- Driving to the hospital takes about three-quarters of The Very Best of the Eagles. We didn’t bother changing the CD the first week because the Eagles made such comforting slippers for the ears. I kept thinking how cool it would be to start an all-woman Eagles a capella group called The Sheagles. It wouldn’t matter that I cannae sing for shit; it would just be a joyous thing to be a part of. We would gather, guzzle some wine then belt out the hits. But of course in this internet age everything has already been done – there’s a tribute band called The Sheagles in Nashville. I need to think of a new name. Witchy Women? Gah. So, anyone want to be in my group?
- The ICU is on the first floor of the hospital and we couldn’t find the stairs. Despite the gravity of that first week, every time we got in I’d think, “I must look so lazy. taking the lift to the first floor”. I’d feel deranged vindication every time the doors opened and the big INTENSIVE CARE UNIT sign came into view. I wanted to turn back to the folks going to higher floors and say, “YEAH THAT’S RIGHT, ICU. This is serious shit! No time for stairs!”.
- Weeks later I found the stairs and they’re for staff access only, so… PHEW.
- Why does the brain latch on to such trivial thoughts like those above? I thought it would put those aside in a time of need, but they are still there, perhaps even more so.
- Another runaway train of thought. Those stupid disposable plastic aprons you have to put on every time you go into the ICU or High Dependency ward. Six weeks of aprons have wiped out all my dedicated years of refusing plastic shopping bags! What is the POINT, the effort of one person is FUTILE, our planet is DOOMED, etcetera etcetera!
- We’re also preparing to move. And job changes for both. Much bonkersness lies ahead. So there have been tired worried freakout zombie days when a Chunky KitKat sounded like a great dinner. But more and more days I laugh and crack on, trying to appreciate the details and possibilities. Everything feels a wee bit more vivid and urgent. You never know when a car is going to sail over from the wrong side of the motorway, right into you.
- Two big patches of clover and buttercups sprouted up amongst the grass in our yard. Gareth carefully mowed around them, so the bees could feast on the flowers. We have these two wild and skanky jungles, but there are a shitload of bees frolicking in them, which makes Gareth happy as he is always worrying about the bees. He calls it his Bee Serengeti. The patches remind me of the heart Mum’s friend Michael mowed in his back yard for our Aussie wedding (see above), except in reverse. It reminds me I ended up with a good bloke and we are all doing just fine.
