Let's be positive for a change...by Sheila Claydon

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I always try to find a link to one of my books when I blog, but this time it is a very weak one! In Remembering Rose (Book 1 of Mapleby Memories) Rachel's one hospital visit to see her grandmother is a very small part of the story. Hospital visits this month, however, are a much bigger part of my and my husband's story. There is also a slight resemblance in that, like hers, they were far from dispiriting.  Most importantly, however, I am writing this piece as a counterpoint to the almost daily negative Press coverage of the UK's National Health Service (NHS). 

My husband, aged 82, has been an avid and very good tennis player for 70+ years.The downside of this  was that he needed a new hip. He wasn't desperate because, with a painkiller, he could still play, and as all his team mates are over 70 these days it was never going to be so physically challenging that he could no longer cope.  He did, however, make a doctor's appointment on the advice of his physiotherapist, who told him the sooner the better while he still had the necessary musculature to help him with his recovery. 

Within a month of that first doctor's appointment he had had the operation and was home. He was operated on only12 days after seeing the surgeon. No 2 year wait, no 7.5 million waiting list, no traumatic tales of delays and less than optimum care. Everything ran like clockwork. The aids and adaptations necessary for his recovery were delivered at the promised time, the nurses, doctors and ward orderlies were all cheerful, caring and dedicated. Nothing was too much trouble and when he attended the occupational therapy clinic to prepare him, he was introduced to other patients waiting for the same operation.  

He was actually playing tennis when I received the call saying he was booked in for 3 days hence so had to attend a pre-operative check later that afternoon. 

We had to be at the hospital at 7.30 on a Sunday morning (yes, some of our medics do work weekends despite what the media says) and by the time I visited that evening he was in bed recovering, and although hooked up to various machines, had eaten a good meal and was very cheerful. The next day he was up and dressed and doing the mandatory physio and the day after that he was home! District nurses turned up when they said they would to tend the wound and remove the sutures, the GP pharmacy sorted out his meds and made arrangements for a post operative check, and now, only 3 weeks later, he's walking unaided up to a mile at a time and no longer needs any special care.

Much of his recovery is down to his general good health and strong muscles of course, so not everyone will be so lucky, but many will be. One of the two lovely surgeons who operated told him that hip replacement is one of her favourite jobs as it gives people their life back, and she is right. And what is even more important is that all of this excellent care was free, including all the the aids and medication. We were prepared to pay privately if, as the daily news seemed to convey, he was going to have to wait years, but when he suggested this to his doctor, he dismissed it, saying let's test the NHS first as I don't think that will be necessary.

There are similar tales. One friend has just had a stent inserted following a mild heart attack. Another is waiting for a new heart valve and has been told she will probably have it done by the end of the month. Another has been given a 3-year open appointment with his surgeon in case the 'wait and watch' treatment he is receiving breaks down and he needs more urgent care. And these are in different hospitals in different parts of the country, so it's not just special where we live. And to top it all, we have just been booked into a local pharmacy for our booster Covid and Flu vaccines. All free. All without any angst or waiting. 

We feel very blessed and we also wish that just once in a while the British Press would report some of these positives instead of making the UK, and especially the NHS, look as if it is going to hell in a handcart. It isn't! 

On a lighter note, here is the short extract of Rachel's hospital visit in Remembering Rose, where her nonagenarian grandma is playing her part as a link between Rachel and Rose, Rachel's long dead great-great-grandmother, who has breeched the boundaries of time itself to stop her great-great-granddaughter making the biggest mistake of her life.

    Grandma was as pale as the pillow behind her head and Ma didn't look much better. They smiled when Daniel and I walked up to the bed though. Ma with relief and Grandma with satisfaction.

    "Rose said you'd both come," she told me, and then closed her eyes.

    I shrugged when Ma raised her eyebrows, and for once I wasn't lying. I had no idea what Rose had told Grandma. I didn't find out for ages either because she wasn't talking. Ma looked at her inert figure in consternation.

    "She seems to have worn herself out calling for you."

    I took hold of one of Grandma's hands. It was warm and I felt a faint pressure as her fingers curled in mine. She wasn't asleep, she was just binding her time. I settled down to wait.

    Ma stayed in the chair opposite and Daniel set off in search of coffee. When he returned with three cardboard cups of questionable liquid he suggested Ma take a break once she had finished hers. "I passed the hospital canteen on my way back to the ward and the lunch smells good," he said.

    I saw my chance. "Why don't you both go? You haven't had a thing since early this morning Daniel, and Ma would probably appreciate the company. I'll be fine here with Grandma until you get back."

    They both looked doubtful, Daniel because he had seen how panicked I was earlier, and Ma because she was worried. "I wish we had never shown her a single photo, let alone tried to persuade her to remember the past. She's done nothing but talk about Granny Rose ever since she saw that picture of her. On her worst days she even confuses her with you, Rachel, so who knows what she'll say when she wakes up and sees you next to the bed."

    I aimed for a suitably understanding expression as I nodded my agreement because I knew that if I didn't Ma wouldn't leave me on my own with Grandma."It's only because I look a bit like Rose," I said, as I wondered how long it would be before Ma and Daniel totally trusted my sanity again. Then I remembered all the times I had seen Rose and spoken to her and I didn't blame them because I wasn't entirely sure how sane I was myself anymore.

    "I suppose so," Ma looked doubtful. She didn't demur when Daniel asked her a second time though. Draining her coffee cup, she stood up and stretched. Then she picked up the large tote bag she carries with her everywhere and followed him out of the ward. Left to my own devices but aware that we didn't have that much time, I squeezed Grandma's hand.

    "You can open your eyes now because they've gone."

    She peered at me through two slits. I laughed. "Did Rose put you up to this?"

    "Rose wanted Daniel, too."

    "You mean she wanted me to realise how much I need Daniel and this was the only way she could arrange it. I suppose she was the one who made me forget to switch on my cell phone this morning too." I was getting better at reading Rose's mind by the minute. I was also beginning to have an inkling about what she was up to.

    Grandma nodded. "She made me promise."

    I frowned. "Well, from now on you can tell her to leave you out of it. If she wants to talk to me she knows where I live."

    But Grandma was too intent on relaying the rest of her message to listen. "Daniel is a good man."

    "I know he is, and so was Arthur. Tell Rose I know she loved Arthur. Tell her I understand."

* * *

    

The story behind the photo...by Sheila Claydon

 Click here for my BWL page

Remembering Rose is very special to me because it is my take on a family history. Not my family (although I might get to that eventually) but that of another family. 

It all started when I found a sepia photo in a box of jumbled mementos. The young woman at the centre  was mesmerising, not because of her looks, although they were striking, but because of her vivacity. And it was obvious from the faces of those around her, that they were equally entranced. Of course I will never know what she was saying any more than I will ever know why she was standing while the people around her were sitting on the ground watching her. Were they playing a game like charades? Had she just jumped up and suggested they all stop lolling around and go for a walk? Was she reacting to something the blonde curly-haired child next to her had done? The only thing I do know is that it was taken in the summer because some of the men were wearing striped blazers and straw boater hats, and the women's dresses seemed to be styled from light, summery materials. 

Like all photos taken in the days before the ubiquitous cell phone camera, there had to be a story behind it. In the late 1800s it wouldn't have been taken on a whim, so maybe the group had been posing and the photographer had grabbed a final photo just as the woman jumped up ready to do something else. I was intrigued enough to store the image in my head but not quite intrigued enough to write about it until, many years later, I was shown a photo of the same woman as an old lady. The contrast was both shocking and heartbreaking. What was it that had changed that vibrant young woman into somebody so thin and melancholy.  What had life done to her? And her husband too. In the sepia photo he had been handsome and dashing with luxuriant whiskers and his straw hat tilted at a jocular angle. Now he looked old and tired and his hands were swollen with arthritis.

The writer in me kicked in and I began to ask questions. The result is Remembering Rose. A fiction of course, but with enough of their real story woven into it to ensure they are never forgotten. Because their's is a story of love...real love, not the fleeting kind that runs as soon as it encounters problems...and consequently the love experienced by all the other people in the book is the same. The blurb on the back sums it up:

Rachel has a husband who adores her, a beautiful baby daughter, and an extended family she can rely on, so why isn't she happy? She doesn't know and nor do the people who love her. Only Rose understands but she is trapped in another century. To help Rachel she has to breach the boundaries of time itself as well as risk exposing the truth of her own past. When echoes from that past begin to affect other people in the village of Mapleby, things suddenly become a lot more complicated. Can Rachel put things right without giving away Rose's secret?

Because I needed a background for Rose's story I invented the village of Mapleby and the cottage where she lived as a child, and when I did that, Mapleby itself pulled back the curtain that separates us from the past and the future and told me Rose's story. And because it told me the story of so many of the others who live there too I soon found myself embarking upon a Mapleby Memories series. Remembering Rose is Book 1 and Book 2: Loving Ellen will be published in February. Although it's part of a series, it is still a stand alone book, but to really understand the village and the people who live there, you need to listen to Rose.

And if you do read Remembering Rose you might be able to guess who the heroine of the next story is going to be. A clue. It's not Ellen because there isn't an Ellen in Book 1. Have I intrigued you enough?

Even better is the fact that BWL has just updated the cover for Remembering Rose, ready for a relaunch alongside Loving Ellen, and the new image really does look like Rachel, who is the other heroine of the story. The cover for Loving Ellen is even better and I'll be showcasing that next month.

Keep safe...by Sheila Claydon

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COVID 19, or Coronavirus as it is more commonly known, is taking over the world. Countries are putting the most drastic measures in place to contain it and, in the process, damaging the global economy, causing what may be fatal disruptions to some small businesses, and upsetting the normal routines of their citizens. Despite what is still a relatively small number of people affected when measured against the world population, it has everyone running scared.  Especially those who have compromised immune systems because of other underlying illnesses, and the elderly.

Although I have visited many other countries around the world and know some of them well, in this instance I can only speak for the attitudes of the people in the UK, where measures different from those of the rest of Europe and beyond are beginning to unfold.  The decisions are based on the developing science of Coronavirus as well as from discussions with experts across the world. Only time will tell if they are the right decisions. In the meantime there is a new problem. The influence of social media. Despite clear and repeated guidance from medical experts, and despite there being 24 hour advice and access to free medical care, many people and organisations are beginning to panic and, instead, to copy the restrictions that are happening elsewhere. Again only time will tell if these personal decisions will interfere with the science the government is trying to follow. In the meantime most of us are doing the best to get on with our lives, especially the older members of the population even though they are in the high risk category.

Where I am life is continuing more or less as normal. The only difference is that everyone is making sure their larders and refrigerators are well stocked just in case they have to self-isolate, and this is a community top heavy with older people. Jokes about the situation circulate daily, neighbours wave cheerily and there is not a mask to be seen. Attitudes have been likened to the blitz spirit of 'we are all in this together' in WW2. Of course it will only take a couple of local cases for this to change but in the meantime the writer in me is fascinated by the phlegmatic attitude of so many people. Maybe growing up immediately after the war when food was rationed and choice was limited has had a long term effect, or maybe it's because older people have so much life experience that they are less easily frightened. Or maybe it's just that because so many of them don't follow social media that they remain exempt from the fears percolating the rest of the world.

Whatever it is, it is to be admired, and it is that spirit that is imbued in the very elderly grandmother as well as in some of the other older characters in my book Remembering Rose. Whatever happens in the world, writers can't help storing up the experience for future use. In the meantime, my cupboards are full, my family is safe, the sun is shining and the dog is asking for a walk.

Until this is over, stay safe and take care. Tomorrow is another day.