What is the date you began writing this memoir and the date when you completed the memoir? I started writing an account of my spinal surgery in around 2012, 3 years after the event. I didn’t know it would eventually become part of the book but I wanted to record it for myself. I forgot about it for years, then found it, and other pieces of writing during lockdown in 2020 and decided to see if I had enough material for a book. I finished writing it in the spring of 2021.
Where did you do most of your writing for this memoir? And please describe in detail. I am now disabled, following the surgery and spend most of my time flat on my back so I wrote the book on my phone using my thumbs. I have an electric bed in the living room, where I spend most of my time. It’s where I write, read, watch tv, and even eat some of my meals. I live in a village on the coast of the Algarve in Portugal, which features very strongly in my book.
What were your writing habits while writing this memoir- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I wrote on my phone, usually in silence as I don’t like distractions while I’m writing. I only drink water during the day so it’s a fairly abstemious process.
Out of all the specific memories you write about in this memoir, which ONE MEMORY was the most emotional for you to write about? And can you share that specific excerpt with us here. The excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer, and please provide page numbers or Chapter number as references. The most emotional part was writing about the journey home from the hospital, which was 3 hours away in Lisbon. It was one of the things that concerned me most. My scar was still stapled, I couldn’t sit comfortably (I still can’t) and couldn’t imagine travelling by bus or train. I worried about it for days until I suddenly remembered our lovely taxi driver who had picked us up from the train station on arrival in Lisbon. Thankfully he agreed to drive us home.
Page 196
Around 1.15, the junior doctor appeared with reams of paper, brown envelopes of x-rays, medicines and prescriptions. Another 10 minutes taken up with explanations, then, at last, the all-clear. Back in the mono-footrest wheelchair for the last time, laden down with bags and pieces of paper and with Nick wheeling the suitcase of duvets, we made our way to the exit. The car waited as close to the front door as physically possible and Nick set about arranging the back seat for me. José stood by and watched, slowly shaking his head.
“No, no,” he tutted. “That’s not enough.”
“It’s all I could bring on the train,” explained Nick, looking exhausted already.
They somehow managed to slide me into the back seat – thank goodness for leather upholstery – and placed a pillow under my head and a duvet over me. José still wasn’t happy but he slid into the driver’s seat, Nick next to him in the passenger seat, and off we went. It wasn’t ideal but we were on our way home. I’d only been away 11 days but it seemed months since I’d seen all my animals and familiar things. I looked forward to home, some privacy and being allowed to do things at my own speed and according to my own timetable.
I realised José was talking to someone on his mobile, hands- free of course and heard a woman’s voice reply. I didn’t take much notice, assuming it was his wife, or maybe the taxi controller. He finished the call and half-turned in his seat to address me, knowing Nick’s Portuguese wasn’t quite up to
speed.
“That was my wife,” he said. “We are going to my house first.”
Ok, I thought, a bit strange but maybe he’d forgotten his wallet or something.
“She will bring many pillows and blankets for you.”
Eh? She’ll do what?
“I told her we need to make you more secure, so we will go to my house and make a better bed for you.”
I translated for Nick and we both started to protest but he was having none of it.“It’s no problem, we have plenty and my house is close to the bridge so we won’t lose any time.”No point in trying to stop him; he was in control of the car. So, we thanked him and let him do as he wanted. Ten minutes later, we stopped outside a typical whitewashed house and a small woman rushed out, completely covered in bedding. It was impossible to even tell what colour her hair was. The rain started bucketing down so she handed it all over and dashed back inside; we didn’t even have time to thank her. Nick and José opened a back door each and started to stuff both footwells with cushions until they were level with me, then a spiderman duvet was pushed down behind me and another pillow placed under my feet. I was now completely immobile in a duvet cocoon, even if José had to do an emergency stop, I doubt I would have moved an inch. I had to admit it had been a good idea to pick up the extra quilts. I felt so safe and secure that I fell asleep even before we reached the Vasco da Gama bridge and only woke up around 2 hours later when we pulled into a service station. The rain was torrential but my carers braved the downpour to check if I was ok, and re-arranged my cocoon, turning me on my side, and tucking me in. Another hour later, we arrived home. Fortunately, it was all on the level, with no steps or stairs so I slowly made my way into the house and straight into bed, still fully dressed. Oh, the blessed relief. I’d made it.Nick went out to pay José and offered him a drink or something to eat, but it was getting dark and he wanted to keep going.“Just one thing,” he said. “Can I go in and see the senhora?”
So, they both appeared in the doorway and José came around to pat my hand, as he had done in the hospital. I was so grateful to him and I hope I expressed it adequately. He really had made the journey so easy and straightforward, when we had imagined a complete nightmare. I heard his car drive away and once again, I drifted off to sleep.
Click on the below link to purchase ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE from Amazon.
Can you describe the emotional process of writing about this ONE MEMORY? Writing this piece, I was taken back to the feelings of desperation. Getting home seemed an impossibility and I felt as though I had been away for months rather than days. Then the absolute relief when we found a solution, and my gratitude to that taxi driver and his wife, who not only saw that I would be uncomfortable, but also took it on themselves to look after me, the ultimate illustration of the kindness of strangers.
Click on the below link to visit Karen Telling’s Website