Crafting with geriatrics

I felt so much better on Wednesday than I had on Tuesday, so much so that I was early for an appointment – 24 hours early!

The local hospice do therapy days which a friend (with myeloma) had started attending so I got myself referred.  The appointment for the nursing assessment was one thirty so we thought we’d go there and then go straight to the Royal just for bloods and it turned out platelets.  On the way there I asked B what the date was and informed him that I thought my appointment was actually Thursday.  As we weren’t that far away we thought we’d see when we got there.  Lo and behold we were indeed early but since they’d has a no show they fit us in.

The nurse we saw showed us round and outlined the schedule and what was available as well as discussing medical history.  I’d thought I was being so smart taking a copy of my discharge medications with me – obviously it would have appeared a lot smarter if I’d got the day right.  And do you know what B said to me and then again to the nurse, that he should take over checking the appointment schedule so that we got them right – with my memory ‘issues’ I wasn’t reliable!  Needless to say the second word was off – not in front of the nurse of course, he just got a ‘look’ then.

They do crafty stuff at the therapy days and we were shown the art room.  Now you’d think that I, of all people, would have been really excited to see this and I was before I went but standing in the room I wasn’t too keen.  I’m not sure why.  I mean I’ve even considered joining a knitting club or something similar but haven’t come across anything with a suitable time.  We saw some nice painted stones, decorated glasses, jewelry boxes, mosaics and some cardboard shapes pinned to a notice board with words on them that must have been what people thought they got from being there – and it put me off.  I thought it was all a bit ‘forced’ – that’s not really the right word for the job and obviously people go there for various reasons including to feel better by doing something creative.

The nurse described it as a day to be pampered – there is a relaxation time, you can sign up for massages and other complimentary therapies, there are physios and a three course lunch with wine – not that I drink.  The nurse asked me if there was anything I did, such as hobbies, that made me feel better if I was feeling down to which I responded that I don’t really feel down.  Yes, knitting, crocheting, sewing makes me feel me but it always has and is a barometer of how I’m feeling but from a physical point of view rather than mental and is a way of life rather than a hobby.  Bud obviously makes me feel really happy. 

Basically I think the problem was that walking round there made me feel like a patient in a way that going to the hospital, doing the peritoneal dialysis or walking round with a distinct lack of hair on my head don’t – I actually kind of forget I have a limited amount of hair until I see someone look at me for a bit longer than expected.

Anyhoo, I’m giving it a whirl and will be going this coming Thursday.  B’s not too convinced either not least because when we came out of the assessment room we encountered the Wednesday group and he doesn’t think I’ll fit in too well with a bunch of octogenarians.  Now I have a lot of friends who are older than me, and love spending time with my Auntie Eleanor who is in her 80s, but the one thing they have in common is that they have a young outlook on life whereas I have to admit the group we saw on Wednesday, who appeared to have an average age of 103, didn’t look too lively.  B actually said it would suit his mother better than me!