Monday, 28 May 2007
Friday, 18 May 2007
Carrie Etter presents
a Gala Student Reading
at The George
in Bradford on Avon
Creative writing students
from Bath Spa University and The Poetry School
strut their stuff. These students include:
Saturday, 26 May 2007
7:30 p.m. till ??
The George, 67 Woolley Street, Bradford on Avon, BA15 1AQ
(An e-flyer for this event will be distributed
once I confirm the time with the landlord tomorrow.)
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Mom also said this meant that the "clock" would start over again, should he need to return to Provena afterwards. How long can this last? He's been in hospital 3 months and 11 days; I hardly know what to say to distract or cheer him. I want him well. I want to wake up.
Sunday, 6 May 2007
Two images/memories are most prominent. When I first came to visit on my own (after a previous visit with family), I looked into the room and saw that he was mostly naked, his gown fallen away, only covering his genitals and little more. It was strange to see him like that, especially with his skin slack from the lack of exercise. Because of his wound, he always has to be positioned (and moved every couple hours) off his back, to one side, and he was facing away from me. I stood there, not wanting to embarrass him by walking in, but not knowing what else to do. After a minute, to my surprise, he called to me--he'd seen me after all, and as I came into the room, he apologised and tried to cover himself. The tension of the moment dissipated quickly once we began talking, but I can still see myself poised in the doorway, looking, waiting.
The other memory I return to is of cutting his nails. His finger- and toenails had grown unchecked for months; his fingernails were about a centimetre or so past the fingertip, and his toenails were so long they were curling over, back into the skin. He kept scratching his forehead, and I thought with his difficulty moving and the length of those nails he could scratch himself quite badly. So I cut and cleaned his nails, over two days. I skimmed away the dead skin and trimmed the nails down, having to cut them back two or three times before I reached the right length. I suppose it seems a little "gross," but there was something about the physicality of it, and the fact that I could actually do something palpable for my father, that was very satisfying. In retrospect it seems so feeble, when I think of the pain he's in (if I call at a time when the pain meds are wearing off, I'll hear him groan in wincing pain), but at the time, I took pride in doing something for him that others would not want to do, that would take from him just one sign of what he's been through.
He sounded a bit depressed when I called earlier and admitted his spirits were low. I remind him how much progress he's made, but while he's confined to that hospital bed and in so much pain, it must seem insufficient and slow to him. I hope he perceives some improvement soon.