So close, and yet so far - a true story in many parts - part 7

12th Stroke of Midnight
The Fairy Godmother said that all of Cinderella's things would magically turn back on the twelfth stroke, but looking at how milquetoast Prince Charming is, I bet he won't last 4.

A caveat: The reader (especially each of my six grandchildren at some point in their lives) is cordially advised to peruse the first six episodes of my blogoir (from the noun 'memoir') so as to give some background to this individual's writings about moments or events, both public or private, that have taken place in my somewhat chequered life to date. Today's posting might be considered short, however, as my Swiss soulmate once quipped coquettishly, "Schatz, it is not size that counts."

To the matter at hand: My health situation has changed somewhat after recently camping (sleeping in my Audi) and working as a volunteer cook at various anonymous camp outs (AA, CA, NA), and especially stoking the fires at a riotous and quasi-orgiastic five-day Buddhist/Pagan festival in fields in the glorious countryside around Taunton, followed by a birthday party for my daughter, which I hosted at my recently-allocated bungalow a few days later. Worthy of note is that the aforementioned events knocked the stuffing out of me, nonetheless, I was ill-prepared for the seriousness of becoming exhausted what with work, unchecked sugar levels, and the heatwave of 2019.

Last Monday, I looked after my youngest granddaughter for the day, taking her to the park, feeding the ducks, and engaging with other minders and mothers in the play area; we thoroughly enjoyed our time together. I took Dolly back to her mum's at 3 pm, went back to mine to cook a late breakfast (I had not eaten because of the 37* heat), and promptly had a seizure. An ambulance was called thanks to an attentive neighbour and I was whisked to hospital.

So for the past few days I have been prodded, scanned (CAT & MRI), and overdosed with insulin and care at the stroke unit at Frimley hospital, Surrey.

I wonder whether this may be Universe's way of saying "slow down?"

Clearly, I still possess my cognitive faculties, however, I am erring to the judgment of my loved ones who have stated in no uncertain terms that I would be fucking mad to go to another camp out for the rest of this season. I am tempted however to take my annual vacation to Thailand earlier that expected!

All said, my spirits are high, and I feel there is much more life left in this old hippy 😎, Inshalla. I have had a thorough MOT with clot busting purges, insulin galore, physio, and hospital food which was surprisingly tasty, even though my girth will regret it.

Today, after demonstrating to Occupational Therapy staff my ability to make a cup of tea; shower unaided, and use a washing machine, I have been discharged, but advised to park up my Audi, and use public transport as I have had all the symptoms of another mini-stroke, plus, alas, a further deterioration of my lexical recall (I sometimes fish for words - I know what I want to say, but somehow the words do not come out exactly as intended). All said, as my stoic Auntie Hettie used to say when things were not going well, "I mustn't grumble."

Needless to say, while speaking of strokes, I won't be venturing onto the golf course this year.

This link will take you to Robin Williams' famous skit on the question of the invention of the game of golf:

I wish I had more news for you; things are, as Dickens would write,"much of a muchness."

I trust more will be revealed in a not-too-distant moment when I recount my leaving the tax haven where I was brought up, only to end up living in a squat in King's Cross.

To be continued......