Evening,
It came on Saturday evening. Mr Warehouse had spent the day putting up a TV bracket for the living room taking nearly four-hours and now we were sat cosily on our sofa with the dogs, curled up in blankets watching Saturday night telly. I had been quietly contemplating visiting my Scottish Grandmother in Hospital since Friday morning, however, the weekend was nearly halfway through and the last visit I wished I hadn't have gone.
Walking into the building the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical although stepping into the room my Nanna was in, 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), she seemed peacefully asleep. 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. And yet despite all this, I struggled with the fact that she barely said anything. From a woman who struggled to zip it (she was a talkative soul), to now see her coldly silent, it was chilling.
I said to myself that if she was more animated and talkative on Friday and Saturday then Mr Warehouse and I would visit on Sunday. I didn't want to see her like that again, but if she was talking more then maybe that would make that memory fade more into the background when she had gone. Uncle Golf had said that the nurses and doctors had changed her medication and this had seemed to put a little spring in her step earlier on in the week so it seemed positive. However, on reading that message, I knew I would never get the chance.
"I am sorry to have to tell you that at 6.15pm this evening Nanna passed away peacefully," the message read. "She will now be with Granda and her family in heaven, looking down and smiling on us all" it continued. My heart broke. I did not cry, but of course, I was very sad. All of those ideas and thoughts I had in my head sitting in her rocking chairs together as we watched some old black and white movie as I cradled my swollen pregnant tummy someday, or maybe how she would cooe over her great-grandchild. The closest I got was her meeting my fur child, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called, even let him lick her face and cuddling him like a baby.
All of it seemed to pale into insignificance as I chatted away several hours later with my Auntie who had called to check up on me. She explained that both her and Uncle Golf had sat either side of her bed, in that heavens foyer of a room, talking about shoes when all of a sudden Nanna took a long deep breath and sighed.
"That's a bit of a long pause between breaths," they thought, chatting away. Calling in a nurse, and then a doctor, and then someone else, they confirmed that yes, Nanna had taken her last breath, listening to her beloved children twitter on about shoes. I am sure she would have found it comical.
And that was that. Nothing more, nothing less, a simple slipping away to heavens gate. But I should be grateful I and others got a chance to see her one last time. I remember how I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go 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. And now she is with him. What the future holds? Not a clue. I feel awkward asking about a funeral as she is barely cold, but with me being the only one running the department for the last couple of days with little help or support and the phones busy, work was one of the things I selflessly thought about.
As we now enter week number four of lockdown in the UK as we battle the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus and with Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) only recently been released from intensive care in hospital, Downing Street announced late last week that we are still amongst a state of national emergency. Continuing the message to stay at home and save the NHS, Lockdown was being extended. The BBC reports that restrictions in the UK will continue for "at least" another three weeks as it tackles the coronavirus outbreak, concluding that a review of relaxing the measures now would risk harming public health and the economy. The UK recorded death toll is now standing at over 16,000 - The population of places like Cirencesterin Gloucestershire, Penzance in Cornwall or my very own home town.
BBC.co.uk continues that the strict limits on daily life - such as requiring people to stay at home, shutting many businesses and preventing gatherings of more than two people - were introduced on 23 March, as the government tried to limit the spread of coronavirus. What that means for funerals? But looking online there seems to only be guidance from the media and newspapers. Nothing from Government. Reading on Metro.co.uk that weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies are being stopped during the coronavirus lockdown, but funerals will still be going ahead. However, it is unclear that, death from COVID-19 or not, lockdown measures including a ban on social gatherings of more than two people makes it a complicated time to cough it (excuse the pun) and the government still has yet to clarify how many people will be permitted to attend a funeral during this time or if only close and immediate family members are aloud only. Advice from the National Association of Funeral Directors (NAFD), said that whilst they have reached out to the Government to clarify a number of questions, including the maximum number of people that can attend a funeral, the initial advice is to arrange funerals over the phone wherever possible, restrict attendees to immediate close family only as well as respecting social distancing guidelines.
And so as the strange times continue for another few weeks yet, for it will get worse before it gets better, especially where my mother is concerned. But alas, I have to laugh and think about what my Scottish Nanna would say - "At Least that's one RSVP you won't have to chase"
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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
Heyy,
Alas stepping onto the scales last week, a mere pound away from losing my first stone and 1.5lbs from seeing a new stone-zone I was silently disappointed. Can hardly remember the last time I was in the 17-Stone range?! Nevertheless, I had a good week, eating out three times and snacking most of Saturday night so can hardly be surprised. Unfortunately, the Saturday to follow was all about sore heads, and not the good kind!
My Nephew, or should I say, future Nephew (at least for the next few months) had a big birthday this weekend and as the birthday boy wanted to do Ice Skating, Mr Warehouse and I joined his brother and his young family and a few friends on the ice at our local ice hockey stadium to shred it in our blades.
Now when the kids asked me if I had skated before, I didn't exactly lie to them, maybe just bent the truth. Honestly, I had only been skating a handful of times, and I mean a handful. I think the last time was with Mr Workaholic and his family in Hemel Hempstead, and even then I needed one of those kiddie penguin things. Nevertheless, I was older now, more mature and Dancing on Ice was a thing. So whilst I acknowledged I would not be doing a Disney On Ice recreation of pirouette's and jumps, I was hoping I may be able to do without Percy Penguin this time.
Donning my skates, I was anxious as I watched on as each person carefully stepped onto the slippery ice. one by one they all skated off, gliding over the frozen water like fucking pro's. I was envious, to say the least as I knew, stepping out and sliding along a little I was not going to be as graceful. In fact, it took only a few tugs along the side of the rink before I lost my balance. Down I went. The only problem being is that despite my weight loss so far, all of me came crashing down. The first thing to make contact? My head. With the corner of the rink itself. Smacking my head heavy off the corner of the entrance I was dazed a little but knew I had to get up, for fear of embarrassment if nothing else.
Suffice to say, Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard. But, with my British stiff upper lip I (attempted) to keep calm and carry on. Slowly but surely my aching legs and arms pulled me around the rink, three times in fact, although not without my fair share of slipping, sliding and splitting (literally doing the splits like an X-Rated version of fecking Bambi). Yes, I fell over, but so did others, although I don't think that they were approached by two very concerned 14-year-olds asking if I needed help getting up like some geriatric old fart. After falling over several times and being overtaken by several children younger than myself I found a polar bear (not a real one) and continued to go round a couple more times with him aiding and supporting me. I had no shame. None whatsoever. I was Darcey Bussell. No-one could stop me. Apart from the ice. The ice stopped me a few times.
"I thought these things were meant to stabilise you and stop you from slipping over?!" I exclaimed in my head as I headed towards Mr Warehouse and Co. on the other side of the Ice Rink. Needing a rest I stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything. It's hard to relax any sort of leg muscle when your feet are strapped in tighter than a fat man on a rollercoaster and your only contact with the ground was a thin shiny metal blade.
Sitting down, exhausted, Mr Warehouse made a comment about how I didn't look well. Truthfully I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right.
"How hard did you hit your head?" Mr Warehouse said jokingly as he went to reach up to my head. And there it was searing hot pain spread across my skull. OWWW! Mr Warehouse face changed as it went from jovial fun on the ice to a serious and scared fiance. Reaching up to feel my head I could see why he was concerned. A huge lump had arisen. At the size of an orange, I knew that I had done some damage. I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason. I felt like I had been drinking for weeks and stopped, all of a sudden on some sort of come-down. I felt weird. This was weird. This wasn't right and I am not OK.
I decided that as much as I wanted to I couldn't risk going back out on the ice, plus some little fuck had stolen my polar bear so probably for the best. I took off my skates as did everyone else and headed back to the car, a dull ache starting to set in. Everything hurt. Every step I took was going straight to my inflamed head. After a quiet car journey and a stop off at some shops for a drink and some painkillers, we headed (excuse the pun) back to my future In-Laws for cake and presents. I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday.
After an hour or so I obviously wasn't looking right so Mr Warehouse made our excuses and left. After a little telly, I hit the pillow for an early night and struggled to wake the next morning, still with sore head and body littered with bruises. I was aching and I was tired but with a risk of concussion, Mr Warehouse refused to let me sleep any longer and instead we headed out to meet my Dad and his wife for tea and cake. That afternoon though I got my wish as I lazed on the couch most the afternoon snoozing in between pokes from my fiance just to make sure I was alive still. Even the weekly traditional roast dinner didn't sort me out and still even today at my desk colleagues referred to me as looking peaky and "not well". I spoke to HR who advised to go home, to which I replied that if I was paid to be off with sickness then I would, but I have a mortgage and can't afford time off.
As I looked online at the NHS Website and their advice on Minor Head Injuries and Concussion, I knew that things are not good when on day two you still have symptoms. Now to be fair, it does state that if you have been knocked out but have now woken up, been vomiting or have been drinking alcohol then I should go to Accident and Emergency, but I haven't so it's OK right? The Website continues to states that it's normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks.
NHS guidelines go on to say that to bring down any swelling holding an ice pack (or a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel) to the injury regularly for short periods in the first few days is helpful. Resting up and avoid stress is also advisable and to take paracetamol or ibuprofen to relieve pain or a headache but not aspirin as it could cause the injury to bleed. And whilst I have been at work today, it is probably not a good thing as further advise states that patients suffering from minor head injuries should not go back to work or school until feeling better and should not drive until fully recovered.
At the moment I still feel sick and having to concentrate today at work was hard. The screens didn't help and where I was normally focused and on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. I will have to wait and see how I feel tomorrow, but if I am not getting paid then I won't have much choice, concussion or not.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Heyy,
Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it.
Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident.
Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help.
"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.
Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK.
Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me.
After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon.
Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive.
A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Good Evening,
With myself and a another work colleague wrestling with telephones and battling the emails I to thought myself was it really all worth it. Don't get me wrong I loved the feeling of being under pressure and a good kind of stress. I knew that within a day or two life would be back to normal and the equilibrium would be restored back in the service department of a busy fire and security company. Getting up from my desk, probably the first time in the whole morning, I went in search to get a cup of coffee. Almost on cue my phone rang. It was my Nanny Pumpkin.
"Hello dear. I just wanted to let you know but your Granddad has gone back into hospital again" she said hastily knowing that she had quite a few other people to call. After more than five years of constant trips to doctors, pharmacies and hospitals myself and the rest of the family were well used to having at these sorts of phone calls just find out that there was no need to worry or stress as he bounced back once more. But there was something different about this time. Something more serious. Something wrong. But with customers queueing on the phones and emails coming out of my ears I have no choice but to return to my desk and see out another day in the office.
Throughout the afternoon I had more phone calls from Auntie's, Uncle's and even my Dad updating me on his progress or lack of thereof. After work I called around, trying to find out if anyone in the family had been able to contact my brother. It has probably been a good three maybe even four years since we last spoke, and even then it was at a funeral. God knows I didn't want it to be at another one but I needed my brother to know the details for him to make an informed choice like I had about whether he wanted to see my granddad one last time. But on speaking to my mother's sister she assured me that whilst she had fed the message back about just how poorly our grandfather was including details about where abouts he was being looked after in hospital to my brother, it would have appeared my mother was not all that serious about saying goodbye and in turn was preventing my brother from also going, even larking about 'how sick he really was'.
Later on I discussed my decision about not going to see my grandfather in his final moments with with Mr Warehouse and I seriously worried that I have not made the right decision in going. I can only assume that after the upbringing I have had within the military family background, death is but inevitable along with taxes that is. I pondered on whether my grandfather would want me there but I settled my mind telling myself that he would be so high on drugs he would probably not even know I was there. 'How would I know if I have made that right decision to not see him?' I thought but in reality I knew the answer already and that it would only be clear if and when he was gone. My grandfather and I were never really that close. We chatted whenever I went round to see my Nanny Pumpkin and even shared in a few stories and anecdotes about travelling or dating. He was the person that taught me how to ride a bike all those many moons ago and was the person that taught me a very sure life lesson that would probably make me the person that I am today and that is when you fall off your bike you should always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the worse it becomes when you do.
Exhausted from a hard few days at work Mr Warehouse and I went to bed early where I quickly fell into a deep sleep. I was only in slumber for a few hours before I was awake once more. On waking I noted about it was still dark and was far from morning. I heard the faint tone of my mobile ringing and trying not to wake the rest of my household I went to go and answer it hoping that it would not wake Mr. Warehouse for he does get ever so grumpy without his beauty sleep. Looking at the time I could see that it was within the hour of 2am. 'Who would be calling at this hour?!' I pondered as I answered the call, expecting it to be a a drunk dial. Answering I heard my dad's voice and he sounded serious.
"Hi. I am sorry to wake you but I thought you might need to know that your granddad has passed away tonight." My father said. And it was at this point that everything I thought about life and death came into perspective, as crystal clear as a diamond. I don't know for sure exactly what I said although I do remember asking him if he was OK despite very reason we were speaking at such a late hour. A brief conversation as it always ever was with my father he ended the call promising to speak in the morning. I was now shaking. I was freezing cold. Now I was hot. Wait, I'm going to be sick. Nope I need to poop. What the fuck is this. Now I'm cold again but sweating. My hands were clammy as I figure out my way to the bathroom for fear of something unnatural happening to me. Is this shock? Is this fear?
Sitting on the toilet with my head hovering over the bathtub for at least 30 minutes I became more and more chilly. Head spinning I took a bowl from the kitchen and returned to the safety and warmth of my bed shared with my beloved Mr Warehouse, fast asleep, just as I had left him. But climbing back in bed did not solve my problems. I was pleasantly warm now but the clammy sweaty cold feeling did not leave me. All I could think about was my family and what I may say at the funeral. Would I be asked to say anything? How would we all get to and from the church, service and wake? What would I wear? What would Mr. Warehouse wear? What will the family say about my decision not to see him before he passed? Would the family argue over silly things? All these things that whizzed around my head until I fell back asleep. When I next open my eyes it was morning. My alarm is ringing letting me know that it was time to get up, get ready and get on with the day. As I pulled on some black leggings and a comfy jumper, a staple it seems for my work attire at the moment, Mr. Warehouse awoke, groggy from the Sandman's reign. I told him the news which suddenly seemed to make him perk up and listen.
"Why are you going in?" Mr. Warehouse asked me, clearly concerned with how I was feeling and possibly worried as was I on how I would handle my workday today, all in the knowledge of what yesterday and the day before brought me. But I had very little choice. If I chose not to go in and stay at home I would just vegetate and watch crap TV which was not really an option when you know that someone else is going to have to pick up the pieces and run an entire five-man service desk team by themselves that was already snowed under and bombarded with constant emails, phone calls and to do lists. And so I went in. Do I regret not going in? Yes probably. Many people and mainly work colleagues told me that I should have probably not gone in that day. But the fact of the matter is that I did and let's be fair in realistic terms what choice did I honestly have. If I had not turned up and for whatever reason my other colleague has not come in also there would be absolutely no one to answer any of the customer complaints, queries or questions. After the week that I have had I could have probably done with not going in. A few close work colleagues and friends of mine had said that family comes first regardless of the job and what I was doing it should have all taken a back burner in order for me to be with my family at what was a difficult time.
But was it though? Whilst yes what happened in the early hours of Tuesday morning was very sad and upsetting for everyone involved, myself included, unfortunately this was something that we were expecting as a family for some time now. This was far from being out of the blue and a shock to our system. Everyone was apologising and saying sorry. Whilst I did honestly appreciate their condolences, I did consider what I did in the past given the same or similar situation. I too had apologised and said sorry. But I suppose the ironic thing is that I was not sorry at all. I could not take away the pain and sadness as much as they could not take away mine. Alas we are British at the end of the day and it just so happens that we are not that great at talking and dealing with death. I mean you can hardly say "Awwh That Sucks!" when your best friend tells you her Nan died.
In between my hectic work schedule, barrage of emails and heavy flow of customer calls I was contacted by various members of my friends and family asking me how I was. The truth was that I felt fine. Admittedly. my world was certainly not the same as it was when I went to bed last night and in a small way felt a little emptier than before. The last few days have been difficult and odd to say the least. Work has been exceptionally busy and with a hectic weekend I have barely had a moment to think. Work colleagues, friends and even Mr. Warehouse are telling me that I am taking everything in my stride and dealing with it very well. But I'm just getting on with it. Besides, gotta get back up and on the bike sooner or later?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hiya!
What is it with Monday's lately that seem to transcend into utter malfunctioning, chaotic, alcohol-after-work-inducing messes that leave me questioning my own self worth?! Today life has hit a new low and I think it is time something was done about it. So with wine glass in hand I shall begin to fumble through the aftermath of the last week.
So revision has been in place for my Driving Theory Test for some weeks now and after attending the last examination I had in Milton Keynes and failing (no improvements on life since I will have you know), I had since booked my retest at the centre in Luton, simply because it was more convenient and had closer dates. So as I got ready for my test on Saturday morning and ran through some scenario question types in my head I pondered as to whether this would be the day. I was fairly confident and since I couldn't recall the last time I got a single mock test wrong or low score on my Hazard Perception tests I had been practising on, and so Grabbing at my new fave hot Starbs Bevvy - A sweet Chai latte with cream - I headed for my train and began to hit up some more revision.
Making my way to the test centre through the greying buildings of Luton town centre, I was thinking how wonderful it will feel when it starts to rain and I am in my little car, laughing at all the Bus Wankers along the way! Stepping inside the reception areas I could tell that the centre in Luton was much more relaxed and laid back, as I handed over my photocard and locked my things away I was then lead to the small cubicles and off I went. Checking and rechecking the questions I knew I was sketchy on a few of them, just fingers crossed it was enough. Flying through my Hazard Perception section I answered some customer service questions on the process of learning to drive and left the room quietly.
Thanking the lady for the sheet of A4 with my results on it I folded it and left, hoping not to be seeing her again under these circumstances. Shoving the paper to the bottom of my Pink Ted Baker and heading back out into the sopping rain, I did wonder where that spa day of mine could have got to and when I was due to meet my Father and his girlfriend for lunch. After an hour or so of window shopping, most of it spent in LUSH trying out lip stains, body butters and exfoliators, I rushed to meet for lunch and settling into the pub atmosphere I spent a rare moment alone with my Dad. Giving me a cuddle and telling me he missed me was nice, but the moment was marred slightly by asking to see my results.
Something about me felt good about it this time, but that feeling was also there last time too. "Oh Jesus!" I said out loud as I opened the folded paper. Reading through the results I finally got to the point we had all been holding our breath for ... I passed! I chuffing passed my mother-trunking, ball-licking Driving Theory Test! Oh dear lordy lord I dont have to do that again! Well as long as I pass within the next two years I don't! Thank fuck for that!
Settling down with my proud Papa and G.F we ate lunch and sipped on a celebratory glass of wine before heading home, although not before a short stop at the hospital to see my Nanny Pumpkin whom had just had an operation on her foot. She's fine, just tickled by the fact I thought the Iodine on her leg was actually fake tan! Costa-Del-NHS anyone?
Asking about the potential new job, Nanny Pumpkin had asked how it was all going and what was on the horizon. Well at the time there was not much of an update but sadly to say I will not be moving any time soon. Indeed after last weeks post I had indeed applied and ended up having an interview however there was someone better suited to the role and thus I was pipped to the post by someone better than me, although I cant see how - I'm Fabulous!!! Nevertheless there shall be no hard feelings about the role between any of us working there however it has made me realise that maybe there is more to life? But that can be potentially be put on the back burner for the time being, at least until I get a car anyway.
So glad I have finally passed that bastard of an exam. One down - One to go!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Good Evening,
So continuing with the fancy-free frivolity of being a twenty-something with minimal commitments, this week I decided to book a day off. Now you are probably all thinking, "Hmm, I wonder what our dear friend did with her time off?" but wonder no more my amigos as I took it off not for a extended mini-break, nor a lengthy, well-needed spa day with Champers. No, I took the day off to visit the place where people are born and people die. Yes. Hospital!
After weeks of knowing my appointment to have my back Molar removed, I was certainly not looking forward to it, especially on a weekend where I had other, more important things to think about like how I am going to deal with God at Church on Sunday and what I should wear to the Christening that day. All items which pondered my mind as I sat waiting for my name to be called. I did wonder if I should maybe say my goodbyes to Mr. Warehouse now, read him my will and testament and explain what sort of coffin I would like for my nerves and fear factor were surely high enough to give me a heart attack if the Surgeon didn't.
Name called and without a moment to spare once in the Surgeon's office I was whizzed through a shit load of questions my anxiety has made me forget and hoofed straight into the operating theatre. Laying down on the PVC Leather couch I tried not to imagine people having violent porn on it. Sitting back as the nurses rallied round I asked if I would be able to listen to some music in order to drown out the sounds of drills, wrenching and yanking. Getting me prepped a lady took my blood pressure and I mentioned how I was proud that it along with all my other vitals were outstanding for a person of a BMI over 30. But as I rest my head backwards and felt the tourniquet tighten and the sharp scratch of the needle pierce my pale skin I got chatting to the lady holding my arm. She had noticed the golden bumblebee around my neck and had commented on how pretty it was, probably the first person in a long time to do so. I thanked her and explained how it was not real gold, letting her into the secret that it was in fact sterling silver with a gold-plate and that honestly I should probably go and get it re-plated. As I felt the anaesthetic take hold, pulsing through my veins I drowsily slurred that I wanted an Alex Monroe Bumble-Bee for my birthday but instead bought this as it was much cheaper that the £150.00 real-Gold Monroe. As I revelled in the fact that someone had the same interest in the beauty that is Alex Monroe, I could feel myself slipping under. Everything became blurry and slurred. Nothing made sense and I couldn't feel anything in terms of pain but had the sensation of multiple people pulling, ripping and stretching my face.
As they wheeled me coming out of Theatre I noticed Mr. Warehouse on his feet, waiting anxiously. I have no idea of time and whilst I was recovering from the drugs and anaesthetic I lay there not wanting to speak to my sweet boyfriend as I could feel that he did not want to look upon me in the state I was. Later I recall him saying that it was one of the worst moments of being with me as he loathed the fact that I was in pain and hooked up to all these machines, nothing that he nor I could do to make it better. What a sweetheart 'eh?!
Apparently it wasn't all morbid and solemn. Supposedly there were two surgical bins, one yellow, one black and white. According to Mr. Warehouse I was so out of it from my medication I thought that they were a Duck and a Penguin having a deep conversation about the political affairs somewhere. I also tried to dance whilst lying in my hospital bed and this didn't stop when the nurses tried to get me up. Soon though I was allowed home. Mr. Warehouse took me back to the Home he shares with his Mom and pet Dog. Mr. Warehouse treated me very well on Friday, read all my hospital paperwork, made sure I took my meds on time, kept me topped up on water, wiped my dribbles and even made me lunch and dinner. Such a good boy isn't he!?
With my tooth removed the rest of Friday was a haze between doggy cuddles, Mr. Warehouse cuddles and sleeping. The weekend as a whole was fairly relaxing ending yesterday with a beautiful Christening service in a tiny snow-dusted church on the outskirts of Marston Mortaine in the idyllic Bedfordshire countryside followed by a wonderfully tasty meal at The Embankment Hotel, situated right on the river front of the River Ouse in Bedford. Now I must say that on calling the venue a few weeks ago to ask for a menu to be sent via email for pre-selecting what I and the boyfriend were going to have I was quite put out by the rudeness from staff and other telephone answer-ers. However on entering and ordering a 'Hot Mulled Cider' which took longer than needed I was pleasantly surprised when they not only offered me a drink on the house for the 30-minute wait whilst the Cider warmed but also a couple of free refills and what amazingly scrumptious, apple-y, lemon-y, cider-y goodness. especially for when there is snow on the ground outside.
But hears hoping that this weekend the snow can stay away so Mr. Warehouse and I can do something fun involving something warm and cosy. Definitely not off to raid my under sink booze-cupboard for some left over cider ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
