Friday, November 19 ‘09
Mrs. Bennet couldn’t look at a sandwich toaster in the same way again. As much as she loved a cheese, onion and mayo toastie, she couldn’t quite bring herself to make one. It was too similar to the breast sandwich she’d just experienced at the local screening hospital. Six weeks ago she had had two small assets, which at least moved slightly. Now having suffering a weight-loss battering due to stomach bugs and the stress of her father’s emergency dash to hospital, what remnants she had now could quite easily fall into the category of “gnat bites at the end of an ironing board” – a phrase so eloquently used by one midwife in her explanation that any lady, big or small-chested, was capable of breast feeding her baby or babies. Incidentally a well-endowed mother’s acquisitions were referred to as “trombones.” The gnat bites belonging to Mrs. Bennet certainly weren’t happy today. They were squashed into the mammogram’s jaw, and then tightened with what felt like a screw.
“You wouldn’t believe I fed twins would you?” she nervously joked to the lady who was in control of this chest chewing machine. As unsightly and uncomfortable as she felt, Mrs. Bennet was still grateful to have her breasts toasted. Having appreciated the diligent efforts of the surgeons and breast cancer team to save the life of her own dear mum, Jannie – and her cousin - she could only applaud the services provided. With five little females of her own, it was the responsible thing to do, even if it did mean losing what dignity she had left. It would be 10 years before she officially got the official annual mammogram invite. It certainly gave her a greater understanding of the vulnerability, embarrassment and discomfort of being squashed and squeezed that so many cancer patients felt. In some units, the machine apparently bore an encouraging sticker: “squeezed in love.”
Feeling suitably bruised, Mrs. Bennet put her shocked assets away and took them home. The cheese toaster shone in the light as she walked into the kitchen. Sometimes she treated herself to a crunchy toastie. Today though, she couldn’t face it. Mr. Bennet might fancy a toasted naked breast and mayo, but it definitely wasn’t being offered on this lunch-time’s menu.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Spag and Bol – the tonic
Wednesday, November 11 ‘09
Now the dolls-on-the-roof had completed their ball-point pen removal therapy, they were back in full working order – being dragged along feet-first and lovingly manhandled by Spag and Bol. Under the lounge spotlights, the baby plastic now looked decidedly blotchy and Mrs. Bennet realised she had slightly overcooked the poor things. But the little Miss Twin Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They shoved Cheerios into the dolls’ mouths regardless and then wondered why they couldn’t get them back out.
Mrs. Bennet was so grateful to Spag and Bol right now. They were proving a real tonic. Their in-built rechargeable batteries never ran out enabling them to clip-clop in clumsy yet beautifully-comical style around the downstairs circle-route in bite-size Modern Pemberley wearing dressing-up high heeled shoes which didn’t match. They had no worries; only giggles and smiles. Mrs. Bennet wondered what age worry set in. How she would love a bottle of care-free childlike innocence at times. All was well in Spag and Bol’s world even if it wasn’t quite as it should be in Mrs. Bennet’s. With Christmas looming, Mrs. Bennet had no desire to buy any presents. Getting to Christmas dinner with every family member in one piece would be the best gift of all. Right now her dad was in hospital, having been rushed in passing out with acute stomach pains. Jannie had bravely fought breast cancer, but was still suffering the aftermaths and had seen enough medics to last a life-time. It certainly hadn’t been the best of years. And yet, despite seeing her dad, happy on morphine, eyes tinged yellow with his unshaven chin dappled with white specs as if he’d been caught dipping it into a packet of icing sugar, Mrs. Bennet felt grateful. Jannie had made it and so too would her dad – with the help of gall-bladder removal and a low-fat diet.
“Donuts don’t have any fat in do they?” he half-hoped, half-joked. It wasn’t good news for a sweet-tooth.
“They’re giving me a list of what I can have,” he informed his wife, still heart-broken that he hadn’t been given any ice-cream or milk for his breakfast cornflakes by the nurses.
“Good, because if they tell you, you might listen,” replied Jannie.
“Have you told them about your allergies?”
“Yes, but they only put down - beer. I think it was the only one they remembered but it made the consultant laugh,” the patient said smiling.
If there was one thing which held her family together it was humour. Watching her parent’s playful banter despite the situation they were in, gave her hope. A man wretched noisily into one of those funny cardboard bedpans in the corner bed; another snorted loudly in his sleep while one poor chap was stuck in the toilet waiting to be wheeled back to his bed. Visitors had sat around talking to an invisible man for 20 minutes wandering where he had gone. It was like watching a scene from Only When I Laugh, a classic early 1980’s comedy series set in the ward of an NHS hospital with an odd trio of male patients. Humour was everywhere if you chose to see it. And Mrs. Bennet had it on tap. She only had to spend a few minutes observing her youngest two daughters to get a free dose.
Now the dolls-on-the-roof had completed their ball-point pen removal therapy, they were back in full working order – being dragged along feet-first and lovingly manhandled by Spag and Bol. Under the lounge spotlights, the baby plastic now looked decidedly blotchy and Mrs. Bennet realised she had slightly overcooked the poor things. But the little Miss Twin Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They shoved Cheerios into the dolls’ mouths regardless and then wondered why they couldn’t get them back out.
Mrs. Bennet was so grateful to Spag and Bol right now. They were proving a real tonic. Their in-built rechargeable batteries never ran out enabling them to clip-clop in clumsy yet beautifully-comical style around the downstairs circle-route in bite-size Modern Pemberley wearing dressing-up high heeled shoes which didn’t match. They had no worries; only giggles and smiles. Mrs. Bennet wondered what age worry set in. How she would love a bottle of care-free childlike innocence at times. All was well in Spag and Bol’s world even if it wasn’t quite as it should be in Mrs. Bennet’s. With Christmas looming, Mrs. Bennet had no desire to buy any presents. Getting to Christmas dinner with every family member in one piece would be the best gift of all. Right now her dad was in hospital, having been rushed in passing out with acute stomach pains. Jannie had bravely fought breast cancer, but was still suffering the aftermaths and had seen enough medics to last a life-time. It certainly hadn’t been the best of years. And yet, despite seeing her dad, happy on morphine, eyes tinged yellow with his unshaven chin dappled with white specs as if he’d been caught dipping it into a packet of icing sugar, Mrs. Bennet felt grateful. Jannie had made it and so too would her dad – with the help of gall-bladder removal and a low-fat diet.
“Donuts don’t have any fat in do they?” he half-hoped, half-joked. It wasn’t good news for a sweet-tooth.
“They’re giving me a list of what I can have,” he informed his wife, still heart-broken that he hadn’t been given any ice-cream or milk for his breakfast cornflakes by the nurses.
“Good, because if they tell you, you might listen,” replied Jannie.
“Have you told them about your allergies?”
“Yes, but they only put down - beer. I think it was the only one they remembered but it made the consultant laugh,” the patient said smiling.
If there was one thing which held her family together it was humour. Watching her parent’s playful banter despite the situation they were in, gave her hope. A man wretched noisily into one of those funny cardboard bedpans in the corner bed; another snorted loudly in his sleep while one poor chap was stuck in the toilet waiting to be wheeled back to his bed. Visitors had sat around talking to an invisible man for 20 minutes wandering where he had gone. It was like watching a scene from Only When I Laugh, a classic early 1980’s comedy series set in the ward of an NHS hospital with an odd trio of male patients. Humour was everywhere if you chose to see it. And Mrs. Bennet had it on tap. She only had to spend a few minutes observing her youngest two daughters to get a free dose.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
