The suspense continues. Still no sign of the long awaited arrival, still no trophy with red and white ribbons. Last Friday was due date: another appointment with our now familiar friends the mid-wives at the hospital. Mother's blood tests and pressure: fine; baby's heart and activity: perfect; signs of abdominal contractions: nil. Another appointment arranged for this morning. Quick visit this time, only checks for the mother's BP and baby's heart. All still fine, contractions still conspicuous by their absence. Another checkup in two days.
Yesterday evening another wait continued less happily. Another trip to the pub, another disappointing finish to a final. Sigh…
More waiting in the street outside this afternoon. Filming for a French TV cop series is taking place. Or will take place sometime today. The lorries and technicians turned up in the middle of the afternoon. Three hours later they are all sitting around smoking and waiting. I know how they feel.
In the wider world, the foreign minister known as MAM finally paid for a series of Tunisian indiscretions with her job. Michèle Aliot-Marie 'was resigned', as they say here. Monsieur le Prèsident finally decided the woman who took her holidays in a country in the middle of a popular revolution and accepted free flights from an associate of the soon-to-be toppled dictator had to go, and replaced her with a man who was convicted of misusing public funds seven years ago.
28 février 2011
23 février 2011
Pantomime routine
Familiar Monday morning routine: visit to l'Hôpital de la Croix Rousse; blood tests, blood pressure checks for la mère; heart monitoring for le bébé. All A-okay, blood pressure even slightly lower than normal. And one contraction detected. Ooerr, not long now…
Back at home, frustration. La Poste has managed to lose a parcel containing a vital means of support. They tried to deliver last week when we were at the hospital, so left a note telling us to collect it from the nearest branch. Next day, try to pick it up: "not here yet." Following day, try again: "can't find it, we'll try and find out where it is and call you." Three days later, still no phone call, so go back and ask. "Sorry, can't find it, won't find it, nothing we can do without a tracking number." Grr…
Yesterday evening I was spoilt by a second live match in a week. The richest team in the world were the visitors to Lyon and, for a seventh match in a row, they failed to beat little OL. They did manage to avoid defeat at Gerland this time, thanks to les gones' inability to turn a first half superiority into goals. Still, I enjoyed myself roundly booing some old favourite pantomime villains. Seems Greedybayor has been taking diving and whinging lessons from the Step-over nancy boy and the Special Bore. The latter replaced two attacking midfielders with a defender and defensive midfielder in an attempt to shut up shop when the royal madrilènes scored midway through the second half (relying on an ex-lyonnais to give them the lead), handing the initiative back to OL. Tactical genius.
Back at home, frustration. La Poste has managed to lose a parcel containing a vital means of support. They tried to deliver last week when we were at the hospital, so left a note telling us to collect it from the nearest branch. Next day, try to pick it up: "not here yet." Following day, try again: "can't find it, we'll try and find out where it is and call you." Three days later, still no phone call, so go back and ask. "Sorry, can't find it, won't find it, nothing we can do without a tracking number." Grr…
Yesterday evening I was spoilt by a second live match in a week. The richest team in the world were the visitors to Lyon and, for a seventh match in a row, they failed to beat little OL. They did manage to avoid defeat at Gerland this time, thanks to les gones' inability to turn a first half superiority into goals. Still, I enjoyed myself roundly booing some old favourite pantomime villains. Seems Greedybayor has been taking diving and whinging lessons from the Step-over nancy boy and the Special Bore. The latter replaced two attacking midfielders with a defender and defensive midfielder in an attempt to shut up shop when the royal madrilènes scored midway through the second half (relying on an ex-lyonnais to give them the lead), handing the initiative back to OL. Tactical genius.
20 février 2011
Expectant
Another week down, another to go. And perhaps another…
Little change in the wait for the little-big arrival. Two more blood pressure checks for la mère, while la fille performs more Alien-like acrobatics in her current world. Meanhwile le père had a couple of brief diversions from kicking his heels by going to watch some men kicking a ball. In a packed pub on Wednesday, I watched the glorious Gunners beat the 'best team in the world', and then on Friday watched some live football for the first time in five weeks. Having put four past the local enemy last week, OL did it again in the warm-up for the visit of Los Galacticos next week. Can't say it was a totally inspiring victory against Nancy, apart from a stunning overhead goal by Jimmy Briand, but eight goals in a week will put les gones in good heart as they attempt to maintain a 100% record against Real Madrid in their last three meetings at Gerland.
Little change in the wait for the little-big arrival. Two more blood pressure checks for la mère, while la fille performs more Alien-like acrobatics in her current world. Meanhwile le père had a couple of brief diversions from kicking his heels by going to watch some men kicking a ball. In a packed pub on Wednesday, I watched the glorious Gunners beat the 'best team in the world', and then on Friday watched some live football for the first time in five weeks. Having put four past the local enemy last week, OL did it again in the warm-up for the visit of Los Galacticos next week. Can't say it was a totally inspiring victory against Nancy, apart from a stunning overhead goal by Jimmy Briand, but eight goals in a week will put les gones in good heart as they attempt to maintain a 100% record against Real Madrid in their last three meetings at Gerland.
14 février 2011
Impatiently waiting
Another Monday, another check-up for expectant mother and baby-to-be. Latter still squirming with energy, former still has slightly high blood pressure, which means yet more checks. Seems the next ten days are all about waiting: waiting in one waiting room or another while waiting for la petite to make an entrance…
Outside the cosy world of the unborn, the weather in Lyon has finally broken. After a month with virtually no rain, most of it with virtually uninterrupted sunshine, today it's raining. We took advantage of the afternoon sun yesterday with a stroll round the crowded park, where the zoo is suffering a run of bad luck. After the theft of four monkeys last week, this week the elephants have been put in quarantine after being diagnosed with TB. All this follows an incident last year when a lioness drowned after falling into the moat round the big cat enclosure, and the sudden death of four zebras a year previously.
Not a good time to be a zoo animal in Lyon, or to be part of that other zoo in French life, politics. Monsieur le Président treated us to another of his marathon TV appearances on Friday evening, spending two and a half hours replying to questions posed by a panel of ordinary French citizens. At least he was supposed to be replying; as far as I could see (though we only lasted ninety minutes before exhaustion got the better of us) he spent most of the time appealing to base emotions and posturing about when he would do for the country, without directly answering anything. Sarko refused to see anything wrong with his prime minister and foreign minister accepting free holidays in Egypt and Tunisia respectively, the latter at the height of the Jasmine revolution, though he has now effectively banned foreign holidays for government ministers. No apology either for the ill-chosen words about a highly publicised murder, which sent almost the entire judiciary on strike in protest last week. Plus ça change…
Outside the cosy world of the unborn, the weather in Lyon has finally broken. After a month with virtually no rain, most of it with virtually uninterrupted sunshine, today it's raining. We took advantage of the afternoon sun yesterday with a stroll round the crowded park, where the zoo is suffering a run of bad luck. After the theft of four monkeys last week, this week the elephants have been put in quarantine after being diagnosed with TB. All this follows an incident last year when a lioness drowned after falling into the moat round the big cat enclosure, and the sudden death of four zebras a year previously.
Not a good time to be a zoo animal in Lyon, or to be part of that other zoo in French life, politics. Monsieur le Président treated us to another of his marathon TV appearances on Friday evening, spending two and a half hours replying to questions posed by a panel of ordinary French citizens. At least he was supposed to be replying; as far as I could see (though we only lasted ninety minutes before exhaustion got the better of us) he spent most of the time appealing to base emotions and posturing about when he would do for the country, without directly answering anything. Sarko refused to see anything wrong with his prime minister and foreign minister accepting free holidays in Egypt and Tunisia respectively, the latter at the height of the Jasmine revolution, though he has now effectively banned foreign holidays for government ministers. No apology either for the ill-chosen words about a highly publicised murder, which sent almost the entire judiciary on strike in protest last week. Plus ça change…
09 février 2011
Waiting patiently
Seems like we've been at one hospital or another most of the week. Two hours up at the Croix Rousse this morning, learning about what's likely to happen when the big day finally arrives. Yesterday we were there for even longer - 3 hours in the morning, for the weekly checkup, then another hour in the afternoon for another scan. La bienheureuse's blood pressure is still on the high side, but the cause is still apparently in fine form. Estimated weight now 3.2kg and still growing. Doctor and midwife both suggested the sooner the big entrance the better…
Monday it was ma bien-aimée's turn lend support while I was poked and prodded. There follows a detailed description of exactly what undergoing a colonoscopy involves. The squeamish should look away now…
C-day minus 5
start low-fibre diet. No fruit and veg, no food with roughage for the next 5 day.
C-day minus 1
1900: ingest first dose of laxative; lemon-flavoured, reasonably palatable.
2000: enjoy last (supposedly light) supper - grilled chicken and mash. Overdo helping size somewhat to compensate for it being the only food for the next 24 hours.
2000 - bedtime: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
2200: first ominous rumblings within heard.
2230: visit toilet and experience something akin to an inverted version of a famous geyser in Yellowstone Park.
2230 onwards: Old Faithful erupts on average once every 66 minutes. I experience intervals more irregular but not much longer on average. Consistency of ejecta becomes more and more liquid. Manage to get some sleep in between trips to the toilet.
C-day
0700: ingest second dose of laxative.
0700 - 0930: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
1030: rear end eruptions finally cease.
1245: we arrive at the hospital and are directed to the 3rd floor where we wait 15 minutes before someone in the reception area deigns to see me. Short interview - told we're on the wrong floor.
1300: arrive in the correct reception area. Another wait in an orderly queue before admission formalities are swiftly carried out. Directed to another waiting area just across the corridor. There we wait, and wait. One by one, the other patients are taken away to their rooms, and then wheeled away to the operating theatre in turn. Finally, there's just me left. Last in the queue to have a camera inserted up my rear end, due to having gone to the wrong place to start with. Should have read the bumph properly and not relied on a witless ground floor receptionist.
1515: finally shown to my room, where ambivalence about the colour of my last squirt (yellow or brown? Wasn't sure how to say light brownish-yellow in French) results in me having to self-administer a small enema so that the nurse can verify the state of my excrement (yellow and entirely liquid, in case anyone is interested).
1545: wheeled away to the operating theatre by a chatty orderly. La bienheureuse finally leaves my side and goes to get something to eat and do a bit of shopping.
1600: anaesthetic (described as a strong sedative) sends me to sleep in seconds.
1640: wake up in the recovery room feeling fine apart from a grossly inflated abdomen. Nothing a bit of enthusiastic farting can't solve. And for once I didn't feel the need to apologise.
1700: duty anaesthetist deems vital signs sufficiently normal for me to be wheeled back to my own room. La bienheureuse returns a minute or two later.
1715: food! Only bread & cheese and a yoghurt, but it tastes lovely.
1730: doctor pays me a visit. Hallelujah! He's smiling. My colon is clear of polyps and he compliments me on its pre-operation cleanliness.
1830: I'm finally let out.
1930: home and enjoying my first full meal in 24 hours, and first fruit and veg in nearly a week.
C-day plus 2
first satisfactory bowel movement in 72 hours finally arrives. Only another 5 years before I have to go through it all again.
Monday it was ma bien-aimée's turn lend support while I was poked and prodded. There follows a detailed description of exactly what undergoing a colonoscopy involves. The squeamish should look away now…
C-day minus 5
start low-fibre diet. No fruit and veg, no food with roughage for the next 5 day.
C-day minus 1
1900: ingest first dose of laxative; lemon-flavoured, reasonably palatable.
2000: enjoy last (supposedly light) supper - grilled chicken and mash. Overdo helping size somewhat to compensate for it being the only food for the next 24 hours.
2000 - bedtime: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
2200: first ominous rumblings within heard.
2230: visit toilet and experience something akin to an inverted version of a famous geyser in Yellowstone Park.
2230 onwards: Old Faithful erupts on average once every 66 minutes. I experience intervals more irregular but not much longer on average. Consistency of ejecta becomes more and more liquid. Manage to get some sleep in between trips to the toilet.
C-day
0700: ingest second dose of laxative.
0700 - 0930: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
1030: rear end eruptions finally cease.
1245: we arrive at the hospital and are directed to the 3rd floor where we wait 15 minutes before someone in the reception area deigns to see me. Short interview - told we're on the wrong floor.
1300: arrive in the correct reception area. Another wait in an orderly queue before admission formalities are swiftly carried out. Directed to another waiting area just across the corridor. There we wait, and wait. One by one, the other patients are taken away to their rooms, and then wheeled away to the operating theatre in turn. Finally, there's just me left. Last in the queue to have a camera inserted up my rear end, due to having gone to the wrong place to start with. Should have read the bumph properly and not relied on a witless ground floor receptionist.
1515: finally shown to my room, where ambivalence about the colour of my last squirt (yellow or brown? Wasn't sure how to say light brownish-yellow in French) results in me having to self-administer a small enema so that the nurse can verify the state of my excrement (yellow and entirely liquid, in case anyone is interested).
1545: wheeled away to the operating theatre by a chatty orderly. La bienheureuse finally leaves my side and goes to get something to eat and do a bit of shopping.
1600: anaesthetic (described as a strong sedative) sends me to sleep in seconds.
1640: wake up in the recovery room feeling fine apart from a grossly inflated abdomen. Nothing a bit of enthusiastic farting can't solve. And for once I didn't feel the need to apologise.
1700: duty anaesthetist deems vital signs sufficiently normal for me to be wheeled back to my own room. La bienheureuse returns a minute or two later.
1715: food! Only bread & cheese and a yoghurt, but it tastes lovely.
1730: doctor pays me a visit. Hallelujah! He's smiling. My colon is clear of polyps and he compliments me on its pre-operation cleanliness.
1830: I'm finally let out.
1930: home and enjoying my first full meal in 24 hours, and first fruit and veg in nearly a week.
C-day plus 2
first satisfactory bowel movement in 72 hours finally arrives. Only another 5 years before I have to go through it all again.
06 février 2011
Empty inside...
A quiet post-skiing week. Le frère and the DenEboy were duly dropped off at the airport on Monday morning; Tuesday we had the final scheduled monthly checkup at the hospital; result: baby in fine form but mother's blood pressure on the high side, meaning weekly monitoring from now until the end; final prenatal session on Thursday; Saturday, belated attempt to mark the passage of eldest niece into adulthood with flowers, champagne and chocolates seems to have been well received. Phew. Events later in the afternoon were not so gratifying. At least the worst comeback in Premiership history was made more palatable by the end of the devils' unbeaten run.
More marking time this morning. Stroll into town in lovely spring-like sunshine to purchase grilled chicken at the market. Final full meal for 30 hours. On the menu for dinner tonight: boiled eggs, bread, laxatives and plenty of liquid. More laxatives at 7am, even more liquid, then to the hospital to have a camera poked up my rear end. Routine check for nasty things in my innards, more in depth than normal due to family history. Interesting night and morning in prospect…
Away from my not-so-anally-retentive personal sphere, events in North Africa have provided a certain amount of political sport in recent days. Main target: the foreign minister, Michèle Alliot-Marie. First, before the fall of the Tunisian regime, she offers France's help to the hated Tunisian police. A political faux-pas. Then, in the middle of the Jasmine Revolution, she goes to Tunisia on holiday and accepts free flights in the private jet of an alleged friend of Ben Ali clan. Not MAM's finest hour.
Meanwhile her boss has been upsetting the entire magistrature and police service in the wake of the gruesome murder of a young woman in north-west France. The murderer was a convicted rapist out on parole and not under full time watch by the probation service. Due to cuts and lack of personnel say the magistrates; due to incompetence says Sarko and promises punishment for the 'culprits'. His usual knee-jerk pandering to what he perceives as public opinion, which is likely to bring the courts to a halt next week…
More marking time this morning. Stroll into town in lovely spring-like sunshine to purchase grilled chicken at the market. Final full meal for 30 hours. On the menu for dinner tonight: boiled eggs, bread, laxatives and plenty of liquid. More laxatives at 7am, even more liquid, then to the hospital to have a camera poked up my rear end. Routine check for nasty things in my innards, more in depth than normal due to family history. Interesting night and morning in prospect…
Away from my not-so-anally-retentive personal sphere, events in North Africa have provided a certain amount of political sport in recent days. Main target: the foreign minister, Michèle Alliot-Marie. First, before the fall of the Tunisian regime, she offers France's help to the hated Tunisian police. A political faux-pas. Then, in the middle of the Jasmine Revolution, she goes to Tunisia on holiday and accepts free flights in the private jet of an alleged friend of Ben Ali clan. Not MAM's finest hour.
Meanwhile her boss has been upsetting the entire magistrature and police service in the wake of the gruesome murder of a young woman in north-west France. The murderer was a convicted rapist out on parole and not under full time watch by the probation service. Due to cuts and lack of personnel say the magistrates; due to incompetence says Sarko and promises punishment for the 'culprits'. His usual knee-jerk pandering to what he perceives as public opinion, which is likely to bring the courts to a halt next week…
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