R's rue

  Wednesday  October 19th "I'm a fighter not a quitter!" says Elizabeth Truss Thursday October 20th Elizabeth Truss quits as prime minister. Lasting only 45 days in the job, Elizabeth Truss now has a place in history by having had the shortest term in office of any British prime minister. Previously, the record was held by George Canning who lasted 119 days, dying in office from tuberculosis in 1827. Now our country awaits the appointment of yet another prime minister and there are depressing rumours of a possible return for Johnson. To very many of us, this prospect is quite flabbergasting given his past conduct in office. The political soap opera continues. ‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖ Meanwhile, in the suburbs of Sheffield, Little Phoebe was entranced by the autumn leaves and acorns she collected in nearby Ecclesall Woods yesterday afternoon. I realised that she w...

Huddled and warming. It’s as if the cold, brings a clarity, I haven’t had. It feels so good. I’m getting better. Started exercising. Wearing wearing white sweats. Feels goods. I’m ecstatic not to bleed so profusely iron supplements didn’t cut it. I’m having dancing parties in the living room not caring who sees me. Bruno Mars is my musical muse. I’m dreaming. I’m having fun again, even if I’m my only company. I always wondered why a former therapist told me to look in the bathroom mirror and say I love me three times. I did it the other day, and came so close to believing it. Almost one month post op, and my soul is absolutely giddy. Who knew I could feel this good. Thank you for staying with me. You love me. Worth more than millions.  from R's rue https://ift.tt/rjEPoBJ

 I usually get back home soon after nine am after the first long dog walk to the day And I spied Mrs C standing by the kitchen wall seeing if I was about.  She wanted my “ professional “ thoughts on something so I left the dogs in the car and invited her for tea. Mrs C ‘s father is poorly in hospital. He has covid and is not expected to recover and Mrs C, who is in her early sixties wanted to know just what a syringe driver did and why fluids had been stopped on her father. The nurse looking after him overnight had been attentive but silent and Mrs C felt as though her questions , of which there were many, could not be asked. This sort of night nurse I always refer to as The Silent Nun . As death is approaching they glide around as if invisible , say little but always looking solemn and quietly supportive.  It’s as though death is something purely something to be an awe of. Instead of something normal, albeit it often earth shattering . I am often surprised ju...