It arrived this morning. I had been told that it could take up to three weeks before it was delivered. These days, they always seen to blame COVID-19 for anything taking a long time. I applied on the 27th, as I was in two minds as to whether I actually wanted a “Senior Citizens Bus Pass“. Everyone said I should get one, and most quantified their statements by saying things like ‘…look how long you’ve been paying…‘. Things like that didn’t help me come to terms with it. I was okay when I hit 65. That seemed like a mile-stone, but when you get to that time that you are now an official “Old Age Pensioner“, it feels a little different.
I don’t physically or mentally feel any older, it’s just the words “Old“, “Age” and “Pensioner” which are nothing on their own, but strung together, have a whole different sense to them. It is silly really, because when I left work, I was ‘Old’ enough to take my works ‘Pension’ and I didn’t feel any different then. Then there are the online forms to fill in that ask you your age group. You suddenly find yourself ticking the last box, the 66+ range. People say, “…it’s just a number…” and of course they are correct, it’s just a hell of a big number!
The title of this post refers to the fact that it is a whole twelve months since my operation. The actual date was the 26th so any celebration should have been on Friday. Only one person mentioned anything, and that was only because they had seen it noted in my work calendar. In fact, the person I thought would have said something, actually tried to give a bit of a *ollockin* for something else.
So after a year how are things? Well I still have a beautiful 10 inch scar running half way down my chest and still quite proud of that. I was given all sorts of ‘hints and tips’ to help it ‘fade’ but, I went through quite a lot to get that scar so it’s going to stay as it is as long as it does (if that makes sense!)
Not much else has changed really. I suppose that having to take an ‘anti-coagulant’ for life is a major change, but I had been on a stomach acid suppressant (another leaking valve) for a few years, with no change in the foreseeable future, so the idea of permanent medication was not an issue.
I suppose the real change is my memory loss. Now that sounds a bit more dramatic than it really is. What apparently happens, is that I have forgotten things that I supposedly knew. It is well documented and even has the popular name “Pump Head“. It is usually attributed to the heart going on by-pass while the surgery takes place. It was assumed that I knew about it, but only found out when I was due to leave the hospital. I shook the hands of all the other patients, and I said the one I had most of my conversations with, that we would have to keep in touch and meet up when we were both fit again. He laughed and said would be a good idea, if we remember!
It is a strange feeling. There are times when I don’t know if I have forgotten how to do a particular thing or that I never knew how to do it in the first place. It’s more disturbing, when K*** mentions a place we have been to and I simply cannot remember it. Some of the memories that I thought had gone, are now slowly beginning to come back to me, but it usually needs a few prompts and there are some things like days we have out together or places we have been to, just don’t seem to be there in my head any more. It makes you feel quite alone, when people talk about things and you struggle to remember them.
Then there is also, given my age, the slight growing concern, that the memory loss might just have a different cause. It is only a very miniscule fear, but it is definitely on my mind.
Well, it must be an age thing, as I just don’t know what happened to this week. Where to start……Nothing much has happened really. Saturday was more or less a quite day. S**** came up for the evening. It was that music gig at the Albion in Clifford. It’s called Strawberry Jam (?) and is basically a getting together (hence the Jam) of some local musicians and singers, in a local pub. It is organised by a local girl, and is good fun.
S**** went on to a party afterwards and arrived home at about half past six on Sunday morning, with the tale of drinking Vodka and stuff, in a hot-tub, with about seven others !!!!! He has no idea what happened to his wet underwear (they did wear underwear, I understand.) He appears to have enjoyed it.
Quiz-nite tomorrow. S**** is not coming up until Wednesday, so it would be me and Mrs H, if we go. I’m not too sure that I want to go, after last week. Saying that though, I don’t suppose I can let an idiot spoil, what has become a part of my life these days. Decided, we shall go to the quiz !!!!
R*** is on respite this week, and me and Mrs H are quite thankful for the break. He has really been up and down over the past few weeks. I think his mouth must have been hurting on holiday, and he has a sore lip at the moment. The problem we have, is that he cannot tell us that it hurts … he cannot communicate that feeling or emotion. If you ask him it hurts, he will say yes, even if there is no pain. It’s a dilemma, and sometime we have to err on the side of caution.
Well, as expected, the quiz-nite went well again. We got 37 points, which is a record for our little (sic) team. Of course, we did not win. That was never on the cards, but that’s not the point. R** won the bingo though. I don’t think she really knew what to do/say when her numbers came up.
It’s strange though, seeing people, that I know from the primary school, when I was on the PTA. People that you remember as little kids, that are now grown up and quite mature and sensible. Makes you feel a little old. I think what is worrying though, is that I know the faces, but not the names. Must be an age thing.