Blogg # 107 MY CHRISTMAS GIFT TO YOU

It is the 25th of November, one month before Christmas and here is my Christmas gift.:  "Dreams do really come true" and I have proof of it in my own recent experience. My last blogg "The Bath" was all about my experience with having a bath in Rehab where I am residing at this time. I have had several comments about it , the best from a "wise cracking "reader who said it was good but I should be less literal and make the "Bathlady into something more exciting -maybe a Eunuch'. "Right "I said "in my dreams." this Monday-bath day-I was on the bed with my Star war Boot off doing my ankle exercises when I happened to glance up and saw this handsome young man in surgical greens looking at me with an expectant look on his face. "Yes?" I inquired thinking doctor ,nurse, physio or expert Starwar boot technician. "I am here to give you your bath" he said. Flustered I said I was sorry I forgot it was bathMonday-and asked for a nurse to put on my boot. He calmly said not to worry we had lots of time and wheeled me to the Bath. As he was wrapping my leg with the boot in a plastic bag,I asked him if he was part of the "Bathteam" 'Oh no" he replied." Amy the official bathlady is off  ill. I was called in to take her place.  I am temporary and this is my first day here." I was shocked "You mean this is your first day on the job and they threw you into the Bath room? How many baths do you have to do?" He said there were six but the first two refused . One woman said he was young enough to be his son.-Note: no one on this floor is young enough to have a son-grandson more likely -typical-we will lie about our age.After my boot was wrapped, I was transferred to the high thrown-like commode chair in my nuddies again-sucking in my abdominal muscles as I was wheeled into the shower-we will be vain even under the most ludicrous situations. Once there , I could hear the poor man fumbling through the galoshes, mumbling these are all ladies boots ! Finally galoshed , he entered the shower and hesitated. I took charge. "We start at the top, you shampoo my hair then you hand me the soap and cloth and you are in charge of the shower. This worked fine and I was soon clean and cocooned in a warm flannel sheet. Dry, warm and dressed-I dress quickly can "clock in" in a minute and a half easily- I thanked him and he prettily thanked me and said he was glad I was his first. With a straight face I smiled and with much sangfroid and some relief we wheeled back to my room. In bed I again contemplated on my many and varied experiences and then smiled to myself "What do you know, dreams do come true-no need for fantasy and not a eunuch in site!" 

BLOGG # 106 THE BATH

"The Bath "is one of the favourite themes of artists-both male and female-though admittedly with different aesthetics-the female artists concentrating on mother -child themes -the male artists not so much.. The two main artists that come to mind are of course Degas with his  female bathers voluptiously rendered in glowing pastels contemplatingly washing  in a shallow pan of water an inch deep, or Bonnard's compulsive jewel like paintings of his wife in her bathtub. This is not what this blogg is about.
Two days after my arrival at LAP  rehab center where I am now due to a broken ankle, I was approached by a caregiver in galoshes who said "Hi -I am your bathlady"and looking down at her clipboard said "yes, Monday -Monday at 3pm I will give you your bath"I nodded and said thank you wonderingly .How does one have a bath wearing a bandage three times my entire leg? however I was learning to not question and have faith. Actually with this very capable bathlady one just would not question anything. The next Monday at precisely 3pm , the galosh lady arrived and briskly whisked me to the "Bath Room" . This was a big warm room ,windowless and painted a glowing warm yellow to make it appear warm-it isn't-.In the middle of the room was the bathtub. It was huge impressive and I must say voluptuous.It was gleaming white enamel,tilted up like a boat  and not unlike a 1950's white cadilac convertible.. It had bristling things hanging about it -obviously gadgets to help physically challenged bathers-like me. "O my god " I gasped."Am I going in that?" Of course I wasn't. I was going to be showered in a big corner alcove. First I was stripped , my huge bandaged leg bundled in a plastic bag, then I was firmly and I mean firmly seated on a commode type chair in my nuddies ,told not to move a muscle and wheeled into this alcove where gowned , galoshed and gloved , the bathlady promptly washed me from the tip of my head to my toes. All this time she talked about her hitchhiking  tour in Europe during the seventies ,occasionally interspersed with brisk instructions to lift an arm  etc. I then was moved back into the chilly room and  wrapped in four or five warm towels. Heaven! Then dried, buffed and polished and in clean clothes I was whisked back into my room. This then has been one of the more interesting experiences of my life and so bemused ,I snuggled down in my bed and thought to myself "there are more things in life to experience than can be imagined -Vast is the life we live"

BLOGG # 105 FELLED BY A COMPOST PAIL

If you are living in Victoria or really anywhere in Canada you probably are familiar with the little plastic recycling pail with the biodegradable bag in which you place your compost. The trouble with this new addition is that it doesn't really fit in one's kitchen. It is always in the way and sometimes in sheer frustration one puts it on the floor which is what I did--and that is why I tripped over it and fell.We all are are aware we live with a thin thread connecting us to life and that it can snap off in an instant.Poets constantly remind us of that fact. However the snapping of this fine thread  we presume is usually caused by something dramatic-Terrorist bombing;caught in crossfire bullets etc-certainly I did. What I did not expect was the mundane method I chose. Somehow falling over a bucket lacked elan..  "how pathetic " my nurse said "Change the story, say you fell over a male stripper."  But the truth is all I did was kick the compost bucket and fell- fell like a bowling pin, bouncing and ricocheting around my tiny hallway  until twisting painfully I landed on the floor with a bad broken ankle. The amazing thing is not only did I "kick the bucket" literally but nearly kicked it metaphorically as was explained to me by my  exhausted anaesthetist and my handsome surgeon who said he aged ten years during my surgery.  The problem ,a, rare one, was because of my larynx clamping. My survival I owed to the skill of the anaesthetist. It is disconcerting to hear this explained to me the day after surgery as I felt hale and hearty and somehow it didn't feel real. However what did feel real was a little voice inside me that whispered :A reprieve Laurie -a second chance.  I am now in a rehab .center called LAP . I have yet to find out what that means. The best explanation is from our comedic male nurse who said it meant Los Angeles Police Force-well why not --My life in the past three weeks have been a roller coaster ride so Los Angeles police force sounds just fine.How do I feel about this? I don't know and am too busy recuperating  to care.I share my room with three other mates all in different stages of recovery. I am next to a wonderful huge window overlooking a garden. A delicate tree with lace like branches sparsely covered with autumn leaves ranging from gold to bronze flutter in the breezes. I have been gifted another autumn-my favourite season. Yesterday while I was watching the clouds scudding by a rainbow appeared . It arched across the the entire sky and filled my window, brilliantly lit with all the rainbow colours and I could swear I could see the "pot of gold" at the end of the rainbow. So how do I feel? Grateful.