From beyond the grave.....

I'm sat on the big brown leather sofa, the only sounds are that of the dog dreaming and the heating (which is set to "surface of the sun") kicking in.  The sky is grey and I can hear the wind howling.

Today is Armistice Day.  The past 3 Remembrance Days have been quite hard for me as I've lost a few friends. This week has to have been one of the strangest I've had for a long while.

My Dad was my world.  I was a "Daddy's Girl" without doubt.  In 1987, I got up early as I was planning on going to Goodison Park for the match.  As I walked into the living room, I saw my Dad sat in his chair.  I thought he was asleep and tried to rouse him to see if he wanted a cup of tea.  He was ice cold and didn't wake up.  Most of the next few weeks, including his funeral, is missing from my memory.  I have snippets of memories, but I guess I've just stored it away as it is too painful to deal with, even now!

Last week, my Mum and I went to "see" my Dad in the cemetery.  For some strange reason, we took a different route out of the cemetery.  We tried to find her Mums grave to no avail, so we got back in the car and carried on round the only way we could.  On the left was a large sandstone headstone with names carved into it.  One name jumped out at me - it was my maiden name, including my initial!

We got out of the car and I ran my finger over the name just to double check as you couldn't actually read it properly due to it being so weathered.  It turned out to be a relative who served on HMS Bullfinch, and died at the age of 32. I'm still researching it but it's turning up all kinds!

Now comes the even stranger bit.   I spoke to my Dad at his grave and told him that I miss him every day and would give anything just to be able to see him again.  This morning, as I was getting ready to head to the War Memorial for the 2 minutes silence, I was watching the Remembrance Week programme on BBC1.  I was watching Albert Pond talking about El Alamein and Montgomery.   I knew that my Dad had served there with him, but we know very little as he didn't talk about it much.  We have a couple of pictures but that's it.

Suddenly, there was a picture on the tv screen of 6 Soldiers, 3 standing by and 3 sitting on a tank.  One of those men is my Dad!  I'm crying now as I type this.  I've just called the BBC to see if I can get a copy of the photograph.  They gave me an adress to write to to see if they can give me a copy.  A chance comment by a friend suggested that I try the Imperial War Museum, as she thought that they supply the BBC with pictures.  I called them and spoke to a lovely lady called Rita.  She is going to see if it's one of theirs.  I can't thank her enough!  I currently have the frame paused on the iPlayer and still can't believe he's looking at me. 

I guess he must have heard me ask to see him once more.

I'm not admitting defeat, I'm adapting!!

I'm sat on the big brown leather sofa, wearing an Afghan Trust T shirt and a pair of theatre pants to cover "it"*.  The dog is in her bed, shaking her head every few minutes as she's had ear drops put in.  I can hear the gentle low hum of the tumble drier from the kitchen and the trees rustling in the wind outside.  The sky looks like someone's drawn it with a 2H pencil and then rubbed over it with their finger.  I can smell the cup of coffee sat next to me and for possibly the third time in nearly 9 weeks, I really fancy a cigarette.  That will pass shortly though.

It's been a funny day really, and not in that good a way.  I had another really bad night pain wise, and at 0645 I was still reading as I just couldn't get to sleep - despite taking the strong painkillers and half a sleeping tablet at 2230 last night.  I'd read for about an hour when I got into bed and then turned off the lamp and got as comfy as possible.  I counted sheep, frogs hopping out of ponds, Soldiers marching past me, penguins and sheep again but nothing worked, so back on went the lamp and out came the book again.  This was repeated a fair few times until I think my eyes and brain finally thought "Fuck this, let's give in".

I sat looking at 2 boxes when I got up and finally decided to open them.  They arrived yesterday but I just couldn't bring myself to open them, despite knowing the contents and what they meant!  The boxes contained a bath seat and 2 bath safety bars which meant I could finally have a bath - something I've longed for since before the latest surgery.  I'd already put a shower seat across the bath a couple of days before.  These items in themselves were no big deal - until I fitted them.  I sat on the toilet (lid down) and burst into tears.  

What had been, for as long as I can remember, my little haven away from the world  had suddenly become a "disabled persons bathroom".  Yes, it was still full of candles, various bottles of bubble bath, shower gels, bath bombs, Clarins, Soap & Glory and Covent Garden Spa products, but it had a few additions that I never thought I'd need.  With the addition of just 4 items, it had ceased to be "my" bathroom.

Now, being a Sappers daughter, the little voice inside my head told me to "man up".  I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and left the bathroom.  I made my way to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.  When I got back to the sofa I just stared out of the window for a while and had a word with myself.   

I have had 17 months to deal with this injury, but for those 17 months I've honestly believed that it will get better tomorrow, this surgery will work, this brace is going to be the clincher, the next surgery is going to be the one to get me back to "normal".  As things stand (no pun intended), neither the braces nor the operations have worked.  I see the Surgeon tomorrow to discuss where we go from here.  I already know the worst case scenario and I'm prepared for that, mainly because of a few friends, some of the people I've met since working with some of the Armed Forces charities and strangely enough, some that I've met via Twitter.  

So although I've cried, and started this blog post with a working title of "Admitting defeat", I've decided that it's not admitting defeat at all, it's adapting to the hand I've been dealt.  So with that new way of looking at it, I'm going to have some dinner and then run a big bubble bath, light some candles, put Andre Rieu on the CD player and have an hour of "me time" for the first time in about 6 weeks in my new "J friendly" bathroom.

Although you don't know it, thanks Dan, Mark and Andy for being 3 of a few really special men that inspire me and stop me from wallowing in self pity.  For every problem, there is a solution!! 

* "It" is the custom made brace that holds my knee together and stops it from collapsing and dislocating.  "It" stops me from ending up flat on my face or back.  "It" also causes blisters on the skin, which burst and occasionally get infected.  They keep me awake at night because of the fact that they itch like hell.  On the plus side, "It" is 1000% better than the predecessor which was worse than useless, and is a lot lighter than "It" looks (although those that have tried it on would dispute that fact).