ALONE AT CHRISTMAS: Diary Day 9
Newbury resident Caroline ffrench Blake describes spending the festive period on her own for the first time
New Year’s Eve
Today was my visit to the RBH, right in the eye of the pandemic storm.
The ticket man at the station said it was unnecessary to buy a first class ticket just to be distanced from others, he said hardly anyone would be on the train anyway. And as it happened, the next train didn’t have a first class anyway. So there was no need after all to break the habit of a lifetime.
He was right about the sparseness of passengers. But a cyclist without a mask brought his bike in to the train, with a cheery entitled air. No one said anything. I moved to another carriage, though at the next stop another maskfree cyclist arrived, causing me to escape on to the next carriage – the last one.
Luckily we arrived at Reading soon after. I noticed large signs in the station that threatened a fine of £6,000 for anyone who travels without a mask, unless exempt for health reasons. There must be some very unhealthy cyclists in Berkshire.
The Reading streets were deserted, but interesting to walk through, as the iPhone took me on a new route , through some attractive parts I hadn’t seen before, even though I had worked in Reading for two years in the 1990s. Small Dickensian character houses tumbling over each, and gardens in front or in the corners of the streets. The environment seemed more prosperous than before. But nothing was open, the town was cold and empty.
The hospital felt deserted too, as I walked down its immensely long corridors. At one point there was a haphazard row of hospital beds with disordered used bedding to walk past, almost as you might see in a war zone hospital.
Eventually I arrived at the right place for my appointment. And though there were very few people around, it was well organised with short waiting times. The real activity of the hospital was in a different area, the Covid zone.
The purpose of my appointment was to have a battery of tests. An armful of my blood was drawn (though the nurse was adamant that it was only about 15 teaspoons). X-rays followed, but there will be no diagnosis for a long time, it will take at least six weeks for the blood tests to be analysed, the process is so complex and involves genetic alteration.
I am so very grateful that this is still possible under the conditions of terrible strain on the NHS. I feel perfectly well, and almost a fraud, but they are convinced that it’s necessary, and what do I know?
It was shocking to step from the unnatural silence of that area of the hospital into the street, full of ambulances leaving and arriving in full screaming siren emergency mode.
Hopefully no one feels the need for New Year’s Eve partying tonight.
Happy New Year, and a better year for 2021.
More tomorrow
