A WALK BY COOL WATER, JUST WHAT'S NEEDED ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY

The weather this weekend has been and is fantastic and I need to get outside to read my book (Florence Nightingale biography if your interested!)
But I thought later we could go for an imaginary walk to some of my favourite places.
So put your walking boots on, bring lashings of lemonade and ginger beer and we'll set off!!!


First stop is late morning in the Goyt Valley at Errwood reservoir.


Moving on to the crystal clear air around Rudyard Lake, the one I can walk to from outside my front door.


Keep up we've a way to go yet, we're at the River Dove near Hartington, Derbyshire


Are you out of breathe yet, cause we're now at the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia USA


It's starting to get late, and we're already back at the River Thames in Abingdon, Oxfordshire


The light here is lovely at Tittesworth reservoir, near where I live


And the sun slowly sinks as we finish our walk at Knypersley Pool in Staffordshire

I hope you've enjoyed your walk and feel refreshed by all the cool water we've been beside. So it's now time to go back to my house, come along your welcome, and we'll have a big bowl of pasta, some green salad and a bottle of wine as we talk over the days adventures. And maybe cause we've been so far a big slice of lemon cake cause we've been good. And there is always tomorrows walk by the sea to get rid of all the naughty calories.

FOOD IT'S WHAT KEEPS US ALIVE,why abuse it?

I do not have a very healthy attitude to the size of my body. Like so many women I spend far too long thinking that bits of it are not right, as in my stomach is too big. And although this has changed over the years, the thought processes, not my stomach! And nowadays I'm far more at peace with myself than ever I used to be, it still has the power to unsettle me. Now I'm lucky as I do have reasonable self esteem, and I know that my attractiveness does NOT hinge upon the size of my stomach.
I know that other people, especially men would look at the whole package and if they did focus on any one bit it would be because they were a leg or breast man. And they wouldn't be finding fault in the way I may do.

My point is here, that I'm just part of the Western worlds obsession with how we look. We have the luxury of being like this, as on the whole we are not starving. Catch anyone in a third world country having the energy to worry about something so inconsequential as the size of their bum, when they don't even know if there will be a next meal.

The reason I'm talking about this is coming across two sides of the size spectrum in my work recently. Both female, both filled with self hate, both extreme sizes. One coming in at over 20 stone (A) and the other coming in at around 7 stone (B). (Stone =14lbs)

Client A, has no self esteem, has always been heavy, looks after the emotional needs of her family, that is her own children, her parents especially her ill mother, her brothers and their wives and children. She is bullied to take care of all their needs, and has no ability to say no. She is really angry about this treatment, but is trapped in it. So she eats her anger. She waits till everyone has gone out and binges on whatever she can find. So just before the this happens she has a moments peace as she prepares to satisfy her needs. Then the minute she has consumed whatever it is, the self hate starts back with a vengeance..... how could she be so greedy, how could she eat the kids treats,how could she have so little self control. No wonder no-one likes her and on and on.

Client B, on the other hand, has a figure to die for,and she's doing her best to get there as fast as possible. She compulsively exercises, starts the day with a 10k run, goes to the gym most days, vomits after most meals. Looks after her family, including her alcoholic mother, and is the only one of the siblings to sort out anything in the family. When she gets more stressed, as in recently dealing with an overload of problems her bulimia has got worse and she is almost out of control.

How did we get like this? How did I, a healthy size 12(8 US), get to spend so much time focusing on my perceived bad bits. How did food, something that is life giving become the enemy of so many women. A tool they use to control the rage they feel with the world. How can I be so daft that if I eat too much 'bad' food, whatever I perceive to be bad at any given moment, can I hate myself.

I'm not asking these questions to have answers about me here. I'm just, I think, expressing astonishment in the huge increase in eating disorders in today's society. And I know that if I, as a normal size person, ruminates on this then it is so much worse for women who really hate themselves, because they are the wrong size or shape.

One of the places I was shocked to see so many obese people recently was in the hospitals, not as patients, but as staff. What is happening when people who are taught the dangers of obesity in relation to increased risk of developing diabetes and heart disease take no notice. As the need to eat is greater than the need to take care of themselves.

When did we loss touch with the idea that food is something that should be prepared with love and enjoyed for it's taste and texture. That to share food with others is a wonderful thing to do, the breaking of bread. The eating of food to celebrate a hard days work.

I may sound a bit puritanical here, but it seems to me that food is too easy, pick up a burger, call for a take away, buy a sandwich. There is no time seemingly to make our own food. And yet I know that it takes no more than three minutes to make home made Yorkshire puddings for example. But it is three minutes that too many people are not prepared to spend, it's easier out of a packet, with all its subsequent e numbers and weird ingredients.

We have to start loving ourselves a bit more, and treating ourselves with respect, whether that's our minds, or our bodies. And then maybe, when people do learn to self love some more they will care about what they are doing to their bodies.

We cannot eat our rage. We cannot make ourselves better by abusing food and then ourselves with that food. We cannot let go of that self hate till we learn to give ourselves respect as ok people.

There are better ways to be kind to ourselves than yet more bloody instant gratification food, how about a bunch of flowers, a new lipstick, a book, a letter written to ourselves telling us why we are worth it, whatever it takes.
We're only here for a short time so shouldn't that time be as healthy as possible emotionally and physically?

GOOD FOOD, GOOD CONVERSATION, FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER.

I have had a weekend where each activity, or meeting surpassed the one before. It has been absolutely lovely.
I have come back with some of the images in my head, where hopefully they will stay for sometime.
It is almost too much to tell, it won't be believable that I've done as much as I have. So if you thought the list before I went away was exhausting, I can only suggest that you go make a large coffee, cause you'll need the caffeine to keep up here!

Actually I've just written my adventures all out and they go on and on, so I've cut a lot out

The point of my weekend has been meeting old friends, newish friends and total strangers. It has been made up of wonderful conversation, good food and champagne.

Suffice to say that everyone I have been with has made me feel welcome and cherished.
The weather has been fantastic, who'd have thought a bank holiday weekend would have sunshine in this country,certainly not me, as my shoulders are a testament to that fact!

The whole idea of going to London on this weekend was to meet up with Nicky who is visiting with her husband from South Africa. I crashed her 'do' with fellow children's authors. It was difficult to get a lot of her time there must have been at least 20 others there, all wanting to talk to her. But the bit that I did, she lived up to expectations,she is warm and funny and I only wished I could have spent longer with her. So instead I spent my time talking to her delightful husband D, we had a great conversation that leapt from politics to therapy and back again very fast.

Because Kit was in Paris till Saturday evening I had to find somewhere else to stay and I went to the lovely Mei's house where I met Fred her french partner who was so easy to talk to, just as Mei is. But I already knew that about her from my blog parties

The paragraphs above are the abridged version and now I'll get back to my waffling!!

Saturday, was a beautiful warm day so Mei and I went to walk the very famous Kofi,we went to what Mei referred to as their normal walk to the lake. It was a 7 mile round trip!!!We'd forgotten to take water... What was amazing about this walk was that in the part of north London that she lives one way up her road takes you into a busy high street and the other takes you to this countryside walk that goes on forever. You would not know that you were in London, with woods,streams, fields, farms,cattle horses, all so close to the edge of the capitol.

After lunch I set off again to meet up with my cousin and his son. We were going to have afternoon tea. They took me to this utterly amazing place called the Wolsey, it's next door to the Ritz. It is the most amazing Art Deco building that once was a garage sale room for Wolsey cars.... hence the name. I do like to help you out in spotting the bleeding obvious!!!

Afternoon tea in some places in England is a real old fashioned throw back to another era,small finger sandwiches, with cucumber naturally, and smoked salmon. Once these have been eaten, and although they were delicious, they are a forerunner to the main event of warm scones with clotted cream and jam..... gorgeous!! As if this wasn't enough, there were then three small cakes to be consumed each. Thank goodness that Jon's son was still at the age of hoovering all food around him, as I'd never have finished it otherwise.

The only thing to do after this was walk it off, through Green Park down into St James's,down Whitehall, passing the back of Downing St, Up to Trafalgar Square along to Piccadilly to hopefully meet up with Jon's wife, and her mother who was visiting from Canada, and had been taken to Fortnum and Mason's for her afternoon tea. Only to discover they were on their way to find us and were in St James's, so round we went again....

It has to be said that I was getting utterly worn out, and once we'd all met up they had to leave, and I couldn't go to Kit's till 8.30 when he got back from Paris, so I lay in the sunshine in the park for an hour with my boots off cooling my poor throbbing feet.

By the time I got to Kit's I reckon I'd walked 12 miles in one day.....
So I did it all again round Kew Gardens on Sunday with Kit and his delightful, gentle girlfriend, who I met for the first time. I think we walked about 6 miles in total that day.

And the highlight for me of my weekend was sitting in a pub by the river Thames having lunch with Kit and his GF and two of his very good friends, as the tide came in and the sun sparkled on the water. And I watched the boats go by. And the conversation was inclusive of me and I felt that I was as much a part of the day as anyone else. And felt very cherished, when they all wanted me to stay an extra night.

But it was time for home, in the late evening warmth, with the roof down and the warm air blowing through my hair I flew home up the motorway, well it felt like I flew!!

And what I've brought back with me is love that is shared between my family. But also given by bloggers to each other,as yet again the short cuts to relationships are in place when meeting up, that in no other meeting between people would be possible at such short acquaintance.

It is a powerful world that I'm part of and I'm blessed to be a part of it.

Pictures tonight , words tomorrow

The view of Kew bridge from the pub wall lunch time today


An amazing plant inside the Palm House in Kew Gardens


The flowers in St James's Park


London skyline with St Paul's Cathedral and the Gherkin.


The woods near Mei's house


The Fairy tale rooftops and the London Eye taken from the bridge in St James's Park

THANKS FOR HEALING

Self hate so corrosive.
Self esteem banished to the shed,
Being nice doesn't work, even tough they said.
Bottling up pain and sadness
No-one will love me, I'm such a mess.
The fear strangles in the night,
Anger throttles with incoherent words tumbling in my brain.
I didn't need to shoot the messenger they weren't to blame.
The pills just make me fuzzy
And make me aware of the aloneness in me.
Won't someone hear me,and hold me tight
Let me walk close by,and into the light.

The doc said go talk to her,she's not fluffy or sweet
She listened and looked at me as I told her my tale
Then what she said is etched on my brain
She looked at me and said, I'm not fucking surprised
The burden you carry is too bloody big,
No wonder they said you should see the shrink.
Where shall I sign
When do I start.

And that's what I do, I listen and look, I start with myself
And then on to you.
My clients the people I'm paid to see
The ones who want to move from loathing to love
Who start with having faith in me
And whadda yer know, they get it as well
The place of self love, the future is bright
No more fear, in the dead of the night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love what I do professionally, I love my work. I love the fact that someone walks into my life hating themselves, and walks away a while later wondering how they ever thought that was a good place to be.

I love that I can make an impact on people's lives,both intentionally and unintentionally (as here sometimes) That people who never thought they could feel anything other than self hate can learn to love themselves. Not in a conceited and overpowering way, just as being equal to everyone around them.
I am privileged to have these skills, and I'm oh so grateful.
To know that there are people still walking around on this planet, cause I helped them find hope, is awesome

I've written the poem this morning as a tribute to my lovely clients at the moment, who are all working so hard, as I am, to help them find the way out of the morass that brought them to my door in the first place.

And imparticular to the client that for the first time last week realised that their future doesn't have to be a planned death, it could be a natural one further down the line. Part of wants to say how did that happen, but that's the part of me that is modest and unassuming about what I do. But the part of me that knows I now how to find the right words, to help someone find a way to heal, knows it was because of me.

And whether anyone believes that my voice is God given or not (something I don't have the answer to, and why should I anyway?) It is there and it works and I'm thankful for that.

I think I live my life to the full because of the work I do, I think it's taught me that we're here for such a short time and that we cannot waste a moment of it. Life is there for drinking up and not just existing. And of course I know I have bad times(as you all know to!!) But the fact that I use my self and my experiences to learn about human nature and then hand my knowledge on means the circle gets completed over and over again in me, and in others. And I don't have the words to say how that makes me feel at all.

JUST A NORMAL WEEKEND!!!!!!!

Now you know me, and how when I do something I do it at breakneck speed with as much as possible crammed in to make it worthwhile. Well this coming weekend is no exception.

Going off to Oxford tomorrow night, after work to stay overnight with old friends, so as to save some travelling time the next day.

Friday drive to where my son lives in London and park my car and walk away.
Sort myself out on the tube and get from west London to North to meet the lovely Mei, who seems to have stopped blogging, but not stopped being a mate.

Quick lunch with her and then back into centre to go and meet Absolute Vanilla (Nicky) who is over from South Africa. And has organised a grand meeting of folk. So she will be the sounds of it, be able to give us all five minutes before someone else wants to say hello to her.

Back to Mei's for the night, and a breather as I don't then have to be anywhere till Saturday afternoon when I met up with my cousin for a bite to eat.

Leaving him in time to go back to west London to see Kit, who will have arrived back from Paris by 8pm.

Sunday I'll phone up CheekyDani and if she's around we are going to try and met for coffee. Otherwise it's off to Kew gardens with Kit and I'm going to meet his girlfriend for the first time.

Lunch will be at a pub by the Thames near Kew bridge, and then I can get in my conveniently parked car and drive home. So saving me a ridiculous four hour train journey that involves 4 changes cause it's Sunday and the rail network is dug up so increasing journey length by three hours.

Then I get a bank holiday to recover on Monday and to plan my next jaunt..... Philadelphia three weeks later!!! Which I really hope I my beloved friend Sorrow can get to for a few days ( no pressure then hon!!!)

Pic is off my eldest looking suitably bored with me for taking yet another pic.With Big Ben and the South African Embassy (that's apt!!) in the background taken in Trafalgar Square on the steps of the National gallery

MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS

This post has come about through two sources of inspiration.
The first is my friend Trousers last post, he talked about being caught in the rain. And the second was a programme I watched last night, it was about rain.... only in Britain could you have an hour long programme on rain that was interesting!!

Bring a brolly Nicky!!

So I was out walking in the rain, as if there is any other way to walk around here at the moment! And as ever I was under the trees, and I got thinking about how some memories are so deep rooted that they remain with us always.

And although I have a memory that goes all the way back to my being a baby, I have now as an adult adapted the experience so that I can still capture the feeling it gave me.

I was brought up in a time of shoving babies in prams and putting them out in the garden, whatever the weather, for hours. So my memory is of being in the pram under the tree in the garden, with the rain pattering down on the hood. This then is the feeling, sound, experience I love.

Nowadays I replicate this sensation in three ways, in my car, it has a soft top, and I've been known to stop driving, just to sit in the rain listening to the noise. Or lying in my bed with the window open and hearing the rain hitting the conservatory roof. Or if I'm walking I wear a baseball cap with the hood of my coat up, so creating the feeling of the pram roof around me. This is such an important sensation for me. And as long as I am warm and dry I adore it. It works at it's best if there are trees around me, especially if I can get right underneath one and be able to see the leaves hanging down around me laden with water.

This got me thinking about other childhood sensations that I have translated into adult behaviour. Like the one involving 'Mummy's special supper' This is the name that the boys gave to this when they were tiny. It comes from going on holiday with my parents and them going down to dinner in whichever hotel we were staying in Fowey or Salcombe. Us girls, ( my sister and I) would be given cold milk and a plate of plain biscuits. And now if I'm feeling a bit peckish and sad, have to have both for the combination to happen, I will have Mummy's special supper. It's a comfort thing to remind me that my parents won't be long and I'm safe with my teddies and sister till they come back upstairs, and although I don't have my parents alive now it makes me feel nostalgic for that time, and the knowledge that I was safe and loved. Which when I'm feeling sad comforts me.

Being able to replicate my Mum's cooking is another biggy. My mum was ahead of her time and used to cook spaghetti long before it took off in the UK. She made a meal that she called Spaghetti Neapolitan, which was a wonderful dish of tomatoes, onions, cheese and garlic. I can make this exactly,and it is a comfort staple when nothing else will do. And now my sons cook it, although they have tried extending the recipe with more spices, they come back to my mum's original recipe as it really cannot be beaten for making you feel warm on a cold day.

There are many other meals that I make that were hers, and it is a joy when either of the boys ask me how to make something that I learnt from her. That continuity of family history is a real pleasure.

I wear on my left hand my Mum's engagement ring. It started in my family when it was given to my Great Grandmother for passing a piano exam when she was 18. It eventually passed to my Grandmother who gave it to my Dad. He gave it to my mother when he asked her to marry him. Mum gave it to me when I was 21 and passed my nursing exams. And now it waits, for one of my sons to have a daughter or to give it to my niece. And it makes me smile that it could belong to the great great great grandchild of that 18 year old girl

There are of course so many more of these memories inside me, but I'll save them otherwise I may not stop writing!!! But it has been a joy to write this post, to acknowledge those precious experiences that make me who I am. And to know that they continue with my sons. That the circle of life goes on and on and that's as it should be.

TOUCH, HOW I MISS IT AND I NEVER KNEW

As time passes you forget what's gone before. You have to live in the moment, not realising that something has been lost. I have never been the sort of person to want to live in the past. I have enjoyed (or not!) what the day has brought.
But on Monday I got a glimpse of something I had a long time ago. Something that at the time I'd treasured. I'd hardly realised it had slipped out of my life, as I work with life as it is right now.

And what was this something? It was my son's vulnerability whilst he was ill.
Now I do not wish any more ill health on him at all. But to get to hold his hand, cause he was scared was a joy I haven't had for years.

The last times we ever held hands would have been on the walk back from infant school, up to about the age of him being 8. We would walk home with the dog we had then (see picture of Denny), and Alex would click his double jointed knuckles in my hand, which I hated.

When I held his hand on Monday I reminded him of this, and he clicked his knuckle. I still didn't like it, but I so liked the fact that he was needing to have his hand held.

I was allowed to rub his chest, to feel the fragile person he's become with all his weight loss, his ribs sticking through his muscle layer.

He needed me to rub his feet, whilst he lay uncomfortably on the trolley. His feet were so cold, although he was burning up. And I rubbed and massaged the dry skin till it felt warm to him.

At some point he rolled onto his side to sleep, his T shirt rolling up exposing his back, which I covered with blanket, but not before noticing the nodules of his spine poking through the skin.

I felt so sad and upset at this sight. This was my baby and I couldn't help him feel better. Although he had faith in what I've told him about what's wrong. It wasn't that, it was the frailty of human life and it being of my flesh that cut my soul.

He is without doubt an awkward critter when he's well. But to see my tough son reduced to this scared child was unbearable. For him to feel so ill that he needed his mummy beside him, even if I was just there reading. I was just needed there.

There was such a poignancy to this need for touch from him, that it was all I could do not to cry in front of him. I don't get to touch him very often anymore. There is the occasional hug that he volunteers, and the odd kiss on the top of my head on his way out of the house.

What has never stopped though is the telling of love between us, so on leaving him in the hospital at midnight I could kiss him and say I loved him, as we say to each other every night if he's around when I go to bed.

Today though, he's better. He's not stopped eating since he came out. Tonight I made one of his favourite meals, home made fishcakes with lemon mayonnaise and salad. It was the first time we'd sat down together since he was first ill. So it was an absolute pleasure to sit at the table and share our day with each other.

And tonight a new thing is happening, he is staying over at his girlfriends for the first time all night. So those precious moments of him needing physical contact by me are now a distant memory for him, as he needs the touch of his sweetheart.

As for me, just for a while I'm sad at the passing of the years of my child, as I hadn't realised how much I'd missed those contacts, that when I was getting them I never gave a thought to the time that they would be no more.

There is in all of us a yearning to be touched, and I know that is why I'm so glad to have Trix, so I can touch and stroke her. And she touches me with her cold wet nose and wags her tail to show that she loves me.

This is of course not enough,but it will be when I stop being sad,and then I'll be okay with what I've got in the here and now as I almost always am.

SO THAT'S WHAT WAS WRONG......

After some consideration I have decided to write about has been, and is the matter with my youngest son. As you will see this is not something I feel particular good about, but if we can help one other person not go through what he has had to endure ,and may well have to for another three weeks, then it's worth writing about.

He has not been given his diagnosis by the hospital, they are clueless about what has caused this endless vomiting. The gastroscopy was clear, as I knew it would be. The blood tests are all negative, as I knew they would be. It's been put down to an infection that has miraculously cleared itself, three times.... yeah right!

So what is the matter with him? Well it's called Cannabinoid hyperemesis, which means unstoppable vomiting after the long term and chronic use of cannabis.

I was put onto this syndrome by my friend who's just come back from Australia, where her friends had told her about it. And just by chance the first night A was in hospital I was due to go round for supper to hear all about her holiday. Instead she told me what she knew. This was followed by my eldest son and my sister looking it up on the computer.

The symptoms are muscle spasm, followed by reflux, followed by uncontrollable vomiting. Only eased by the taking of endless hot baths or showers to help relax the body. The sufferer does not respond to anti-emetics as away to stop the vomiting. All three times A has been ill, this is what he has done, up to 10/15 times a day. There are no other symptoms. There is no cure, except waiting for the cannabis to work it's way out of his body. And then never to take it again..... YES!!!!!!

The only reason to go to hospital is to rehydrate the body. Of course, the hospital as it doesn't know about this syndrome, did not connect what I was saying about A coming of the cannabis twice as having any relevance.

These 'attacks' come on for no food reason, he could eat curry or a milk pudding, he could keep either down of throw either up, it is all to do with his muscles spasming.

I obviously by now have read up all there is on the computer about this syndrome, and am therefore as informed as anyone can be about it. I have looked up cannabis sights, which discuss the vomiting associated with cannabis, and the general opinion from them is that it takes 30 days to get out of the system. But I also know that when I was married, my first husband worked in a profession that did random drug testing and he always said that it was six weeks to leave the body. This means that the 30 days are up next Tuesday or there is another further two weeks on top of that he could get another onslaught of this vomiting.

I am however taking action so that he does start hypervomiting again I can give him some stuff to relax him outside of the hot baths, which might mean that he'll be able to keep the fluids done long enough to stay hydrated, and therefore not need another bloody hospital admission.

This syndrome is as yet, apart from one article in the BMJ ( British medical journal) which sighted the work done in Australia, is not known about in the UK. It will in time of course become known I believe. As I think more and more people will present with this hyperememsis and some bright spark will start connecting the dots.I
think because the strength of cannabis is increasing, that more people when they try to come off the damned stuff will find their bodies going through this.

And make no mistake, chances are that if your child lives in the UK he or she will try cannabis, whatever they say to you. I have known for years that A. smoked it, but I also knew who amongst his friends also smoked it,as he told me! Their parents didn't and don't, and wouldn't believe that their little darlings would do such a thing.

Of course there could be people thinking that I'm just saying that cause of what has happened to my son and I'm trying to spread the blame. I don't think that is true, I just know that most of the people in the two high schools in this town have tried it. And I live in a sleepy little town which takes a while to catch up with the big city boys.

What I'd like to happen now is the word to be spread,it is a horrible way to learn that you can't smoke cannabis again, and such a serious and frightening lesson that any sufferer would be an absolute fool to try.

And fortunately my son is not that.

Ok I know the picture is a poppy, but I don't strangely have any pics of cannabis plants!!!

THE JOY OF STRESS..... VOMITING AND FEAR - ALEX; TEARS AND FEAR - ME!

Ancient woodland going back to The Knight's Templer

Following the path to Lud's Church

Lud's Church associated with Robin Hood.

The Hanging rock where their is a tribute to the local Squire who died in WWI


Stress is simply horrid, it takes so much effort to stop it.
And at the moment it keeps coming round to my door and demanding to be let in.
When it arrives normally it will be a fairly slowly build up to knowing I'm stressed. Right now I go 0 to 60 in a nanosecond. Things that I can normally take in my stride are frightful to deal with. As in breaking a glass dish in the kitchen this morning, I just burst into tears at the awfulness of it (!!!)

This time it all started last Saturday night with Alex puking on the hour every hour through the night up until 6.45am, and then he slept. I took a deep breathe then and got on with the day. He was well enough later, although hadn't had any food to go out and see his girlfriend. I continued to breath.

Monday I went to work, and on my return realised he'd managed some cereal and milk and was out... yes it was going to be okay, the attack had passed....he returned at 4pm had stomach ache, but was hungry, so I cooked him a boiled egg.

Ten minutes later he vomited it back up, and then continued to vomit for the next three hours till I decided, ENOUGH, and took him back to the hospital at 8pm.

I left at midnight, he was on the A&E observation unit with a drip up, still being sick, despite anti-emetics.

Next morning I phoned up he was still on the trolley in the A&E unit.

I went to work.

I explained to all my clients that my phone was on and I would answer it if he, or the hospital rang. This is not approved counselling practise, but I don't give a fuck. I was only at work cause I'm self employed, and I've lost a lot of money so far this year with his illness. He didn't need me there, but he might have done, and I was going to be doing what my son needed.

Fortunately I managed to get home at 2.30, feed the dog, changed my clothes, left the house and went to the hospital. Leaving the dog with the backdoor open until one of Al's mates was coming round at 5pm to walk Trix. I just hoped she would be ok, and not try and do something stupid like jump the side gate.

Got to the hospital at 3.30 visiting time. He was still on a trolley. They were trying to find him a bed. We talked in a desultory fashion, he was still so ill. We asked for more anti-emetics it took FIFTY minutes to give him the injection. He wasn't waiting for a prescribed length of time, he'd had none since the night before.

Eventually at 7.30 the ambulance arrived to take him to the other hospital in the city. He was given a side room. We both breathed a sigh of relief at this, at least he could get some sleep now.

I came home, starving and incapable of cooking any food, and was going to stop off to buy some chips (fries), but ended up phoning my sister and demanding she make me some toast.

Outside of my sons ,I only have my sister and her two children in my family. And although we are close I generally don't worry her with my stuff. But I couldn't go on last night without a familiar hug and some personal support.

It has been unbelievably stressful dealing with this on my own. Don't get me wrong, my friends have been wonderful, but there is only so much anyone else can do when they are miles away from me. And they cannot make decisions about what I should do. Not that my sister or my eldest son can do either.

It's all my judgement call. I've researched what I think is wrong with him. I've tried to tell the A&E staff. What is happening to him is outside the range and current experience of the NHS staff. So I'm carrying this burden and it's heavy. The people around me know what Alex and I think is happening to him, but the NHS has to catch up.

So this afternoon the reason I'm home and here, is that he is having a gastroscopy (camera down his throat looking at this stomach) and this evening is being visited by his girlfriend. So I'm not needed.

And boy, do I need not to be needed right now. So since coming back from my Wednesday walk with friends, I lay in the bath for an hour, went to bed for another, ate some food I found in the fridge, which required no effort on my part except turning the oven on. And now I'm here, and I can get on with my normal evening stuff of dog feeding and walking soon. With no need to rush off anywhere at all.

With no doubt more things to deal with anytime soon. But I've had a moments respite and that has helped immeasurably.

HOSPITAL AGAIN

Missing for the moment.
Alex is back in hospital.
24 hours on a trolley in A&E. Finally admitted to a ward tonight.
I'll be back when I can be

BY SPECIAL REQUEST,related to post below

So I've got a very poorly nose! I was walking Trix last night as I always do around 10pm in the school grounds opposite my house. I can find my way round them blindfold I've been walking in them for the last ten years. Except last night, I was gazing at the full moon, totally oblivious to where I went, only to fall over a tree stump and land fully sprawled with my nose hitting the ground with force.

It's really weird falling over as an adult. I wanted to cry, I certainly wanted someone to kiss me better. I did get a wet nose stuck in my face from Trix as the blood poured down my face! I had to get up and walk the rest of the way home snivelling and bleeding, not a good combination. There was no-one in to tell, so I sent a text to get some sympathy, which worked.

It's odd when I was away I missed Trix,much more than I missed my sons! I've got so attached to her in the last few months. It's almost as if she's been part of the family for ever. And I never thought we'd get to where we are with her now when we first had her.I was scared of Alsatians before she arrived, I got bitten by one when I was seven. Which meant I had a lot of obstacles to overcome within myself and then with her.

The challenges initially were enormous and so frightening and for two pins I would have sent her back to the rescue people. Now there are still challenges, but they are manageable. The newest one is letting her off the lead when walking her. We have taken the precaution of putting a muzzle on her as she isn't save without. She is still scared of strangers which makes her difficult. But the muzzle stops her from taking chunks out of people and dogs she encounters... much to their relief! And mine!!

She is great now with people in the house, she is happy to have people in that she knows are invited and barks like mad when there not. Double glazing salesmen don't hang around long.....

And I couldn't ask for a better pal during the time I'm alone. Wherever I am in the house or garden she'll be there too, sitting close to me. This of course is particularly useful in the kitchen when I'm cooking and she is in front of the cooker! And why when I'm sitting on the garden swing seat she has to hog most of it, I don't know.

So this means I can now talk out loud all day long having a conversation with her, rather than talking to myself. And since she has the worlds biggest ears which show her every emotion I can tell that she is listening to me, even if she thinks I'm talking gibberish!!

I would have put a pic of her up, but once you've seen one picture of one Alsatian .....

AMSTERDAM...... GOOD PLACE!!! GREAT VISIT!!!

The third staircase we lugged ourselves and our luggage up and down!


The view from our room!!!


Singel canal


Seven bridges off the Gentleman's canal


Tulip field from the train outside Lieden

I'm back and have had a lovely time.
Amsterdam is a lovely and interesting city.The down side was our appalling accomodation. It was up three flights of the steepest stairs I've ever had to drag a suitcase. It smelt of smoke and cannabis, neither of which Jenny or I had an interest in! The only thing that can be said about the room was the bedding was clean. Jenny, being a well travelled woman in Europe had brought along the travel kettle so when we did have to spend any time in the hell hole we could at least be hydrated there!

On Saturday we were wired to the mains after we got there, and walked miles trying to orientate ourselves. As time went on we slowed down, and went on a jaunt in the morning, lunch somewhere lovely, back for an essential afternoon nap.... well lunch time wine needs sleeping off! Then back out for the late afternoon activity and dinner.

Going back to the hotel then for a disturbed night, as in young stoned men going up and down the stairs till very late, which resulted in my best yelling and swearing at 3.30 Sunday morning. Only then to be reawoken at 7am!!!!! by the builders outside working. They then by the time we'd got our acts together seemingly finished about 9.30 am!!! There was a bread shop three doors down so getting fresh croissants all three days was bliss and set us up for wherever we went to.

The weather was kind to us, except Sunday morning when it poured so meant a 5 euro spend each on a brolly. Which was just as well, as we then had to queue in the rain for 1.30 hours to get in Anne Frank's house. In fact the lovely French couple behind us were just getting drenched so I lent them my brolly and Jenny and I huddled together under hers, as it was a cold morning.

Anne Frank's house is difficult to talk about, it is a sad and profound place. Seeing the preserved pictures that young girl stuck on her wall to cheer the place up. Seeing her actual diary. And knowing that she died in March 1945 of Typhus a few days after her sister in a concentration camp,when liberation was so close.

What was wonderful was the obvious importance to so many people of so many nationalities who were happy to wait for that 1.30 hours, Americans, Germans, French, Chinese, Japanese, Irish and English were just some of the people around.

Other things we did were going on a canal trip, which was amazing when the boat went from the nice safe canals into the 24 km North sea canal, which is a major shipping lane. It allowed us to get a perspective of where Amsterdam is in relation to the sea, not available when you're in the actual city.

We went in the red light district, which to two feminists was tacky, disturbing and sad. We discovered the flower market, which was lovely, and we had to work hard at resisting buying loads of flowers to bring home. We got on a train and went to Delft, the train journey passed through the tulip fieds at Liedon, which was an unexpected bonus. Delft is a really pretty town with a huge central square with cafes all around, for yet another delicious lunch

We were staying just off Dam square and on Monday was the Dutch Rememberance Day, celebrating their liberation by the Americans and Canadians, so we were privileged to witness part of that, but since we needed feeding, we missed the appearance of the Queen with her wreath from the Nation.

We of course did some retail therapy, and OK so I didn't need the purple leather jacket I bought, but it was too beautiful to pass by..... And it so goes with the majority of my clothes!!!

The places we found to eat were great,the food and service were really good. It is a very friendly city, even though the Dutch people can seem a little abrupt in the first instance.

My last observation for now, it there is a Dutch national costume worn by women of a certain age..... leather jacket, white jeans tucked into knee high boots. Very odd so many women were wearing this combination and not a particularly good look unless the arse and legs worked well in tight white jeans.

We've planned next years weekend, it will be a tough one as we are planning on going to Auschwitz, so to counterbalance that we will definitely need a comfortable and well appointed hotel.

TULIPS FROM AMSTERDAM

I'm going all the way up there.


I'll be flying over these.


There may be lots of these.


I'm hoping for lots of blue sky

And I'll be back next week