Sorry it’s been so long but …..

Me again – and my apologies for the time it’s taken for this post but …..

….. things have been a bit fraught.

The ascension of King Boris is making the prospect of a no-deal Brexit ever more likely and that fills me with horror, as I will try to explain later in this blog, but for now let me try to bring you up to date.

As intimated in my last post son Michael came to visit and I really enjoyed having him around. We were restricted as to what we could do because of my pressure sore but just seeing him was enough for me. Mike left us on 10th February and Karen’s brother, sister and nephew joined us on 17th February. Pete and Joe went off skiing and Jane and Karen decorated the kitchen, ably assisted by Pete and Joe before they went off and after they got back. They all left for Blighty on 24th February and we got some time to ourselves before the arrival of Karen’s daughter Leighann on 3rd March for a week, after which we had Karen’s sister Ann and husband Pete on 21st March. Both visits were welcomed and much enjoyed.

Whilst we love seeing family and friends it has to be said that it involves a lot of extra work for Karen, not made any easier by the fact that I’m fit for nothing in the helping department. Fortunately everyone who visits is fully aware of this and they all muck in with cooking, cleaning, stocking up on firewood and getting the bread and croissants. I was even less help as my pressure sore wasn’t improving and my nurses were getting a little concerned. My doctor arranged for me to go to hospital in Montlucon to have some tests done and that’s when the fun and games started!

Off we dutifully trotted on 8th April and I had the first of many scans the next day. The results were inconclusive but the doctors were concerned that I had an infection in my sitting bones. This meant a course of antibiotics for 2 weeks and then more tests. The supposed infection didn’t go anywhere so they had a chat with a bone specialist in Clermont-Ferrand who wasn’t convinced but recommended a more specialised scan. I’ve forgotten how many scans and tests I had – CAT scans, ultrasound, x-rays and all sorts of others – a blood test every 2 days – I was a veritable guinea pig. They kept trying different antibiotics to shift the infection the blood tests were showing and for 2 weeks I was getting them on an intravenous drip. Fun and games it most definitely wasn’t. Nor was it fun for Karen as Montlucon is a good 90 minute drive from home but she eventually agreed with me that visiting every other day was more than enough. I was eventually discharged on 6th May although that was in the knowledge that I was scheduled for a really clever scan in Clermont-Ferrand at the end of the month. I’d been well looked after and returned home feeling weak but better in myself because the sore was improving.

That wasn’t to last for long!

The antibiotic I’d been getting intravenously while in hospital was changed to being administered by injection and it was then that it all went wrong. My chemist later described that particular antibiotic as being very strong and actually quite vicious but the impact it had on me was scary. It destroyed the bacterial flora in my gut and as a consequence I got awful diarrhoea – as soon as any food or fluid went down it came straight back out again. The first day or so it wasn’t too bad although with the nurses only coming in the morning it fell to Karen to clean me up. By the Thursday night it was getting beyond a joke as Karen was cleaning me up 5 and 6 times a day but we were waiting for the results of a blood test to come back to know what to do next. I was delirious, talking gobbledegook and feeling dreadful and by Monday 13th May things weren’t looking good. The doctor came out and immediately got me back into Montlucon, courtesy of the Pompiers (firemen) who provide the emergency ambulances here in France. They stopped every 20 minutes or so to check my blood-pressure, which wasn’t a good sign but they got me into the A&E in good time.

I was admitted and seen by the attending doctor and it became apparent that she was flummoxed by my condition, not helped by talk of a bone infection, a bladder infection and the diarrhoea. Fortunately she called on another doctor who was in charge of the Intensive Care unit – in France he is referred to as the ‘Docteur de Reanimation’ – he reanimates people – and he certainly brought me back to life! He recognised I was seriously dehydrated and that my blood-pressure was dangerously low – it bottomed out at 50 / 30 at one point – and he pushed 4 litres of fluid into me immediately to get my BP up. Over the course of the next 12 hours I had something like 10 litres of fluid dripped into me. By Tuesday morning my BP was OK and at lunchtime I was back on the ward, feeling like shit but out of danger.

It didn’t take long to figure out what had gone wrong. My pressure sore is actually an open wound and the diarrhoea basically meant I was sitting in sewage. Obviously something was going to go wrong – and in this instance it did – I got sepsis. According to Mr Nicholas – the reanimation man – it was touch and go for a while and not to be repeated. No one made a fuss but sepsis is a killer, especially these days with antibiotics becoming less and less effective, and I was told I can’t risk another episode like that.

I was in Montlucon for another 4 weeks, escaping on 7th June and having to adjust to a new routine to ensure things went more smoothly. Unfortunately my second stint in dock coincided with a visit by my eldest son John, his wife Laura and my other 2 grandchildren Lucas and Thea. They all visited me a couple of times and generally enjoyed their time in France, notwithstanding my circumstances. For me it was just great to see them all again – it had been a long time and this was their first visit but with promises of more to come.

Whilst in hospital the doctors struggled sorting my diarrhoea out and put me on regular doses of Smecta, a powder that you added to water and swallowed down. It didn’t dissolve, just hung around in suspension and if you weren’t quick drinking it it left a mud like mess at the bottom of the glass. Mud is an apt description as on investigation I discovered that the active ingredient was clay! The brown powder was actually really fine clay dust – so when you say jokingly that you shit a brick just remember that I have literally shit a brick! It took ages to have any effect and then guess what? Yep – the dreaded constipation took hold. The nurses are brave souls, struggling to empty me out and it was still a problem when I got home – in fact I’m still struggling with an uncontrolled toilet as trying to get it back to the old routine is proving troublesome, but more on that to come. The doctor arranged an evening visit of my own nurses for when I got home to ensure I was clean and not running the risk of a repeat of an infected pressure sore but I was still on the Smecta and still constipated. I’m sure by now that you’re sick of tales about my bowels and their inability to function properly, suffice to say after 4 weeks at home I’m still on twice daily nursing visits and their attempt to unblock me had a shocking result – I’ve no doubt many of you think I’m full of shit at times – well believe me I was but whatever it was that went up my bum sorted that out – even though it took 3 days to finish its job! I have to admit to feeling really depressed whilst I was going through all this, as I’m sure you can understand but I’m working on it and feeling better in my head.

No more toilet humour now though, enough is enough and so back to more prosaic topics.

I now have a new (even more boring) routine that sees me back in bed after lunch until the evening nursing visit. This is simply to give my pressure sore some respite and aid the healing process, which it doing quite nicely. For the first couple of weeks I was falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow as my exploits earlier had left me exhausted. More recently though I’ve regained some strength and am finding things a little easier – hence this blog post!

We’ve enjoyed some really glorious weather over the last couple of weeks (today’s 10th July 2019) with temperatures hitting 40*C, which proved unbearable for many people, me included. It’s cooler now but is still well over 30*C but the nights are pleasant and sleeping with windows open and no covers on the bed seems to be the norm for some time yet. Karen’s veg plot and garden are doing well although watering is a problem as there’s a hosepipe ban. Fortunately we’ve got our own spring which means we can dodge the ban on using mains water. We’re already eating our own new potatoes and we’ll have our own green beans soon, followed by the rest of the spuds. For some reason potatoes are expensive here, probably because everyone grows their own, but I think we’re in for a bumper harvest and probably not have to buy any for months.

One of the delights about living in the country is all the wildlife that surrounds us. Whilst I’ve been lay in bed in the mornings I’ve been treated to the aerial ballet of swifts, swallows and other still to be identified birds swooping down towards and across the window chasing insects for breakfast. We’ve also got birds nesting under our eaves and amongst the buildings that surround us. It’s an absolute delight the likes of which Chris Packham would enjoy. We’ve had cuckoos and tits of all varieties in the trees, buzzards overhead chasing down little critters, owls are always about and even cranes that hang around the neighbours’ lake looking for an easy meal.

The week before last Karen’s niece Nathalie came to visit, along with her boyfriend Michael and they were a delight, helping at every turn. Unfortunately what started out so well turned disastrously wrong courtesy of Mr O’Leary and his airline – yes – Ryan Air. Karen dropped the kids off at the bus-stop at 10:30 on Monday in good time for the bus to Clermont-Ferrand, which as usual was spot on time. Off they went with the prospect of a couple of hours in town before their flight. Karen and I watched the thunderstorm from our living room while they suffered the consequences – they couldn’t fill the plane up with fuel in the thunderstorm, then lightening cracked the plane, then the crew went past their allowed hours and it all went pear shaped. They were told another crew and a technician were on their way out to get them back to Stansted but that didn’t happen. Then the Ryan Air staff at the airport went home, the airport staff told them that Ryan Air had stopped answering the phone and then they went home and chucked everyone out of the airport! Nat and Mike had to find a hotel, catch a taxi and eat all without any help from the airline – how’s that for customer service? They eventually got home 32 hours after they left us! And guess what? Ryan Air are refusing to pay out any compensation!! Bloody outrageous I say, bloody outrageous!

It’s now early August and things are improving slowly but as indicated at the start of this blog it looks like King Boris and his dark lord Dominic Cummings are going to make it even harder for Karen and me with their headlong rush towards a no-deal Brexit. I’ll not beat about the bush, if you voted for Brexit and believe a no-deal Brexit is the answer to all the UK’s ills we can’t be friends anymore. Read what follows and you might begin to understand why …

…. oh and by the way, I offered this to the Guardian so I may even get in proper print but I’m not holding my breath!

You will probably be aware that I am a 64 year old UK citizen living in France with my wife. Our lives are complicated by the fact that I am paraplegic, paralysed from the chest down as the result of a motorbike accident in 2015. I am restricted to a powered wheelchair and am dependent on reciprocal health care arrangements for my daily nursing requirements, twice weekly physio, a veritable daily pot-pourri of drugs and five boxes of catheters a month. This all costs in the region of £3,000 per month. It is difficult enough ensuring continuity of health care through the S1 procedure from the UK, where I have to apply every twelve months whilst also allowing for the time it takes to process my application, currently taking as long as twelve weeks. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was one Department that managed this but there are actually three involved, dependent on your circumstances: The National Insurance arm of HMRC, the NHS and the DWP. I have had to deal with them all and will take a line or two to explain.

When I had my accident I was employed (in the UK) and my employer paid me sick-pay until June this year. As a result my NI contributions kept getting paid so enabling me to apply for my S1 cover for myself and my wife through HMRC. The process was clunky but it worked and the HMRC staff I spoke with were always efficient and understanding. Following the termination of my sick-pay I then had to apply for my S1 through the NHS Overseas Healthcare desk and again I have only ever dealt with helpful and understanding staff. The NHS will provide an S1 if you are in receipt of an exportable UK benefit, usually the state pension but in my case my Personal Independence Payment, which was awarded me in 2016 because of the severity of my handicap. The DWP have confirmed my PIP and I am expecting my new S1 any day now, except that government Departments use a Dutch postal service which means things take weeks to arrive form the UK and as I type I am between periods of cover with the French authorities. One problem that has shown itself is that my PIP expires in January 2020 when my NI contribution entitlement runs out. I find that difficult to understand as I will not retire for another thirteen months after that date and I have an NI contribution record of over forty-nine years! There is a job for me there, to try to get to the bottom of why it looks like I won’t need my PIP beyond January 2020 so wish me luck with that one.
I’ve tried to show how difficult it is for us living in France under ‘normal’ circumstances and I blog fairly frequently at www.jembrookes.com commenting on the problems we face but when you factor in Brexit it is terrifying.
I will not hide the fact that my wife and I are both Europhiles, love France where we have been welcomed, well looked after and have made numerous friends, both French, Dutch, Portuguese and German. Ideally we’d like to see the nonsense that is Brexit stopped dead in its tracks, any way will do, revoking Article 50, a Remainer party winning a General Election (and I say that as a Labour Party member of long-standing) or a second referendum securing a remain decision.
Failing that Brexit with a deal that secures citizens’ rights, including reciprocal healthcare would relieve the anguish we feel about our situation but that is still a bad deal.
Brexit is now very personal to me. It risks my health and wealth, what there is of those, and, more importantly, the future of my children and grandchildren. A government’s first priority is to ensure the safety and security of its citizens so how can Brexit, which will compromise national security, the national economy and the livelihoods of millions of citizens be in our best interests? The only people Brexit serves are those with interests in, for instance, US health insurance companies or so much money they don’t want anyone to know about and so avoid paying their taxes – the EU’s Anti-Tax Avoidance Directive which is due to come into force this year would seriously impact on the greed of people like Jacob Rees-Mogg and other ardent Brexiteers. What future will there be with no NHS, no Social Services and no safety net for those incapable of surviving in a dog eat dog UK? We deserve better but unfortunately it is those least able who suffer the most. Ask yourself who rescued the Banks that had failed because their greed overtook them? It wasn’t the government of the day, it was normal working PAYE tax-payers who saved the fat-cats and suffered because of the austerity pushed down by the then government and which continues to blight society today.
Of great concern to me is the influence ‘dark lords’ are having on the main political parties. I refer, of course, to the Svengali-like Dominic Cummings and Seamus Milne. Both these characters seem to be driving their own Brexit policies and are exerting an unhealthy influence over their supposed employers and yet are unelected and so unaccountable to us the electorate. Dominic Cummings stands accused of being in contempt of Parliament for refusing to appear in front of an investigating committee and yet retains the complete confidence of Boris Johnson. How is that being allowed to continue? Whose best interests are they serving? I guess posh boy Milne is chasing after his utopian socialist dream world, allowing Brexit to destroy the capitalism he hates (but from which he has benefited enormously) and hoping a totally dismayed, destroyed and disillusioned proletariat will rise up, elect Corbyn and then nationalise everything from the railways to the coal fields again. Some hope I’m afraid! As for Cummings, who knows? It seems to me he just likes upsetting everyone and everything, a bit like a naughty schoolboy who, because no one likes him, causes trouble just to piss people off. Whatever their motives I’m afraid that unelected ‘special advisors’ with their own political agenda should be dispensed with. The UK’s Civil Service is tasked with providing truthful, fact based and apolitical advice, a job it has done remarkably well for a long time. Unfortunately the current crop of Tory ministers don’t want to hear or acknowledge the truth, instead they reiterate the same old lies hoping we will end up believing them (Dominic Raab is the latest exponent of lying – did any of you hear him getting nasty with Michal Husain on R4 the other day?)
If we are faced by a no-deal Brexit my wife and I will likely become ‘illegal’ immigrants in France with no access to their healthcare system. That would mean we would have to return to the UK, a prospect that fills us with dread given what the UK would have to deal with. Actually getting back to the UK would be a massive, and risky, task. Flying is out of the question, we tried it once, courtesy of a famous budget airline, and it nearly killed me. We could drive, I have a converted van that takes my wheelchair and has room for the paraphernalia I would need on a daily basis (a patient hoist and a shower chair) and also a seat for the nurse we’d have to employ to tend to my daily needs. Given the waking hours that I actually spend in my wheelchair, restricted to try to prevent pressure sores, we would probably only be able to drive for four hours a day. That would mean that we’d be driving for probably five days to get back to our native North West, having to make an allowance for the ferry crossing, which in turn means at least four hotel bookings for two rooms whilst en-route and then we’d have to find somewhere to live in the UK as we currently have no UK address. As neither of us work how would we get a mortgage (remember we’re both 64) and all my capital is tied up in our house here in France, a house for which the buyers’ market would have collapsed due to the no-deal Brexit we are experiencing in this scenario. So driving back to the UK would incur great costs. Remember the nurse? Well he or she would need to stay with us in England until such a time as we could arrange something with Social Services, so perhaps a second week and then their return travel costs would have to be met.
Returning to the UK will mean I bring certain demands on an already creaking NHS, a Social Services network under increasingly severe pressure, an extra demand on specialised housing stock and, given the fragile state of my mental health, ultimately extra pressure on mental health services. My wife and I both feel abandoned by the current government, who do not seem to have any interest in the nearly 1.2 million UK citizens living in the EU. The Labour Party leadership meanwhile vacillates over their position whilst those of us who will be immediately and adversely impacted at 11:00 on 31st October 2019 try to prepare ourselves, without the benefit of the Tories money tree.
We deserve better than this, shame on the political classes who are more interested in preserving their positions and wealth rather than looking to the needs of the people of the UK as a whole. Shame on the politicians who think it is OK lying, and lying repeatedly to the UK people. A case in point is the new position on the Backstop, referring to it as undemocratic! The Good Friday Agreement was a democratically agreed peace agreement, underpinned by international law and guaranteed by the USA. Dispensing with, or even risking that agreement is a disgraceful position for any UK government to adopt and trying to get people to believe it is ‘undemocratic’ to further a political point is outrageous.
The liars in Parliament will break the Union, will destroy the livelihoods of all ‘normal’ people, including those they duped to support leaving in the first case and destroy the social support systems like the NHS that have been in place for decades. Please, Great Britain, wake up and realise this, not just for the sake of this old paraplegic but for the sakes of all we hold dear in society, for your, your children’s and their children’s future!

Rant over.

Thanks for reading this and I’ll try and get back onto a more regular blog , subject to the usual pressures.

Jem