Sunday, May 9, 2010

Excuses, excuses

Marion Nicholson and Hugh Blair 1912-13

Gee, I haven't been editing Flo in the City, my middle school novel about a young girl coming of age in the pivotal 1910 era. I haven't even been adding to this blog lately.

Family stuff. My father in law is still in hospital and they are evaluating if he will be able to come home. Whether he can walk and such. It's been 6 weeks. The nice francophone doctor who talked to us yesterday admitted that there's a HUGE problem in our area, no English services for elderly anglos. Of course, you can't complain or even talk about it. Taboo.

But it gets worse, the francophone only nursing home in our area only takes very sick patients, she said. It doesn't take older patients who need extended care but no real medical interventions. For that you have to find a private place. And they can cost a fortune and as I learned last year, you do not get what you pay for. These private places are money making establishments that hire staff on the cheap and make you pay for everything extra, all these add on costs.

The only hope is the Veteran's Hospital, a great facility, and nearby, but as I wrote their long standing policy is not to accept veterans who didn't go overseas. There are exceptions, however.

Perhaps we will bring him home, hospital bed and all, as I work from home and we've been giving him assisted care for years anyway. Perhaps if the CLSC can give us help. Oh gosh. This doctor told us the same thing a registered nurse told me last year, when my mother was dying. We boomers better prepare to pay a fortune for care in our old age.
Pretty grim.

Anyway, I had a fun thing happen. A forensic artist contacted me to use some of the Tighsolas pics for her research. Some people today actually have interesting jobs, it seems.

My son is in Greenwich England, decompressing from his final year at school, considering grad school, likely in Europe, and waiting to visit friends in Munich later in the month. I asked him, since he was killing time, to go to Bloomsbury and take a picture of Virginia Woolf's desk, and to go to Chiswick and buy something from Colin Firth's Eco-Age store for Mother's Day, but he politely declined, not wanting, I guess. for me to live my life vicariously through him. "Sorry, he said, I forgot to go, but nothing stops YOU from getting on a plane and going to visit the UK. It's not that expensive." (In fact, it is cheaper to fly to Europe than to other places in Canada. Ridiculous.) I had to smile. Nothing stops I can drop everything and go hostelling...and live on bread and cheese and beer and not visit all the relatives... oh, to be young.