Over the last three weeks, C has been quietly recovering and getting stuck in to some needlepoint, knitting and daytime TV – antiques and property porn mostly – while making the odd forays out and about.
The stent was a success – C has barely felt sick since, and has recovered some of her appetite.
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Friday, 4 November 2011
She's home!
C has just got back from the hospital with normal blood sugar and temperature and a brand-new stent.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
another bulletin
C very much better today, has managed to eat and drink without throwing up for the first time since Sunday. She's taking notice and haranguing the hospital staff, which is a good sign.
As I suspected, she won't be home until Sunday at the earliest, as they insist on getting her system stabilized first.
As I suspected, she won't be home until Sunday at the earliest, as they insist on getting her system stabilized first.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
brief bulletin
C had an endoscopy procedure today to remove the plastic stent and put in a metal one. I saw her immediately afterwards, and she was understandably a long way from mid-season form, although the fever has apparently been brought under control.
We'll find out tomorrow, I hope, how long she will be staying in hospital. She's hoping to come home tomorrow, but I fear those hopes are bound to be dashed.
I'll post here as soon as I know
We'll find out tomorrow, I hope, how long she will be staying in hospital. She's hoping to come home tomorrow, but I fear those hopes are bound to be dashed.
I'll post here as soon as I know
Monday, 31 October 2011
This morning C felt well when she woke, and then she started to feel nauseous and throw things up. After she found she could not keep water down, we rang the GP. She (the GP) immediately saw that C was becoming jaundiced: because I see her every day, I hadn't noticed, but am cursing myself for not having checked. Dr S suspects that there is a problem with the stent that was keeping her bile duct open. She also discovered that C is running a temperature and thinks it likely she may have a urine or kidney infection. Half an hour ago she was taken away in an ambulance.
I have rarely felt so desperate, but without her here to help keep me focused in the present, I'm having a lot of trouble stopping the future from intruding. She may well recover from this, but there's an abyss of loneliness opening up in front of me.
I'll post more when I know more
I have rarely felt so desperate, but without her here to help keep me focused in the present, I'm having a lot of trouble stopping the future from intruding. She may well recover from this, but there's an abyss of loneliness opening up in front of me.
I'll post more when I know more
Saturday, 29 October 2011
Sweet and low
A dear friend wrote to me about this blog that "It must be bleak at times. But the photos tell a different story and they are beautiful and full of light." (I'll write back soon, J, I promise.) There haven't, in fact, been that many bleak days, although there have been times in the last week when bleak would have been a blessing.
C started to take a steroid in the hope that it would shrink the swelling around the tumour, and so alleviate 'Squeezed Stomach Syndrome' which is probably behind her all too predictable bouts of nausea. Unfortunately this, combined with C's recently acquired habit of taking sweet drinks – and indeed eating sweets – because they were a good way of boosting her calorie intake in the face of the nausea and lack of appetite, tipped her over into Type 2 diabetes. A community nurse came to check her sugar levels on Tuesday, and they literally sent her meter off the scale, a result that induced a panic in the medical staff assigned to her – C's GP, for whom we can find no praise sufficient, immediately came out to check her over, blood tests were arranged, we had the Doctors on Call service calling us...
As it happened, it was that very morning that a parcel had arrived containing £70-worth of goodies from the finest online sweetstore in the land, which I thought would keep us in stocks through to next year. So it goes...
A combination of yet more drugs, stopping the steroids and not eating any sugar, or indeed much of anything at all, has brought the readings down, but still not low enough that a nurse doesn't pop in every day to check. The whole thing has dispirited C utterly, and left her feeling exhausted and utterly depleted, although she is slowly bumping back up. Just to add to the general joys, her ME and accompanying viral flare-ups have returned. As you can imagine, I didn't take many pictures.
It seems such a long while ago, yet it was only last Sunday when, inspired by a sudden shaft of sunshine, we went out to Shobrooke Park, just a couple of miles away, to enjoy a lovely autumn day, with C managing to get around the whole mile or so circuit, including several stiles, with very little trouble and much enjoyment: she was wearing a lovely velvet skirt, one of many glorious garments that have been hidden away for years on the grounds of being too good for everyday wear, at a time when every day was seemingly everyday. C was thrilled to have got out, thrilled to have made the circuit, thrilled to be alive and wreathed in smiles.
The following day, the Monday, was grey and damp, so I followed the advice of C's dear, and unfortunately late, friend Terry, who prescribed baking as an ideal way to cheer up a miserable day. Without the wherewithal for cake, but with a pile up of loaf-nubs, I went for bread pudding, and put it in the oven just before we went into Crediton to harass Boots for more drugs. When we came back, throwing open the kitchen door from outside, the blast of warmth, fruit and sweet spice was just heavenly.
C started to take a steroid in the hope that it would shrink the swelling around the tumour, and so alleviate 'Squeezed Stomach Syndrome' which is probably behind her all too predictable bouts of nausea. Unfortunately this, combined with C's recently acquired habit of taking sweet drinks – and indeed eating sweets – because they were a good way of boosting her calorie intake in the face of the nausea and lack of appetite, tipped her over into Type 2 diabetes. A community nurse came to check her sugar levels on Tuesday, and they literally sent her meter off the scale, a result that induced a panic in the medical staff assigned to her – C's GP, for whom we can find no praise sufficient, immediately came out to check her over, blood tests were arranged, we had the Doctors on Call service calling us...
As it happened, it was that very morning that a parcel had arrived containing £70-worth of goodies from the finest online sweetstore in the land, which I thought would keep us in stocks through to next year. So it goes...
A combination of yet more drugs, stopping the steroids and not eating any sugar, or indeed much of anything at all, has brought the readings down, but still not low enough that a nurse doesn't pop in every day to check. The whole thing has dispirited C utterly, and left her feeling exhausted and utterly depleted, although she is slowly bumping back up. Just to add to the general joys, her ME and accompanying viral flare-ups have returned. As you can imagine, I didn't take many pictures.
It seems such a long while ago, yet it was only last Sunday when, inspired by a sudden shaft of sunshine, we went out to Shobrooke Park, just a couple of miles away, to enjoy a lovely autumn day, with C managing to get around the whole mile or so circuit, including several stiles, with very little trouble and much enjoyment: she was wearing a lovely velvet skirt, one of many glorious garments that have been hidden away for years on the grounds of being too good for everyday wear, at a time when every day was seemingly everyday. C was thrilled to have got out, thrilled to have made the circuit, thrilled to be alive and wreathed in smiles.
moo |
A tense moment in the fishing competition |
Kez and C striding out |
The skirt in full effect |
The ruined boathouse, Shobrooke's equivalent of Dave Trippas's house (that's confused all but about three potential readers, I reckon) |
Wreathed in smiles, like I said: would I lie to you? |
The following day, the Monday, was grey and damp, so I followed the advice of C's dear, and unfortunately late, friend Terry, who prescribed baking as an ideal way to cheer up a miserable day. Without the wherewithal for cake, but with a pile up of loaf-nubs, I went for bread pudding, and put it in the oven just before we went into Crediton to harass Boots for more drugs. When we came back, throwing open the kitchen door from outside, the blast of warmth, fruit and sweet spice was just heavenly.
I don't have any pictures of the bread pudding, so here's something else rich, dark and full of fragrant goodness |
Thursday, 6 October 2011
more holiday snaps
as promised/threatened in the last post, more of our day-trip to Dawlish.
calm down, ladies, he's taken |
Can't be said too often |
Friday, 30 September 2011
Saturday, 24 September 2011
randomly in july, pt 1
A gallimaufrey of inconsequentialities:
This charming Chaddy spaniel guarding the Sportsmans Arms, the pub where we dropped in for lunch on our trip to Slapton Sands on July 4 |
A swift return to the gastro glories of the Lazy Toad |
After the tiring trip to Slapton, C's health slipped, and it took a week or so for the medics to get her stabilized again |
Espesso floats at Ashton's Coffee Lounge. She's knitting me a scarf |
Yes I Still Love Her
C celebrated her 64th birthday on 26 July.
We went to lunch at the Lazy Toad, a wondrous gastropub in Brampford Speke, a village on the Exe a few miles north of Exeter. It was beautifully (and unpredictedly) sunny, and we ended up, naturally enough, in the garden.
We went to lunch at the Lazy Toad, a wondrous gastropub in Brampford Speke, a village on the Exe a few miles north of Exeter. It was beautifully (and unpredictedly) sunny, and we ended up, naturally enough, in the garden.
a pre-prandial stately totter down to the Exe. C is wearing her new summer dress, bought in Exeter a few days before. |
we looked at the river, and the river looked back |
some say that life looks better through the bottom of a glass |
a transcendently fine smoked haddock and saffron risotto |
designated driver |
The Days Are Just Packed... |
Sunday, 11 September 2011
July 1-3
At the beginning of July, some golden sunny days that saw us spending most of our time in the garden, enjoying the upsides: chief among these, at this time, is that C, no longer having to/choosing to worry about melanomas, can indulge for the first time in a long while her Leonine propensity for lying in the sun, toasting her bones and crisping her skin. One morning, we went swanning about Big Cred, ice cream espresso floats at Ashton's Coffee Lounge, and on the evening of the third went on an adventure to Morchard Bishop, where we sat and smoked in secluded seats in the ridgetop churchyard, headstones made palimpsest by time and lichens as the timeless, tree-moulded hills roll and fold.
morning mail |
Lookit me, I'm Sven Nykvist! |
Size 3 |
C was cutting a new country bunch from the garden almost every day |
A cameo appearance from the author. Or at least his feet |
That's the bedroom window top left. It's as old as the house, the landlord thinks, perhaps 17th century. |
Morchard Bishop churchyard |
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
what we did at the seaside
Thirty years of living with Mr No Passport have brought about a gradual change, though, and yesterday she drove us – she, me, and our dog, Kez – down to Sidmouth, a favourite haunt she first discovered with her elderly friend, Terry P, more than a decade ago. It has the twin attractions of a beach that allows dogs in the summertime and some first-class artisanal ice cream from Taste in the old town.
The weather gloomed over as we left, but as we slid around Exeter and dashed across the pebble heathland towards the coast - Lo! – the clouds parted. We parked in a restricted zone at the West end of the town and went to negotiate the shingle at Jacob’s Ladder beach. Both of us went in for a swim. In fact several. C was a little disappointed at how weak she was, that she did not manage more than a couple of dozen strokes, but was and remains thrilled that we did it.
After successfully wriggling out of her swimsuit under her dress while sitting on the pebbles, C needed my help in getting to her feet. I stood in front of her, legs a little apart and feet planted further down the slope. We linked forearms, and, on the count of tree, I lifted her up: or, at least, that was the idea. Instead, C was propelled forward, surfing slowly down on her backside until she bumped against my legs. This gentle impact, combined with the feeling of the shingle shifting slightly beneath my feet, led me to fold gently over the top of her to brace myself on the slope behind. As my glasses and various other pertinent items cascaded out of my top pocket and C began to howl with laughter, I was moved to inquire if anyone in the vicinity had the number of Laurel and Hardy’s scriptwriters.
I had, though underestimated the power of the Prankster to summon up a punchline. With that keen canine intelligence that is so much a hallmark of his personality, Kez deconstructed the chaos unfolding before him and immediately came up with an applicable action: he wrapped his front legs around C’s shoulder and, lipstick waggling wildly, started shagging her arm.
Friday, 12 August 2011
moving right along...
We moved the armchair from my study to the bedroom to cope with the stream of guests |
first crop |
This was taken on 30 June, the 23 anniversary of our first wedding (a longer story than fits in a caption) |
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