Travelling

Travelling was the order of the day that first Christmas. The priest at Christmas mass reminded us of those travellers to Bethlehem. And I remembered that we'd travelled to see my parents, my daughter had travelled to get home to us, that the roads of England were chockablock with travellers for Christmas.

Last year we fetched my parents to us, but this year they are too frail to make the journey, even if we fetch them, so devoted husband suggested that we went up there and did Christmas for them, and aged aunty. Husband loves baking Christmas cake, mince pies, plum pudding, and willingly did the turkey, trimmings and vegetables. Then on Boxing Day we went to watch Mother Goose in the Georgian theatre with aged aunty. Aged aunty enjoyed it - it was her suggestion that we went to the pantomime, though she complained the fun was spoilt by an older woman who wanted her to come in the lift with her as if aunty were a hundred!

And now we've travelled home again, leaving parents quiet for a few days before my brother visits them.

National Health (service?)

I am so not impressed. Since I hurt my wrist over a month ago, I've been attending the local A&E, where they've x-rayed it a dozen times, and found no break. The swelling's gone down, the yellow bruising on both side has faded, but since the wrist is weak (can't do press ups on it), and the thumb and outer fingers feel a bit woolly, I'm following doctor's advice and continue to wear the splint, and not driving.

But now I'm out of A&E and under the care of orthopaedics, it's getting silly. Orthopaedics doctor said that he'd like a scan of the ligament, and that's fine. Having to wait a couple of weeks for the scan is okay too, even though I'd like the go ahead to drive again. Then I'm supposed to see the orthopedic doctor again a week after the scan, but apparently he has no appointments available until the end of April. APRIL! Now that is totally ludicrous. Ridiculous. Why waste money on a scan, an expensive MRI scan, if you can't use the information within days if not weeks?

Maybe the orthopaedics department will bring the appointment forward, but in the meantime, this wrist aches no more than other parts of my body that I haven't taken to A&E, so I'm going to drive again next week.

Uncle died

Less than a week after Aunty Grace's funeral, Uncle Les also died. When I saw him at A Grace's funeral, he invited us back to their house because we don't often have a family get-together. He never got back to his house from the funeral, and we all met up again for his funeral.

My aunt first married in 1942. The best man was Les Jones. Her husband was killed at Arnhem and in 1995, my aunt, having been a war widow for years, married Les Jones. My cousin emailed:

"They do say that it is the best man's duty to look after the bride, should anything befall the bridegroom. It took him a while, but he did eventually perform that duty."

When they married they'd hoped, they'd have ten years of companionship before one died, but they managed fifteen.

Les was bright, but confined to a wheelchair. He had problems which made eating and talking at the same time impossible. During the refreshments after my aunt's funeral Les choked on some food. My god daughter, a nurse, kept him alive until the first paramedic arrived, within 7½ minutes of my cousin's 999 call. Les was taken to hospital where, suffering from inhalation pneumonia and a collapsed lung, he arrested again, was resuscitated, but died peacefully with friends and relatives around him. My cousin emailed:

"Had he recovered sufficiently to be discharged from hospital he would have had very poor quality of life, and would almost certainly have had to go into residential care, which he had long resisted with all his not inconsiderable power. He was 93, so once again I believe it was his time to go and be reunited with my mother."

Dolls

My godmother made this brown cloak for my doll, Susan, many years ago. The cloak must have shrunk because now it fits only Marigold. The corners are gone because my Aunty Grace's dog, Kim, chewed one of them, and Aunty Grace mended it by making them match. The stitches are tiny.

I still have my godmother, but Aunty Grace has gone.

Aunty Grace's funeral

My much loved and beautiful Aunty Grace died in her sleep a week ago on Friday. She was an inspiration to single mothers because she had been widowed during the war.

She had a career as a chiropodist - she advised my mother on my flat feet. She was a haven from home, when my parents weren't around, somewhere else to go in the school holidays. In my twenties, she told me I could have her gold sleepers if I ever had my ears pierced, so within 24 hours I'd got her to take me to the jeweller's shop where they pierced my ears.

Aunty Grace has lots of grandchildren and even some great grandchildren too. She remarried in 1995, and that was a tale, because when she married her late husband's best man, she insisted that a woman of 80 couldn't be getting married, so they brought the wedding forward before her birthday.

They had the funeral and requiem mass for her today, and it was pleasant to meet her grandchildren and see how many of their neighbours were there too. She and her husband have neighbours who are been incredibly helpful and supportive for years. That's the big society - neighbours like theirs.

Grace was the eldest of four children. My mother mourned:

"I'm the only apple left on the tree"

Life again

Son facebooks me to ask why I'm not blogging, but I've still been writing, writing my PhD thesis. I've just given my supervisors a full draft, all 80,000 words of it, which is the size of a book. Who knows? I may yet submit the final thing, and face the viva next spring and get through with only minor corrections! And get to be a doctor by summer!

Here's hoping.