Let's hear it for the NHS!

I realise that to lavish praise on the NHS is not a popular concept.  Indeed, it may even be unheard of.   We’re much more accustomed to the horror stories – and we all have at least one – regaling the ineptitude, incompetence, and negligence of that organisation and all who have the misfortune to work within it.  These are the stories on which our opinions are based.  They don’t even have to be ‘our’ stories, recounting our personal experiences – anybody’s tale of woe is usually sufficient to bring about our wholesale condemnation of that pitiful institution. 

Sometimes, however, I believe our rock solid, immovable judgements might be just a little ill-informed.   Sometimes it’s worth looking at the good things for a change and therefore taking a more balanced view.

Over the last few years, Nigel and I have gained insight into a network of professional health care and support that, whether accessed directly by us or co-ordinated via the Hospice, has operated seamlessly and without mishap.   

As the complexity of Nigel’s need has increased, so has the degree of support and provision of life-enhancing equipment.    We have benefited from the provision of a walker; a powered indoor wheelchair; a medical profiling bed; a shower chair; ventilator;  cough-assist machine and lifting hoist.   Over the next few weeks, thanks to the wizardry of computerisation, Nigel will be able, at the slightest touch of a button, to operate his bed and riser/recliner chair; open a locked door having assessed the caller through pre-recorded questioning; operate the TV, table lamps and make telephone calls on a hands-free phone.  We’ve had nothing to wait for and nothing to pay for and at every stage we’ve received training and ongoing support at home. 

In every case, we have been treated with consideration and respect and, whilst your heart might sink as the next piece of kit comes through the door, it brings with it dignity, independence and control.  Not to mention prolonged sanity.

A cynic might argue that this is just the NHS’ way of making us do all the work.  I would heartily disagree with that.  Enabling care to be carried out at home must be a more difficult and complex strategy for the NHS to pursue than any other.  I’m sure it would be much cheaper and much easier to condemn people to soulless institutions to be cared for by indifferent strangers; where the expensive equipment can be shared amongst many and where dignity and empathy don’t feature in the mission statement.

I would hate to be the one responsible for balancing the NHS’ books or to even venture close to that political quagmire.  But somebody has to allocate the budgets and make the financial decisions. 

I fervently hope that the NHS continues to make decisions based on compassion rather than cost.

Be free of your wardrobes!

In a bid to create more space in our bedroom for Nigel’s ever-increasing pieces of kit, we have ripped out the fitted wardrobes and reclaimed not only lots more space, but also the fabulous parquet floor that lay buried beneath the carpet.   Both space and floor now provide Nige with the perfect arena for practising his wheelies!

Being a bloke, Nigel’s gear was instantly dismissed as a non-issue, but obviously I was faced with the dilemma of how to decant all my paraphernalia into one measly wardrobe and two wholly inadequate shelves located in the spare room.  Impossible?  Ludicrous?  Beggars belief?

Not a bit of it!

I have been ruthless in the extreme.  I feel liberated, empowered, triumphant...even a teeny bit smug!

No longer am I held hostage by armies of clothes stationed in my wardrobe for no other purpose than to mock me.   No longer do I harbour those garments labelled:  ‘for when I lose a bit of weight...’  Equally, there is no refuge for those filed in the ‘in case I put weight on’ section.   Furthermore, all those items that have been waiting for me to suddenly look ten years younger so that they may once again adorn my person, have been well and truly axed.

I have banished without mercy those items of clothing spared in previous evictions simply because they were ‘nice’; ‘smart’; ‘expensive’; ‘worn only once in the last five years’; ‘never worn at all in the last ten...’.

I have finally got rid of all the fashion victim stuff I never liked anyway but didn’t want to admit to the stupidity of buying in the first place.  Out has gone the stuff that I even quite like but has nothing to partner it.  And no longer do I have shoes that hurt!

Not surprisingly my remaining attire fits easily into one robe and two shelves.  These clothes hang proudly like the chosen few - the elite, the special, the survivors!    I have regained power over my wardrobe and rid myself of the agony of gazing upon clothes I adore but look bloody awful in.   Now when I open my wardrobe door my clothes greet me like old, dependable, but perhaps uninspiring friends.  We’re at ease with each other.  I am not challenged to prise my person into anything inappropriate.  I know I won’t spend the day in pain; be forced to adopt a peculiar posture, or be obliged to hold my breath for hours on end.  

There is a compromise to be made of course.  As a result of my purge I don’t expect to waltz down the catwalk like a red-hot diva but I can at least expect some degree of comfort, I can expect to look reasonably ‘OK’, and unfortunately, a little bit dull !

Now, what on earth am I going to wear....?

My new blog

I'm happy to say I've just created my new blog.  I thought it was probably time to get involved in this media and use it for whatever suits me, and possibly others, at the time.  I'm sure it could have many uses.  I think it could be used as a diary of sorts, to be saved only for me, or to be shared with family and friends (assuming I'm feeling conceited enough to believe that others would be remotely interested in what I might have to say!)   It could also be used to record the ramblings of a menopausal middle-aged woman who may or may not have had too much wine.  Or it may simply be a blog:  a place to record thoughts, ideas, events, opinions, anecdotes and anything alse that might just be worth putting on the 'blog'.  I would hope to keep it light-hearted, fun and observational and interesting.

I say all this tongue in cheek because I don't know how this actually works yet.  I must confess to having spent hours already trying to create my 'profile'!  I mean,  how hard can it be to find an acceptable profile picture?  Very hard is my answer!  I always look too old, too crinkly, too drunk, too ugly, too 'orrible....  Consequently, there is as yet, no profile picture to support my blog.  When there is a picture, please accept my apologies!

Equally, there is a part of the 'profile' that any new self-respecting blogger should complete that demands that you declare your interests to others.  So, how hard can it be to list your 'interests'?  Well all I can say is - you have no idea how hard that is!   I went to the 'box', as you do, to fill in the bit that says 'my interests'.... and found myself completely numb - in all senses of the word.  I was immediately transported to being 14 years old and attempting to write my first CV.   I searched my poor head in desperation.... so, what exactly am I interested in, I thought?   I am ashamed to say I couldn't immediatey think of a single thing!   Have I become so apathetic and disillusioned that I can't find a single thing that I'm interested in so I can put it in the box?   Even if I lie?   After a few panicky moments I actually wrote -  " Reading historical novels....".  Now, I ask you...?  Then, to make things worse, I almost wrote...

"Socialising!!"   As it things couldn't get any worse I then contemplated mentioning my favourite newspaper!    As it was, I didn't have the guts to say that I was quite interested in "container gardening, and liked nothing more than potting a few plants on a Sunday afternoon!"  Could this really be me? 

Needless, to say, I left the profile picture and the 'interests' box blank in fear already that if any poor soul did stumble upon this 'blog', they would make it their business never to venture this way again!

Until the next time....