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Still here. Really busy. 5 days off starting Thursday.
It's Jack's Mummy's birthday tomorrow, so I just had a phone call from Son,
'What does she want?'
'I don't know'.
'Thats your job though as a Mum, you find out what we want, and tell everyone.'
Would that it were that simple. If that was my only 'job' I would be laughing.
Monday - A.M. Do the shopping. P.M. Clinic, followed by two visits to new Mums with feeding problems. Back to base (hospital) evening Active Birth Class, get home at 10.15pm.
Tuesday - Work, 8 visits to new Mum's, one antenatal visit at home, one 'booking' visit. Call in at Amy's Mums on way home, have a quick cuddle, on-call until next morning, luckily no call-out. Cut back overgrown shrubs. Have bonfire.
Wednesday - Work, catch-up with paper-work, go to woman in labour at home, send her in 'cos otherwise she would have have baby at home and she didn't want to (shame). Visit Mums and babies, come home, hoover, dust, go out for Indian.
Thursday - Take Amy and her Mum shopping. Hoover their house. Come home and clean out the pond. Do the ironing. Type Hubby's quotations. Watch 'Desperate Midwives'.
Friday - Jack is dropped off by his Mummy. Pick up Amy and her Mum, bring them back here. Walk up to local shops. Make lunch. Put child-locks on cupboards. Entertain Jack. Think about cooking dinner. Cuddle Amy. Look in fridge, clean out fridge. Father-in-law comes round to discuss possible sale of Mum-in laws bungalow. Think about dinner. Give Jack his dinner, long, drawn out affair, with very little success. Bath Jack and get him ready for bed. Amy's Daddy comes and picks his 'girls' up. Put Jack to bed. Send Hubby out for fish and chips. Watch BB.
Saturday - 6.55am, get up change Jacks revolting nappy. Give him breakfast and get him ready for the day. Swear about Hubby 'cos he hasn't made a gate for the side of the house so I have to keep chasing Jack up the drive and rugby tackling him before he tobbles into the road. Walk up to local shops, falls asleep in pushchair. Clean kitchen. Make a creme brulee. Get all Jacks stuff together. His Mummy and Daddy come to collect him, he cries when I wave good-bye.
Now I'm just going to mow the grass, then I'm going to buy daughters birthday pressie, make her cake, frame a birth sampler, sit down and go to sleep.
Jack Amy
Bemused Sky man
Jack and his parents have just moved house, the great thing is that they have more room, one and a half bedroomed flat to three bedded-semi, with good-sized garden and they are now living in my work-patch so when I'm desperate for the loo, I have somewhere to go. Bad things are the mortgage, mega-huge, and no more just popping round as its 20 miles away. Anyway, last week I went round with Amy and her Mummy to help tackle the garden. The Sky technician was there installing a box in the bedroom, Jacks Mummy was up there showing him where it should go (sounds bad, but it wasn't), and I was chatting to eldest daughter. She had just asked me if it was okay that Amy had swollen breasts and I had reassured her but was showing her that you have to be careful when picking her up as it's easy to press on the swollen tissue and Amy would find it painful. As I held Amy I said,
' Ohhh, have you got swollen little boobs?'
From upstairs other daughter said ' Who are you speaking to?', whilst in the background I could hear the Sky technician laughing. Downstairs we just fell about laughing. Poor daughter was holding on to her tummy for grim death, still very tender, and Jack stood there looking very worried as Nanny and Auntie laughed and laughed. I would live to hear what the Sky bloke had to say when he got back to base.
Dreading going into work tomorrow. One of our team is still off-sick, 14 weeks now, and no date yet for her return. The strain is beginning to tell, my job-share and the other team member are conducting a mini-feud involving which of them is more hard-done by and who does the most work. Virtually every evening I have a phone-call from one, or both of them, grumbling about the other one. I'm stuck in the middle trying to be diplomatic and smooth things over, Hubby says that I'm too diplomatic, I should just tell them how it is, that would be wonderful, no one in the team speaking to anyone else.
Lost -
One set of house keys to Amy's house
One ID badge
Both last seen in my handbag prior to Jack playing with it on Sunday, whilst sitting next to their kitchen bin.
The hypothesis is - They are both now in the dustbin.
Can this be proven?
Yes (If Jack's Mummy delves through the contents of said bin)
Learning outcome - Do not leave a toddler in the vicinity of ANY receptacle playing with anything you would like to see again.
Tomorrow is another day
I suppose I am the same as most people, 'It will never happen to me'. Well, on Saturday morning at 6.30 it did. I was awoken by Jack's Mummy's mobile phone, they were staying as SIL is in Les Mans. I lay there for a minute and then got out of bed to seek and destroy the electronic nuisance. As I came out of our bedroom I looked out of a window, and saw smoke. Hmm, not a phone, the smoke detector. Going downstairs I realised that there was black smoke in the hall, I looked along and saw that it was spiralling from around the closed kitchen door, there was an acrid smell. Super calm, I unlocked and opened the front door, slipped my sandals on, went back upstairs, lifted Jack out of his cot, marched into the bedroom where a daughter was sleeping soundly (the knockout effects of a few drinks the night before), shook her and said 'Fire, out now. Front door'. Pushing open our bedroom door I repeated my mantra to Hubby, I expected questions and slow response, but I think the shrill sound of the smoke detector and the fact I was holding Jack convinced him to move swiftly. As we went through the hall I grabbed Hubby's mobile and thrust it to him, I don't know his PIN. There we stood on the drive watching the smoke start to billow out of the windows upstairs, daughter shouted 'The cats. The cats are shut in the kitchen'. I said we couldn't go back in, it would be too dangerous, (the smoke was so thick and caught in your throat). Hubby had rushed round to the back door and looked in the kitchen, it was full of smoke, he couldn't see a thing, but he could hear flames crackling and the door was very hot. Then I heard the Fire Service, I ran into the middle of the road and waved madly to them. As they jumped out one of the firemen asked where it was, as I ran along infront of him I told him that the cats were in there, 'I know they are only animals, but I love them. Please look for them'. Immediately, a couple of the firemen put on breathing apparatus, another fire tender arrived and then Daughter, Jack and I were taken in by friendly neighbours who gave us dressing-gowns and coffee. Another neighbour appeared and cried when she saw us, she had seen the smoke pouring out of the bedroom windows and had thought we were dead. Hubby came over and reported that they had found the cats, one was dead and they were giving the other one oxygen. I ran back over the road and round the back of the house. On the patio table lay my little black and white cat, covered in a thick layer of soot, and obviously dead. On a bench a fire man was giving Elmo oxygen. As I crouched down and spoke to him he lifted head slightly, I stroked him slowly, clinically noting his bluish tongue, the coating of soot in his mouth, his laboured breathing. Someone asked me for the vet's number. I know I must have switched to another, automatic level. Me, who can never remember phone numbers, not even my own, gave them the number. Someone took him and Hubby down there. Vaguely I registered piles of black debris on the patio, firemen still with masks on going in and out of the house. I don't really remember too much after that for about half an hour. I went back to the neighbours house, waited for Hubby to return with news on Elmo, cuddled daughter, cuddled Jack and waited for the firemen to call us back. At this point we sent Jack and his Mummy down to other daughter, there was no way I wanted them to see the damage.
As he walked back over the road with us he told us that the smoke detector saved our lives, he had no doubt that we would all have suffocated in our sleep. It was the dishwasher that started the fire. Apparently quite common, people leave them running at night, they develop an electrical fault, overheat, smoulder away and eventually catch fire. My kitchen and family room is wrecked. The fire was confined to a very small area, just three cabinets and some work-surface, but the smoke has coated everything, ceiling, walls, windows, floor in a thick oily ash. Candles have started to melt in the heat, and the smell, all pervasive, cloying, irritating your throat. If you move anything it's as if a brilliant spotlight has been trained on that area, the ash is so black. On the carpet you can see the shape of where a cat was lying, right by the door, obvuiously trying to breath in some fresh air. The soot and the smell are everywhere in the house, your hands are always black, throat always irritated.
Insurance companies? My advice is don't have a problem at the weekend. Nothing. No help at all. Can't even give advice at the weekend. What, no water or electric, well they will arrrange for one emergency tradesman, which do you want, and by the way you have to pay him. Good news though, a cleaning company will call this afternoon. What they didn't tell us was that this was an invisible cleaning company, who wouldn't call this afternoon, and when you try to phone the insurers back they only deal with car claims Saturday afternoon and Sundays. Lets all play the waiting game.
Our neighbours have been wonderful. They have fed and watered us. Offered us help with everything. Two fire officers returned to check everything, I cannot sing their praises too highly. My Sister appeared, all ready to help with cleaning, then saw it and realised why I had turned her offer down, it is an impossible task. Son and DIL arrived, they were shocked and felt helpless. That's the general feeling, helpless. We couldn't touch anything in the kitchen anyway, the insurance company might want to inspect it. I buried Kizzy in a cool, quiet place, and planted some pansies over her. The local press appeared, would we mind talking to them, the fire service had contacted them and felt that our story would be an excellent way to promote smoke detectors. The vet phoned, Elmo was holding his own in an oxygen tent, they would keep him until Monday. My parents phoned, both upset. I washed all the bedding, when I took Jack's toys out of his cot they left brilliant white marks where they had been, one of the bulkheads that had been protecting my consciousness faltered, I realised he could have died. I swiftly put my defence mechanisms back in place and continued with my tasks.
Saturday night I didn't sleep much. The smell of burning is everywhere, I kept waking up and having to check that nothing was burning. When I got up in the morning my carefully devised method of keeping at a distance from it all failed me for about half an hour, I sat on the patio and sobbed. Then I pulled myself together and assumed my previous detached role. In the afternoon all the family came round and cooked, wait for it, a barbeque, for Fathers Day. Anyone observing us would probably think we were a very strange crew, all sitting around in the garden, without a care in the world. Late afternoon the phone rings, it's the vet. Elmo is causing her concerns, he is having real problems. Jack's Mummy and I go down there. To see an animal in such distress, occasionally making a sound like a hurt baby, coughing up blood and thick black tar and looking at me with huge, pleading eyes. I held him as the vet helped him out of his agony.
I no longer have any control over my emotions. I cry uncontrollably and unexpectedly. Apparently it's normal, its a delayed reaction. Last night I managed an hours sleep, my mind is whirling away and then I suddenly get this feeling, like when you are on a rollercoaster and you start hurtling down, I try to pull it all together, I tense everything, try fill my brain with the thought equivalent of white noise, but a loop plays constantly, images of my cats trying desperately to escape the hot, choking smoke. I am an emotional wreck.
We are alive though. The kitchen and everything else can be sorted. I still have my family, relatives and friends, and, if nothing else this episode will, hopefully, make everyone check their smoke detectors and not run their dishwashers at night.
The clean-up
After a weekend of silence from the insurance companies Monday morning was full of phone calls. I contacted the dishwasher company, we had an extended warranty, who said they would send an engineer out to see if it was repairable, I declined, but they insisted. Whatever. Hubby and I are virtually living on the patio, thank heavens for good weather, the smell and soot in the house is still so bad that after about half an hour your throat starts to dry up and become irritated. We have two air filters running constantly in our bedroom and they do make an amazing difference. On Saturday afternoon I had started washing, linen and clothes and now all the clean stuff is piling up in our bedroom, un-ironed, no ironing board or iron.
Anyway, a cleaning company arrived on Monday. He toured around, piece of white lint in his hand, and wrote furiously on his clipboard. Afterwards we sat in the garden whilst he advised us on what was going to happen. Basically, the kitchen/family room will be emptied and everything chucked. The hall, landing and stairs will be redecorated and the carpets replaced. Every other room in the house is 'contaminated' and so will be cleaned, they will go through all the cupboards, drwers, everything. As I sat there digesting this information he told me that by today all our clothes were to be put in bags, they would collect them for cleaning. Nothing too terrible really, but that was what started me off. I am by no means a 'clothes' person, but I do like to have a choice, hence always having an overweight suitcase when we go on holiday, and here was someone wanting to leave me with only those clothes I chose to wear that day. I could feel my eyes prickling so was gritting teeth, clenching hands, anything to stop me blubbing, when he came out with the information that whilst all this was going on, about a month, we would have to move out. So, we would have to vacate our home whilst people came in, decided what was not cost-effective to clean (C.D's, L.P's, books, all my 'clutter') so would dispose of and sorted through the entire history of our family lives. I disappeared off down the garden, and once again sobbed. Tuesday bought the first of the loss adjusters, much the same, except he increased the decorating slightly but told me that I could take all the clothes to the cleaners rather than lose them all at once. Then came the news that left me speechless, we would be moving out for 3 months. Go and find a rented property. The magnitude of the disruption hit me and I began my, now familiar, battle with emotion. Quickly he tried to put a happy slant on things, imagine I will come to you and say, right you need to choose your new kitchen, carpets. As I battled with the tears trying to appear, I agreed that this would be wonderful, but that even though they were only two old moggies I felt their suffering was still a high price to pay, then I disappeared down the garden, again. Then came another loss-adjuster, same decision but with the addition of all new baby equipment, and a suggestion that we would be out of the house for longer than 3 months. Last to call were two forensic scientists, they took multitudes of photos and samples, and then wrapped the dishwaher in cling-film to take back to their lab where it would be ceremoniously unwrapped in the presence of the dishwasher, manufacturer's scientist.
In the middle of all this I has a long-standing Doctors appointment. Poor man, he greeted me with his usual title for me 'Super Midwife' and I greeted him with a rush of emotion. I am signed off work for a week, at which point he will ask Hubby how I am and decide if I am fit to return. His parting words were ' I know you think that you are superwoman, but even she has a weakness'.
This morning started well. Hubby had gone out to look at a job. I was sitting reading and ignoring everything. Then the doorbell went. It was the reporter from Saturday asking for an update on Elmo, the cat who initially survived the fire.
I have so many people to thank though, the firemen, neighbours, friends, relatives, colleagues, fellow bloggers even the loss adjusters, everyone has been so kind. We have received so many offers of help and equipment, and I feel horrible turning them down, it seems ungrateful, but there is really nothing we can do, just move out.
Perpetual motion
My brain refuses to stop working. It's really very clever, rather like an involuntary action or reflex, it just carries on thinking whether I want it to or not. There is no controlling what it thinks, or when, even asleep it continues incessantly until I come to the surface and attempt to control it by reading, or writing. Puzzles are good, Sudoku is wonderful for shutting down other areas of mental activity, and of course my old favourite Spider Solitaire is there if all else fails.
Tonight has been quite productive. I think I may have tracked down a couple of properties available to rent. It's really difficult to find furnished accomodation, I can't wait until the agents open to phone them and see if they are available.
Good old brain has just interupted this stream of thought with a ?good idea, a motor home. Right, I'm off searching.
Back again - That was disappointing. Motor homes are not as luxurious as I thought. I know that Hubby would only think one was acceptable if it had satellite TV. Oh well, the old processing machine threw me a bad one there, back to property to let mode