Asked what is my favourite Candy, I could – if I were a narcissist – answer: myself, of course! But I’m not a complete narcissist and, too, I have a lot to say about my favourite candy.
As an adult I can answer very simply that my favourite candy/sweet is Bendicks Bitter Mints. These are, without a doubt, the best chocolate mints in the world! (Obviously I haven’t tried them all, but I have tried quite a few.) Bitter Mints are made with very dark chocolate enrobing a wonderfully minty interior. They are large enough that just one can suffice, though two are good, too.
But, if you want to be answered by the child in me, my answer would be different. My favourite candy is Good and Plenty. For readers in my adopted country, G&P are made by, I think, the same people who make Hershey Bars (which, I find, inedible!). G&Ps are quite similar to licorice comfits in that they are a short strand of licorice covered by a pink or white sugar coating BUT they are completely unalike in taste. G&Ps are covered with a sugar coating with an addition that makes them stand out! The addition is an aniseed flavouring to the coating which makes them completely YUMMY! unlike licorice comfits which are just BLAH.
I was introduced to Good and Plenty sweets in my childhood at the candy truck that stood outside, across the street from my elementary school. Every afternoon there was a line of children waiting to be served with their favourite candy or something new and interesting. I don’t remember the first time I bought a little box of G&Ps. But I adored the taste straight away. I thought that they would always be available to me – and they were for some further years but, in 1958 when we came to England, the English sweet shops were like being in a foreign land! (They were, of course, to an American child.) Luckily, for the following 3 years or so, we had ‘PX privileges’ and at the PX we could usually find the delightful candies.
But, as I’ve said somewhere before, Patty left the Navy and began working for a British architect. Every time anyone I knew was flying off to the US, I would ask them to pick up a box or two of G&Ps and in this way, I was able to keep my memory alive.
Years passed by. People I knew holidayed at the English seaside or flew to Ibiza which meant that, eventually, I slowly began to forget G&Ps. Then, when I was in my 70’s, I found I could buy G&Ps on Amazon!
Thrilled? You bet I was! I think I bought a five pound bag of them! I know I put on a lot of weight around that time – I may even have bought, separately, two five pound bags!
I started dieting! I bought no more G&Ps for quite a prolonged period of time, then, a couple of years ago, I tried Amazon but found no mention of my favourite candy. I searched and searched and found a website based in a sweet shop in Wales, of all places, that sold them. I bought too many, ate them all and put on weight. I just couldn’t control my desire for them so I decided to buy no more.
Last Christmas-time, I gave in and bought a pound of Good and Plentys from the same Welsh sweet shop. I ate them. I put on weight.
I will buy Good and Plentys no more! (What do you wanna bet?)
These are disguised as G&Ps but the wrong shape!
UPDATE
In 2025 Veronica and her hubby went to Los Angeles for several weeks for work and enjoyment and, very nicely, brought me back 2 boxes of Good and Plenty. By the time Veronica had time to come and visit, it was near autumn and I had started a new diet – again. She gave me the boxes and I put them into a cupboard determined not to eat them until I had reached my goal weight. Sadly, Christmas intervened. By Christmas I had lost over a stone* and was able to wear an old pair of jeans I hadn’t worn for some years. After the celebrations of Christmas, I still weighed my pre-Christmas weight and started my diet again.
Last week, still at my pre-Christmas size and somehow not having lost even an ounce, I opened one of the stored boxes and over a week, ate the contents – they were as yummy as ever! Then, my friend, Myrna, phoned me to say that she had a couple of friends coming over from the States and did I want anything. I said I would love some Good and Plenty (to replace those I had removed from the cupboard and had eaten). Yesterday, Myrna and her friends dropped in with FIVE whole boxes of G and Ps!
That was in the morning. By lunchtime I had opened the first box and had a couple (for old times’ sake😏), then had a few more after lunch. I had a few more today, after lunch and I can’t see that first box lasting too much longer – so, I took a photo to remind myself of my new stash – and here it is!
My 5 new boxes of G and Ps
I’ll let you know, when I’ve finished them, whether or not I reached my goal weight before or after that happens!
For foreigners, a stone is fourteen pounds or approximately 6.35 kilos.
What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
Anyone who knows me already knows that I don’t fly. Most people who have read my posts already know that I don’t fly. Some years ago, Veronica and Paul, along with my grand daughter and her boyfriend, were flying to Las Vegas to renew their vows in front of ‘Elvis’ and invited me to go with them, all expenses paid.
Now, I would dearly love to see my daughter renew her vows and I always appreciate being with my granddaughter. I would quite like to see Las Vegas, though it’s nowhere on my bucket list – I have seen Reno, after all. I thought, seriously, of accepting, then said NO WAY! Even if we got there safely, I would have had to get on another plane to get home! I would have spent days before each flight worrying about it. And I hate being stressed by things I don’t have to do!
About 20 years ago I felt very sorry for Julian (my husband) who loves flying but whose holidays had been limited by my refusal to fly, to places we can go to in the car or on a train. I decided to be brave. I told him I would fly to Italy. We went and I loved seeing Florence, Siena and Pisa but, all the way there I clutched my St Christopher medal and prayed – those who know me also know that I am somewhere between an agnostic and an atheist, and nearer the latter than the former. I had to pee half way through the flight but was too scared to stand up and walk through the plane in case I caused it to be unbalanced! I was really desperate for a pee by the time we landed and disembarked! On the way back, I very nearly decided to let Julian go home on his own while I took the train but, the trains were on strike that day.
Yes, I got home safely. Did that mean I would try it again? NO! and, no, I won’t drink enough to make me not nervous nor will I take pills! There is NOTHING I or anyone else could do to change my mind! So, I’m stuck here in a country I love, in the house that I love, with people and animals and things reasonably nearby whom I love, for the rest of my life!
Back in the days when Julian was working at an international bank in the city of London, but not earning big bucks, he decided to give me a special Valentine’s present – a trip on the Orient Express from London to Paris, with 3 nights in Paris before returning to London via the normal trains and ferry. He paid an all-inclusive price for the travel both ways and the hotel.
The trip itself was in April, a couple of months after Valentine’s Day, so the weather was pleasant. We travelled to London from West Malling by train which, luckily, goes to Victoria Station where we were to embark on the grand Orient Express train. Each car of the fabled train had a name; we were in Cygnus. Our stewards for the journey were Gus and Cyril. One of them showed us to our seats which were either side of a table for two. We set off towards Folkestone and shortly were presented with menus for the luncheon.
Luncheon Menu
As we ate, the train ambled through the Kent countryside, arriving at Folkestone in the mid afternoon. We embarked onto the ferry which was named Horsa and went to the lounge which had been set aside for travellers on the Orient Express, where we enjoyed a coffee.
The ferry was a little late getting to Boulogne because of fog in the channel, but the continental Orient Express train was waiting for us, of course. We were shown to our seats in car R1 (I’m looking at the notes I made in 1987 and that’s what it says.) and from there we went into the Piano Bar where there was, indeed, a piano, being played by a gentleman who knew what he was doing!
After drinks and nibbles, we returned to our seats in R1 where we were served a wonderful six course dinner. (See MENU below, not the Carte) I imagine we also had a glass or two of chilled white wine. (See Vins Blancs, below.)
Le dînerDrinks menu
I don’t know how we managed to eat all that and then stand up and move when we arrived in Paris, but we alighted from the train about 9:30 pm and made our way, by Metro, to the hotel.
Now comes the weirdest part of this story which I assure you is all true!
Our hotel was called L’Hotel d’Anvers. We went to Anvers metro station and as we reached the top of the stairway leading out of the station, there, to our left was the Anvers Hotel. We went straight in and to the booking desk. There was a youngish woman sitting behind the desk and I, in my best French, explained that we had a room for 2 booked for three nights in the name of Lovegrove. We were shown to Room 4 on the next floor which was well appointed with an en suite.
If you know Paris you might already know that Anvers is at the bottom of the hill which has Le Sacré Cœur on top and that it is reached by a seemingly endless flight of steps. Well, despite having got up early to start our journey, we were excited to be in Paris so went out to wander around. We climbed to Le Sacré Cœur and wandered around Montmartre where we saw many people enjoying its night life. Eventually we went back to the hotel and to bed. Julian slept like a log, as always, but I slept badly as there was an awful lot of noise on the main road outside.
Le Sacré Cœur right in the distance on top of the hill.
The next morning we got up around half past eight and spent the day sight-seeing. We went to Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Tuileries Gardens, and walked up the Champs Élysées from La Place de la Concorde to l’Arc de Triomphe. Tired out, we went back to the hotel for a rest. As we entered the hotel, the old lady who was sitting behind the reception desk stopped us and asked when we were going to pay! I told her that we had already paid when we booked the holiday. Then she told me that the hotel doesn’t have that kind of arrangement with any holiday agents! We showed her our paperwork, then she told us that we were IN THE WRONG HOTEL!
We had assumed that the Anvers Hotel was the same as L’Hotel d’Anvers, which, she told us, was down the road and around the corner. We were feeling a little down realising that we were going to have to pay for the night we had spent there as well as having paid already for the other hotel but it was do-able, thankfully. We walked down the road and around the corner to the right hotel. They had given our room to someone else as we hadn’t turned up!
Now we realised that we were going to have to pay for three nights at the ‘wrong’ hotel, so we were going to have to be even more careful with the money we had brought with us. Luckily, the ‘wrong’ hotel was able to give us our room for that night and the following one, so that was one problem we weren’t faced with.
That evening we went up to Montmartre and had dinner in the Consulat restaurant and came out feeling wonderfully full and far less miserable about our hotel mistake.
The next morning we got up and walked to the Gare de Nord to find out about the times of trains for the next day, then took the metro to l’Odéon, saw the bouquinistes (the stalls of books along the banks of the Seine) then went to a Matisse exhibition. On our way back to the hotel we bought wine and cheese to take home with us, then – after a little rest at the hotel – we went to a brasserie in the Rue de Maubeuge and had wonderful food. (A plate of saucissons et jambon, fish and rice, a creme caramel, coffee and wine for me and avocado with shrimps, veal escalope and rice, cheese, chocolate mousse, coffee and wine, for Julian).
The next morning we said au revoir to Paris and went back to West Malling via ordinary trains and a ferry. We arrived at home about 3 in the afternoon, both ready to go back to work and to tell our family and friends all about our trip on the Orient Express.
Road trips in England don’t really compare to what I think of as ‘road trips’. We have spent time going places in the car, stopping over-night then going on to somewhere else and sight seeing but it doesn’t compare to being in a convertible, driving down Route 66! But, I do hark back to the (rail)road trip we took when I was 12.
In 1955 my mother decided to divorce my step-father – with the blessing of all her daughters who were fed up with his drunken ways. The quickest way to get a divorce was to go to Reno, “The Biggest Little City In Thé World”, so we set off by train from Ohio to Nevada.
We went, first, to Chicago where we had to change trains. We were met by my god-father, Spencer, who took us all out to eat before we left Chicago on the next leg of the journey. I will never forget one part of that meal – the corn fritters. I had never before had them and I haven’t had them since – but I loved them! (I suppose I could make some!) I was also glad to see Spencer whom I rarely saw but I did remember that at some time before this he had sent me a birthday present of a scarab bracelet. I had no idea what a scarab was but was very pleased with the bracelet and only wish I still had it.
We set off in the evening on the Super Chief from Chicago. We didn’t sit in normal train seats – we had a “drawing room” for the four of us. During the day it was a room with seats and a table but in the evening the conductor turned it into a bedroom, with a bed for each of us! Looking back I can’t remember being annoyed with having to sit and look out the window for several days. I think there was a lot to see out of those windows and also we had books and our record player. Yes, there was a socket to plug in to and we could listen to whatever records we had taken with us. I do forget, however, whether it was popular music or classical we listened to.
One place on our cross-country train ride that I do remember was a station where there were lots of Native Americans in the station where we made a stop, standing outside, who, I suppose were selling things. It was exciting to see real Indians, as we called them in those days.
I also remember that the train crossed the Great Salt Lake. Whether there was a bridge across it or we were travelling next to it, I haven’t a clue, but I do remember being quite fearful that we (the train) might fall in! (I still have this type of fear from time to time!)
In a few days, we arrived in Reno and stayed overnight in a hotel where we had donuts for breakfast in the morning. We then went to the guest ranch where we stayed for the next few months and there were no further donuts for breakfast🥺
(There is at least one post of mine describing our time at the Whitney Guest Ranch, if you want to find out more about the divorce etc. Just go back and have a look at earlier posts. 😄
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
I’ve already reached my 81st year and to some people I have already lived a very long life. I know, as I said recently, that I have more years in my past than I have in my future – but everyone could say that because none of us knows when we are going to die.
When I was in my teens I remember saying to some friends that I was going to live until I am 127 and a half and, I suppose that is a possibility, though it’s not at all probable. Right now I have occasional pains related to my age and the fact that my body seems to enjoy losing its cartilage- hence my replaced knees 13 years ago. Sometimes the pains are in my hands or fingers, sometimes a shoulder or an ankle or my toes and even in my replaced knees. My eyesight is causing me some concern as I need it to do all those word puzzles I was given for Christmas and to read all the books that I want to read and to look at all the paintings I want to see. My hearing hasn’t been perfect for a number of years, though it’s now helped with hearing aids.
If those natural losses were capable of being completely replaced and perfected, I might think it would be worth it to live to 127 but that’s not likely. And really, money spent on research to make these problems better for old people would be a waste when there are so many other things which are more important than that – I don’t have to list all the problems, you can do that yourself.
I don’t really want to die but I’ve got to the point in my life that I’m not scared by the thought.
Julie, my sister-in-law, has reminded me about the end of the parcel game. When everyone has had a go at throwing the dice and all the parcels have been taken, a timer is set and everyone gets further chances to throw a 6. Those who do can ‘steal’ a parcel from anyone at the table!
Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?
At eighty years of age I absolutely know that there are more years behind me than there are before me. Of course, I think of the past – mainly the ‘What-ifs’. Of course there’s nothing I can do to change what happened and, truthfully, I wouldn’t change anything. As I said in a previous post, I learn something new every day and look forward to learning something new tomorrow and all of my tomorrows!
This has been a very short blog post – lucky readers!
Here are some photos of me to prove what I’ve said:
Me, at about two.Me, at about four with my sister, Judy. The photo has gone through a lot!Me on the left, Judy on the right and my dad in the middle. I was about 12.Me at 16, in Le Touquet where I spent a whole 2 months with a French family.Me at 21 with my daughter – in Kensington Gardens.Me, at about 40 with my brother-in-law at one of Angela’s Christmases.Me, at 53-ish with my grand-daughter and her dad.Me in my 60’s.Me, in my seventies.Me, in my 81st year!
If I could have a wish or two from a fairy godmother I would ask for World Peace first then I’d ask, probably, for clear eye-sight, better hearing and to be a healthy weight.
At eighty, one has (I hope) learned that huge amounts of money are nice but health is so much more important. At the end of the day, you can only drive one car at a time, live in one house at a time, own and wear so many designer outfits, jewels, shoes and can only eat so many gourmet meals etc etc before it all gets a bit boring – but, listening to your favourite composers or the groups you have loved since a teen-ager, looking at beautiful scenery, looking at your beautiful family or your beautiful dog or your husband can bring so much joy, no matter your age!
Then there’s the thrill of looking at or making a beautiful and interesting piece of art; reading or writing an interesting article or book – and the thrill of entering a gallery or setting out paints, brushes and canvas or picking up a book or a magazine or, even, turning on your laptop and finding something interesting to read – these can be beyond price!
If there isn’t a fairy godmother around to grant my wishes, on the other hand, the optician, the audiologist, the will power to diet can bring about changes that are useful – though, sadly, not so swiftly or so completely.
We’ve just finished another Christmas and I know, from my own experience, that it’s almost impossible to buy presents for others, once they’ve grown up and are established in their own home. Every year I have to tell Julian what I want, Veronica tells me which books I should give her and I have to look on Jennie’s “wish list” so that I can give her something she actually wants. Anything else I give is likely to be a ‘toy’ for grown-ups which will be looked at, tried out , then put in a drawer or given to the charity shop. This year it was a “Toilite”, which, when fitted to a toilet bowl, lights up when someone visits the loo in the middle of the night! So far, in this house at least, it is in use and appreciated. (😂😂😂😂😂). I can just imagine, though, when the batteries are dead, no one will be bothered and it will join those other abandoned ‘toys’.
I guess I’m off the question I was supposed to be answering but I’ll just add a bit more before I finish.
Thinking of Christmases past, the best Christmases I had when I look back are the ones I spent with family and a guest or two. Julian’s mum, Angela, always cooked a huge meal for her sons and their families who had often arrived several days earlier with children and dogs. She and Ralph had a large house with room for everyone and we all pitched in to help with the cooking and clearing up. After dinner and presents we played games. The one I best remember took a little forward planning. Each adult would have wrapped four or five items of little value (a tiny calendar, a second-hand cd, a pad of paper, a chocolate bar, etc etc) and, at the allotted time, put the parcels into the middle of the table. Then, taking turns around the table, each person would throw a di. If the number of dots on the top side was 6, that person could choose any of the parcels and would put it in front of their place. When all the parcels had gone from the big pile, some of us could have as many as ten or twelve gifts and some could have very few or even none. Then, those with loads of parcels could offer several of them to the others and those with few or none could ask (beg) for parcels from those with lots. (There must have been incentives at this stage but I can’t remember! Damien or Harley, Julie or Griet – remind me)
At the end of the game, many of the gifts would be left on the table for anyone who wanted, to take. Those ‘gifts’ would probably have ended up in a drawer, in the bin or in next year’s parcel game!
Perhaps most memorable of all are the Christmases we had in West Malling in the years before I met Julian. Patty (my mother), Judy (one of my sisters), ‘Veronica’ (my daughter) and I were living in Market Cross Cottage. Judy and I were students, ‘Veronica’ was still at school and Patty was commuting daily to London. Money was tight at the best of times back then and, at Christmas, most of what we had we used for food. There were no big chain stores in West Malling at the time but there were two charity shops just across the High Street and the wonderful green-grocer/tobacconist/toy and gift shop opposite our house.
We were all avid readers and the charity shops were able to provide many books which we carefully hid from each other until they could be wrapped and labelled. Veronica was still young, and, although she, too, loved reading, we would go to the shop opposite which offered a large selection of toys at reasonable prices – tea-sets and kaleidoscopes, little rubber toys and cap guns, doctors’ sets and miniature dolls in lockets. In Swan Street was a wonderful shop called “Down Swan Street”, which sold wonderful and more pricey gifts. In most years each of us would receive at least one gift from there.
Jennie, who lived and worked in London always came to Kent for the holiday, sometimes bringing a friend. I remember an Australian girl whose name I’ve forgotten (sorry!) who came for several Christmases and having a stranger there somehow made the time even more jolly.
On Christmas Day our little lounge would be filled with an enormous array of colourfully wrapped gifts and we spent much of the morning, from 6am to noon, opening presents, eating mince pies and drinking large cups of coffee or tea – except for Patty who normally started as she meant to go on, drinking whiskey or brandy or gin. Christmas dinner was somehow cooked and was always the best meal of the year!
Living, as I do, in a country which is not the USA, any college I went to would be completely unknown to most of my readers. Indeed, the two colleges I went to have disappeared into the mists of time.
The education system in England has changed several times in the 65 years I have lived here. Most of my early education was in the States and didn’t really prepare me for secondary and tertiary education in England. Added to that is the fact that my schooling was somewhat interrupted several times before I was sixteen.
We came to England just at the start of my sophomore year in high school and, for the first two years my sisters and I attended schools run by the United States Air Force at Bushy Park (or it might be Bushey Park) on their base, there. I can’t say that the teaching was great – or even good – for the most part and when we had all decided to remain in the UK, we thought we’d better have some British qualifications.
For those of you who do not know the way education worked here then, children started school at about five at an infant school and afterwards, at about the age of seven, went on to a junior school. Towards the end of what was called Year Four of Junior school, (way back in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s) children took an examination called “The Eleven Plus”. This was a big deal and put a lot of strain on children who were still quite young, so was changed in most areas of England around 1976.
Before 1976, the Eleven Plus was supposed to separate children into, essentially, two categories – those who were thought capable of working more academically and those who were more likely to take up manual jobs when their education ceased, usually at 15 (though in earlier days the school leaving age was 14 and later was 16.)
Of course this separation was seen as a way of dividing the ‘classes’ and parents were often keen to have their children do well in the Eleven Plus so that they could go on to ‘better themselves’. Sadly for some children (at that time) it sometimes happened that a child who passed the exam was not allowed to go on to (what was called) Grammar School because,the parents needed the wages a child was likely to receive if he left at 14.
Children who went to Grammar Schools, studied a large variety of subjects for the first few years then, often, chose to concentrate more fully on either the Arts subjects (English, foreign languages, history etc) or the Science subjects (maths, chemistry, biology, physics etc) and then had exams called ‘O’ levels at about 15 or 16 and, if they did well and their parents could afford to let them, they would take ‘A’ levels at 17 or 18.
Children who left school at 14 could either go into an apprenticeship in jobs like carpentry, plumbing, printing, and the post office, or they could get jobs such as working in a shop or a factory or, in the countryside, perhaps into farming.
For my sisters and I, we found that our previous education had not been equal to that received by other children our age and we would not be able to go to an English school with people of our own ages. The answer to this problem was to go to a Crammer – a small school which would prepare us (hopefully) for taking some ‘O’ levels.
Mrs Hugh Jones Tutorial Establishment was in a little house down a little road in Hammersmith called Wolverton Gardens. The hours we had to attend were either from 9am to noon or 10am to 1pm, depending on which classes we were having on that day. As I was already 17 and should have been studying for ‘A’ levels, I only did English Language, English Literature, French, History and Geography and concentrated on the first 3 subjects. Judy had to study maths plus the ones I did plus, perhaps, others and I’m not sure what Jennie, who would have been 12 at the time, studied. Notice we had no gym, no sports, no art, no music, no after- school clubs and no recess but we did have plenty of homework.
I wasn’t a very hard-working student but did manage to pass the three exams and from there I went to my first ‘college’. This was nothing like a college in America, though. This was a school for students who didn’t stay at school in the sixth form for ‘A’ levels – exams which delve much more deeply into subjects than ‘O’levels. I chose to do English Literature and French ‘A’ levels and Latin ‘O’ level.
I wanted to get my ‘A’ levels so that I could go on to a Teacher Training College and be able to teach little children. Things didn’t work out that way for a number of reasons (read some of my other posts!) and it was about ten years before I could go to Thomas Huxley Teacher Training College in Acton, London, This college, too, is nowhere to be found. It closed down only a year or two after I got my qualification and those of us who went there will be too old to teach by now. The reason it closed is because there were enough teachers – it had only opened because there was a lack of suitably qualified people taking up teaching jobs in the late 60’s and early 70’s. Indeed, when I came out, it was quite difficult to find a job in a state school (what is called a public school in America) so my first teaching job was in the kindergarten of a small private school. After two years I was able to find a state school where I was employed for about 8 years before I branched out to become a ‘supply’ teacher (substitute in America) for another 8 or so years.
Now, I didn’t stop my education when I left college. I consider every day to be another opportunity to learn something new, even if it is just one small fact. (Today I learned that an erg is a unit of energy!)
The College of Life can be the best place to be educated and, hopefully, we have many years in which to learn a huge amount. In the years since I left college I have learned a lot about antiques, art, maths, dogs, cats, buildings, history, horses, children, people from other parts of the world, religions, mysteries, music, and so many words and their meanings! When we moved to Broadstairs, we joined the U3A – the University of the Third Age – and we spend time with our peers whose educations and lives may have differed from ours and who are willing to give us a glimpse into the unknown so that we keep on learning.
(The O in ‘O’ level stands for ordinary; the A in ‘A’ level stands for Advanced) If you have any questions about what I have written, please drop me a line via this website and I’ll endeavour to answer as soon as possible. 😃)
It started when I reached 63. We had been in Broadstairs less than a year. I’d had a very mild tummy pain for a couple of days and Julian urged me to go to the doctor. I thought it was probably an ulcer as I’d had one before. He took me to the doctor and onwards to A&E where I was diagnosed with suspected appendicitis.
I didn’t actually see the surgeon!
Rather than jumping in and opening me up immediately, the doctors at the hospital carried out a few other tests, one of which was a scan of my gall bladder, which can cause pain in the same area, I imagine. The person who scanned me commented that I had lots and lots – and lots….and lots of stones in my gall bladder but there was no sign of inflammation. I don’t know what other tests they did, or at least I don’t remember but, later in the day I was opened up and had my nearly bursting appendix removed. Later I was told that the majority of people with appendicitis are much younger. I was lucky, I guess 😜
The one thing I really remember about the day after the op was a strange hallucination I had when I was in the bathroom. I was sitting there, facing the door when I realised that there were sentences of English words, rather like a wide newspaper column, in yellow and white, scrolling up the door! Sadly, I couldn’t read what the words were but I found the effect most interesting!
That was just the start of my 60s ‘under the knife’! In no particular order, that operation was followed by four others before I reached my 70th year.
I’ll start with my ear. I had been sitting on the couch reading a book when I realised that my right ear felt ‘stopped up’. I waited a few days before going to the doctor as I thought it was something and nothing – it would stop feeling like that in a matter of days. A week or so went by and it hadn’t improved so I saw the doctor who looked in my ear and saw that there wasn’t an immediate cause that he could see, so he referred me to the ENT department of the hospital. I was given an appointment, attended on the day, was given a hearing test which showed that there was some hearing loss in my right ear. (I already knew that!)
I was sent home with a further appointment some months later. My hearing had not improved. The consultant – an older man – decided I should have a grommet inserted into my ear drum. This is what they do with children who have something called “glue ear”. I didn’t think that was what I had at my age, but…. I agreed to have it, not knowing I wouldn’t be allowed to go swimming until it had fallen out. This was a shock as swimming and exercising in water were my main forms of exercise. Under anaesthetic, the grommet was inserted, then I rested for an hour or two before being allowed to go home.
Sadly, I had no change in my hearing but I found a swimming cap that covered my ears well enough for me to get back into the swimming pool. After a year, the grommet fell out.
The last time that I went to the ENT department, there was a much younger consultant. He was astonished that I hadn’t previously had an MRI of my head (or maybe a CAT scan – I don’t quite know the difference!) So, I was given an appointment for the scan, the result of which was…….nothing! I have never heard if they found an acoustic tumour on my acoustic nerve or not – and, today, they’ve no record of that scan as it was so long ago!op
It only took a couple of hours at the hospital, then I went home.
Next, another operation as a day patient but without a general anaesthetic. I had carpal tunnel in both wrists, had all the steroid treatments that I was allowed and came to the day when the pain was too great and the pins and needles were driving me batty!
Julian drove me to the place the op was to be carried out. It was a medical centre, somewhere off the A2 on the way from Thanet to Herne Bay. It was a Saturday and carpal tunnel operations seemed to be the only thing happening there that day. My turn came quite quickly. I sat in front of the doctor whose job it was to make an incision in my hand, near to the wrist. I averted my eyes so that I couldn’t see the blood or the tendons or whatever else I might have seen. It took a very short time to do whatever he needed to do re: the carpal tunnel, then I believe it was stitched up – since I am allergic to nickel I’m fairly certain they didn’t use staples – and my hand was bandaged. Another two weeks of not going swimming!
The most interesting thing about that op was what happened after the op. My left hand was treated but the right hand also stopped having symptoms! The doctor said that that might happen, and that is exactly what did happen! For the next eight to ten years I had no carpal tunnel symptoms in either hand. How does that work? Sadly, I have them again in my right hand but my left hand is still symptom-free!
Weird!
Now we come to the knees part of my title and, certainly, the biggest ops. I think I’ve mentioned before that I used to help Julian carry big items of furniture into and out of Antique Fairs, hopping up into the back of the van and down again; helping to carry the top half or the bottom half, of a secrétaire bookcase, or crates of ceramics or, once, a beautiful wooden cradle which was full of plants. Anyway, this type of exercise plus all the walking and standing and dancing and climbing stairs and running after children or cats, had a bad effect on my knees. First the right one started clicking, then swelling, then eventually, causing pain which grew in intensity – swiftly followed by the left.
The doc sent me for x-rays which showed that neither knee had much, if any, cartilage left between the bones in my knees and the pain was caused by bone rubbing on bone. (Ouch!) So, I met with an orthopaedic surgeon and it was agreed that I would go onto the waiting list to have both knees replaced – one at a time, of course. In 2010, when I was 67, I was contacted by the hospital to say that my wait would come to an end for my right knee at least, in June.
When you have a knee, or indeed a hip, replaced, the NHS checks to see whether your bed, your chairs and your toilet are the right height for you to use when you get home with a new bandaged joint which can’t bend or lift up as easily as before. Anything you may need is loaned to you. I had a frame which went round the loo with bars on either side to help you heave yourself onto your feet. I also had a walking frame, and a pair of crutches.
Julian was working in those days and was unable to get me to the hospital so I took a taxi early in the morning. For the first knee I was given a room in the private Spencer Wing of the QEQM – not that I was a private patient but, sometimes the hospital borrowed a room if necessary.. I settled into my room in the morning and was taken from there to the operating theatre. I remember having a chat with the anaesthetist before he administered an epidural and a general anaesthetic in an ante room. I must have been wheeled into the operating room and undergone a huge procedure because, when I woke up my knee has been replaced and I had a gigantic(!) bandage on my right leg.
Surprisingly, knee replacement patients are expected to get up and move around within a few hours of the op. I remember having to pee sometime in the night and being made to get out of bed and grab hold of a walking frame to get into the little bathroom, then to make my way back to bed. I doubt if I could have lifted my leg onto the bed on my own, so there must have been a nurse nearby to come to my aid. I also remember being given, by mouth, something the nurse told me was morphine. I wondered to myself if I’d get high, but no such luck! I still felt the pain I had complained about.😖
My stay in the hospital was 4 or 5 days. In that time I had to prove I could negotiate stairs by climbing a set of three steps using crutches – I managed that alright, but the other proof I had to give was more difficult. I had to sit in the bed and lift the bandaged leg while a doctor watched. Somehow, I managed it after 2 or 3 attempts. Finally, I could go home!
Julian came to get me and I walked, with crutches, to the car and sat down, sideways onto the passenger seat with both my feet still on the kerb. I tried to lift my right leg into the car but I couldn’t! I kept trying but no way could I turn and lift! Then, I had a brill idea – Julian went to my bag and found my dressing gown belt. I held onto the ends – one in each hand, and put the resulting loop under my foot which I then lifted and swung into the car. (If you’re having a knee replaced, that is the first thing to remember to pack – some sort of long enough belt!)😄
The healing took time, and everything went well – the district nurse came to take out the stitches, I did the exercises I was given by the physiotherapist, summer came, then autumn and on the first of December, 2010, I entered the QEQM again, for the 2nd knee op.
I wasn’t in a private room this time, but I really didn’t mind. The only difference that I could see was that the food wasn’t quite as good. There were a few other women with bandaged limbs in the ward which housed about 8 beds. On the second day, things were different. Outside, everything was white. The snow fell all day (if I remember correctly.) In all the beds there were patients with broken limbs. Also, there was a lack of nurses, doctors and ancillary staff, all because of the snow!
Nevertheless, things went fairly well. Julian, always intrepid, never let a little snow get in the way of whatever he wanted to do, so he came to visit me in the hospital. The days passed and I did all the physio necessary, climbed the little 3 step stairs and even lifted my left leg high enough that the doctor agreed to let me go home.
The worst thing about my recovery that time was that my body no longer would tolerate the sticky tape they used to keep my bandage in place. My leg itched non-stop. I knew I should not scratch it and was careful not to put my hand anywhere near the bandage but my ankle and shin were also itching and I scratched a bit, I confess. Unhappily, that caused my wound to become infected! It took two lots of antibiotics to kill that infection😩. Even today, nearly 13 years later, my two legs look different. The scar on my right leg is there but almost invisible whereas the scar on my left leg is quite wide because of the swelling when I had the infection. Luckily, I have preferred wearing trousers most of my adult life and seldom wear a skirt or dress.
How a knee works.
I was told that knee replacements can wear out in ten to fifteen years. I’ve passed the first and am approaching the second. Sometimes my knees feel a bit stiff and occasionally there’s a twinge of pain but I am not going to have any further knee ops if I can possibly help it! For one thing, I tend to sleep on my side and for six or so weeks after the op, it’s impossible to turn on your side – it’s sleep on your back only!
All the above happened when I was young – in my 60s. All through my 70s I kept away from surgeons’ knives, though I had a short stay in hospital with pneumonia, I found that I’m allergic to penicillin, and I found out that sciatica is not a pleasant condition.
White Haired Woman 