I have to say that when the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I get together, we certainly know how to have fun.
short visit, arriving yesterday, enjoying a sleepover, then a full day today until she had to drive home around 6.30 p.m. - well, we never really stopped. No, I’m not talking about the chat (though we did a lot of that; Mr B said, predictably, that our
jaws will never rust) but everything else we achieved, Action Gals that we are. Between us we cooked and consumed two rather delicious dinners, coloured my hair (“No More Grey”), gave me a manicure, had a batch of photographs printed off at the
supermarket, and kept an appointment at Chichester Hospital for my pre-op assessment before my shoulder surgery. Given that the hospital visit was her main reason for coming, you have to agree that she wasn’t going to miss any opportunity of enriching
my life. Bless her.
Worryingly, it became clear at the hospital from (i) the questions asked of me and (ii) the various leaflets that I was given to take home,
that I am now considered an “older patient.” Like, when did this happen? I need to know. I’m sure I wasn’t categorised thus when I had my last pre-op assessment before my eye-lid surgery which was only last year. What has changed since
then, except - perhaps - another birthday?
I should refer the nurses (to be fair, they were incredibly sweet and helpful so I’m not complaining) to the appearance
on TV this morning by 86 year old William Roache, aka Ken Barlow of Coronation Street. He made a truly splendid case for only being as old as you insist in feeling you are. I am planning to follow his example.
I did, however, make a couple of inexplicable slip-ups answering the questions posed by the Lovely Michelle. Asked if I lived in a house, a bungalow or a flat, I found myself answering “a flat.” I recovered quickly,
you’ll be pleased to hear and I now do, definitely, live in a house, not having lived in a flat since 1969. My daughter eyed me askance but mercifully refrained from comment.
Asked to list previous Surgeries I Have Enjoyed, I made sure to make mention of my very first encounter with an operating theatre, when I had my tonsils removed, at the age of five. I told the story of how I was lying in my bed looking
out of the French windows at the gardens beyond when two nurses walked by and advised me that if I closed my eyes and went to sleep, I would dream of fairies. Ever obedient I did as I was told and woke up with a sore throat, having had nary a dream, whether
of fairies or anything else. I told this story with a smile as I didn’t want to sound as if I were bearing a 66-year-old grudge. Churlish is such a Very Bad Look. Especially on an Older Person.
After driving home from the most thorough pre-op assessment I have ever experienced (was this something to do with my Great Age, do you think?) we set about completing all the other tasks we had set ourselves (see above.)
In between times, my daughter received a text message from her own daughter, known to you and to me as Hazel Bagel, asking what the two of them should do together next Wednesday when they will both be off work and fancy-free. Afternoon tea? A long walk followed
by a pub lunch? Maybe even making a start on clearing Hazel’s bedroom...
My daughter is, without a doubt, one of Life’s Givers. I am so very, very
glad that she in turn has a daughter who “gets” the whole Mother And Daughter thing.
It is the very least my lovely, caring daughter deserves.