Deborah

Life has become more entertaining since meeting Deborah, an American, born and brought up in Venezuela, who has lived all over the place and is fluent in Spanish, Italian and French. She is here with a leg broken in two places next to her knee. Her dog accidentally bumped into her (jumping for a stick) and she fell into the swimming pool.

Originally a journalist, writing mainly political and economic articles for a journal intended mainly for businesses, she has led a chequered and colourful life and now supplements her pension working as a translator.

I first really got to know Deborah because she is struggling to meet deadlines on an elderly laptop lent by a friend. So inevitably I find myself doing PC and Internet support. (Some day I must borrow a PC and really get to know Windows, rather than just poking round intuitively.) things were not helped by the computer cable finally packing up. Luckily Hans has come to the rescue with the loan of one.

You have to imagine a tiny cramped space beside her bed, Deborah’s leg stuck under the hospital table, no room beside her, so frequent swivelling around of the computer between her and me, narrowly missing glasses of water and pill boxes. And then me squinting at the screen (lost my computer specs) and swearing at the French non-QWERTY keyboard.

In between battles to send her text to her Italian agent, we have exchanged views about life and politics. You have to imagine someone even more opiniated and outspoken than me. Luckily we agree on most subjects. Except she is less tolerant than me of the narrow vision of Cévenols who have never budged from their beloved villages.

The physios are quite amused by us, I think, and have put us on adjacent beds for our afternoon sessions on machines designed to encourage flexibility of movement of our damaged limbs. More relaxing than it sounds.

My packing was pretty incompetent this time, mainly because of my last-minute dental crisis and mislaid x-Rays. Deborah’s was even worse as of course she had not planned to be in hospital…. So there have been some missions of mercy by kind nurses to SuperU, to equip her for what might be as long a stay as me.

Silence is not bad news

Busy much of the day with physio exercises. 29th I was thinking of Chris and didn’t feel like writing. The last two evenings I’ve not been feeling great. Nothing serious, but tired, hip aching and no appetite. Not even for chocolate!
So here I am tucked up in bed at eight o’clock, crossing my fingers that I won’t pay for this by not sleeping in the early hours of the morning.
Tomorrow I will write of my new friend, Deborah.