From The Blocked Dwarf, our very foreign correspondent in Norfolk.
The Ego has landed!
Those are her, the Raccoon’s, words not mine. One of the things that has always impressed me about her is that in a blogosphere where having a weapons grade ego the size of Wales is a prerequisite, the Raccoon manages to keep hers firmly in check….most of the time.
I, your dwarfish correspondent from the flatlands, had, last week, the great good fortune to live nearer to her hospital bed than even Mr G and so I went up and saw her briefly a couple of times . I say ‘briefly’ because it wouldn’t do for her to get the idea I was actually worried about the old battle axe.
The Landlady has returned home after the kind of stay in hospital which would give any ‘normal’ person PTSD and, no, I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve known combat hardened elite soldiers who would have buckled mentally from a fraction of the trauma, actually ‘torture’, she has suffered. Never underestimate the amount of ‘pinned to the ceiling’ pain little old ladies can endure and still keep all their cups in the welsh dresser of their minds.
I can’t go into details, but keep your eyes on the MSM the next little while because not only has her mind not cracked under the strain, nor has the ‘unruly toddler in a supermarket’ of her cancer managed to find it’s way to her brain after doing things to her spine that are reminiscent of KGB torture methods (google up’playing the piano’ and ‘gulag’) but neither have ‘take down rabid elephants’ doses of ketamine and heroin dulled her understanding; you would not believe the rigmarole involved in getting her her daily dose of trainspottingesque goodness to her, again no exaggeration, I have known drug runners who smuggled in stuff with less faffing, less ‘security’.
She is now paralysed from the waist down and pisses into a bag; but hell, I’ll let her speak for herself (like I have any choice in the matter!):
“Ms Raccoon is reinstalled in the Raccoonerie.
It has taken a military operation and an extraordinary effort on the part of the nhs, but the wonderful Dr H has fired exocet missiles into every corner of the nhs and I am now in my orgasmic (note from TBD: an £8K bed which in her own words has so many functions it is guaranteed to give her an ‘orgasm by the end of the week‘) in the middle of the kitchen, wired up to the national grid (and apparently even the electricity bill is courtesy of the nhs as of last night!)
and fed a 24 hour diet of 250 ml of Ketamine and 175 ml of heroin. ”
See what I mean about her flesh being royally knackered but her mind still ‘so sharp you’ll cut yourself’ as Grandma Dwarf would have said? Go on, I dare you, shoot up on any Class A and then try and write,or even just think, coherently.
Her email of this morning to me continued:
“In the past two months I have become a mother to two grown 50 year old children that I gave up for adoption 50 years ago.
I have become a sister to two brothers I could have fallen over in the street and not known who they were.
I have acquired two sisters in laws.
I have acquired three grandchildren I didn’t know existed.
I have acquired a son in law and a daughter in law.
I have lost all control over my body from the chest downwards. ”
(another note from TBD: she has also acquired carers who will actually ‘care’ because they are true friends first and carers second. As marvelous as G is a husband , I doubt he’d be able to do it without them. You can’t buy that level of caring love).
For those wondering; the doctors have given her a departure date sometime around the start of what passes for summer here in Norfolk. The same doctors who said she’d be in hospital at least another ten days to methadonize her way onto a new and eyebleedingly expensive form of medical grade smack. Don’t get me wrong, she has excellent doctors but doctors aren’t turf accountants, they have no understanding of ‘form’.
The SP on this particular old mare making Michaelmas has to be worth a punt.
Hell I might even go a few quid on ‘there will be snow on the roof of Raccoon Lair this Xmas’.