Friday, June 08, 2007
Not shiny happy people
All is not well in our household.
Holiday was good, despite nearly missing the boat (roadworks in Bodmin), Force 8 gale (we got our tent down before everyone else's broke, so that was a sort of result), discovering that we'd used the wrong carpark and having to pay twice (for a week's parking- ouch) and reaching our hotel in Exeter at 1am only to find that I'd booked the room for the week before (we carried on driving rather than pay yet another duplicate charge). Highlights were sea kayaking and lots of warm sunshine (after the storm, obviously) plus a teashop with the most wonderful meringue pavlova. And two families of birds that lived outside our tent- Mrs Thrush and three overgrown and lazy offspring, and Mrs Blackbird (with very occasional appearances from Mr Blackbird) and her two overgrown and even lazier children. I spent a lot of time relationship counselling Mrs Thrush and Mrs Blackbird, but it didn't seem to help. Feeding them cheese seemed to make them happier.
Unfortunately the theraputic effects of the holiday lasted until we were nearly home. Then the previous months of stress finally caught up with us. I'm hoping to get back to work on Monday, having had this week off sick, but am not yet sure whether I'll make it. Beloved has his first ever sick note and will be off for a couple of weeks at least, before he starts looking for a less toxic job. Both on new and exciting medication (mine is diamond-shaped, which is novel).
We are managing to be in general quite cheerful about it (mainly because we don't have to actually do anything at the moment). Son is somewhat unimpressed, primarily because his bid for a couple of weeks off as well has been firmly rebuffed.
I had a very disturbing experience yesterday. We were walking through a bit of residential area that we hadn't been in before (looking for a park), when we walked past a large building that could have been a nursing home or sheltered housing. In one downstairs room there was an elderly lady hammering on the window frantically and apparently shouting in a uncontrolled way. I looked round but no-one else was paying any attention. I walked on for a few yards, out of sight of the window, feeling very uncomfortable. Then I suddenly realised that I was about to completely ignore this person yelling for help, just in case she turned out to be crazy, on the grounds that she was old and in some sort of institution. I still didn't go back to look but we rang the doorbell of the main entrance and hammered on the door until we finally attracted the attention of a nurse-type, who went off to go and check.
I felt really ashamed of myself- I wasn't even willing to make eye-contact with a stranger in distress and I'm not sure why. Partly a fear of being pulled into a situation that might not be what it seemed, partly just a fear of the potentially crazy, although this poor woman might just as well have managed to lock herself in as be mad. Even if she had been crazy, she was obviously in distress and needed some sort of help.
Beloved tried to reassure me that at least I had stopped and done something practical; the road was fairly busy with pedestrians- some wouldn't have noticed her but many must have seen and ignored her. But I'm not sure that the issue is what I did, but how I did it. A humane response would have been to acknowledge her shouts, reassure her that I was going to get help and then go to the door. My response was the equivalent of seeing someone injured in the street, walking round the corner and calling the police- practical, possibly, but not brave or kind.
I'm sure there are conclusions to be drawn about the state of society, the fact that we live in communities too big to be sustainable, the treatment of the elderly and attitudes to the mentally ill. But I just feel I've failed. Maybe if I wasn't so depressed and anxious I'd have reacted differently, but I can't be sure.
Not a very cheerful note to end on. We are off to Bournemouth tonight to spend the weekend on the beach at Sandbanks- Beloved is throwing discs around, Son and I are playing in the sea (we will take Son's kayak, which turned out to be excellent as a surfing device), and we are camping with Little Brother, (my youngest brother-in-law who naturally towers above me) and having a barbeque of all sorts of goodness. And taking some kites and a couple of games.
Holiday was good, despite nearly missing the boat (roadworks in Bodmin), Force 8 gale (we got our tent down before everyone else's broke, so that was a sort of result), discovering that we'd used the wrong carpark and having to pay twice (for a week's parking- ouch) and reaching our hotel in Exeter at 1am only to find that I'd booked the room for the week before (we carried on driving rather than pay yet another duplicate charge). Highlights were sea kayaking and lots of warm sunshine (after the storm, obviously) plus a teashop with the most wonderful meringue pavlova. And two families of birds that lived outside our tent- Mrs Thrush and three overgrown and lazy offspring, and Mrs Blackbird (with very occasional appearances from Mr Blackbird) and her two overgrown and even lazier children. I spent a lot of time relationship counselling Mrs Thrush and Mrs Blackbird, but it didn't seem to help. Feeding them cheese seemed to make them happier.
Unfortunately the theraputic effects of the holiday lasted until we were nearly home. Then the previous months of stress finally caught up with us. I'm hoping to get back to work on Monday, having had this week off sick, but am not yet sure whether I'll make it. Beloved has his first ever sick note and will be off for a couple of weeks at least, before he starts looking for a less toxic job. Both on new and exciting medication (mine is diamond-shaped, which is novel).
We are managing to be in general quite cheerful about it (mainly because we don't have to actually do anything at the moment). Son is somewhat unimpressed, primarily because his bid for a couple of weeks off as well has been firmly rebuffed.
I had a very disturbing experience yesterday. We were walking through a bit of residential area that we hadn't been in before (looking for a park), when we walked past a large building that could have been a nursing home or sheltered housing. In one downstairs room there was an elderly lady hammering on the window frantically and apparently shouting in a uncontrolled way. I looked round but no-one else was paying any attention. I walked on for a few yards, out of sight of the window, feeling very uncomfortable. Then I suddenly realised that I was about to completely ignore this person yelling for help, just in case she turned out to be crazy, on the grounds that she was old and in some sort of institution. I still didn't go back to look but we rang the doorbell of the main entrance and hammered on the door until we finally attracted the attention of a nurse-type, who went off to go and check.
I felt really ashamed of myself- I wasn't even willing to make eye-contact with a stranger in distress and I'm not sure why. Partly a fear of being pulled into a situation that might not be what it seemed, partly just a fear of the potentially crazy, although this poor woman might just as well have managed to lock herself in as be mad. Even if she had been crazy, she was obviously in distress and needed some sort of help.
Beloved tried to reassure me that at least I had stopped and done something practical; the road was fairly busy with pedestrians- some wouldn't have noticed her but many must have seen and ignored her. But I'm not sure that the issue is what I did, but how I did it. A humane response would have been to acknowledge her shouts, reassure her that I was going to get help and then go to the door. My response was the equivalent of seeing someone injured in the street, walking round the corner and calling the police- practical, possibly, but not brave or kind.
I'm sure there are conclusions to be drawn about the state of society, the fact that we live in communities too big to be sustainable, the treatment of the elderly and attitudes to the mentally ill. But I just feel I've failed. Maybe if I wasn't so depressed and anxious I'd have reacted differently, but I can't be sure.
Not a very cheerful note to end on. We are off to Bournemouth tonight to spend the weekend on the beach at Sandbanks- Beloved is throwing discs around, Son and I are playing in the sea (we will take Son's kayak, which turned out to be excellent as a surfing device), and we are camping with Little Brother, (my youngest brother-in-law who naturally towers above me) and having a barbeque of all sorts of goodness. And taking some kites and a couple of games.
# posted by Louise H @ 8:56 am 
