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After school in England you have the chance to go on to College or 6th Form, this is education for people aged between 16-18. I
was strongly advised and pushed agreed to this next step, but the college I chose was in a city about 12 miles away, so I had to get the bus every morning. Naturally living in a privatised capitalised society the bus companies didn’t speak with the colleges. That meant the first of the two buses to go in the morning would get you there 1 hour early, or you could get there 5 minutes late, if you took the second.
Suffice to say I wasn’t an expert on the first 5 minutes of every first lesson of the day.
All of that information though is all based on the idea that the bus would actually turn up on time, which it never did, and this lead to a dilemma. I would want to leave my house as late as possible, without missing the bus. Naturally, as I got used to the bus being late, I had to mythically decide how late the bus was going to be and leave according to my
complete guess prediction.
Not to start any rumours of witch craft or precognition, but I was strangely right a lot of the time. The times I was not right however, I would have to wait. The bus stop was not your modern day bus stop equipped with a seat, an electronic notice board and a billboard though. My bus stop was just a sign, which had been graffitied to now read ‘Bitch’*. Connoisseurs of the english language may realise it is quite difficult to make that word from the letters available, and you would be right. The graffiti ‘artist’ obviously had trouble with their anagrams, so used the ‘B’ in ‘Bus Stop’, then crossed out the rest and wrote ‘itch’ above it.
Long and short of it was, there wasn’t much to do while waiting. So I would just be there, bored, imagining all possible and impossible reasons for the bus to be late. It was also fun to enter a philosophical debate about whether the bus was actually late or whether the next one was just very early. Something we never did get to the bottom of. The sad part though for me was that I was waiting around for something which was late, to take me to a place I didn’t want to go to, to do things I didn’t want to do.
Today I have been left waiting for something I don’t want to come. My gran’s health has not changed since yesterday. She is still fighting for her life and the family is doing its best to come to terms with it. The waiting game has begun due to the severity of the stroke (and heart attack). There has been little improvement in her health, and if that continues, the direction of care goes into discussions about what kind of life she could possibly have without machines – if any at all.
So we are waiting, waiting for some sign or signal of improvement. Without this move forward the outlook is bleak. So we are waiting. I have managed to keep myself preoccupied all day in Ireland, just to keep my mind away from things, but theres a meeting in the morning with the doctors, and they will discuss the next steps. So I’m now waiting to hear if those steps include keeping my Gran alive. Waiting. Just waiting. Either way, whether it comes early or late, I’m left waiting again for something I don’t want to come.
P.S Thank you to all the well wishes on the blog, email and twitter. You guys are the best. When my head is clear and I have more time, I will go back through and reply properly. Thanks again.