Time together

Courtesy of Google Maps

This week I had the pleasure of spending a day and a bit going to London with my beloved daughter. We were visiting the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, in the service of investigating a whole series of hidden but debilitating symptoms; tachycardia, extreme fatigue, dreadful giddiness and the like, with which am very familiar as they are part of having an inherited connective tissue disorder. In Jen's case this is exacerbated by dyspraxia. We were seen by a delightful consultant, and I was able to help fill in details of family members affected, going back six generations. I was also able, by being there, to learn from the consultant more about how better to manage it, as I too have the condition.

It was lovely spending time with Jen. We live in the same town, so see each other, regularly, but going away is different. We went up Wednesday evening and spent the night there. She crocheted and I sewed on the way there and back. We talked about life and the way of living it, had smiling interactions with fellow travellers on our journey, people watched with mischievous pleasure.

Had Jen felt well enough while in London, we would have gone to the British Museum for a mooch and lunch after her morning appointment. As it was I was happy to be there to provide an arm for balance and leaning on as we navigated the mad whirl that is our capital city, with hurrying folk whizzing along in the Underground; talking business in Pret; striding down the pavements; people who would not understand her frailty. I used to have the same feeling when out with Mum, who was badly affected with brittle bones, an element Jen and I have escaped, but also invisible to the onlooker.

We came home by train in the afternoon; both exhausted and painful, but carrying on because what else can you do with a life limiting condition? It is a short walk from the station to her home and she was happy not to wait for my lift, so we hugged and parted. As she walked away I could see her swaying steps, hand out for balance, the occasional slight lurch. To passers by, a quick glance might prompt some dismissive though about lunchtime drinkers waving their way home.

I know that there goes my brave girl, getting on with life.