An Excuse

I am not one of those people who is overly concerned with my health. Except, of course, on the odd sleepless night, when some funny twinge or cramp turns into a terminal condition. I call this my ‘night terrors’. Come morning, I chide myself for being silly and try to get on with my day.

This being so, I barely listened to my GP when he said I should come in for a blood test. Which was in June. And then never got round to phoning up for the result. I know, very tardy and foolish of me. Then, I was called in about two weeks ago for another one and by now I had literally no idea what it was all about. I asked the nurse and she told me it was something to do with B12 levels, that I’d never followed up on my previous test, and that I’d been called in again. I thought this was very nice of the doctor and said so to the nurse, also promised her I’d definitely follow up on this one.

Then I forgot all about it. Until speaking with Jazzer and she mentioned she was awaiting the results of a blood test. The minute I got off that call I rang the surgery and heard all this palaver about course of injections, three times a week, for two weeks then every three months after. I was astounded. I thought the test would come back showing no issues, as my blood tests always do.

The thing is, I had no idea there was anything going on with me. I didn’t think I had any symptoms. So I googled it, went down the list of symptoms and found that I’ve had two of them for months now. Tingling hands which only bother me in bed and occasional dizziness and being a bit off balance. I thought the hands might be to do with my arthritis and the dizziness with my BP. I’d been meaning to take these symptoms to the doctor but it didn’t feel urgent. Tiredness? Not really…

Until I thought about it. Then I realised I’d been feeling low-energy for most of this year. And extra grumpy too. I’ve not been walking or gardening as much and household tasks were wearing me out. Even grumpier then.

Sara and Ben came round that evening and I told them about it. Sara knew all about the condition, told me it was very common and easily treated and that afterwards I’d feel much better. Hannah came in later and she knew loads of people that were deficient in B12 and said much the same as Sara. I wondered at first how people much younger than me knew this then I realised. Through their respective jobs, Hannah and Sara know far more old people than I do.

It’s been two days now since I got the results of that blood test and I’ve been yawning a lot, and realising I am tired. I even took a nap this afternoon. But perhaps that’s just the power of suggestion. The injections start on Monday and I’m looking forward to perking up a bit.

And the point of this post? It’s a big fat excuse for why I haven’t been blogging so much recently.

Meanwhile, Bert grew these huge dahlias. Glad someone is keeping up with the garden.

Two Down, Three To Go

It is probably ten years or more since I lumped Margaret Thatcher, the Queen, Matty, Pearlie and Ian Paisley together as a cohort. I banded them on age as they were all born within a nine month period. If Matty was feeling 'old' I'd say to her, "Have you seen the state of Paisley? He's looking his age for sure! And the harples* of him! You? You're like a lilty** yet!" Or she'd think her mind wasn't as sharp as it used to be. "Sharp! You're as sharp as a tack. Didn't you win a tenner for completing the Irish News crossword the other week? Imagine being like Maggie Thatcher. Sure she has to be told every day that Denis is dead. Wouldn't that be awful?"

And there was always Pearlie who, couldn't walk, could barely eat, had no way with her and had precious few friends. While Matty was, without doubt, the most popular woman in her road and rarely wanted company or outings.

And the Queen. "Mum, that poor woman. Sure she's great for her age and wants for nothing but she has hardly a minute to call her own and almost her entire family are on welfare! At least your kids have jobs."

Ten years ago I'd have wagered that Pearlie would go first, then Ian Paisley. After that it would be Thatcher, then Matty at 95 and the Queen at 100 or more. Instead it was Matty, the youngest of the five who was first to pass away. Now Thatcher has gone and it's happy for her I'd say. There was a recent photograph of her sitting on a park bench, in a good wool coat, wrinkled stockings and a pair of Hotter shoes on her feet. A little whippet was beside her and she was petting the dog which looked like a smaller, finer version of my Judy. I never liked Mrs T. Some part of me admired her as a person and a woman but I hated her dogma. I hated her stance on Ireland. But I loved that picture with the dog. She cannot have been all bad.

I was in hospital having Hannah when Thatcher went to war with Argentina. I was in hospital this morning when I heard of her death. Nobody seemed to care. It was just a diversion, like the Jeremy Kyle Show.

And I wondered who would be next. My prediction - Ian Paisley, then Pearlie, then the Queen. Surely Pearlie cannot outlive the Queen?

And hopefully I will outlive them all. The news from the hospital was good. So far.


* harple - limp
** lilty  - bouncing, energetic woman