Friday, December 19, 2008

On the Wings of a 'Dragon'

'Support your flag' has always been my motto, but after my disastrous previous
flights with our own airline, I absolutely refused to do so this journey and instead opted to fly British. As St. George, famed for his slaying of the dragon
is the patron Saint of England, it seemed a good choice, but admittedly I had heard mixed reports of this Country's airline and its well documented fatal opening at Terminal 5, Heath row. Nevertheless, I decided to take my chances.

Now a tip for all future travellers, never take anything for granted, always read
the website baggage allowance tips in advance and come prepared for battle. Gone are the days of getting away without paying overweight, for most of the
airlines, but even more frustrating is the fact whether you can bring one or two
bags and up to what weight are they allowed to be!

Having carefully read and measured my hand luggage allowance, I understood that I would be able to bring a large suitcase up to 23kg and if it was a long
distance haul, which I presumed China to be, a second case too. So, here I was
with a long, soft bag (I had especially chosen this kind as to ensure that no extra
weight would be incurred due the heavy steel trolley that is usually sewn into the
lining) an extra large shopping bag that encased my blankets - both of these to
be sent through. My on flight bag that held breakables and my computer and my rucksack, with my on flight necessities.

But, when it came to check in, I was informed, that I was not allowed to send two bags through and only upon insisting that the website was misleading, was
reluctantly allowed to do so! Next, even though requesting wheelchair help and
finding it difficult to walk with my hand luggage, I made my way somewhat gingerly and lumbering through the security. A tearful goodbye to my daughter,
words choking in my throat, I knew it would be hard to go, I had spent so many an hour with her talking, laughing and sharing as well as the best time ever with
my granddaughter, but it was 'unfinished business' that was pulling me back.

Offers of work there had been, but I still felt in a 'Dorothy' like state, having been pulled out of Beijing with no warning and felt that I had not completed my stint or had a chance to say goodbye, so now with a breaking heart, I said my
farewells and went on through. At the passport control, which is always a little intimidating and formal, I was affronted when the border policewoman climbed
down and came around the front, unsure of what was happening, I was stunned to find an offer of assistance and annoyance at her colleagues that no one had
stepped forward to help me in my predicament, of balancing myself and my
luggage too. Due to her kindness, I was place in a buggy and driven straight to
the border area and assisted right onto the plane!

My seat found, I settled myself in for the long journey. The staff was helpful and
kind, passing by many a time to ensure that I was comfortable, so unlike my emergency flight in August. A brief stopover in London would ensure my praise
of this airline's service. From the plane I was taken and dropped off at a waiting area where I was to be picked up again and taken to my next Gate of call. Seeing that the queue for this service was long and having a few hours to spare, a helpful assistant told me that I would be able to check in my hand luggage, so
freeing myself of any items other than those necessary and would be able to
wander around the airport lounge area.

But, after lightening myself of my load, I was aghast to find upon arrival at the
duty free area, that it was truly something to be proud of, but I was incapable of
walking it. Stopping to look only at the magazines and books, I was struggling to make my way through the maze to a coffee area, when a voice came up behind me, asking 'are you in need of assistance?'. There was a red vested smiling face pushing a wheelchair, with passenger inside, looking at me quizzically. I gratefully nodded my head and he promised to be back in a flash
to help me with whatever I needed.

True to his word, he returned and wheeled my around a while, before depositing me at a coffee shop after having booked my my next mode of transport to the Gate at an appointed hour. On time, I returned, only to be informed that my chariot had already departed, but told 'not to worry love' we shall find you another and true to their word, they did. The flight though long, passed pleasantly enough and as we drew nearer, I began to worry a little about further assistance in China. But be concerned, I need not have been, for with prompt
efficiency a chair was awaiting me and together with a porter in tow, my luggage picked up in the briefest of time and we were outside and raring to go.

Taxi found, porter paid, I was on my way back to my apartment, what would be waiting for me there I wondered, for no one had set foot inside for three and a half months. Would I be able to make it up the stairs? Did I still have electricity? All these questions were soon enough going to be answered.

The Moment of Truth

Having been given the all clear, it was now time to get ready to go. A last clean
out of the fridge and freezer, a final dust and wash down, a quick (well to be honest hobble) trip to the market, a final suitcase buy and home to pack up and
get ready to go.

I had arrived in Beijing with an empty suitcase, but now it seemed I didn't have
any room, it was not only because I had arrived with a bag only fit for the inside
of the plane, but nevertheless, I now seemed to be laden down. For a 'wanna be'
backpacker, I am obviously not doing a very good job, for even though I know how to pack well, using every nook and cranny, I seem to always be overladen with 'can't travel without its'!

Even though today we are in the world of the computer and Internet, I am still of the old fashioned kind, who needs pen and paper for writing on and reading material that is actually in a bound form, soft or hardback irrelevant. Besides the required reading material, there is always a soft toy, my old faithful friends having been left behind in Beijing, Hippo, Scooby Doo and Blue Elephant, I now had a new brown curly haired friend, named dog, who had been my constant
companion and supportive friend through my leg trials and tribulations, so he now had to find room in the ever expanding case.

When I first went to China, almost a year ago, I had gone completely unprepared for the biting cold wind that was to await me there. Never having
relinquished myself to a winter coat, tights, sweaters or any other restrictive clothing; I had gone with a suitcase full of light weight long sleeved tops and a
jacket that was nothing more that a large holey cardigan that did nothing to keep the wind out through its gaps. After a month in this foreign land, I found
myself suffering from a cold that I never thought was possible, so I now intended
to be better equipped. This of course meant, for sock less, no stocking me, a compromise of leggings, that in being no way would I agree to wear the full tights, but maybe a legging or two in a bright color, leg warmers (great idea on
my daughter's part) and fluffy socks, might solve the problem.

Now a bag to contain my warmest blanket, for previously I was sure that a light
quilting would suffice, toiletries as after my last fiasco of washing my hair in
conditioner for a long while, until I realised by my receding hair that I was not
using shampoo being unable to read the Chinese labels and a stock of coffee and
food to get me through the first few days, I was ready to leave.

But now the moment had come, it was hard to do so, so with a shrug of my
shoulders, my crutches in hand and a last glance back at my home, I stepped out into the night with my daughter, son in law and granddaughter in tow, the moment of truth had arrived, it was time to go.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Oiling the Hinges

Well, one of the bolts is out, but the rest are still in and I feel like a rusty old car
that needs more than its hinges oiled! Was it my expectations that now would be
a case of 'gliding along'? Could be, or just not being very well informed as what to expect. To say the least, it felt like a major set back, I found myself once again
in tears, I wasn't expecting it to be so hard another time over.

Now I had to wait again, this time till the stitches would be removed, which was to
be in exactly two weeks, I was holding the surgeon to his word that I would be able to travel back to China immediately after that. Nevertheless, I was playing it
cautious, still exercising and going out for daily walks, sorting out the house so that it would be free of any unnecessary items and even saying fond farewells.

In truth I didn't buy my ticket till a week before and as for shopping, I kept putting
off the dreaded day till the last moment. I love to shop, but not for myself and
my body now having changed shape again, it was with trepidation that I was to
embark on this adventure yet again. I have a very bad habit of buying something,
either for the day that I may be able to get into it, because I have seen it at a
bargain price, or have illusions that it may fit sometime; or worse still, buy something that does fit well, but bury it in the closet for fear that when I will look
better, someone will only remember me in my enlarged state wearing that outfit and not notice it now looking better!

The next more pressing predicament was to be the one of shoes. I was always
a shoe mad 'shopper' and in my younger years, my wardrobe would be full of an
array of many styles and of course colors, but due to my 'foot abuse' had totally
ruined my feet and now had to settle for almost flat ties of a more subdued shade
just happy that they could encase my feet. Nevertheless, I have had many an
incident with shoes over the years many a story to tell. On one memorable New Year, I was given permission to go out and buy a new pair of shoes on my own, these were to be worn to worship in the synagogue and my mother entrusted me
with the monies and sent me on my way. This was an unusual event and I was
happy to make the most of this opportunity.

I was 16 years old and of course the uppermost thought in my mind, was to impress. Being part of a youth group that met weekly, I was determined to make my entrance. After some heavy traipsing around the stores, I finally settled on a
nave blue pair of high heeled shoes, that in the shop felt non too high or uncomfortable. But, as you can well imagine, after walking the required distance
of half an hour each way in the morning, then standing for prayers and then going
out in the afternoon, I was by this time not only unable to put one foot in front of the other, but let alone stand!! My friends, willing and able aides, held me up on
either side, allowing me to lean heavily upon their person, as I stumbled over each step, but as soon as a relative would come in sight, I would hold myself up
carefully and proudly, ensuring that no wince passed my lips, for fear that this misadventure would reach the ears of my mother, who would berate me for sure!

To this day, as I am now safely and sturdily encased in heavy Velcro footwear, all
signs of beauty on my feet forgotten, I can only but smile at my vanity then, for today just being able to work, even with a cane, will be a small price to pay after my fall. So, there I was in the centre of town, searching desperately for a shoe,
luckily to remember a small outpost that was able to furnish me, comfortably and
helpfully with my quest. Now, a last few bits and bobs, a last hospital trip and I
would be on my way. But was I doing the right thing, that was now the question
that was playing heavily on my mind??

Saturday, December 13, 2008

I'm Still Awake!!!

Why hospitals ask people to come at one time and then make them sit and wait
for hours on end, I still cannot work out. The day arrived and my appointment for the op was at 9.30. We arrived at the day clinic set aside for operations that allow the patient to go home the same day and were amazed at the amount of people that were sitting there. The office was situated just next to the eye clinic and we quickly came to realize that most of the occupants were there for
that particular surgery.

After having my blood pressure checked, changing into the compulsory gown and answering the necessary questionnaire, we (my daughter and I) settled down to wait and wait we did. The hours passed because we were so busy talking, but the wait was long and worrisome, as the more that time went by, the more jittery I got. Finally my name was called, the time 14.30. No wheelchair necessary, we made our way down in the elevator to the operating
rooms area, where again we were greeted my some now familiar faces from the
upstairs clinic, who too were awaiting their turn.

Now is when things got a little hair raising. My surgeon, was nowhere in sight,
but we sat down ready to have another prolonged wait. There was a lady nervously waiting and we exchanged pleasantries. She told us that she was
waiting for her husband, who was undergoing similar surgery to my own and she was a little put out that his own surgeon had not put in a show, but he
was being operated on by another. We assured her that the gentleman in question who was doing the operation was in fact the head of the department itself and that he was in safe hands. She proceeded to go on to explain her
nervous disposition, that was due to the fact that they had persuaded her spouse
to undergo the surgery under a Local Anaesthetic as apposed to General
Anaesthesia; the difference being that for one you are awake and aware, whereas
for the other fully asleep.

She in fact felt that he had been encourage to choose the first, due to the fact that the hour was late and if he would have the latter, the day clinic was now
closed and after the first recovery room, there would be no place for him to rest till he was able to go home. Commiserating with her and with assurances that
he was in safe hands, we awaited my turn.

After a while, the Head of the Department came in to see us and after asking all the necessary questions, too requested that I do the op under a Local. I immediately refused, saying that from past experience I was unable to and wished to have the Full Anesthetic. I also pointed out that my own surgeon had
promised to do the operation and that I preferred to wait for him to be present
before they began. Left again to our own thoughts, we discussed a little the strange situation and came to the same conclusion, that the lateness of the hour
had caused this strange request.

A nurse came in next and asked me why I had not signed the forms accepting
a Full Anesthetic and we explained that I had not been asked. From this moment on, my heart was pounding. I climbed on to the required bed and was
wheeled towards the operating theatre as the nurse pressed another piece of
paper into my hands explaining the down sides of the anesthetic! In the annexe to the theatre, the anesthesiologist again tried to persuade me to use a Local!
By this time I was a bag of nerves. After some discussion, we agreed that he would put me under and finally my own surgeon appeared!

But the fun had still only just begun. Wheeled into the theatre, I was transferred on to the narrow hard bed, where I was immediately strapped in. On my left my arm was pulled out to put the drip and on the right one of the male nurses was pulling at my leg, washing it down with alcohol and tying it up into a side ways position of immobility.

But I was still awake!! Beginning to feel forced to do something against my will,
I traumatically cried out in a croaky voice 'I'm still awake!!'

'Okay' said the surgeon, 'we won't begin till you are under'. After two or three
unsuccessful tries at finding my veins, the anesthesiologist obviously managed to put me to sleep and I woke up to find myself in the recovery room, where I
quickly told my daughter about what had happened. After a while the anesthesiologist came by to see me, squeezing my arm as a reassuring sign, just
confirming for me that if I had not cried out, I would not have received what I
requested!!

So, due to the lateness of the hour, I was checked in to a hospital bed for an over
night stay, at the surgeons expense, for if he was unsuccessful in releasing me on
time, it would be forfeited from his own pocket. Poetic justice I felt, after the
traumatic experience I had been laid out to!

One Step for Me, the Next....

Oh my! It was not easy I can tell you, those first steps, I don't know how babies
find the courage to do it, maybe because they have as of yet no fear of falling!
Stairs seemed like a mountain and the pain, well you do not want me to tell you
about that. It is amazing how we take things for granted. The following day I moved back into my own apartment. I suppose that to describe where I live would be to liken it to a Chinese Hutong, a series of straight and windy lanes that lead into a labyrinth of quaint stone houses, still erect, from a past era, the
only difference being its modern day inhabitants and clothing.

Down the staircase leading to the passage and entrance to my house, was a tearful one, but once conquered, pride replaced the crooked smile and I thankfully sunk down into my personal armchair to view my surroundings. I had rented out my apartment during the time I was away and even though
chose tenants that gave a warm outward impression, was disappointed in finding that they had treated my home a 'little too much' as their own, but this
is the risk we take when we leave our possessions in the hands of another and now I was home and able to re stamp my surroundings with my own style.

The one thing that I had forgotten, was that there was a small step up and over
into the bathroom and for the first number of times, this did in fact prove to be
my stumbling block! The days past quickly as the Day of Atonement got nearer,
this the most solemn day in the Jewish Calender, the day that every soul stands
in judgement, is a day of fasting, penance and reflection. Every year, as our own
personal tradition has it, my daughter and I would go for the final day's prayers
to the nearest synagogue, to join in and at the final cry, hear the loud blast on the ram's horn, blown clear and loud, but alas for me, this would be the first in
a long time, that I was unable to take up this post by her side.

Festivities over, now the Feast of Tabernacles, but for me, no outings to the city,
more a series of physiotherapy and starting to regain movement in my foot and
ankle. To stay sane, it is imperative to have a routine, whether it be when to bathe, eat, surf, stretch.... one it saves the sanity and too it keeps you occupied.

I have never been one that is unable to keep myself occupied and enjoyed spending my time writing my book (that I am now looking for a publisher for)
reading and yes, admittedly, watching the..... box. I must say, that Dr Phil does
have a thing to say or two, but some of those chat shows, ... yawn! too much of
the same.

The days passed and I continued a barrage of tests, to discover that I, the
ultimate 'block of cheese' was now totally, but totally lactose intolerant of the
highest degree!! Help, what was I supposed to do now?! I could not believe it.

For all those overweight ladies out there, listen to a word from the now wise.
For three years and more, I knocked on the doors of doctors and yes even
dietitians complaining that I had previously lost a large amount of weight on
the Dr Herman diet, which runs mainly on eating white cheese or only one kind
of fruit, vegetable, protein etc.. weekly, but since I had stopped, the weight had
returned plus a whole lot more. I understand that doctors are busy, but to their
shame, they did not really believe me, choosing just to look at my size and say
that I was over eating. Swollen ankles, body and feeling generally unwell, it was
only as I was leaving the hospital I stopped to see a Professor for analysis as to
my state. At his suggestion I went to do many kinds of tests, ranging from
allergy, bone density, lactose, thyroid to name but a few, only to discover how
intolerant to lactose I actually was.

Of course there are many who say 'did you not think of that earlier', but in truth
even if I had, I would have just stopped eating milk products from cows and
continue with those from goat or sheep, plus I would never have read the
ingredients on every package to ensure that I do not intake even whey or dried
milk powder for example. It is amazing how much milk extract there is in products! For the first two weeks I was completely in a daze, I had no idea what
to eat, where to begin or how to cope, but slowly I got the hang of it, with the
help and encouragement of my family and as I did not possess a scale, resorted
to a tape measure to keep track of my now shrinking body and it was changing
before my very eyes.

It was as if someone had put a pin in me and I was starting to deflate. Now
here I was, managing to get to be a deft hand at hobbling around, confident
and merry, but I was soon to be brought up short by my impending hospital
date, to have one of the steel pins removed and I admit that I was now totally
unprepared again for that.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The Big Day

The big day finally arrived, it was time to go back to the hospital to remove the
cast. What would they do, would it hurt, what about the staples that they used
instead of stitches, was I expected to get up and walk away freely, would I be able to???? So many questions were going through my mind, I was nervous as
all h..l. Getting to the hospital was the easy part, all I had to do was sit back and
relax one last time as I was wheeled out in my Rolls Royce of chairs, to the awaiting taxi.

Now if none have you (thankfully) have ever broken a limb, I highly recommend that you do so in the 'off season' months, peak periods being Summer holidays,
Winter holidays and any other festive occasions that may take place according
to your personal religious calendar. Breaking a bone during the Olympic period
just ensured the fact that the accommodation at the hospital was fully booked and
so ensuring that the take off plaster date would also be overcrowded and the
waiting long. In truth I had become quite a dab hand at the waiting game, having undergone a series of blood tests, plaster change and doctor appointments to name but a few, so I always came well prepared with a book or
magazine, settling down quietly and calmly whilst others around me would fret
and complain at the length of the queues for the x ray or doctor.

My turn finally came, two hours late and with my limbs trembling, I went in for
the visit. Off to the plaster room, the surgeon commanded and off I was pushed.
I am not sure whether being the passenger or the driver is the more harassing of the two, as one has to be maneuvered through a series of extended plaster limbs and an array of wheelchairs, that would put any traffic jam to shame!
'hop on the bed' the attendant cried, 'hum, how?' I replied. Seeing that I was
lacking in height and physical ability, weakened by my long stay on wheels, he
lowered the table assisting me to alight. Now came the scary moment, I begged
him to be gentle, unashamedly admitting that I was scared. To his credit, he was gentle with my shaking limbs and I was amazed at such neat scaring.

Back at the surgeons post, I was told 'physiotherapy, full weight and make
another appointment for another op in a month, to remove one of the offending
screws'. Let me assure you that getting up and re-walking sounds easier than it
is. If you just break the bones, it is less harrowing, as you know that there is all
kinds of steel in there to hold all parts together, but when the muscles, tendons
or ligaments are effected, this is another 'kettle of fish'. Bless the man's heart, he is great at his job, but his bedside information manual is lacking to say the
least and as I albeit reluctantly said goodbye to my carriage, that I had become quite accustomed to during the period of my confinement, it was eagerly snapped up by another patient waiting in the wings to try it out.

So now, here I was, being told to try out some new crutches that would
encourage me to take steps and not hold me securely under the arms, I was to
say the least, terrified. It is difficult to explain from what, because the fear is
irrational. You know you are being held together by steel, but the dread is the
re fall that you have gone over in your memory so many a time in the past.
But here I was, being forced out of my safe cocoon and told to go out into the
big world again and take my first baby steps again, 50 odd years later.