We lost Winnie

Before being diagnosed in 1997 with MS, or the main battle front as I see it, I was told I’d picked up a heridatary blood disease called Haemochromatosis. Another incurable, often known as ‘Bronze diabetes’this disease requires regular venesection to get rid of excess iron which if not treated has a danger of depositing itself in the liver and pancreas, causing no end of hell.

It’s hereditary and most of my siblings live with the condition. My iron levels have always realitivley low compared to my elder brothers and since Jeremy Hunt closed down the out patients at Charing Cross my attendance for blood letting, has been sporadic. It’s a bigger drain sometimes getting to Hammersmith hospital, which is at the other end of the borough and as the disease is a bit of a slow burner, I’ve dropped off the radar a bit.

However, I got a bit of a wake up call in November, when my brother Peter sadly succumbed to liver cancer, brought on by haemochromatosis. Julie’s now taken the bull by the horns, as I’ve become a bit of a disease cynic, having lived in the trenches for 20 years with my ailments and taken control of my disease management, starting with the blood disorder. I’m pretty confident that it will never take me alive but it’s good to have her steering the ship as you never know what’s round the corner.

Anyway, I transfered my account to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital and cycled down on Monday morning for my appointment.It’s an airy and bright institution, a place I spent time with Val, Lo-lo’s previous owner before she passed onto the other side. The haematologist was quick but thorough in his appraisal taking blood tests and booking me in for donation of a pint of my finest. He’s involved in the stem cell transplant program with MS, and offered a chink of light for the future which will have Julie bearing down on my neurologist in June, when I’ve got my appointment with him.

There is a point to all of this, besides of the obvious health reasons. I’ve always been very spitural and firm believer in fate. Now Val and I used to chat a lot about life, I loved her engaging spirit and willingness to give which gave her a kind of aura. She went everywhere with Lo-lo and was a local hero. One of her acts of giving was to visit Olive House (a local old peoples home) every Friday.

Before dying, knowing that I was going to look after the dog, she asked me with her cockney banter to maintain the link, commenting how happy it made the residents, I was only to happy oblige. In the next 18 months, I would visit when ether possible and sit with these mostly old ladies for a couple of hours, allowing Lo-lo to do the rounds getting patted and fed cake.

All of them were incredible characters with stories to tell. Many had degrees of dementia but all battled for the attention of the dog. It was always heart warming to watch but sad remembering my Mum who saw out her days in similar circumstances. My favourite was always Winnie,a tiny frail lady with a beautiful smile, her silver hair always immaculate. She loved Lo-lo, endlessly saying ‘Is she yours’ and ‘ah – ain’t she lovely’.

In recent months though my attendance level has dropped badly and I’ve made excuses to myself not to go. Subsequently I’ve spent more time on myself, writing and not getting out and engaging with people. The winter does not help, but there are standards to maintain. Most importantly though I feel I’ve let Val down. This had been nagging me for a few months, and I’ve questioned returning to Olive House, fearing the shame, trying to sweep my embarassment under the carpet.

Returning to Chelsea & Westminster Hospital for the first time since Val took the high road, it was hardly surprising then that fate would catch me up, reminding me of who I am about. As I exited the haematologist office, I bumped straight into Angela – one of the volunteers at Olive house. I don’t know who was more shocked; they all thought something bad had happened to me, as I lamely floundered for an excuse to explain my absence.

Angela was great though, smiling away, with her mullet hair do, happy to know I was ok. I asked how everyone was enquiring about Violet who’d been previously ill and all my other friends including dear old Winnie. I was crestfallen though when she uttered the words ‘we lost Winnie’, with a mourneful look, explaining her peaceful passing a few weeks before.

As I cycled home, back down the Fulham road, passing Stamford Bridge I felt really sad about Winnie and guilty of course. It put my own life in perspective and what we all face, growing old in our society and that none of us are guaranteed a royal flush in life. It helped reinforce the importance of how a little bit of your time can make such a difference to someone, helping to enrich your life and theirs.

I’ll be back at Olive House this week, I feel it’s my duty. Of course, I’ll miss Winnie, but it will be great to see friendly faces and see Lo-lo bringing joy in the common room again. Val left me a good legacy, it will feel good to get it back on the road again, and help to maintain me on my chosen direction.