Jaye Marie's Blog

These are not my hands, as I was repotting bonsai, but they were as grubby!

For several weeks now, I have not been able to galvanise myself to do anything much.

For some reason, my enthusiasm and also my duty of care has been missing. My brain has been trying to opt out of any enthusiasm for anything, and I have hated every minute. This has been a strange state to find myself in, as I can usually manage to find just enough to get jobs done.

But… I found myself getting everything ready for a repotting session. The weather was good, and I wasn’t needed for anything, so I seemed to be operating in automatic mode as I chose the bonsai that seemed to want my help the most.

This could have been an awkward moment as there are almost twenty to choose from.

For some reason, I chose the Japanese Quince. The one had been unceremoniously dumped in a large flower pot and was currently sharing it with a huge clump of grass.

The wood pigeons had left a few flower buds alone, and it was bravely showing some slightly tattered scarlet flowers. Half an hour later, it was as if I hadn’t been among the missing, as I waded through the grass and soil to find the precious roots. Just like old times, I was soon up to my elbows in potting soil, as happy as Larry.

My mind was deliciously empty as I worked, nothing to think or worry about, and it felt wonderful. The Japanese Quince looked happier when I had finished too…

Almost without thinking, I tackled one I didn’t recognise, and started looking at the apple tree. This was very large and hadn’t been out of its pot for years. Probably the reason it hadn’t flowered this year. Tackling a bonsai this big was a challenge, but by now I was on a mission and set to it. I decided on a partial repot, removing 50% of the old soil and replacing it with new soil.

At this point, I realised I was pushing my luck, my energy levels were fading fast. But I felt rather pleased I had done something. Maybe now I had broken the ice, I could gradually make all the others happy too…

I desperately needed this time out, as I haven’t been looking forward to the hospital appointment on Wednesday. I nearly cancelled it, as the air of doom was beginning to choke me. But I have questions that must be answered, so whether they like it or not, I’m going…

I have never liked waiting, so faced with yet another wait, I am more confused than ever. 

Half of me would love to have a good think, to sort out the muddle in my head. And to be honest, I have tried to think it out.

But whatever is going on inside my head, it is just not conducive to any constructive thought.

So, I gave up trying to think. It has been peaceful, and I have tried to ignore the little nag that was quietly growing.

Then, I received a copy of the consultant’s report, and reading it has blown any chance of helpful thoughts out of the window.

He carefully listed all the problems in my head, and they seemed horrendous when seen in black and white. Then, right at the bottom, he adds that due to my age and frailty, he wouldn’t recommend surgery. This is obviously despite the possibility that what was going on in my head was keeping me weak and fragile, and ruining any chance of me being fit and strong for the other aneurysms.

He did mention his meeting with the other consultant, the one I saw about the aneurysms in my abdomen, and I can only imagine that they had discussed all the possibilities.

To be honest, my first thoughts were negative, ranging from playing with the traffic to a nice quiet overdose. Of course, these were fleeting thoughts, I am much too stubborn for any of that.

And I will skim over the next load of thoughts, suffice to say that I dropped down the depression tube rather fast. 

This didn’t last long either, and I seem to be in limbo at the moment. I have wondered about my appointment next week. 

Should I cancel it, admit defeat, and finally give in?

Not on your nelly. I have a multitude of questions, not that I am hoping for a miracle, but a small one would be nice…

Swan Song: Why I thought I wrote it…

I heard this title somewhere, a long time ago, and it stuck in my mind. I was thinking it would be a good title for the new outing of my Detective David Snow.

So I went ahead and started the outline for Swan Song. I even made a working cover.

The expression Swan Song usually means someone’s last effort, or a final act before death, or retirement.

This could be Snow’s last opus, and I didn’t know this at the time, but it could be mine too.

There is an ancient Greek legend about a certain breed of swan that sings the most beautiful song as it dies.

I did wonder if there was any truth to this legend, for all of the swans I knew about were mute.

When I researched this, I discovered there is a swan that can sing. It’s called a Whooper swan.

The more I worked on this story, the more uneasy I felt. Was it right to possibly kill off my favourite character? And then my thoughts turned to me. I was still struggling to regain my strength and rejoin the human race, but should I be thinking that my end could be near?

The plot of this story, and my own, seemed to be merging. It is becoming harder to see where either of us is going.

So much has happened since I started this post, and I still don’t know what’s going on. 

When I realised that something serious was occurring, I began to panic. Should I be working on all those unfinished plans, all those ideas that were still in the pipeline? Just in case something happens to my future? 

I actually believed this idea for a while, and spent a lot of time frantically attacking my scribbled notes and research material. This was before Spring decided to turn up after all, and I went outside. Walking slowly, I visited my bonsai trees and some of the shrubs in the garden. I thought this would depress me, for so much had been neglected, but it didn’t. 

I found my missing joy in all those developing buds as everything began to wake up. 

But the best part was what happened when I came back inside. 

All that panic had gone, and I relaxed for the first time in months.

I do still have those sad moments, when I really see what could happen to me, but they are fleeting and not a problem. I look out of my office window and remember that Nature doesn’t give in or give up, and I feel stronger… 

I didn’t think my life could get any worse, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Since I collapsed, semi-paralysed last March, I have often wondered why that happened and why I had suddenly become so weak. Despite my colourful medical history, I have always managed to bounce back from some of the worst health conditions. I haven’t really done the weak and helpless bit, so you can imagine my frustration.

During the last twelve months, I have fought long and hard to regain some strength and have almost achieved what seemed impossible at the time. Almost, but not quite there yet, as the weakness is still there, hiding in plain sight. I am the only one who knows how much I have struggled to keep it hidden.

So, finding out about the aortic aneurysm was a shock, and when they stated that I am just not fit enough for surgery made it so much worse. But little did I know there was more to come. Two weeks ago, I had an MRI on my head to find out why I have been having such awful headaches, earache, and vision problems. When time went by, and I didn’t hear anything, I assumed they hadn’t found anything, and that was the end of that.

So when I received a letter from the hospital at the weekend, with details of another aneurysm in my brain, my world literally imploded. It was only when I researched this kind of aneurysm that I discovered this had probably been the cause of all my weakness and fatigue of the past year, and probably the reason for the aortic aneurysm too. 

Somehow, it would seem that they need to solve one problem to help sort out the other. So, I am now in the care of the Neurology department at the hospital and awaiting news of appointments and treatments. Time is not on my side, but I hope it changes its mind and helps out when and where it can. 

When all this was happening, I reached the very bottom of my endurance. Quite frankly, I accepted that I was going to die eventually, and although this was a very sad scenario, I accepted it. But now, I know there could be a way to fix me; I am so much more cheerful. 

Hope has given me back my will to live, and I will be hanging on to that with everything I have… 

When I was told that I wasn’t fit enough for surgery, I didn’t know what to think. When I got over the shock, my first thought was, I can get fit, no problem. I just have to exercise more. 

I ended up fretting about this so much that the more I searched for a way to do this, the more hopeless it seemed to get. With every new routine that I tried, the harder it became, and somewhere along the line, I stopped looking.

One of the reasons for this was the loss of a much-loved family member last year, who was found to have the same problem. He died on the operating table.

Now, I am 82 and have been mostly unfit for years. It is possible that no matter how hard I try, however fit I manage to become, I am likely to die on the operating table too.

Having thought long and hard about this, I have decided to do my best, slowly and carefully, and see what happens. I may never be fit enough, but I must come to terms with this. No one can live forever, but I am not going to risk what life I may have left worrying about everything.

I am going to enjoy whatever time I have left…

Best wishes… Jaye

It’s Christmas in Lyme Regis, and DC Tina Abbott is looking forward to some well-earned time with her family.

But then her mum Annie, true to form, reports a crime. The pottery shop has been broken into and the owner Peg, Annie’s friend, attacked.

The evidence is scant. A solitary fingerprint in blood, but nothing stolen, at least as far as the police can tell.

But when Annie discovers a gaudy pottery reindeer that was left at the scene of the crime, she and her swimming club friends get drawn into the mystery.

Was the man who attacked Peg the same man PC Dougie Anderson almost ran over on the night of the crime? Why does the local councillor keep turning up? Does the car Annie saw leaving the scene belong to her friend Rosamund’s husband? And just what’s going on at the dilapidated café across the way from the pottery?

About the authors

My name’s Rachel McLean and I write stories you can’t put down, with characters you’ll be rooting for.I’m best known for my Dorset Crime series, which has sold over a million copies. The first book in that series, The Corfe Castle Murders, won the 2021 Kindle Storyteller Award.Here’s what Clare Balding (the lead judge) had to say about the book:’I particularly enjoyed the detail of the landscape and the humorous oddities of Dorset life. I enjoyed the richness of the characters, complexity of life for a working mother who is thrown into a new environment and has to prove herself, all over again.’But The Corfe Castle Murders is by no means my only book. I’ve published books in six series, all of which connect. You’ll find characters from each series in one or more of the other ones, so you (and I) get to follow them as they take on new challenges.You can read a full list of the series and books on my website and get advice on which order to read them in. Each series is designed to be read in order but which series you go for first is really up to you. Happy reading!Millie Ravensworth is the pen name of two authors, Heide Goody and Iain Grant. They have been writing entertaining and humorous novels together for more than ten years. The Millie Ravensworth books focus on their shared passion for crime stories. They love sitting down together to create charming characters that readers will want to spend time with.

Our Review

The Shattered Bauble is a wonderful Christmas mystery, which makes an ideal gift for anyone who loves whodunnits, the stunning Jurassic Coast, or evil seagulls. 

The characters and the location are delightful and a joy to read about. Everything feels so real, it was as if I was really there. I have been to this part of the Jurassic Coast, and reading this story really took me back there.

I love being an armchair detective, and Rachel makes it such fun to follow along.

This is one hell of a read, and I look forward to many more!

I was really looking forward to the start of a new week and hopefully a better week.

The sun was shining this morning, so I thought I was in with a chance. A chance to finally reach the bottom of the pile of jobs that has been slowly growing.

I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or if I really had been slowing down lately. I must be, for I know I am no longer as efficient as I once was. This has led to a growing sense of inadequacy, something I am having trouble coping with.

Apart from anything else, I am struggling to be a part-time carer, as my sister needs more help these days. It has to be me, for there isn’t anyone else. The family does offer, but they have busy lives, and I am coping. It’s not so bad, it keeps me moving, at least.

From where I sit, the one thing that isn’t suffering neglect is my writing, and knowing this brings me so much joy.

Of course, I think the main reason I have been slowing down is my desperate search for an exercise routine that will make me much fitter and ready for surgery. This has been more important than anything else, but I think I have managed to find one, although it seems far too gentle to produce results. 

Hopefully, I will have better news next week…

Love to all, 

Jaye

I have been quiet this week, trying to come to terms with the latest developments.

First, though, I had to get over the colossal disapointment that I wasn’t fit enough. I have been exercising regularly every day since last March. Have I been wasting my time, was the set routine just not good enough, or were my fit days long gone now?

Along with tracking down which department was supposed to be helping with the pain, for I have heard nothing from anybody, I needed to find an exercise routine that would get me fit enough. I mean, is it possible to become superwoman in six months at my age? You would probably have to start reasonably fit, or at least stronger than I am right now.

I cannot describe the well of depression I fell into at that point. It seems stupid that just one setback could push me so far down. I wallowed in misery for two days, only taking time off to try and write. I’m not sure how I managed that, but grateful for small mercies.

I did write a letter to the department that was supposed to have been helping with the pain, and I did find another exercise routine that promised to strengthen my legs in ten days. It was a strong exercise, but inspiring. I really felt motivated while doing it. Only later when both of my legs started to swell, I realised that maybe it was too soon, and maybe too strong.

I entered a quiet mode, determined to avoid any more depression, and while there, I wondered if Tai Chi was as good as they say. It seemed like a calm, gentle way to exercise, and supposedly good for your well being.

Of course, any advice on this subject would be welcome…

Yesterday was the appointment to assess the treatment for the aneurysm. I was nervous, wondering what would happen next.

I understood all of the drawbacks, even the ones that made my blood run cold, and the risks involved, so I held my breath as the vascular surgeon appeared.

His hands were warm, and he had a gentle, kind face. He asked how I was, although he could see I was in a wheelchair, as I still can’t cope with the amount of walking needed to get around in the hospital. This place seems to get bigger every time I come here.

He listened to me, and he looked thoughtful, but no clue as to what he was thinking. He explained again at what stage the aneurysm was, and then proceeded to tell me that I was nowhere fit enough to survive the surgery needed to put me right again.

He also detailed how much time we had left before I ran out of time.

He told me they would schedule my next appointment for six months, and that he hoped I would be fit enough by then. I needed to be able to walk unaided for at least fifteen minutes, and I would also need to pass a fitness test on a treadmill.

Not if I don’t get some help with the inflamed nerve in my spine, I thought. I had already waited long enough.

Cheekily, I asked if there was anything he could do to speed that part up, and he agreed to try.

Leaving the vascular clinic, I made it as far as the lift before the realisation hit me. If I couldn’t find a way to get really fit again, this blessed aneurysm was going to kill me.

All the way home, sitting in the car, I could barely hold back the tears. I had to get fit again, but how? I was already doing physio several times a day. I determined to find out why I haven’t had an appointment to help tackle the pain, and while I was at it, I would check out a better exercise programme, one that would be better than the one I have been doing for the last twelve months…

A hell of a way to start the week, but I am determined to make this work. I mean, my life kinda depends on it now, doesn’t it?

Another lovely sunny day with chamomile, happiness in a daisy…

Wishing everyone a lovely, peaceful weekend…