Best wishes – again…

It’s the New Year…Yippie!

Best Wishes….

From bad to worse

There was a blip in my blogs.

The reason is, I’ve had a nasty experience. It’s all about pain.

Last Christmas I endured about a month of being unable to walk at all. The doctor prescribed Codeine. Codeine makes people constipated, so with the Codeine came the ‘latest craze’ water absorbing constipation medication. Codeine, Ibuprophen, Paracetamol irritate the stomach. I try to avoid them.

This year’s Christmas gift from my body was a pulled exterior oblique muscle, that ends at the sternum. I did that to myself during exercise. So now two extreme pains, lower back and sternum. In desperation I took the pills. And the water absorbing anti-constipation medication that dehydrates you. The inflammation (my own diagnosis) must have spread to my oesophagus. The Codeine, the Ibuprophen and the Paracetamol, did their bit too, gnawing away at my oesophagus.

I got Oesophogealitis. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I could not swallow, not even saliva. Serious situation. Everything got expelled instantly in agonising paroxisms of thick phlegm and foam.

The doctor asked me to present myself to the nearest hospital for a drip as the quickest way to get help. She feared dehydration.

A Furlong daughter collected me with my vomit-pot and we embarked on a freezing journey through icy roads to A+E in the next town. The waiting time was 3 hours. Then 4 hours. The place was chokkas it being a Friday night. There were seriously injured folk there waiting patiently to be mended. Hopefully waiting.

The Furlong daughter stood all the four hours. Patiently, graciously, caring. I even managed to sleep on my overnight bag jammed into the side of the wheelchair. When I woke, I asked if she had a “sucky thing” that I could hold in my very dry mouth. But she hadn’t. In my bag I found a Broncostop Pastille. So I sucked on that, avoiding a swallow.

Along came the nurse at four hours, who announced that there had been an “Incident” and there were now no doctors to see anyone at all. The waiting time was 11 hours. Please would everyone go home and come back in the morning.

So we came home in the darkness near midnight. On the way, we realised I had not used my vomit-pot for a while and maybe the Broncostop was doing something useful. So I sucked the rest of the Pastille.

At home I managed to keep tiny sips of water down. I hardly ate for a week, but I did drink water. I am still not quite right.

What can we learn from my long and dreary story?

Oral painkillers are not our friends. They need to be treated as enemies in case you go from bad to worse.

Do not take the new fangled water absorbing powders and potions. They dehydrate you. Take bowel irritants instead – old fashioned stuff. Otherwise you might go from bad to worse.

Broncostop pastilles are a flegm dispersing cough medication that seemed to disperse it from my oesophagus. They stopped me going from bad to worse.

And lastly, do not rely on the NHS. They definitely have gone from bad to worse. And that’s the most shocking part of my story….

A bit of British

Two things that have pleased me, and given me a bit of hope that ‘British’ is not dead are the Kings Speech which I personally thought was an improvement on the Queenies ones. Here it is.

AND

A movie made in 2020 and only released recently.

For our family, with links to Sunderland, (Mr Furlong was born in South Sheilds), Newcastle area, “It were greeat!”

It’s British through and through, and is the story of a famous robbery in 1961.

It’s funny. It’s authentic It’s true. It’s profound.

It’s called “The Duke”.

It probably will be completely misunderstood and not appreciated anywhere else in the world….

We found it on NOW TV, which is the poor man’s version of SKY.

Best wishes

I have uploaded several “uplifting” Christmas images.

But this one suits MY mood.

Have a happy day.

Maths

In the UK 82% of the population are ethnically White.

The rest are Black, Chinese, Indian, and other.

9% of all UK families are mixed ethnicity.

Over 50% of the UK report belonging to a religion, the rest report no religion. Christianity prevails.

So advertising in the UK is a complete cock up. The big stores clothing models TU (Sainsburys) for instance are black. Where are the Chinese and Indians? Where is ME?

TV series and films are made to quota. Black, mixed race, LBGTQ + disabled and always the strong, dedicated feminist.

Then, currently, the adverts, Christmas or otherwise, feature black people. They are not in the background, they are the protagonists. I presume they are used because Christmas is a Christian celebration and a Muslim, or Chinese protagonist might look out of place. Yet 82% of the viewers are white, 50% Christian. There is never a baby Jesus or any indication of what Christmas was once about.

9.6% of our population are Asians. 4.2% are black (Black, Black British, Carribean, African).

So the ones who complain of racism the most are the ones to whom we now bend the knee.

So what about ME?

I want to complain that I am being discriminated against.

Bah humbug.

Racism exists.

And I don’t like it.

Conspiracy

In these days of dark winter and spirit, we have been watching TV.

I have come up with a conspiracy theory.

If you watch anything on the ‘free’ channels like the new ITVX or whatever it’s called, and you have not paid a subscription, you get a fuzzy picture offered you, not quite in focus, the quality of an old 1980s movie, dispite it having been made recently.

When you check other video offered on your Smart TV, to which you have subscribed, or even YouTube, the picture you see is absolutely clear and focused.

So it’s not your TV.

You are being offered sub standard stuff. It’s ‘free’!

This is a deliberate situation.

ITVX or whatever it’s called, are relying on you to say to yourself, ” Oh **** this, what’s another six pounds a month (or whatever)? I’ll pay!”

The other benefit to paying, is that you won’t see the adverts that feature only black people making you think you are living in Nigeria, or Ghana instead of the UK.

Currently, it seems, here in the UK, only black people celebrate Christmas or have the financial ability to consume any items, like clothes, booze, chocolate, cars, Apple products, perfume, cosmetics, or fashion.

I reckon they must be a very privileged lot.

Come and play

So far since Autumn, the Furlongs have seen very few birds except a few Crows and Jackdaws. I spank the window next to my bed with my extendable back scratcher to shoo them away. That’s how I communicate with them.

Sometimes the Terns arrive in flocks, calling each other as they circle overhead. They never land in our garden. They have come up from the River. They are feeding on invisible swarms high in the air

So there us very little going on outside my window.

The only wildlife here currently is our dog, Bass. I find it so amazing that dogs adopted us as their friends in the story of evolution. Never get the idea that we adopted THEM, as to my mind, they promoted their species’ survival in the cleverest way. We have been duped to believe dogs are our best friends but in reality, we are dogs’ best friends. They rule. We do what they expect.

As I am confined to bed, I broke down and succumbed to taking painkillers. One day, instead of taking my pill every six hours, I took them four hourly. I slept till afternoon. The dog communicated with me as I exited my drug induced torpor.

He pawed my chest until I opened my eyes and took notice of him. He was wearing his cross-face. The disapproving one he uses when you made his bed wrong, or it’s dinnertime, or bedtime. I took notice. What now?, I wondered.

Bass leapt off the bed as I half sat up. He bowed to his paws, bum in the air and waggled as I have seen him do with other dogs. He’s never done it to us before. Then he did a couple of spins, which he does when excited or feeling good. And then he stood in my doorway, and checked that I was watching. And trotted out.

It was the clearest communication I’ve seen him do. In fact, on analysis, he had put together a whole paragraph of information in his head he wished to convey to me.

Wake up.

Get up.

I invite you.

To come and play.

And be happy.

Beyond this doorway.

So,

I did.

From my bed

I dunno.

Mr Furlong looks after me very well. He has been heroic ever since my postpartum stroke in 1980. He never complains, though I’m sure he’d like to strangle me often. My left side paralysis from all those years ago, has affected my spine today.

It’s giving me shit.

So I have lateral stenosis. This makes me walk like an old crone, with or without a stick. Some days the pain is better, some days, worse. I can never predict it. So I have been doing ‘core’ exercises to strengthen my back supporting muscles. I do them daily, religiously.

Too much religion is not good. I have overdone it.

I have pulled a muscle – I have diagnosed it as my exterior oblique muscle.

You don’t know what that is?

Well, it’s the muscle that sends the most excruciating sharp pain from your hip to your rib so that you are winded and have to cry out “Arrghough” on standing, walking or bending.

The treatment is bed rest for up to three days and ICE PACKS!

Well, it’s -6deg outside at the moment. I’m not bloody doing that. Mr Furlong brings me hot water bottles instead. And I’m on my Tens machine. The horror is getting to the toilet.

Mr Furlong offered me Paracetamol, but that would be like farting against thunder. I avoid pills like the plague.

Maybe I should just become a pill addict in my old age. My problem is I’m trying to make a silk purse out of an old sow. Do I feel sorry for myself? Yes. But I feel more sorry for Mr Furlong. He must have had enough.

Like I said before….

I dunno.

Strep A – aka Scarlet Fever.

How old I must be!

When I was child, my sister went down with Scarlet Fever. I remember the fear amongst the grownups.

In those days, children died from Scarlet Fever. Or they were left with weak hearts, failed kidneys and God knows what else.

My sister was put in a room. Isolated. The door to it was hung with sheets dampened with carbolic. Nothing came out of that room. My aunts took her food and water. Actually, I think that room had a basin in it for water. There was a potty that came out, was emptied and washed with carbolic soap.

I think the Aunts must have moved in to help my grandmother nurse her. I was not allowed anywhere near. I just remember the hushed voices, the fear and the smell of carbolic everywhere.

The Aunts changed their clothes each time they left my sister’s room and the clothes were washed with carbolic soap and dried.

This was in Africa, so, outside, clothes dried quickly.

I was not allowed at school. Everyone was isolated to the house and grounds.

The room containing my sister was a forbidden area. STRICTLY forbidden. She was imprisoned within for many days, poor thing, sick and smelling fear and carbolic, separated from me, and cuddles, and love, and playing.

The smell of fear and carbolic lasted till the doctor declared my sister better.

How long that took I don’t know.

Nowadays, scarlet fever is a breeze! After three days on antibiotics, kids go back to school.

How lucky we are in modern times, but you have to be old to know it.