Today a bomber flew over my house

This post was written on 17th but I have only just had time to put it on the blog today.

I was working in the vegetable garden today when I heard two military helicopters come flying down the valley: they were followed a few moments later by a bomber.

My legs turned to jelly, and silly old woman that I am, I felt very tearful and afraid.  It was the shape, the low rumble of engines, the vibrations and the potential.  Also the history.photo from    www.shropshirelive.com

I was not born in the Second World War but I was born in London a few years afterwards.  In my youth I took the bombed out buildings and bomb sites that surrounded me, even seven years after the end of the war, for granted.  My parents told me stories of living through the Blitz and took me to see Newsreels at the Cinema.  Especially of the relief of Belsen.  I was only six years old but they said I must always remember.  They never blamed a Nation or a Nationality: they just said that all it took for evil to succeed was stupidity, complacency and lack of action by the rest of us.

Today, I live on the top of a hill near the Derwent Reservoirs in Derbyshire where the Dambusters practised their bouncing bombing techniques.

Today was the Seventieth Anniversary of their raid on Dams in the Ruhr in Germany.  I don’t want to go into the political reasons for this raid, or all the differing views of the necessity of this action.www.itv.com

photo from

But as the bomber flew over my head, very low, it felt very real.  I just thought of all who had died, both in the water released by the breaching of the Dams and the airmen who flew the mission, and War in general.  I was moved to tears by the pain, suffering, loss of life and fear.  The geese were terrified of the dark object with outstretched wings which cast a shadow.  We do not only terrorise humans, but the whole animal and natural kingdom.

I was reminded of the Report by one of our Foreign Correspondents on the BBC last year when the Reporter mentioned the sight he had witnessed in a village in Africa: when planes came over firing on the villagers, the animals all raced for cover, they were so used to the fighting they had learned to take shelter at once.

As the Bomber flew over I felt proud and ashamed both at the same time.  What a strange species we are.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-22554314

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/05/16/dambusters-memorial-flypast_n_3285329.html

Tai chi

Some years ago, about ten I think,  I used to go once a week to Tai chi classes.

Image from  http://universal-taichichuan.com

They were held in the hall of a local Synagogue and led by a chap who trained in China and is employed by both our local, large  hospitals to help people with rehab. after cardiac surgery and allied problems.  His reputation was excellent in the UK and I was lucky to find him considering how many people teach Tai chi here in Sheffield.

A huge mix of people went and I really enjoyed them.  All ages, all types, all interests.  After our Beginners’ Class, a Senior class came in carrying very long poles and we left feeling intrigued and a little intimidated by the Big Girls and Boys!

Image from  www.chinashaolins.com

However, my teaching load became such that I had to give up going.

For the last year I have been toying with the idea of going back, if the classes still run.  But my balance issues were so bad that I could not imagine being able to manage even the simplest exercises and then my eyesight deteriorated: and trying to balance with one eye takes a lot of practice.

Last Tuesday I saw two consultants.

In the morning I saw the Neurologist to whom I had been referred two years ago  for possible MS.  After various scans and tests MS was ruled out (sigh of relief)  and he suggested that I give up gluten.  On 3  gluten intolerance tests, I had come up each time as bordering one side or the other of the cut-off point.  Apparently a sensitivity to gluten can make you lose your balance and muscle strength and fall over.  I gave up wheat years ago but did not realise that rye, barley and oats all had significant amounts of gluten in them.  At the time I was very surprised to hear any dietary modification suggested by a mainstream doctor in the NHS for other than diabetes or weight control.  For some months now I have given up all grains, pulses, legumes and sugars: so no fruit to speak of and few potatoes.  And my balance has improved greatly.  Last Tuesday I managed, effortlessly, to do all the tests the Neurologist wanted, which I had been unable to manage on my last two visits to him.  Yippee.

In the late afternoon I saw the Opthalmic surgeon who operated on my eye.  The hole has closed!!  Yippee again.  He congratulated me on my ‘patient compliance’ which has a large impact on the closure.  However, I also think the skill of the surgeon is not to be discounted;)  I will have to have a cataract op. in the next six months but not until the eye is stronger and we have established the max possible vision for that eye.  He expects an increasingly improving quality of vision, to be followed by a decreasing one as the cataract forms.  But then we will know how good it got before the cataract.  So pats on the back all round.

Now, perhaps, is the time to go back to my Tai chi classes.  Tai chi helps strengthen muscles and balance, as well as having  numerous circulatory benefits so it seems a no-brainer.

Returning grandson to his father last Friday night (we always spend Friday evenings together) I learned that two weeks ago the pair of them began going to Tai Chi classes.  The same chap, the same venue, the same class that I used to go to!  Given that Dave, the teacher, holds lots of classes on different days, and at different times, and in different places, I did laugh.  Son had forgotten that I used to go, and grandson never knew: they pleaded for me to go back to the classes – it would be fun!  I just laughed.  But when I got home I rang Dave and he said, yes just come along again, same as before, he would be pleased to see me.

I am just going to turn up without telling them.

Now,  think of the limitless possibilities for embarrassing the younger men in the family.  Bring it on:)

Image from  http://sarawakiana.blogspot.co.uk

The patter of tiny feet?

I suppose I should have known!

But I thought it was just the Spring moult: strange that it was only one goose who seemed to be moulting.  Small downy feathers all over the laying box.

Then she set to in earnest, making a really deep nest.

Once it was to her satisfaction she plumped down, and hissed angrily at anyone or anything which came near.  This is so unlike the normally calm and tranquil Debra that I knew at once, she is broody.

Twice a day I heave her off the nest to make her take a few steps out of doors, have some water, herbs and food, and then she comes running back to her egg and proceeds to sit glued to the spot.

Every so often she rearranges the hay, either putting more on, or taking some off: when it was really hot the other day she just stood over her egg, allowing  the fresh air to circulate.  She is taking this very seriously.

We do not want any more geese but she is so devoted to this egg that we had not the heart to remove it.  Clearly this is her all-consuming passion at the moment.

Gandalf stands guard outside the dooor for most of the day and rushes to her side when she comes out.

We wait to see what will happen.

Spring is here:)

At last!  Finally. Spring has come to our location.

Deep sighs of relief.

On a South facing bank in the paddock I found this -

One of my favourites, the Cowslip.

Again on a South facing slope this time in the Orchard – my second favourite, the Primrose.

One really warm lunchtime recently I was taking the air and the sun with the geese

when I noticed a Peacock

which suggests there are some blossoms available for it to feed.  This is far too early for a migrant so it must be a lucky individual who managed to over winter here: clearly it found a safe and weather proof place.  Looking up, I saw to my delight that the Horse Chestnut leaves are beginning to unfurl:

with their huge ‘sticky buds’ bursting open.

Oh bliss, oh joy.  Some warmth at last.  Right, now to begin on the myriad jobs needing doing round here.

Raw Food

Life has been slow here, with not being able to drive or walk much, I have been housebound. Anyway, until this last week the weather has not been conducive.

One or two family events but I was not involved (could not get there as unable to travel): it has not been too bad since I am someone who is never bored but I am really beginning to suffer from cabin fever.

But one friend, J, was determined to take me out, so kind of her, and equally determined that I should sample a Raw Food Restaurant here in Sheffield, called Pure on Raw.  This cafe serves not just Raw Food but also vegetarian, vegan, gluten and dairy free.

Being ready to climb the walls here at home I was glad to accept the offer of a trip out, but not so keen on the venue.  Raw Food?  Cold, chewy, and boring.  I wanted bowls of piping hot soup, hot chips with salt and vinegar, some comfort food.  In fact I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming to Pure on Raw.  Not that I let it show of course, that would have been too ungrateful, but I really was not looking forward to it at all.

On the way we stopped off at a local food cooperative greengrocers for me to do some shopping, a real treat to choose for myself after all these weeks, and as we left we said where we were going.  “Lucky you” they said, “Have fun at Inga’s!”

Fun I thought?  Hardly.

Well.  Didn’t I have to eat (private) humble pie!  What followed was an explosion of sensory experiences, every second a treat and a moment to be treasured.  Even remembering it makes my mouth water all over again.

We arrived at lunchtime, luckily just before the rush, so we were able to have a table in the window.  The Cafe is light, bright, relaxing but invigorating at the same time. 

Inga’s sunny smile and friendly reception were so welcoming, as she explained the menu choices to us.  We agonised over the multiplicity of choices but, having ordered, sat down to read the magazines on offer.  It was warm and smelled so fresh and full of lovely finishing touches.

As the lunchhour drew on the cafe quickly filled until all the tables were full, so we were pleased we came early!

Then our food arrived: works of art hardly does them justice. I hesitated to begin eating because my plate looked so wonderful.  J. ordered soup with mini pizzas and my order was Enchiladas  –  (House made dehydrated wrap made out of organic spinach,  comes with tantalising cashew- red pepper pate & marinated veg.  Served with salad or steamed brown rice and small salad.)

I took a small mouthful of each thing singly first: my taste buds just burst with the depth and strength of the flavours.  They were exhilarating and exciting and surprising.  We both just sat, eating slowly, savouring each mouthful, with little involuntary sounds of appreciation escaping from us over and over again.

In fact I could not quite finish my food and was offered a Doggy Box to take the salad home in.  After all, we  needed to leave room for dessert!  We ordered a bowl of Blueberry and Vanilla Ice Cream to share, just for pure gluttony.  It came with some delicious oat cookie biscuits, all raw of course.

That was also a revelation: the zing of fresh blueberries  hit our mouths as if we were sitting on a sunny hillside eating them off the plants. Wow.

After all that, we sat back and digested slowly with glasses of  hot tea and tisanes.  Also on offer were a multitude of Smoothies, Juices and Cold pressed greens, which other diners came in for, either as a snack in itself, or an accompaniment to their main meal.

I had such a good time that I went back ten days later with another friend, L, who also offered me some time out: this time I had Surprise Parcels while L  had the Enchiladas, on my recommendation.  Exactly the same experience as the first time: but I knew what was coming, whereas L. did not!

She just sat there, astonished at the flavour and quality and artistry of the food. Another great meal time and she is going to try to get her husband to visit too.  We both bought some desserts to take home to share with the rest of the family:

Raw Mocha Pie – with cold brewed coffee & Raw Chocolate, Rich Blueberry Pie and Banana and Vanilla Pie.

L. could not believe how lovely the experience was, and admitted that when I suggested going to a Raw Food Cafe she was not thrilled.  I wish there was a different phrase for raw food  for those of us philistines who have/had no idea what the food is actually like.  Never, never, think of plain salads or beans when thinking of raw foods.  This is on another plane altogether and I urge you to give it a try.

www.pureonraw.co.uk

Recovery

OK.  I will draw a veil over the first three days post-op.  I imagine most of you will have been there one way or another.  Suffice it to say that the eye only gave trouble for the first 24 hours: otherwise it was physiological shock, migraine and muscle and skeletal pain from the ‘posturing’ which was seriously bad.  Not being able to take painkillers made my particular situation rather difficult.

There were one or two episodes when I just wanted to throw myself around the room bouncing off the walls: the poor dog slunk under the bed and refused to leave my side and the poor parrots went completely quiet and still for 24 hours  solid despite only seeing me for a few minutes as I came through the house.  Amazing how animals pick up on these things.

By the following Tuesday the migraine left and I became human again!  One week on and the eye looked like something from Alien.  I had not dared look at it before but husband said that it was much better than at first.  It hurt too much to take a photo because the pupil was so dilated but basically it looked like a massive dark hole (the enormous pupil) floating in a sea of blood.

To protect myself from accidental views and the public in general I kept the bandages on!!

Sorry about the flash I could not work how out to turn it off

Actually, although I was only instructed to keep the dressings on at night, since I have to protect the eye from heat, cold, wind, dust, grit, light etc. it seems simplest to keep the eye covered up most of the time.

Now, two weeks on, the eye looks pretty normal, thank goodness, just the eyelid is still drooping.  It feels sore around the outside and I have a slight black eye but I am adapting an eyepatch with a skull and crossbones to wear for when I can go out.  I have seen the surgeon twice and he is pleased with progress.  No bleeding, infection or changes in pressure.  In fact I have been able to dispense with some of the  eyedrops already!  He did say that if my eyes were dry I could buy some artificial tears to help keep them comfortable but I said I would just play a ‘weepie’ DVD.

Sitting room set up for viewing TV screen while face down.  Note neat two way mirror constructed by husband and massive blue bag of DVDs from son.

 

I can see nothing out of the eye because of the gas bubble and similarly the surgeon can see nothing inside: his verdict is that I will not know what my vision will be like for about four months and there is no way of knowing if the hole has closed yet.  The waiting will be difficult but I am assuming the best for now.  I still have to sleep on my front all the time and must not look up or lean back as the bubble must be kept pressing on the back of the eye.  Sleeping is very difficult so I am resorting to frequent power naps during the day.  Driving is not possible for some weeks which is a bind but I am hoping that friends and family will take me out for some trips: good practice for when I am an old lady.

photo from  http://www.retinavitreous.com

At my  last consultation I asked him about the techniques he used: I had seen the massive binoculars etc. and wondered whether the tools he used were geared down by some robotic arm to match the magnification.  But no.  Extraordinarily, he made three incisions that were each half a mm in length, hence me needing no stitches, and through these he inserted a light, a guillotine and some scissors: each tool was smaller in width than a hypodermic needle.  He said that the guillotine moved at five thousand cuts a minute and one is being manufactured at the moment which will be able to make ten thousand cuts a minute.  It is mind boggling that such precision tools can be made, but even more so that he could manually use them in such a small space and with such dexterity.  He did admit that he never drank coffee on days on which he was operating and always made sure he had a good night’s sleep, just to make sure his hands were  steady!!!

So all’s well here: just tunnelling through the lack of sleep and being even more clumsy and unbalanced than usual with only one eye.  Still, at least the weather is not conducive to gardening so I am not missing too much yet.  I have seed potatoes chitting and packets of seeds awaiting the warm weather, but at least I am not tempted to bend, which is against all the rules.  And I do have the most lovely surgeon ever who I am next seeing on 7th May:))

How it really was for me

Well! Of course things had to be complicated.  I began a migraine on the Tuesday which was still going very strong on the Friday of the operation.

I have discovered one very good thing about bad migraines.  You feel so dreadful and wish death would provide a blessed relief, so that you cannot worry about anything else.  I never had any twinges of worry that week about the op. my only concern was that I would be well enough to have the procedure.

And then of course, on the Thursday, it began to snow.  And snow.  And snow.  18 inches of snow.  By Friday we had got to the stage of working out which farms had Landrovers and could take us into the hospital.  And then we rang to see if the surgeon had been able to get in.  He had, by dint of walking for five miles:  the staff said “If you can come in, we can do the operation”.

At lunchtime a neighbour with a landrover took us in, me all bundled up against the cold wearing sunglasses because of the migraine and chewing on anti-sickness tablets so I would not be throwing up during the op .  Complete with overnight bag in case we could not get home again afterwards.  The only other vehicles on the road were tractors and snowplows: our driver was not used to driving in snow having been brought up in the Channel Islands but she took it slowly in as high a gear as possible and we got there, passing stranded cars and buses on the way.  Bless her, she then stayed the whole time so that she could try to get us home at the end.

I was so impressed!!  No wonder that this unit is internationally renowned.  The reception area was dim and quiet and comfortable and so clean: there was an overall impression of quiet, calm efficiency which was very reassuring.  After a short wait I was taken with husband to a private room with bathroom which had been washed down with soap and water, including the furniture, because of my allergies.  There was a notice on the door restricting access to all except for a designated nurse, the surgeon, us and the aneasthetist.  Our nurse had similar allergies to mine where disinfectant and hand wash are concerned and had to carry her own special supplies in her smock.  That was a very thoughtful choice of staff it seemed to me.  Outside there was a large area for patients and family while recovering from operations, where people were lying or sitting with cups of tea.  For an hour and a half I had loads of different drops put into my eye every fifteen minutes or so, and had to undress and put on surgical gowns.  Richard, the surgeon, came in, crouched down beside my chair and said he had been  awake in  the night worrying in case there was anything he had overlooked in the procedure which could possibly impact on my allergies.  I was both impressed with his commitment and moved with his honesty and caring. Then a very burly male nurse called Damien (thoughts of the Omen) came to lead me to the operating Theatre.

Damien suggested I  get on a trolly to go into the Theatre but the anaesthetist came out and said not to bother with that, just to walk in and hop on the bed.  So I did.

Previously I had spent some time compiling a Playlist on my MP3 player of music so wonderful that it could lift me out of the moment.  I had been playing it the whole time I was waiting, and walked into the room clutching it to my beating heart.  You probably all know the scenario which greeted me: a room full of staff all in scrubs, small, narrow bed, huge lights and massive binocular equipment over the operating area.

Up I hopped, and asked for some blankets as by now I was really cold with nerves and the headache.  Damien packed me in, put my head in the sculpted mould, fixed me in place with wedges down my sides and began to look for a vein.  I explained which ones he could use and which he could not, and for the first time in my life, I was listened to.  (The anaesthetist was there in case I got into trouble with my allergies and wanted a line in so that he could act fast if necessary).  The surgeon got ready and chatted in a very friendly manner: he asked what was on the MP3 player because if it was Guns n Roses would I please turn it up for him to hear too.

So far so very good, and kind and friendly.  But the next part was bad and please do not read on if you might be bothered by such things.  I hasten to add that these were my personal experiences and may have no bearing whatsoever on any procedures anyone else may have.  Also bear in mind that I cannot have normal anaesthetics: there is only one dental, local anaesthetic that can be used on me.  So I am an oddity from the off.

The time had come for administration of the local anaesthetic.  All the websites I had researched in the USA mentioned sedatives, being ‘put in the Twilight zone’ and /or being knocked out for a couple of minutes only, just while the ‘local’ was put in.  None of the British hospital websites mentioned this, and indeed it is not the custom over here.  There is nothing to help with this.  The surgeon was quite candid.  “This is the worst thing I am going to do to you today and will make your toes curl, so hang onto Damien’s hand for all you are worth”.  It was ghastly.  He put a clamp over my eye to keep it still and open and began. He explained that he was making a channel around the eye to get to the back, near the optic nerve, to insert a cannula for the anaesthetic to disperse down.  You know the dental injections which go between your jaws right along the back of your mouth and seem to go on for ages.  Well it was reminiscent of that, except you could feel it going around and behind your eye, pushing and pushing, and hurting.  It probably only lasted for a minute or two but it felt like hours and poor Damien’s fingers, I feared they would be crushed.

We then waited for it to work while they washed the area down, put a cloth over the rest of my head and gave me oxygen to breathe under the covers.  I had a blood pressure cuff on one arm which went up and down every five minutes and a heart monitor bleeping away.  The surgeon, Richard, asked for that to be turned down, and I agreed saying it was not matching the beat of the music I was listening to, so that would be great!  One of the other surgeons wondered why my heart was not changing to match the beat!! Once my eye muscles could no longer move they began to operate.

The nurse at the pre-op appointment had said that people could sometimes see a light or a kaleidescope of patterns during the op.  Not me.  Oh no.  Perhaps it was because I had to have a dental anaesthetic rather than one of the usual ones they use for this procedure, but I could see the instruments in my eye, and could see the vitreous gell being sucked out.  And although it did not hurt, the pressure on the eyeball as they put the instruments in was horrid.  Frankly, if I could have been knocked out I would have preferred it.  From time to time I became very panicky and wanted to jump up, throw everything off and just run out.  I turned up the music, which was a lifeline.  I counted the blood pressure cuff movements to work out how long to go, I tried every kind of mental displacement activity I could think of just to avoid the panic.  At one point Richard said that he was just going to give me some more anaesthetic because he notice me twitching a bit!  Once the gell was out he said that now was the trickiest part of the op. and please not to move a muscle for ten minutes while he peeled off the membrane.  Most of that was OK but then he had to snip it off where it met the edge of the retina and that HURT.  He said “Grit your teeth for a bit now and hold onto Damien”.  It seemed to go on forever.  First one side and then the other.  In retrospect I wonder whether Damien was there for me, or to hold me down if I tried to object:(

Then, mercifully, it was over.  Frankly I am not sure how much more I could have coped with.  The atmosphere in the room relaxed, dressings and drops were put in place and I was helped up and out to general smiles all round.  Richard said it had gone really, really well with no problems or complications and congratulated me on being really still throughout.  I tottered back to our room, refused the cup of tea and biscuits and got dressed.  All I wanted was to get out of there and go home.

I felt dazed, and as if I was a battered refugee from a war zone.  It had been SO invasive and I felt really bruised and pummelled and actually rather shocked.  But everyone had been so kind and so lovely that I felt I should not be feeling as I did.  It had only taken an hour and poor husband looked very shaken.  I think he had been really worrying the whole time that things were going OK.  My first words were, “If you ever need this doing, ask for a general anaesthetic”.  It really had felt ghastly and taken all my endurance and will power.

Somehow, one cannot get away from one’s eyes: a similar procedure on a toe for example might be painful but a little more removed.  Eyes are so intimate, and every instinct is to run from anything coming towards them.

We were given instructions by our lovely nurse, and a bag of three kinds of drops to put in four times a day for a month, with instructions to come back first thing the next morning to see the surgeon again, and we were driven home by our neighbour through the quiet streets, once again passing stranded vehicles.

The migraine was still pounding away, and of course it was in the eye that had been operated on.  Optimistically I had assumed that once the local anaesthetic was in place I would have relief from the migraine for a while: interestingly, it had no effect whatsoever on the migraine pain.

But still, it was over, done and dusted.  No more waiting and worrying.  And I had been in the hands of kind, talented staff who could hardly have been more caring.

And I would willingly go through much worse to keep my eyesight.