16 July 2009 (II)
This has turned out to be one of the worst days for a long time. I had a job interview. I was excited about it.
I judged things wrong, of course. I forgot how long it takes me to get dressed in my suit. I allowed 45 minutes before I needed to leave - plenty of time I thought, given that I used to be able to get up and out for work in about 20 minutes. It wasn't enough. Not when I haver so much trouble with buttons, when showering and shaving takes so much longer when I'm trying not to fall over, when even putting my shoes on is a major exercise when my ankles are swollen with gravitational oedema.
So, it didn't start off well, I ended up leaving too late to catch the train I'd planned to get. No problem, there was another from another station, only a short drive away. And at least I can still drive. When I parked the car, I could barely walk - or more accurately drag my feet - to the station. But I persisted, figuring that sitting on the train for half an hour would do the trick - well, it usually does, when my legs get tired a bit of rest usually makes everything right.
How wrong could I be. When I got to London Bridge, I could barely drag myself the length of the platform, and then down the ramp. When I was nearly at the Underground, I knew the game was up. A very sweet man on the barrier saw me struggling and asked if I needed assistance. Who'd have believed in these days when we've ceased to be passengers and become customers that there would still exist a member of railway staff who gave a toss?
I declined his kind offer and struggled to the roadside of Tooley Street, where smoking is permitted. I lit up, and phoned my elder son to bail me out. I dropped my cigarette after a couple of drags. My fingers don't do too well at the best of times, and this wasn't the best of times. I gave up and dragged myself back into the station to wait for a train home. It took me so long to get onto the platform that the train pulled in as I was about half-way down. So when it finally pulled into my station, I had an unwelcome distance to drag myself. But when I finally got there, my boys were waiting for me. I am always pleased to see them, but never more than today.
They took care of me, made sure I got into my flat and made sure I had food and milk. Then they left me, as always respectful of my desire to be independent. Without them I don't know if I would have got home, or when.
I judged things wrong, of course. I forgot how long it takes me to get dressed in my suit. I allowed 45 minutes before I needed to leave - plenty of time I thought, given that I used to be able to get up and out for work in about 20 minutes. It wasn't enough. Not when I haver so much trouble with buttons, when showering and shaving takes so much longer when I'm trying not to fall over, when even putting my shoes on is a major exercise when my ankles are swollen with gravitational oedema.
So, it didn't start off well, I ended up leaving too late to catch the train I'd planned to get. No problem, there was another from another station, only a short drive away. And at least I can still drive. When I parked the car, I could barely walk - or more accurately drag my feet - to the station. But I persisted, figuring that sitting on the train for half an hour would do the trick - well, it usually does, when my legs get tired a bit of rest usually makes everything right.
How wrong could I be. When I got to London Bridge, I could barely drag myself the length of the platform, and then down the ramp. When I was nearly at the Underground, I knew the game was up. A very sweet man on the barrier saw me struggling and asked if I needed assistance. Who'd have believed in these days when we've ceased to be passengers and become customers that there would still exist a member of railway staff who gave a toss?
I declined his kind offer and struggled to the roadside of Tooley Street, where smoking is permitted. I lit up, and phoned my elder son to bail me out. I dropped my cigarette after a couple of drags. My fingers don't do too well at the best of times, and this wasn't the best of times. I gave up and dragged myself back into the station to wait for a train home. It took me so long to get onto the platform that the train pulled in as I was about half-way down. So when it finally pulled into my station, I had an unwelcome distance to drag myself. But when I finally got there, my boys were waiting for me. I am always pleased to see them, but never more than today.
They took care of me, made sure I got into my flat and made sure I had food and milk. Then they left me, as always respectful of my desire to be independent. Without them I don't know if I would have got home, or when.
posted by somebody else at
12:15
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