next 30 odd days, given that our lobbying work at the Assembly will not be required. We have the start of free prescriptions in Wales, which for us is somewhat of a contested issue, over the weekend, but once this is over, I’m not planning to spend much time talking to the press, politicians or researchers and will instead be getting on with that little pile of work on my desk that I keep pushing just out of sight!
Finally, and to much amusement amongst several of my friends, I can now be found once a week hitting hell out of little spherical objects with a large club. I’m finding this to be incredibly rewarding and next week - if plans work out - will be walking in between unleashing my “.. great vengeance and furious anger..” on a course just outside the Gene Puddle. More on this another time…