BARD IN BED PART ONE

by Sara John

I recently spent some time in hospital following what used to be referred to in the Rhondda where I spent my childhood as ‘a nasty turn’. In the early days of my return home when I finally left hospital, my husband explained to friends and family on the telephone that he now had 9,750 jobs to do each day, (9,655 of which were associated with his patient, she used to be his wife but the ‘nasty turn’ had robbed her, temporarily of course, of her fairly prolific “get up and go”.)

It had gone.

I was turning, fast into Elizabeth Barratt Browning. But in the joyful company of cats not small dogs.

He, husband that is, also, when answering the many questions about my progress on the phone from well-wishers, was always truthful and often reminded me of going shopping, when I was little, years ago, with my mother who would be questioned, if not interrogated, by neighbours, about my grandparents and their health troubles. The neighbours would want an assessment which could then be passed on to another neighbour who would label it as ‘the honest truth’. A primitive form of currency with considerable exchange value in a community where information was deemed very valuable.

I was reminded of the vocabulary used then, when ‘Wenglish’ was the local patois, but it was not encouraged as a way of communicating for small children in my infants school! A subject, which still fascinates me, for another time I think, when we can do it justice.

So here are some of the remembered pronouncements at that time on the state of health, or otherwise, of elderly relatives.

1

‘Under the weather.’

That condition was the least out of sorts anyone could be and survive. Useful for getting out of going to chapel on Sunday with the visiting minister coming from North Wales, and speaking his own, familiar to him dialect, and being considered as a likely man to do well in the championships for long windedness yet to be introduced as a category in the National Eisteddfod.

2 ‘Not up to the mark.’

As far as I know no one has yet found the mark that we are supposed to come up to. It has been suggested that the mark is the one the undertaker puts on the timber for the last resting place, or is it a mark made long ago by someone very famous but now forgotten, in an innocent game of quoits? Or a naughty boy writing the word TWP (it means stupid or a bit slow if you prefer in our local dialect) with an indelible pencil on someone’s forehead when they were asleep. The mere ownership of an indelible pencil was on a par with owning an item from the gold jewellery cache discovered in the ruins of Troy.

3 ‘Been overdoing it.’

Ask yourself is that what his wife would say? She is still waiting to have the back bedroom papered. It has been three years already and, and, her husband is actually a Painter and Decorator with City and Guilds qualifications! But, again, there is a cup tie on the television this afternoon.

4 ‘On the sofa with a rug over her.’

She felt a bit shivery, should have worn a warm coat out last night, went too long without hot food, stood in a draught outside the clubhouse where the “latest boyfriend” was at band practice and they overran!

Her mother reported to Elsie next door, “I ask you is it worth it? She is, as they say in these parts a tidy girl . He is not being fair, putting the band ‘first’ . And on such a cold night”. “He clearly had no idea what she had in mind for later on. No chance now. She will be back with Brinley by the weekend, he is a lovely chap, a bit slow on the uptake, but they all are these days aren’t they? But, at least he would not know a flute from a tuba.”

5 ‘Bad in bed’

Curtains are drawn. Still sleeping. Breathing is okay Seems rested. Still upset about the wedding. Her sister’s wedding it was. She had hoped to be chief bridesmaid wearing pale rose, but, her cousin Sonia who was always really close to the bride to be, had been chosen instead. As chief bridesmaid and as a

‘natural’ , redhead oh really? since when was that then? She could not stand next to someone wearing rose pink when she was in amber! Not really a medical situation. More of a mental dilemma. Better phoning Boots or Clairol rather than the surgery.

6 ‘Doctor’s been, he did not like the look of her.’

It was very stupid. The event, for charity of course which was the real cause of the upset tum, she had eaten three sweet puddings, one after the other, all rich, creamy, jammy, coated in honey, and covered in icing sugar. What was she thinking? And free Babycham. As much as you wanted!

7 ‘Under the doctor.’

Which one? old Dr. Armstrong or his son y oung Dr. Armstrong? Did you need to ask???

8 ‘Taking a turn for the worst.’

Wife is looking out that black suit she has had for years, phoning relatives who live away. He does not care about missing the coronation. She does though. She also thinks she needs a new hat, which means a trip to Cardiff.

9 ‘He looks awful.’

According to the doctor’s verdict and that is what the district nurse said as well but we’ll make sure he is comfortable. Welcome words at this time from the medical team.

10 ‘Passed away!”

“No never”, responds my mother.

“So sudden, such a shock” explains the bringer of bad news in the middle of the busy street. My mother then asks, “Well how old was Bopa Ty Gwyn then?”.

“She was only ninety-eight , came the reply”. “It was very, very sudden!”

Hopefully these examples from my childhood memory paint a picture.

Back, now, to Bard in Bed. Also called “My nasty turn.”

I almost need help from confused dot-com to recall what must have happened, I seem to have starred in it without a script or any rehearsal. It went something like this.

I awoke one Monday morning, in bed all clean and tidy from a deep sleep. My husband was sitting on the bed and at my side, seemed pleased to see me open my eyes. Was it his birthday I asked myself?

He said he was waiting for the doctor; dear Dr Ali, he said he had phoned the surgery earlier. Would I like some breakfast? Yes please I replied sussing out slowly that “something had happened”. I was told to stay in bed, the due by now doctor, had suggested it was best for me to stay in bed. Why? Thought I.

While enjoying a boiled egg and toast and pretending it was Mothering Sunday all over again I listened to the never ending and somewhat worrying and long story of what my husband had endured through the last twelve hours or so.

I, as usual had gone to bed as soon as the opening music for Match of the Day had come on the television, you know it I am sure, durun, durun, durun, dun, dun, durun durun for ever and ever. I like to read for an hour or so, usually something harmless like, The Housewife’s Book of Curtains for 1953, Delicious Things To Do With Damsons for Diabetics, or, Transactional Analysis, A Beginners ’ Guide for People who are Never Going to use it (let alone understand it).

I put my light out and went to sleep. Just before eleven o’clock or so. I noticed the outside lights had come on and wanting to see my very special friend I got up and scanned the garden outside for him. Not a scene from Romeo and Juliet I am afraid more a touch of David Attenborough. Each evening a glorious handsome fox came to call, appearing to me by accidently triggering the outside security lights. I had, on first sight, named him Rommel. He went off and about his business quite quickly. I thought I had got back into bed and gone to sleep.

Apparently not. I had collapsed at my side of the bed into a heap on the carpet, not intentionally to frighten Andrew but clearly, on hearing his side of things it had done so. I was unconscious, not asleep as I should have been. But I was breathing and I was silent but still alive, well sort of alive. I was put back into bed, warm and cosy and knowing nothing then learnt what had appeared to have happened next morning when I briefly, it seemed, returned to the land of the living. In Whitchurch.

Andrew phoned my story through to our GP who said he was on his way!

In no time at all the doorbell rang and I heard men’s voices getting louder and louder. I tried to look as though I had not crumbled into a heap, like one of those expensive pastries you used to get in the Louis Restaurant in St Mary’s Street, you would bite into it and, suddenly it was all gone. I sat up, pretended to be perfectly normal, tried to answer alien questions about epilepsy in the family, my own medical history, and how I was feeling. I, truth be told, was not feeling anything, I did not know what day it was, I was not convinced that I was there and questioned myself on who they were discussing. How could all of that information refer to me!

Right said the doctor after a few tests, you will have to go to hospital. Leave it to me, I will order an ambulance. There was a long delay waiting for an ambulance, just like the stories that had been on the news. I was quite glad as I needed more help than I had thought to gather myself, my thoughts, feelings, nightgowns, talcum powder, hairbrush, pens and paper, and some money might that come in useful.

Andrew was so reassuring, “I will be in to visit you this evening. Get plenty of rest”, and with that the ambulance arrived with three strong and very jolly ambulance ladies. I was carried downstairs and fitted into the ambulance and made safe. The team to three introduced themselves. Then off we sped! “Right”, said the senior one, “we have good news and bad news, which do you want first?” “Bad news first” I responded warily. I stayed quiet as after the weird last twenty-four hours what else could happen?

“There are eleven ambulances ahead of us at the hospital”, she announced Cardiff General Station style, “each will take some time to process.” “And the good news?” I ventured to ask. “We have ordered fish and chips as we were in at six this morning and I don’t know about you, but I am ready for some hot food, it will be delivered to us when we arrive”. I had no answer to that except “no thanks for me, it is the last thing on my mind. I was tucked in my bunk with a warm blanket and obliged them with answers to their questions about my family, career, background but nothing medical! I realised afterwards that I had been drifting in and out of unconsciousness during this time.

Eventually I was unloaded and taken to my new temporary quarters and made welcome and comfortable. I was put to bed in a small ward, it reminded me of staying with cousins as a child, a novelty situation for me as I was an only child. My first and only visitors that first night was my husband whom, I noted appeared to be returning to the Land of the Living as his cheeks had changed back to his normal healthy colour, along with Cardiff Son. They could easily tell that I felt safe, warm and was going to be well looked after.

End of Bard In Bed Part One

Part two will be in the Cardiff Times next time.