This week is such a contrast to last week, I feel like I’m on holiday.
I’ve handed in my last uni assignment, and Banjo has had her operation. I can rest.
I’ll post some info from my studies (social class and education is so interesting) after I get my assignment back (I wouldn’t want my blog to come up on my plagiarism check!) I put out a call on FB for someone to edit my last essay the day before it was due, and my call was answered. Thankyou my nerdy friend, and Mark Zuckerberg.
And, the operation. We spent a day and night in hospital. She had her tonsils and adenoids removed, and inside her nose shaved, and grommets inserted. She has been snoring for years, has a high palate, and this year had a few bouts of tonsillitis. Her hearing was poor. The surgeon said the gunk inside her ear was like green snot. We had to pay everyone before we went to hospital, and that was stressful. We received all the paperwork late. When Cyberguy rang the hospital to organise the payment, they were about to hang up when he was asked if there was anything else she could help with and he said, 'you could make it less'. She said, 'I'll call you back'. Then she rang back with a discounted price. Who knew such things were possible? Means a lot to us. Good to know. You can ask for a discount.
Everything went fine. I’ve learned a lot about Banjo this week. I’ve learnt she plays spotto when looking out her hospital bed window when recovering from an operation. I’ve learnt she can talk on the phone just after her operation. She told her sisters, who she was away from for one night, that she looked different because her hair had grown. I learnt she can now hear better than I can. Instead of her saying pardon, pardon, pardon and us shouting at her, she is telling us to talk quietly. I learnt she likes to administer her own medicine. I’m proud of her. A star patient.
I’ve stayed overnight in hospitals before. Sleeping on the fold out chair beside my daughters’ beds in public hospitals. It’s something of a parental rite of passage. Rotor virus I was there for three nights. Tonsils. Fractured elbow. Tonsils again. This time we went private. I took The Guardian Weekly to read and it didn’t let me down. The camp bed was far from comfortable. The food for me was better. In the public system parents have to fend for themselves. But the nurses didn’t come any sooner when called.
Because when Matilda got her tonsils out she didn’t talk for the first week I was planning on two weeks cooking chicken soup and watching The Flying Nun, but Banjo has other ideas. I’d lined up some neighbours to watch her while I drove the other kids around, but that won’t be necessary - she’s up and about.
I’ve got an awful lot of cleaning to do. My plan is to not make a list for at least a week. That’s a holiday. Time and space and no deadlines.
But the space has quickly been taken up, as it does. There was a knock at the door yesterday. A young Muslim woman taking a survey. I said yes and asked her in. I answered the questions and agreed to fill in two booklets this week. One is a media survey - I mark off everything I watch on tv and listen to on the radio and where I notice advertisements The other is about consumption and attitudes. I’m skipping pages because I don’t buy much. Well, not much that’s new. I don’t ask my friends’ advice about lingerie or jewellery or kitchen appliances. (My friends are talking about politics and kids and menopause.) I don’t support a sporting team or drink alcohol. I don’t like advertising. The most challenging question is naming three people in the public eye I admire. I need to think about that. Any suggestions??
The young Muslim woman is overqualified for the job she’s doing but she couldn’t get experience in her field after doing her degree. She told me she’s interested in acting, but was worried that no-one would be interested in her because of what she wears. I told her we need to see more Muslim women on tv, and in our stories, and she has the just as much right to pursue her interests and talents as anyone else. I hope she goes for it. I’m looking forward to talking to her again when she picks up the survey.
In the meantime I'm being heard, ticking boxes and delivering a commentary like Harold's mum filling in his dating service form in Harold and Maude. It keeps me amused.