Back in the game
Regular readers will know that it is not usual for me not to post regularly, and I am sorry that I have been unable to concentrate on anything for the last three weeks or so.
I was attacked, and shortly after this my mother went for her usual February sleep. When I finally prised her out of bed as the family was starting to implode in its customary manner, she was unable to walk.
Happily I am a slave-driving bitch and she is now able to walk normally again, with assistance, but I am afraid that I find it rather difficult to think about myself when she is not functioning normally. I dread to think what I will be like when she finally leaves me. I need to work on that, fast.
Several other issues have sprung to my attention in the last three weeks:
The new health system in Glasgow, since the building of our new hospital, is basically a shift in responsibility from the NHS to the end user. There are no hospital places suitable for someone of my mother’s age, and so a mobile system has been introduced which means that even if she is extremely ill, I will be looking after her rather than a trained team of medical staff. This worries me, although on this occasion it worked out rather well, since the rehabilitation with me is 24 hours a day. I am sure that it is much better for the NHS, but it does not seem ideal for the patient.
Doctors who do not like the elderly are extremely dangerous individuals who can unwittingly kill people by telling their concerned relatives that they are simply old and refusing to provide treatment and/or referrals. Thankfully I had already identified this problem and changed her doctor.
It is amazing what you can achieve when suffering from anxiety. I have redecorated her kitchen and am now putting in modifications to the house to enable her to live here indefinitely since she became ill. These modifications should have been done ten years ago, but alas I was not the decision maker at that time.
Bullying family members will continue to push you until you push them back.
Sometimes being attacked can be a catalyst to force you to confront problems you have allowed to restrict you.
So, there we are, stress can be a good thing. It took until this morning for me to remember a couple of lines from Ode to Wolfe
“Alas I am but short and fat,
I don’t think he would go for that.”
At which point I laughed so much that I went back and read the poem. Then I had a look at Honey, I made you an icon, and cried for about two hours. Go figure. Now I am back studying leadership and branding.
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