Afternoon Everyone,
Several weeks in the UK is still amongst a Lockdown never seen before, even during the ware era, from the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus. With Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) having been taken into intensive care and ICU over the last week, Downing Street is still stating a national emergency and to continue with the hundreds and continues into the thousands it is no wonder the NHS is on its knees struggling. I know this for a fact as I visited a hospital today, not as a fact-finding mission or in an effort to get a front line look at the crisis, but because someone very dear to me is very, very ill.
A couple of weeks ago now I received a phone call from my Uncle Golf, my Mother's Brother, to let me know that my Scottish Grandmother had taken a turn for the worst and was in the hospital. Being in her eighties, I didn't really think too much of it as she was old and frail. She had been in bed ever since myself and my other Nanny Pumpkin had gone to Krakow back in Early October, and truth be told that things had not really improved since then. Good news, however, was that she had been cleared from the COVID-19 Coronavirus several times and that seemingly it was a case for pneumonia, swelling of the tissue in one or both lungs, usually caused by a bacterial infection. At the end of the breathing tubes in your lungs are clusters of tiny air sacs and if these tiny sacs become inflamed and fill up with fluid, this can lead to pneumonia.
Every day that went by Uncle Golf would text us all a daily update on how she was getting on and the different phone calls or conversations he had with doctors and nurses looking after her. All seemed well and she was eating and drinking and getting back to normal, even talk of her being discharged. However, this morning as Mr Warehouse sat eating breakfast and contemplating doing something productive with our last day of a four-day bank holiday other than binge-watching Tiger King on Netflix, I got a phone call. It was Uncle Golf.
"Things aren't looking good and honestly they are not going to get better from here" he began, becoming choked up as he spoke. We continued to talk as he explained that Nana just wasn't getting better and that doctors had said to prepare the family and try to make the rounds in everyone seeing her before curtain call.
And so as 2pm rolled over on my car clock I met my Auntie, Cousin and Uncle in the hospital car park, walking in together for support. My Auntie looked tearful and tired-red eyes filled with sadness. My Uncle was quiet but strong. My cousin seemed to not really know the severity of it all, however, I am told despite being only sixteen, he knows what is happening and the likely outcome. I was half expecting my Mother to show up, but apparently her spotlight, I mean quality time, was yesterday.
Walking in the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being a bank holiday Monday, although that being said though we are amongst a national Lockdown. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical. Stepping into the sister's office I was donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus). Nana was sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. I began talking and introduced myself as if we had never met.
Struggling to think of things to say I talked about my baby-pooch, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called. Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always describing them as a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. As she sat there silently and shut-eyed, I recalled the first time she met him, picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest.
It's funny. I wrote a few months ago in the Summer of last year following a visit about how I thought, as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. And now today, as I sat by her bedside on her way out that I would. Although she looked much, much different now with her soft white curls flat and as lifeless as she seemed. I giggled at the thought of how they would wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years and all the mischief she would get up to.
Pauses came and went as she tried to say something (I think so anyway). Deciding that she could hear me and even if she couldn't it was better than sitting in silence as I watched my Grandmother slip closer and closer to the Grim Reaper, I continued talking. I talked about Mr Warehouse and how I am still working throughout these crazy times and how in a few months hopefully when this is all blown over Mr Warehouse and the dogs are going to Cornwall on a Pre-Wedding holiday.
"Remember the time that you came with us as a family on holiday with Mum and Dad when I was little. Really little. And I lost my bunny rabbit. Remember the brown furry one with leather padded paws?" I told her excitedly, hoping it might garner a response. Nothing.
"Do you remember how upset I was and how I cried the whole journey home to without him. And remember how some nice person posted it back to us?" I continued, again with little to no response.
Changing the subject I thought might help and so I spoke about my upcoming wedding that ultimately she probably won't make and how wonderful it is going to be with all the decorations and the dress and the church. It got me thinking about the story she told me of her and my Granda. I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger.
Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him.
Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic.
Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish, maybe now more than ever. I thought about that warm August day last year as she sat in her rocking chair and recalled how the day went as my little fur baby fell asleep curled-up on the jazzy carpet. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be.
Unfortunately, it was time for me to leave and as I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go now and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. Nevertheless, the prognosis does not look good and the outlook is bleak. How long? Nobody knows, could be hours, could be weeks or it could be months. All we do know is she is being cared for by the best people in the Biz and is comfier that I could ever hope for.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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