Still learning

Last time I wrote anything we were in the forest. It was a good holiday. Not perfect, but my expectations for a perfect holiday are low. We had one near-perfect holiday about 7 years ago. It was so nearly perfect that I cried the morning we had to go home.

But the familiarity and easiness of Center Parcs was great and although there were, of course, some moments , we had a good time overall. While we were away I had been in touch with Eurostar as I’d found out that they offer a fast-track service for people with additional needs. A few emails later and I’d arranged for A and me to be fast-tracked through passport control and customs at each stage of the trip to and from Brussels. It made me a bit less anxious. I did some planning for the trip in terms of places to eat, a bus tour, a day trip to Bruges etc. But A and I still both felt increasingly nervous the closer it got.

I’m not going to lie. The trip was not a success. Other than confirming that we won’t be doing any more hotel breaks in the future, and that city breaks in the height of summer are off the cards too, there was nothing very positive to bring from the experience. It seems that we still have a lot to learn. It was nice to have T with us, and nice for K to not be third-wheeling with me and A. They looked in watch shops and drank beer. But they’ve not spent 5 days straight with A when she’s been feeling overwhelmed and totally out of her comfort zone. There was tension. Mostly due to a lack of understanding: her not being able to articulate how she felt; them not understanding her tears and anger, which was often directed at them. My careful planning was not a success – a couple of places were shut; one place was such a long walk that by the time we got there we had all had enough and just wanted to get back. We walked about 7 miles each day and were all knackered. Food was an issue – having to get breakfast, lunch and dinner out every day was challenging and expensive. There was an inevitable meltdown on the night before we came home. Not great. We got home late Friday evening and I spent the weekend feeling exhausted. It was the least relaxing holiday I’ve ever had, including when we went to Majorca when T was 14 months old. I suppose I spent the entire 5 days on red alert, desperately fending off issues as soon as they arose, or preempting and getting it wrong. I know I didn’t make things any easier for anyone, although that was all I was really trying to do.

I know this is all in high contrast to the pictures I put on Instagram. I stupidly posted Day 1 pictures and then felt obliged to continue. Desperately trying to convince myself we were having a good time. It felt fraudulent, posting pictures and people liking and commenting on them. What an idiot. I should have just deleted the Day 1 pics.

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Since we’ve been home there’s not been much to say. It was hard to get out of red alert mode. I’ve been irritable. K doesn’t respond well to me being irritable and quiet. It’s not been the best few weeks. My auntie has started a new, aggressive chemo treatment as her last scan results were not great (massive understatement) – the cancer has spread and the new treatment is a bid to buy her more time. She’s losing her hair. It’s making her feel like shit. But she’s being so brave. Another old friend of M&Ds (and of our whole family) has been suddenly taken ill and is in hospital with a very bleak prognosis. It’s all just too bloody sad and so bloody unfair. He’s such a lovely, gentle, kind and caring man – it breaks my heart. Pretty hard to feel anything other than desperately sad at the moment.

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But there are, as always, little flashes of happiness and Good Things. A got the equivalent of three A* A’ levels for her make up course and has a place in Year 14. She passed Sociology with a D which she was a bit disappointed with but we always knew that make up would be her focus. We’re so proud of her hard work and determination and looking forward to seeing what the next 10 months have in store for her.

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My lovely friend previously known as Mrs L is now my lovely friend GC. She’s reverted to her maiden name and is starting a whole new chapter, moving on and taking control of her life with both hands. I’m in absolute awe of her courage and, although I wish she had not had to deal with the situation she’s been put in, I’m so proud of how she’s dealt with it with such dignity and class. She’s an inspiration and although I will miss her not being just down the road I’m excited to see her new life unfold, and I wish her so much happiness. She deserves it all.

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After 20+ years of avoiding caffeine like the plague, I’ve had a change of heart. I gave it up when I was in my late 20’s. I’ve always suffered from headaches and I thought that caffeine was the culprit. It could well have been, as I was working at Douwe Egberts at the time and was drinking coffee like it was tap water. I’d often have the shakes on my way home from work and so I eventually decided enough was enough and massively reined it in. Then when I was pregnant with T and couldn’t take migraine tablets, I gave it up entirely. And since then I’ve been steadfastly caffeine free. I have the odd cup of caffeinated tea but never late in the day. I had a really bad migraine a couple of years ago and during a call with the practice nurse to see if I could get some stronger pain relief, she asked me about caffeine, to which I explained my caffeine free status, feeling very virtuous. She suggested a have a strong coffee. That actually the lack of caffeine might not necessarily be a Good Thing. I took her advice and the headache cleared. I thought no more of it. I’ve had headaches since but have been too scared to try the coffee trick again. I’ve always been too desperate not to risk a bad nights sleep as they’re too regular anyway without adding a caffeine induced sleeplessness into the mix. But then I heard Tim Spector (he of ZOE research fame) talking about caffeine in a very positive way – that a cup of coffee contains more fibre than a pint(? – not sure I’ve remembered that correctly) of orange juice and that it’s very beneficial to heart health. As with everything it’s all about moderation – he wasn’t suggesting we drink double espressos all day long – but a cup of caffeinated coffee first thing in the morning is probably a Good Thing. So, I’m trying it out. As of now. The headache I’ve had for 2 days is lifting and I haven’t got the shakes. Yet. Whether I sleep tonight is another matter.

Fancy a catch up?

It’s been a while hasn’t it? I find it hard to blog when I’m in the thick of things and March continued much the way it started, pretty much like the year so far.

Auntie H has seen the consultant and they are 70% sure it is cancer. She has 3 nodes in her lung and the lump in her tummy. The nodes are almost certainly secondaries from when she had breast cancer. The lump in her tummy is sort of self-contained and not atatched to any organs so they are not so concerned about that. She was told that because she looks and feels so well they don’t want to start treatment straight away. So she will go back in 5 weeks (about 3 weeks now as this was a few weeks ago) for another scan and blood results and go from there. If she needs chemo it will probably be tablet form rather than intravenous which will be much less awful for her. Meanwhile, my brother P is going to take M&D and I on a road trip to Cornwall to see her and spend some time with her. We head off at the end of the month for the weekend. It’s a long way to go for 2 nights but will be totally worth it to be able to see her. None of us has seen her since last summer and then only for a few hours. I can’t wait.

In other news, I have been struggling to sleep, mainly due to a combo of K snoring and my hip pain. K kindly gave me a reprieve and slept downstairs for a week but of course, the night he came back upstairs he was snoring worse than ever and it resulted in a few crossed words (to say the least). I am really not good when I haven’t slept and we are not the best at resolving things without one or both of us getting cross and the inevitable tears from me. But once we calmed down we reached a compromise and K has started taking an anti-histamine before he goes to bed plus he’s using a nostril opener which I bought him months ago. At the risk of jinxing it, it’s been so much better and the only thing keeping me awake has been my hip. More on that later.

I took a well needed break over the first week of the Easter break. K was working and A and I had no plans other than a trip to London for our April theatre booking to see “A Streetcar Named Desire” starring Paul Mescal (he of Normal People and Aftersun fame). On Monday we got the bus to St Albans. The bus stops right at the bottom of our very short road and goes to St Albans via Flamstead and Redbourn. It takes around 23 minutes and – to our amazement – it cost us each the grand total of £2 each way. We later discovered that the local authority has capped single tickets to £2 until the end of June, so 2 single journey tickets were cheaper than buying a return. But why were we getting the bus?, I hear you ask. A wants to be more independent and I am all for it. She currently relies on K and I for lifts whereever she needs to go and she does not want to learn to drive. Living in a small semi-rural village does not make life easy for those that rely on public transport but it is not a complete no-no. Getting the bus to St Albans is a lifeline of sorts. Once there she can get the Thameslink line to London and beyond. She can also get the Abbey Flyer to Watford Junction where, again, she can get onward travel to just about anywhere. With her (hopefully) starting a traineeship in September she may well need to get to places that I just can’t help with and so this is a good starting point for a bit of independence. The bus was a doddle, so much so that I am not ruling it out as an option for myself! The only downside is it doesn’t run much past 6pm and not at all on Sundays. However, after the success of our trip on Monday she was very keen to try another option and when her friend asked her to meet him in Watford on Wednesday she asked me to drop her at the Abbey Flyer to try that out for size. Again, it was an absolute doddle – 1 platform, 1 train that goes back and forth between St Albans and Watford Junction – easy-peasy. So pleased with her confidence and she got the bus to St Albans on her own this week and despite a bit of a wobble worrying that she had missed it (it was running a few minutes late) she was absolutely fine. She met up with friends and had a great time. Several boxes ticked in a short space of time.

The theatre was great, the show was a complete change from the uplifting and joyful shows we have seen before. Despite it being very simply staged it was atmospheric and dark and brilliantly acted. We both loved it. Unfortunately, although we had heard that Paul Mescal is known for being very generous with his time to anyone waiting at the stage door (or “stage-dooring” as we have since found out it is called), because we had been to the matinee performance we were told by the security team that he would only be appearing after the evening performance. We were not keen to wait until after 10pm on the off-chance that A might be able to meet him, so we headed off home slightly disheartened, but we had thoroughly enjoyed the show and were not disappointed.

My hip. So the latest news I had was that I had 3 options – to carry on as I was (in pain and not really sleeping very well); have a hip replacement (at not quite 51 this seems very drastic and not advisable); or to have another injection, but this time into the actual hip joint (rather than just into the bursars on the outside area as before) – under sedation in theatre. I plumped for the third option. Unfortunately, the health insurance company said otherwise and won’t cover me for the injection as it is not deemed to have any medical benefit. The irony is that they would cover me for a hip replacement at about ten times the cost. Bonkers. So I have reached the end of the road as far as the ortho consultant is concerned, at least from a private perspective. So, I contacted an osteopath (local in the village) to see if she felt she might be able to help – to which she replied “absolutely”. I saw her on Tuesday and it as brutal but she thinks I will only need a couple of sessions before I see a massive improvement. She is treating my entire right leg from the big toe to the middle of my back. It wasn’t the worst experience of my life but it was very very ouchy. However, if it does some good and means I can sleep better and perhaps even get back to doing Pilates again I will be more than happy to endure it. I go back in 2 weeks for more pulling, grappling and cracking. Watch this space.

T has officially completed his 2 year probation period and is now no longer a student officer. He was due a handshake with the Supernintendo (not his real name) in early March but it’s been postphoned for a few weeks time. In the meantime he has reached the top of the list for the response driver course and in a few short weeks will be spending every day for 3 weeks driving at high speed across the country and – hopefully – qualifying at the end of it. He is thrilled. I am terrified. But it was inevitable. And just like all the other worrying things, I have to trust that the training will see him right and he will stay safe and all will be well. It only seems like a few months that he was a cadet going to fortnightly sessions. Now he is a fully qualified officer, and this weekend he is part of the team that are taking cadets on a weekend away. It’s all gone so very, very quickly.

In other news, I am loving the brighter days, the sunnier weather, the lighter evenings. But what I am loving more than any of those things is having washing out on the line. I don’t know why but it makes me SO happy. The garden took a battering during the winter and the snow has seen off most of the plants that I bought last year for the side raised bed so it’s back to the drawing board and yet again it is a work in progress. I was heartened to hear that that my sister in law was in the same position as she is a MUCH better and more knowledgeable gardener than me (it’s not hard to be). It’s good to know I am not alone. So, more trips to the garden centre are on the cards and I couldn’t be happier. And it’s an excuse to be out with my bestie and she needs all the normality she can get right now as her mum has been in hospital for a month and it’s all pretty stressful. A trip out to Burstons may not seem like a big deal to anyone else but it can be a real lifeline at times like these.

I can’t think of much else to say right now. We have a couple of nice weekends ahead – lunch with friends for a birthday and then our nieces wedding the weekend after, hotly followed by the Cornwall road trip.

More updates soon.

Lets just skip straight to March….

So January was pretty s**te and, despite my high hopes, February was pretty bloody atrocious. With the death of a relation of my dads – who he and mum were very close to – and then my lovely Auntie L finding a lump that has turned out to be malignant, topping the list of horrible news, it wasn’t a great month. At least we had A’s 18th birthday to look forward to on the 3rd March. Until I caught bloody Covid and scuppered some of the plans. Eff off February.

But, she was still able to get her tattoos done, which look fabulous and she is thrilled with them, and she was still able to go to the party that Ella hosted for her on the Saturday night, despite constant worry from the moment I tested positve to the night itself that she was going to start showing symptoms. Thankfully she, T and K have all seemed to avoid it. I was very good and totally isolated myself as soon as I knew and didn’t even get to hug my lovely girl on her birthday. We had to cancel all family plans – so no meal out on her birthday with M&D and postphoned cake afternoon with P&C. But all was not lost and she still had a great time. The party was a huge success with people telling her it was the best party in ages, due to the Great Gatsby era theme and how much they had all embraced it. The boys all looked like extras from Peaky Blinders and the girls looked stunning. A is part of a great group of friends who all seem to be on the same page with regards to their outlook on life and she is increasingly comfortable in a social situation, possibly helped by the discovery of wine. It’s just a learning curve to know when she’s had enough socialising and planning in recovery days to try and avoid any drastic burnout. It’s so tempting to say yes to everything but she is learning that sometimes saying no is the best thing for her own well-being.

We spent most of last week wondering if she was going to start showing symptoms before our trip to see The Cursed Child. It was booked nearly a year ago and has been much anticipated that it would have been a cruel twist if she had been poorly, but thankfully the day arrived and all was well. We had a brilliant time, and were so engorssed in the action on stage that we hardly noticed how little legroom and how uncomfortable the seats were. We had an amazing view and the show was spectacular. Neither of us really knew what to expect as we had deliberately kept ourselves in the dark about it. But we had high hopes for it and it exceeeded all expectations. Clever, very funny and the staging was incredible – some seriously amazing illusions. We loved it.

We then spent the rest of the weekend with the things we had to reschedule the previous weekend. Unfortunately, my dad had another eye injection on Friday so wasn’t feeling up to the lunch out on Staurday (rearranged from A’s actual brithday) but mum came and then my brother and his wife and my nephew came over for cake in the afternoon. Then Sunday was the turn of K’s brother to come and see us – unfortunately his mum had Covid so we are yet to see his mum and dad – with his wife and their grandson, our great-nephew. He’s such a lovely little boy, a real credit to his amazing mum. By Sunday night I was Knackered with a capital K. Friday had been such a long day and, although all we were doing was eating and talking, the rest of the weekend had really taken it out of me. Factor in a bad nights sleep and I could quite happily have spent yesterday in bed.

Tomorrow my Auntie goes to the hospital to see the consultant and get the results of the array of tests she has had done to see what we are dealing with. It’s so hard with her being all the way down in Cornwall but she is getting fantastic NHS care there and we know she is in the best hands. It would likely have been a very different scenario if she had still been living in Cheshunt. We know it’s not going to be good news but we have to just keep hoping and praying that it isn’t the worst. She has her son P and his family nearby who are a massive support to her and she and Mum speak or text every single day. She knows how much we all love her and Nan will definitely be keeping an eye on things. Thinking positive thoughts.

Goodbye January, you will not be missed

I had hoped to start 2023 with more regular blog posts, but January has not been my friend and I’ve struggled to find anything worth writing about.

January is a tough month normally anyway. But following on from a different Christmas (and not always in a good way) to a long month of very cold weather, low moods and not being able to exercise has left me not unhappy to see the back of it.

A has struggled being back at school and has been lacking motivation to get work done. She finds this challenging in itself as she loves her course and the school, but she had a very sociable break (in her world, two nights out in the space of a week is a lot) and I think she was already feeling burned out before she went back. This generally always snowballs and leaves her feeling very low. Add on to that more socialising in close succession last weekend and she is now only good for a few days in bed, unable to really explain how she is feeling. Alexithymia is common for people with austism and she certainly falls into that category. Good old Google has given me a definition to give you – Alexithymia is a term to describe problems with feeling emotions. In Greek, it loosely translates to “no words for emotion.” She literally cannot tell us how she is feeling other than low. It’s pretty hard to support her when she is in this headspace, and, other than simply being available, there is little we can do other than ride it out and know that she will slowly reappear. This, of course, impacts on the rest of us (me mostly, but T and K are naturally concerned and try to help as much as possible in an impossible-to-help situation) and it weighs quite heavily.

Not being able to exercise is really not helpful to my general mood but I’m having my third and final shockwave session tonight (of round two) and that will be it. I’m not allowed to exercise during the 3-week set of treatments and so I was out of action for most of December too. Unfortunately I’m still not really seeing any benefit from the treatment and am pretty resigned to having pain/discomfort going forward. I’m not ready for any sort of invasive solutions and I’m not sure what else, if anything, the phyiotherapist has up her sleeve. I am desperate to get back out walking again and feel very lethargic (and lardy) as a result of not moving. I’ve got a walk planned with the lovely (ex-)Poppies (we are all retired from Poppy duties now but the name still sticks in my brain) on Saturday morning. I’m not sure how far I will get but I’m happy to try! With Spring not far away, I am determined to get back out in the fields and would love to get back to my Covid-days fitness when I was walking 4 miles a day. I’m not sure I will manage the same distances but I am going to give it my best shot.

It would have been Nan’s birthday yesterday and I know it’s always a hard time for Mum and the rest of the family. Nan loved birthdays and we always went to see her – no matter what the weather threw at us – and it always made a lovely end to a miserable month. I think of her every day and wished her a happy birthday yesterday. She’s still a massive source of comfort and I hear her voice telling me to stay positive.

Now, January is finally over and we can start to look forward.

As well as Spring around the corner (I can see shoots appearing in plant pots around the garden!) we’ve got A’s 18th birthday to celebrate in a few weeks time and then our Cursed Child theatre trip. I’ve just booked us tickets to see Paul Mescal (he of Connell in Normal People fame) in A Streetcar Named Desire in the Easter holidays so our April trip is sorted. It won’t be long then until A finishes 6th form and will be enjoying a long summer break (with a return to school for Prom in July – she has her dress and Converse boots purchased ready and waiting in the wardrobe) and we’re thinking about holidays, with some ideas already on the table. We just need T to let us know if he is able/wants to come with us and we can get booking.

Much to be positive about.

Not necessarily a bad thing

Something brought to mind a comment one of my nieces made when they were VERY little, when they sat on my lap to read a book. “Auntie J, you are very squishy”. At the time I was mortified and didn’t know how to reply. I was probably still overweight from having A (although she would have been about 2 by this point, so no excuse really) and no-one wants to hear that they are squishy. Or do they? I’ve wondered since whether this was actually a compliment. No-one wants to sit on a hard chair….. or a bony lap. Perhaps she was actually saying it was a nice thing. Who knows?

This got me thinking about other things that have been said to me a lot over the years, that I have ALWAYS taken as a negative, and I started to wonder if they too could be spun around to actually being a good thing.

1. You’re too sensitive. I have been told this A LOT. Often by people who have said something unkind and then when I have been upset by it they’ve made that my issue too by implying that someone with a thicker skin would have brushed it off. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to not “take things to heart” and battling with the hurt, feeling silly for feeling upset. I’ve thought it was a Bad Thing. But surely being sensitive is a good thing? Would the same people who call me too sensitive think that was the case if they were hurt or upset and I comforted them? If I felt their pain as keenly as my own and showed them empathy and offered support, based on my understanding of their feelings?
2. Youre too quiet. i.e. boring. I acknowledge that I am an introvert. I am NOT the life and soul of the party – unless the party involves me sitting in a quiet room reading a book, then I am rocking it. I’m unlikely to be invited to a party and on the rare occasion that I am I invariably decline or dread it and leave as soon as humanly possible without causing offence. But, maybe, if I am quiet (which I am not denying) perhaps it is because I am listening to you, hearing what you are saying, reading the room, thinking of something to ask you, wondering what I can say to help you, or to contribute to the conversation. Small talk is not my forte but that doesn’t mean that I don’t like to talk. And when I am quiet, maybe it is a response to you being too loud, perhaps you are dominating the conversation and I am not getting a chance to contribute because I am quieter than you?
3. You’re too polite for your own good. I often get strangers asking me things in supermarkets or talking to me in queues. The kids used to ask my why that man was talking to me. Did I know him? No, he spoke to me and I was just being polite. I would imagine that most people of my generation, when we were kids, were taught to be polite to people older than us, to teachers, doctors. etc. Not to interrupt a grown up when they were talking. Not to make a fuss in public. When I had my kids, I was desperate to be seen to be doing it right. When A had tantrums in public I found it excrutiating (obviously with what we know now, they were understandable) and wanted the ground to swallow me (and her) up and never be seen again. I would never want to offend anyone or be unkind. If something is wrong with a meal in a restuarant I will say something, but as politely as possible and with minimum fuss. I am NOT a pushover but I am never rude for the sake of it. I suppose my politeness has got me into some sticky situations in the past, where I’ve agreed to do something for someone because I was too polite to say no. But not often and normally it has been the source of some joy – talking to strangers can often be very rewarding and hearing other people talk about their lives – even in a short space of time in a queue can give you a whole other perspective on something. Telling someone it was nice to meet them, is maybe the best thing they have heard all day. Would you rather I was brash and loud and told you your coat is horrible? I think not.
4. You’re too picky. If you give me something to do, I will ALWAYS do it to the best of my ability. If I can’t do it, I will tell you or I will ask for help, rather than do it wrong and disappoint you. I like things to be correct, and HATE making mistakes. When I became peri-menopausal one of the things I found the hardest was the loss of concentration, the brain fog. I made silly mistakes at work, silly mistakes at home, was forgetful and just not on the ball. I hated it. I have always prided myself on being conscientious, getting things done and doing them right. But, I only have these high expectations of myself. You do you. Oh, and if I do make a mistake you can bet your bottom dollar I will own up. See next point.
5. You’re too honest. Example one. K, his little brother and I are travelling back from visiting K’s dad in Zimbabwe. We have been travelling a long time. When we get to Heathrow the ticket machines are not working. We board the train expecting to pay the ticket inspector (this was A LONG TIME AGO). We reach our final stop and haven’t had the chance to pay. We are asked at the station where we have come from. I immediately say “Heathrow” when apparently I should have said St Albans (the previous stop). It would have saved us at least a tenner each. We were all skint. I was not popular. Example two. A and I are in town and I notice a £20 note on the ground. I look around to see if I can see anyone who might have likely dropped it. No clues. I cannot in all conscience pick up this note and pocket it. What if some little old pensioner (cliche central) gets to the till in Waitrose and cannot find their money? I picked up the note and placed it on a nearby wall in the hope that they would retrace their steps and find it. This was not the correct response apparently. What a wally. Now, don’t get me wrong, I can fib with the best of them (well, maybe not the best of them, but I’ve had my moments) “no, it looks lovely” (see point 3) or “sorry, I am already busy that night” (reading a book in a quiet room). But doing the right thing, I’ve always wanted to do the right thing. Even if it means I am out of pocket. As a teen I had friends that shoplifted on the regular, dared me to do it too, but I was just too scared of the consequences, it just wasn’t right. I have enough stuff keeping me awake at night, I don’t want to add a guilty conscience to it.

There are others. Some of them are without doubt true – impatient, irritable, a bit of a prevaricator, a bit too serious at times. I never said I was perfect. But maybe I’m not that bad either.

Another year over…. well almost

It’s a very wet, miserable afternoon and I’ve been sitting reading. I’m on book 67 for the year. I set myself a goal of 50 and hit that back at the start of October. 2022 has been a good year for books for me. I became obsessed with the Elly Griffiths “Dr Ruth Galloway” series thanks to Sarah C. I started the year with A Town Like Alice, which I remember watching on TV with mum when I was about 9? but had never read the novel. I loved it. I’ve also read Goodnight, Mr Tom – I think I always associated it as a school text so avoided it, but Mrs L offered a lend of it earlier in the year and after leaving it on my TBR pile for many many months I read it recently and, again, loved it. Other stand outs are: Little Disasters by Sarah Vaughan, Faithful by Alice Hoffman, Small: On Motherhoods by Claire Lynch, A Terrible Kindness by Jo Browning White, Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason and Still Life by Sarah Winman. I’m going to up my target for the coming year to 70. I’ve just picked up four books from the library: the next two Ruth Galloways (the obsession continues); The English Patient; and Kate Weinbergs The Truants. I’ll be finishing the year with Elly Griffiths “The Stranger Diaries” which I’m really enjoying.

This year was the year that also saw A revive her love of reading. The enforced period of time recuperating from her op back in April was the catalyst and it’s gained momentum ever since. She has bookcases in her (tiny) room and having run out of space on those, she’s bought a small trolley – reminiscent of a library book trolley but smaller scale – for her TBR books and she’s been gifted at least four books for Christmas. She’s like me and will read pretty much anything that grabs her attention and I never feel more gratified than when she reads and loves something I’ve recommended. Our joint love of Normal People by Sally Rooney was a high point for me. A was thrilled to find a signed, first edition copy of the book in the Book Nook at her work. She paid £2 for it, and says she will NEVER sell it.

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2022 was the year that we found out that A is Autistic. It’s been a learning curve. Since then she’s got herself a paid Saturday job, working for the National Trust in one of their gift shops. She loves it and seems to be well-liked by her colleagues and the volunteers. She’s made a particular connection with an older woman who now calls A her hair advisor, saying that she won’t allow her hairdresser to do anything to her hair until she’s consulted with A. A calls her cute. She still pops back to see her old workplace at the charity shop and they’re always so pleased to see her. She’s flying at college, getting a high C in her Sociology mock and predicted a distinction star for her Make Up course. She’s applied for year 14/traineeship and has recently had to present her latest work to her class, managing to speak for over 15 minutes. I could not be prouder. She really is the embodiment of determination overcoming adversity. I’m excited for what the next year holds for her.

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This month saw T completing the required written side of his student officer work, getting it signed off 3 months early. He will soon be “confirmed in rank” AKA a fully-fledged officer, rather than a student, hitting his 2 year anniversary of starting with Herts Police on March 1st. He’s had some rough shifts, some funny stories, some tragic ones, but takes it all in his stride and is fully immersed in his team, spending a lot of time with them socially as well as at work. I’m so happy to see him enjoying the only job he’s ever wanted to do, whilst still being himself – funny, caring, thoughtful. The “job” gets to him sometimes but he always brushes it off and just gets on with it.

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This was the year that we had a very successful holiday. Knowing about A’s diagnosis helped enormously and I now feel that we might even be able to venture abroad next year, taking advantage of being able to go during term time as A will finish early. It’ll take some planning but let’s see.

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I can’t believe it’s nearly 12 months since our lovely friend Paul died. It still seems almost inconceivable that he’s not here any more. I still expect to see him in the garden, or hear him singing. We miss his company very much and his cheeky smile. His eldest son has been away at Uni but is back for Christmas. I heard his voice the other day and he sounds so like Paul it took my breath away for a moment. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Michelle and the boys, or his parents. If we miss him as we do, they must feel it a thousand times more keenly.

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The year certainly feels like it’s flown by. Perhaps in sharp contrast to The Covid Years, we’ve been busier, done more lovely things, had happier days. Perhaps it’s turning 50 and realising that time is ticking away. Perhaps it’s the realisation that we aren’t here forever. In spite of it being A Good Year (Paul’s death the only real blot on that – and much more than a blot but I hope you know what I mean?) I have sometimes missed the time that The Covid Years gave us. I’ve sometimes missed having nothing else to do other than walk, when the work stuff was done. I’ve definitely not walked enough for my liking this year, time and hip pain being the main hindrances. I’m ending the year feeling much more unfit, my clothes are a little tighter, and I’m ready for some changes. Mrs F is keen to start walking again so I’m hoping we will encourage each other and get back out there as often as possible. I’m not making ANY resolutions (I gave that up a long time ago) but I am going into the new year (in lowercase) with cautious optimism. Optimism that I CAN get my fitness levels back to 2020 standard, optimism that I CAN make time for the things I love to do, whilst still being a support to those that need me, and a friend to those who want me.

Now that I’ve looked back, I’m looking forwards. Forwards to more lovely days with the people I love. Sure there’ll be work and school runs and rainy, miserable days. There will no doubt be challenges and aggro. BUT The Covid Years proved that we can get through shit times. This year has proved that we can deal with big stuff, that we can cope with loss and challenges. We’re made of stronger stuff than we thought. In the words of an Excellent Friend (5 stars, would recommend) “how bad can it be?”

See you next year (don’t you just hate it when people say that?)

Lots of love. xx

Tea, Brave, Even Braver, Snow

Two Fridays ago I was lucky enough to go for afternoon tea at Luton Hoo with Mrs F. It was a gift she’d been given for her 50th birthday back in May and I was honoured that she chose me to go with her. Apparently it was a no brainer, but I was honoured nonetheless. And it was just what I needed after a “trying” week. We spent two hours soaking up the surroundings (we’ve been for breakfast a number of times and afternoon tea at least once before, but it never gets boring) and enjoying some delicious food, while having a lovely natter and catch up as we hadn’t seen each other for two weeks. We both agreed that the tiny morsel of sausage roll that we had as part of the tea was the best bit and that we would consider selling our right arms for more. It really was the stuff of legends and we have spoken of it since. Yes, a sausage roll. You’d have to try it to believe it.

Part of the trying week was having to come up with a plan to get A home from college the following Friday. My car was due to go in for some work and an MOT so I was to be without wheels for the entire day. Unfortunately, the usual picker upper from the car share group was unexpectedly unable to pick up that day (and neither was the third person!), leaving us with a bit of a problem. Although A has been going to the college for over a year there hasn’t been any need for her to get the train home, so it was with some trepidation that I mooted the idea. My plan was to get the bus to St Albans, get the train to Borehamwood and meet her there to reverse the journey with her. She deemed the second part unneccessary as there would be plenty of other students getting the train at the same time as her and she would “be fine”. But meeting me in St Albans to get the bus would be good as she had no clue where to pick the bus up from once she’d walked from the station to the town. The plan was made. But as the week wore on leading up to the Friday in question she started to feel nauseous and by Wednesday I had to pick her up from school early as she felt so awful. After a chat, she admitted that she was getting in a bit of a state about the train and worrying about all the possible things that could go wrong. But she continued to insist that she knew had to do it, it would be a good thing to do it (get it over and done with and the next time will be a doddle) and she would be fine. We talked about how she could call me the minute she left college and I would stay on the phone with her until she reached St Albans (if needed). She felt a bit better. However, on Thursday morning we discovered that the MOT (and other work) had been cancelled and would have to be rebooked for the following Monday. She was off the hook. And immediately felt so much better. But I am still in awe of her being brave enough to agree to give it a try and do something out of her comfort zone. We have agreed that it’s still something she should work towards, but maybe on a day when I have the car and can still pick her up if needed.

Last Saturday night was A’s first experience of a works Xmas do. She has been working at the National Trust shop for just over 8 months now and loves it. She loves the people she works with (most of them), the customers (most of them) and the fact that she gets paid for doing something she enjoys (brilliant). The idea of a team meal was suggested and she signed up. Despite a slight misunderstanding over the menu (which resulted in a serious meltdown) she was excited to go. It was arranged at a pub we have not been to before so agreed that we’d get there ten minutes early so we could wait in the car park for someone she knew to arrive so she could go in with them. Best paid plans and all that and I missed the turning and subsequently lost the early advantage. We arrived just before half past when the table was booked for. En route she’d realised she’d forgotten her glasses so woudn’t be able to recognise anyone in the car park anyway! we pulled in to the car park and it was a BIG pub. I offered to go in with her but no. “I’m just going to go. I’m going. I’m going in right now” and she was gone. So brave, again. I’d asked her to send me a quick text to let me know all was well and then I would leave. I got an “all good” a few minutes later so headed for home. The next 2 hours were quite long. Although she gets on really well with her manager and her colleagues she is very much the newbie and they have known each other some time. There were also going to be people there from their sister property (Dunstable Downs) who she had not met before. It’s a bit daunting, plus add in an unfamiliar environment and it’s pretty scary. But I got a text a few hours later asking me to pick her up and she came out to the car beaming from ear to ear, swinging a gift bag and she’d had the best time. Everyone was lovely, the food was lovely, she’d had a lovely chat with everyone. She thinks she might even go along to the next monthly social outing. Win!

Bloody Snow. It’s been getting colder and colder and last night it snowed. I hate it. It makes me so miserable I can’t begin to tell you. I get irritable, anxious, grumpy, unbearable. K very kindly offered to do the school drop off this morning, but that only then led to me being worried that they would a) get stuck in the snow and not be able to get home; b) have an accident. I don’t like being worried but snow makes me completely, irrationally anxious. They had only been gone ten minutes when I saw on Twitter that the school was closing completely after an initial decision to open only to specific year groups (A’s being one of them). I called them, they had just joined the motorway, the next junction was closed so it took them a while to get back but they got back safely (and just in time for K to help some of the neighbours with the ceremonial clearing of the road). Now I just need to wait until some time in the early hours of the morning to hear T coming home from work before it all repeats again tomorow. Bloody snow.

Shockwave

After the steroid injections into my hip back at the start of September, and subsequently not feeling much (or any) relief, I was referred about a month ago for some physio sessions to see if that would get the steroid moving and help me feel less uncomfortable.

I had physio the first time around back in 2018 and it helped so I was hopeful that it would be as effective again. I remembered a few of the exercises but not really and went along to the first appointment in my yoga gear expecting to be starting again, there and then. After the humiliating experience of having to wear some “spare” shorts (like wearing PE kit from lost property when I was 10 years old at junior school) when I rocked up for my first appointment back in 2018 in jeans, thinking it was just for an assessment, I was determined not to make the same mistake again.

After chatting to Karen The Physio for about 10 minutes she sat with a thinking face on. I was convincing myself that she was going to tell me that it was going to take a lot of effort on my part and that what she recommended was that I join a gym and lose weight and…..all the things I really do not want to hear – ever. But of course, that was not what she was thinking at all. Still with her thinking face on she asked me to hop up (ha ha) onto the bed thing (table? trolley?) and lay on my left side with my knees bent so she could have a feel. After a lot of pushing and prodding (ouchy) she asked me to try and lift my right leg (in the manner of the oyster-shell movement in Pilates) and was horrified when I only managed a few centimetres before it became too painful. “Oh no, no, that’s not right at all”. Oh dear. I am beyond help. Shoot me now. She began to massage my right leg (ouchy) and observed that I was “incredibly” tight all along my leg, probably due to my leg over-compensating and taking all the strain for my hip. After a bit longer I was asked to hop (ha ha) back off the bed thing (gurney?) and have a seat.

She looked back through my notes again and pronounced that this had been going on long enough and in her mind it was time for a different approach. She said that as I had essentially had the issue for over four years with only relatively short periods of relief between treatments, in physio terms this was considered chronic pain. She wanted to see if I would be suitable for shockwave therapy. She nipped out to speak to her manager and was given the green light. She explained that shockwave therapy is used to kick-start healing in an area where the body has to all intents and purposes given up trying to heal itself. By putting the area in question back into a trauma state the body should notice the issue and try and fix it. Makes sense. She went on to say that she wouldn’t try and explain how the treatment felt other than it was definitely not for the faint hearted – it was uncomfortable, painful and a bit odd – but was very effective in over 80% of patients. What did I think? At this point I was so in love with her manner and her approach that I didn’t hesitate. I have to have 3 sessions exactly a week apart, physio after the 3 sessions and then a review. If, after all that, I am still in pain I can have another round of treatment but she is hopeful that one round will be enough. I got booked in and last night was session 1.

I am VERY glad she didn’t try and explain it to me beforehand. I am definitely far better off not knowing what to expect with things like this. Childbirth – definitely not made better the second time around knowing what to expect (but then, to be fair, the first one WAS bloody awful and the second not so much but the ANTICIPATION was hell). MRI scan – I was DEFINITELY more nervous the second time knowing what it was like (and I hated it even more the third time). Driving tests – after 4 you would have thought that the fifth would be a breeze. OK I passed that fifth time but I was ridiculously nervous. Anyway, you get the idea. So it was lucky that I had no clue last night. But only really because it is VERY, VERY odd. It’s the same type of treatment that’s used to zap kidney stones but because this is a muscular thing it is different. The difference being that the machine sort of thuds against your affected area (in my case my outer hip) at a rate of 8-10 thuds or shocks per second and you have to have up to 2500 shocks in total starting off at a lower intensity that rises to top whack by the end of each session. It was not only odd, it was uncomfortable and at times very, very ouchy. I am very sore today and have been told I can’t exercise in between sessions, including long walks. Bugger.

But, unlike childbirth and driving tests, I am actually looking forward to the next session in a slightly weird sort of way, because – although it is very ouchy and I nearly leapt in mid-air at one point – it was all over very quickly, I had another lovely leg massage (my poor old leg) afterwards and it is hopefully going to sort me out. Watch this space.

Books, Harry, Suffolk, waffles and Mrs Harris

A has found a renewed love of reading. As a child she read all the time, loved books. As a teen she only read out of necessity when required by the curriculum. (To be fair, she LOVED Macbeth and waxed lyrical about it whenever possible but that was the exception.) Her renewed love of reading was sparked by a renewed love of all things Harry Potter. I don’t believe this love ever went away, but was suppressed for reasons that are obvious (as if people hadn’t already found enough reasons to give her a hard time…). College and new friends have given her the space and confidence to revive her obsession and through this she has discovered a series of illustrated HP books which she has bought and loves. She couldn’t do much but read whilst recuperating from her operation earlier in the year and so she started branching out trying other genres, other authors and now has a book collection to die for. Her tiny room is running out of space. She has discovered the discounted books in The Works and now uses her monthly allowance from K as her book allowance. She devours books in hours, has a TBR pile that is constantly being replenished and I absolutely love it.

When we were in Wales in the summer we got talking about things we’d like to do over the course of the rest of the year. We both agreed we’d like to revisit the HP studio tour at Leavesden. We’ve been a good few times already but never at Halloween so we got online and booked tickets. Half term came around very quickly and on the Friday evening we had the time of our lives. I’ve NEVER seen A as excited as she was when the Death Eaters began marching through the place, stopping just a few feet away from us, where she got to duel with one of them whilst I nervously filmed (imagine if I’d missed it or had my finger over the lens?!). It was a spectacular evening and one that we will both remember for a long time.

Last weekend, K and I went away to Suffolk for a long weekend. We love it there and when we get the chance to go we jump at it. The weather was beautiful on Friday and we found ourselves sitting in glorious sunshine on Southwold beach with a cuppa and big smiles on our faces. The weather wasn’t so great for the rest of the weekend but we made the most of it, even managing to get a decent walk along the river Deben in Woodbridge, and lovely food to keep us happy all weekend. The cottage was equipped with a log burner which we couldn’t get going the first night but more than made up for on the second – we definitely didn’t need hoodies or fluffy socks! We came home far more relaxed than when we left so it had the desired effect.

We left the two “kids” at home together, as T was on a rest weekend and was willing to ferry A around from college and to work and back. We had no worries about them not getting on. They bicker like most siblings but in the main they like each other. But I hadn’t foreseen Wafflegate happening. A likes toaster waffles for breakfast. It is generally known that the waffles are off limits. For reasons only he knows, T broke the golden rule and ate TWO PACKS of the waffles leaving A with NONE. He’s either very brave or very stupid. Luckily I only had to hear about it via text. I suspect he heard about it for many, many hours, or at least until he’d replaced them. He somehow manages to remain completely unruffled and unbothered in the face of any raging from his sister (and me for that matter) – I credit us with helping him develop these skills which no doubt help him do the job he does!

Last night I went to see Mrs Harris Goes To Paris at The Odyssey with Mrs F and Mrs L. It was a lovely film, a real feel-good, escapist treat and everyone around us seemed to enjoy it too, except the woman I passed on the way to the loo when it had finished who was saying to her friend “well that was a load of s**t!”. I’m not sure what she’d been watching because I loved every minute. If you get the chance to go, I would highly recommend it. It won’t change your life but it’ll take you away from an increasingly frustrating world for a couple of hours.

Hiding in plain sight

My girl has been pretending. Pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Hiding in plain sight.

She has struggled with her mental health since she was about 13. Feeling low, anxious, withdrawn at times. Secondary school became a brutal place where she faced a constant battle with people who for whatever reason were unbelievably unkind to her. When the pandemic came she had just started year 10 and the abuse was at it’s peak. To be able to stay at home where she felt safe, to be able to manage her own time (working from early morning until lunchtime and then having afternoons where we could walk in the fields and talk), to be able to distance herself from it all was a huge relief to her. She wasn’t fine but she seemed a bit better. But she knew she had to go back at some point. We asked the school for support to help her be less anxious. They didn’t really get it. We didn’t really get it. But she soldiered on, some days were better than others. Some days were just downright awful. She sat her GCSE’s and vowed she would never return. On results day we waited until everyone else had been and gone, the hall was empty, staff were packing up. She passed them all, she was able to go to college.

College has been a revelation. Not without it’s challenges but compared to the previous 3 years it is a whole different world. But still her mood was low a lot of the time, still she felt overwhelmed by certain things. We’d talking about her seeing a counsellor/therapist before while she was still at her old school. She had a few phone call sessions with someone from a local charity but she didn’t really feel it helped. She wasn’t really ready. This time around when I proposed the idea she was more open, more ready to explore the reasons why. Why she felt like this, why this stuff kept seeming to happen to her. We found a local therapist who she clicked with immediately. They spoke for an hour every week. It helped her to start to make some sense of some of the stuff. She had homework – ways to build her self-esteem, her self-belief. She seemed to gain in confidence. But there was still something: the overwhelm, the feeling of otherness, the feeling of not being real, not really being here, questioning why we are here (if we really are, as everyone assures her we are). Her therapist mooted the notion that she may be on the Autistic spectrum. She passed this nugget on to me. I did nothing with it. I don’t know why. A week later at her next session her therapist asked if we had talked about it, discussed it. We hadn’t. I’d parked it. I couldn’t park it any longer. In the meantime A had done some research, answered some questionnaires. It all pointed to it being likely she has ASD, is neuro-divergent. Next stop was seeing the GP, armed with the info we had gleaned online (by now I was back in decent parent mode, I’d done research of my own, cried a bit, taken charge of the situation as much as I could) and the feedback from the therapist. The GP was great – listened, agreed, empathised. Asked A what she wanted to do next. She wanted to start the process of getting a diagnosis. The GP told her how long it could take to do through the NHS, and that there was no guarantee at the end of it. If she feels so strongly that she has ASD, if this new-found part of her identity enables her to make sense of her feelings, her fears, does she need a piece of paper confirming it? We agreed to start the process but with the understanding it could take a long time. By then she will be an adult and the process would be slightly different. Let’s see how we get on.

In the meantime, we are taking it as read that she has ASD. I’ve done a lot more reading. So many things have slotted into place. So much makes sense. It has mostly been very positive – there have been many occasions in the last few months where we have said “Aha! THAT’S why!” and we’ve laughed or we’ve gone “ohhhhhhh……!” But there’s also been some grief. I have felt so sad that my girl – my amazing, funny, clever, caring, loyal, stroppy girl – has spent at least the last 10 years pretending to be someone else. Maybe not entirely with us, but with the world at large. Mimicking other people’s body language, ways of talking, ways of behaving, trying to second guess other people’s intentions, trying to work out what she said or did wrong, and STILL getting it wrong. Wearing a mask, camouflaging herself and becoming completely exhausted by the process. Wondering why other people didn’t seem to have this problem, how did they all just know what to do or say? Why was she so rubbish at it. And there’s been some anger. Why didn’t I spot this? How could I have been so stupid not to know this? Could the last 10 years of her life have been completely different? How could I have let her down so badly? Then repeat the same questions but directed at the schools. the teachers, the people she was supposed to be looked after by, supported by, day after day- how could they not have seen this? Not whispered in my ear, “have you thought that maybe….?” When she struggled so badly to cope with the sudden loss of friendships at the age of 8, when she was clearly floundering in a world that she couldn’t understand, kids she couldn’t relate to and who saw her as odd, why didn’t they recognise that she had ASD? They were trained professionals. But they didn’t know either. Because she’s a girl, and girls present with ASD in very different ways to boys. Boys are four times more likely to be diagnosed with ASD than girls, not because there is more of a propensity in boys, but because the classic, well-known, understood, established traits are seen more widely in boys than in girls. A lot of progress has been made with getting girls diagnosed but we’re a very, very long way off it being perfect.

There’s also been some fear. ASD can’t (and ABSOLUTELY shouldn’t) be cured. She will never not have ASD, she won’t grow out of it, it’s not a phase. She has to go forward in a world that doesn’t get her. A world that is not equipped to make things easier for her to be her. And she is starting to be her. The real her. Which is just an even more amazing, even funnier, even more just bloody brilliant person. She is starting to understand herself better, she is giving herself a break. We are working together to make things easier for her to deal with. But we’re only just starting and we have a long way to go, there are plenty of situations we haven’t dealt with yet, challenges to overcome. She is still the same person she was, but she is less cautious of being herself, she is able to be more honest about things. We are able to be more understanding. The bits of herself that she was hiding, that she was covering up are starting to be more apparent, more visible and they are lovely. I have loved her forever and I will go on loving her forever, the old bits and the new and I look forward to being by her side on this journey of discovery, to help her make sense of it, to hold her when she is struggling, to reassure her that she’s going to be OK, that she’s not alone and that she shouldn’t have to hide any more.