The kindness of strangers

JON: It happened again, Marie left me to go Holland to do something professional and hopefully well-paid This time only for 4 days, but that’s enough time for things to go wrong. Marie left me with a full fridge, a list of dos and don’ts and a handful of phone numbers. I felt prepared for the nuclear winter that is Denmark, and things were going well until I tried to use the microwave and the kettle at the same time. A fuse blew (come to think of it, I think the seller may have predicted that something along those lines would happen). I tried saying “Let there be light” a few times, but it stayed resolutely dark. Very, very dark, although there was sufficient light to get me into bed – and in the morning there was enough light for me to see that I didn’t understand the 40 year old foreign fuse system at all.

Our next-door neigbour had said she would be happy to help out with any problems (although she speaks no English). Lots of people are happy to offer help feeling that it is very un-likely that the help will ever need to be given, but I had to take her on her word, and she was fantastic! A cursory look revealed that she too was out of her depth, but out came her mobile and within minutes her father appeared, diagnosed the problem and went off to the nearest shop (several miles away) to buy fuses, then returned and made light.

So what has all this got to do with PD? Well, had I been my old self, I would have worked out the fuse system and solved the problem myself somehow. Failing that, I would have been able to think of an alternative solution without ringing Marie in the middle of a meeting. I could have confidently strolled across the frozen tundra that is our driveway without falling and having to turn back. Indeed, I could have driven Marie to the station and therefore have had the car so been able to do my own fuse-shopping. But with PD, I now have to rely on the kindness of others. I am pretty sure that had we been new neighbours in the city (any city), I would have sat in darkness and waited for Marie to return to a fully defrosted freezer. We’ve picked a good place to live.

PS: I have now seen a doctor (as a private patient since I am still waiting for the magical CPR number that will throw open the doors to national health care) who has referred me for a X-ray of my hip and for physiotherapy while we wait. I have my first physio appointment in two days. I hope for pain relief, Marie hopes for a set of exercises she can taunt me with. I know she means well…

PPS: When I fell over in our icy driveway, to my surprise it didn’t hurt at all. Maybe the jolt of adrenalin helped, and also prevented a panic attack. Anyhow, I just stood up, no fuss, no mess, and went back to the house. With PD there will be many falls in the future, and although there was obviously some climate input involved, I’m wondering if this counts as PD fall #1?

Home alone, again...

JON: It’s a long time since we’ve written anything for the blog. We have several good excuses, of course, but simply blaming it on moving into our new house and the associated traumas and tribulations pretty much sums it up.

We exchanged keys on November 1st, and Marie moved into high gear painting every available surface and directing a large team of burly workmen in the construction of a new bathroom and assorted other heave jobs. This was supposed to be a three month project but turned into a five-week one as buyers for our old house suddenly materialized. High gear was clearly called for.

Meanwhile, I went back to Holland. This was always the plan (cat-sitting, you know), but Marie and I were both rather horrified to discover how little energy and ability I now have in the DIY department. Basically, I can keep going like a semi-normal person for a day, but will then suffer grave consequences of exhaustion, cramps and back pain for the best part of a week afterwards. Which is perhaps okay under normal circumstances, but a house move is far from normal – and so, now, am I.

I may have called several previous posts “home alone”, but this time I was on my own for longer, further and much more miserable. It didn’t help at all that I developed sciatica pains and had put my back out because we were camping out on substandard beds in Denmark. At times I could hardly walk, and at one point I had a wee panic attack when I found myself standing completely immobile in a corner. All shall pass eventually, but it’s bloody unpleasant while it lasts.

My lonely vigil in Holland also came to an end at last, and (despite a small hiccup when the removal van carrying all our earthly possessions was stuck on the wrong side of a snow storm and unable to deliver for several days) I am now finally installed in this marvelous, PD-friendly home.

I’m tempted to upload a set of pictures of the house, but that would only make you jealous… I’ll just say that we have an uninterrupted view of the sea, and ample space to accommodate visits from my two children, their partners and offspring. The cat is a bit daunted by the new place, though – small animal, very wide, white world.

Next week I’ll tell you what fun we’ve had trying to get me the elusive CPR number which is the key to open all Danish healthcare locks. Don’t go away…