Lumpen mass

We've had a busy few weeks here. Despite neither of us working full-time any more, we seem to have less free time now than we did when we were both oppressed drones in the giant capitalist machine.

I won't bore you all with details of the summer heat (the HEAT, oh lordy, it was terrifying, over 35 degrees for several days in a row etcetera etcetera etcetera) but suffice to say that when I bought the dog a cool mat for her bed I seriously considered buying a few more for the human bed too. 

When we weren't panting in darkened rooms, fanning ourselves and praying for a breeze, we had some jolly nice garden parties, some walks by the river, a village fete, and the Queen's Jubilee celebrations.

More recently, of course, it was the much more sombre Royal Funeral, which I watched with fascination. The proceedings were enlivened by the addition of Ma-in-Law, over from France, and youngest sister and her partner who called in and watched it with us. It felt a bit like Christmas, as we had a toast to Her Maj over lunch.

I tried to think of an appropriate commemorative dish, along the same lines as Coronation Chicken, but was not able to come up with anything which didn't sound both hilarious AND disrespectful, so we had a cold collation instead.

There's been a bit of anxiety just lately over the dog. She's 10 now, which means she's becoming an old lady, and has developed one or two "fatty lumps" under the skin. These are very common in Labradors;  the vet reassured us that they were not a problem, so we left them alone. However, recently, I found another lump in one of her mammary glands, so took her in to the vet for a checkup. The vet's opinion was that it was probably another harmless lipoma (or "fatty lump" - stop me if I get a bit technical) but due to the location it could be something more serious.

Anyhoo, we decided that the safest course of action was for the vet to remove the lump, so if it did turn out to be cancerous we'd have done the right thing as quickly as possible. Biopsy results are due in a week or two.

The dog is now a few days post-op, and has been lying quietly in her bed, occasionally emerging with a big stretch to eat poached chicken, have a cuddle, and go for a short slow walk. Basically, she has the life I've always dreamed of. 

In contrast, I have been going to the gym several times a week, and having a damn sight less delicious chicken than the dog.

It's been an expensive month so far. The vet (thankfully) is mostly covered by pet insurance, but we've also had to pay the balance on the new wooden shutters in the sitting room (very smart, despite a minor irritating difference in size/fitting/alignment on one of them) two lots of car tax, new front tyres on my car, and some unexpected dental work for Mr WithaY. 

We are fortunate to have some reserves to allow us to pay the bills. And, a delightful unexpected bonus, when the bloke was replacing my tyres he showed me that the brake pads are worn down, so I need new brakes on all four wheels. Yay. Still, I've had that car almost 3 years and it hasn't needed anything doing to it really, other than wiper blades and oil changes, so I don't begrudge it.

Also, I understand that properly-functioning brakes are quite important. 

We went to a friend's funeral a week or two ago - he had a terrible fall from which he wasn't able to recover, so it was a dreadful shock to everyone. Due to a technical hitch, the carefully-curated music couldn't be played, so the vicar said "We'll sing without music," and led the charge, belting out the hymns in a splendid full voice. I have NEVER heard such singing from a congregation - it was a marvellous thing.

I mentioned that Ma-in-Law was here. She has travelled over from France, via family in Dorset, to us, then on to family in Cambridge, and is due back to us in a few days, from whence she will travel back to France. She's 87, and is indomitable. I just hope she avoids catching Covid on the many planes, buses, coaches and trains she has been using. 

You'll be delighted to know that the Civil Service came through and I now receive my pension. Yay me being a pensioner. 

I have been idly reviewing local job websites, but haven't seen anything yet which I fancy, other than one job which I applied for and never heard back from. Bastards.

I did very much enjoy these two adverts. 

We have BOTH kinds of jobs here in Wiltshire!

There has been some discussion amongst our friendship group that Mr WithaY is qualified to do both jobs, possibly at the same time, which would be a sight to see,

It reminds me of the Futurama episodes with the terrifying robot Santa.

Oh! We've been going to the cinema a bit too - I can highly recommend Three Thousand Years of Longing. Idris Elba as a magical genie, what's not to love? 

See How They Run was less entertaining, but it was intriguing that two other groups of people in the audience (an older couple and three little white-haired ladies) giggled and at times guffawed throughout. Almost every line of dialogue elicited an audible "hee hee hee" from them all, and left Mr WithaY and I looking at each other in bewilderment. What were we missing?

We decided that they were all pissed.

One of the very real joys of not working traditional hours is that we can take ourselves off to the pictures on a Monday afternoon if we feel like it. Or go out for lunch on a school day. Or stay up late on a Sunday night. Mr WithaY has started his Autumn calendar of work commitments, so most of his weekends will be taken up with that, but we can still go out and about in the week, and I love it. 

My creative mojo has made a welcome return, and I have been dressmaking. I made a jacket: 

I used an existing edge-to-edge jacket as the pattern, and added the 1950s-ish collar. I like it, and have worn it over my many, many plain linen summer dresses. 

Currently working on a tunic top with grown-on sleeves, which I think will look nice when it's finished. The pattern has no pockets, so I am considering adding some, but can't decide if I'll just add simple patch pockets, or some slightly more complicated inseam pockets.

So, keeping busy. Hoping for good news about the dog's biopsy. Enjoying life. Trying to ignore the terrifying massive bin fire going on *gestures* everywhere.

Endings.

I was going to begin this with "Hey! I'm not dead! Hurrah!" but on reflection that seemed a bit crass, given the events of recent weeks.

We have suffered a bereavement here.

Mr WithaY's father died suddenly at the start of October, and despite the fact that he has been ill for a long time, it was a shock.  At the latter end of the summer he was diagnosed with an unusual form of chronic leukaemia, on top of the multiple severe health issues he already suffered with.  Mr WithaY went with him to the hospital in Bath and the various treatment options were discussed, but to be perfectly blunt, they picked the only practical one, which was to treat the illness without hoping to cure it.

Mr WithaY said that the oncologist was lovely, kind and helpful and considerate, and very anxious to make sure that all of the possible treatments were explained and understood.  The cure option involved some sort of radical gene therapy, but would have required frequent trips to the hospital, and massive bone marrow injections, which would have been cruelly invasive and uncomfortable for a frail, immobile old man.

Anyway, that crisis passed, and life continued as normal for all of us, with Mr WithaY and I popping in to see father in law at the nursing home as often as possible.  We bought him a new TV, as the one he had in his room was "too small, bloody hopeless, I can't hear the bloody thing," etcetera, which he liked.  I baked him caramel cookies, and he enjoyed those now and again, despite his diabetes.  He complained about the "bastard birds" avoiding his window-mounted feeder.

The glorious weather over the summer meant that the view from his room was truly beautiful, the hills and woods, trees, animals, birds and the old house in the foreground.  Father in law enjoyed sitting and looking out of his (thankfully floor to ceiling) window at people coming and going in the car park, it afforded him pleasure to see movement in the outside world after having spent so long in his previous care home without the ability to look outside except at the sky.

A worrying new development began, though.  He became rather confused, telling us things which made no sense.  In hindsight I think he was suffering a series of mini-strokes. At this time he became considerably more frail too, unwilling to leave his bed to sit and look out of the window.  He even stopped watching television, seeming to be content to doze, only really waking up to chat to the staff and any visitors as they came and went.

One Saturday afternoon - Mr WithaY was away working at a country show - I had a call from the senior nurse at the care home, telling me that father in law was poorly, and they had called an ambulance to take him to hospital for tests.  This was a concern, but he had suffered so many trips to hospital over the years that I wasn't particularly alarmed.  I left a message on Mr WithaY's mobile to tell him his father had been taken to hospital, and that I'd let him know how he got on.  We've left each other a lot of messages like that over the years, so neither of us panics early.

When the hospital rang me a couple of hours later to ask "Who is his next of kin?" I did begin to worry.  I answered the hospital's questions as best I could, and then I left another message for Mr WithaY, asking him to call me ASAP.

An hour passed, the hospital called again, this time to tell me that "It might be best for the family to come in."   By now it was past 10pm, things sounded very serious.  I called Mr WithaY's brother and let him know, but as he lives at least 4 hours away, I said there was little point in him coming down that night.  Thankfully, Mr WithaY had managed to pick up my messages, and he rang to find out what the situation was. As soon as I told him what was happening, he said he was coming home.

So, by 1am we were both at the hospital, and were able to be with father in law.  It was peaceful, tranquil, dignified.  The nurses at Bath hospital were wonderful. They gave us privacy but checked in on him every half hour or so, brought Mr WithaY and I tea and biscuits, and offered sympathy and practical advice at the end.  We left the hospital at about 4.30am, walking out into a gloriously clear starry night. It seemed appropriate, somehow.

In the days which followed we learned about the administrative burden which a death confers on the nearest and dearest, on top of the sadness.  Mr WithaY's brother came down for a day or two and helped out, which was appreciated, and we set about organising a funeral, notifying those friends and former neighbours we had contact details for, and clearing out his remaining possessions from the nursing home.

The funeral was on Tuesday this week. It was simple, respectful and gentle, and, I hope, such that father in law would have wanted.  We buried him in a pretty little Dorset churchyard, where his mother was buried.  It's close enough that we can visit if we want to, but I don't imagine we will.  Visiting graves has never been something Mr WithaY or I have ever done, but I am glad it's in a lovely spot.

One thing which is comforting is that he saw almost all of his family in the weeks before his death,  and a few of his old friends had been to see him too.

Apparently he died of a stroke, simply going to sleep and not waking up.  We are very sad, but it is also a relief to know that he is not suffering under his many and irreversible medical problems, any more.

So.  A solemn start to this posting, but as it's been in my head for weeks, it seems right to share it here.

In  other news: I have to go and have some routine but possibly major surgery next year. I've been having a few problems, went to the doctor, was referred to have a scan, and as a result will be having an op (hopefully) in January next year. Nothing terrible, but I'm not looking forward to it much.

Gosh, what a medical post.  I promise to try and be back to my normal self soon.