The day of Nan's hearing appointment. I had intended to catch up with B, another old friend today. I was very tired and stayed in bed late reading The man on Platform 5 by Robert Llewelyn. I've read it several times, cheap, throwaway novel though it is. Pre-millennium, hopelessly dated now, and yet a favorite, funny, easy to read. It has made me re-think what I ought to do with my writing which is coming out a bit intense at the moment, I'm considering softening it. Nan was uneasy when I got up, my fault for being so late last night. I decided to stay with her, forgoing B and the beach, to eat pasty, and read my book.
Nan isn't keen on going out, she's got to feeling insecure in the car, and gets panicky in busy places. She was worried about not being able to manage to move about as her arthritis is problematic. Cornwall is damp at the moment, the mist was designed by the old gods to get into old joints. It's good for the hedges though, which are at their best with bluebells, pink campion, and gorse. The fields are yellow with buttercups, only half open in the overcast weather. I wanted to climb up Carn Marth and look at the heath. Another time.
I adore Nan, but I'm not very patient with her, she can only hear the odd couple of words together, and even then, you have to shout. And she fusses horribly which makes me anxious. On the way to Hayle she recalled a friend of mine. "She came to my house with her Mother and Father....nice quiet girl.... she came to your wedding...she was having some trouble with a chap after her but she wasn't interested.." I knew who she was talking about. "What happened to her?" I explained that as of five years ago her Dad had died and she still lived with her Mum. "Never married?" "no, Nan", I said. "I think she's a lesbian". Silence for the rest of the journey.
The audiologist was a sweet woman, Chantelle, in her twenties, just the sort of person Nan likes. In fact, they took to each other and communicated well so that I didn't have to translate through the differences in communication, class, education and age as I often have to. There was a wonderful conversation that I have tried to remember through my mirth:
CHANTELLE: You have hearing loss in both ears. I would like you to try a hearing aid both sides. What do you think?
NAN: Well I don't want it really.
CHANTELLE: Why's that?
NAN: The thing is, I don't want to hear no gossip. What I think is, a lot of what people have got to say is rubbish. I'm not interested in all that. I like to talk sense. (pauses) And then, there's the television. That's a load of old rubbish again. They never have anything nice that I want to see. If I have those ear things, what's the point if I've just got to hear all that?
CHANTELLE: (giggling nervously) Oh?
NAN: But the thing is, I would like your advice, what do you think?
CHANTELLE: I advise you try them. You will hear better, not 100% but better.
NAN: Well, if you say then I'll try.
(foam is put into Nan's ear to make molds for the hearing aids)
NAN: I suppose it might be better. I mean, when there's more than one person talking, I can't follow it, can't join in you see.
CHANTELLE: Yes, that's a problem.
NAN: It does make me feel left out.
Ok, so perhaps you had to be there. I laughed until I cried.
Nan and I drove back via the coast road, and she enjoyed the view which made all of my efforts of last year with the eye surgery seem worthwhile. I lit her fire, made a hot water bottle and some supper, then I wanted to get off. R arrived back from his tour of Brussels and the South East, which was good timing.
As a footnote to yesterdays coffee place meal experience, I pulled off at Taunton Deane looking forward to a grease-burger and a newspaper to find that the main area was closed off. I had to eat a truly foul tasting cheese and ham toastie at another coffee place.
Got home after midnight, Nick was wide awake and excited. His team won an award for partnership. Brilliant.
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