Jack Fall Ill Then Jack developed a severe pain in his right side. I remember it all so vividly. It was a Wednesday evening in June, and we had just returned from the Club. Jack looked awful, and was glad to get to bed, thinking he might feel better after the night's rest. Indeed the next day Jack said that he felt fine again, and got on with some more jewellery pieces in his workroom. However, bending over his bench put a strain on his side and by midday the pain had returned. It got worse quite quickly, and he actually asked to go back to bed. This most unusual request underlined the severity of his discomfort. I contacted the doctor, and he arrived within half an hour. Judging by Jack's condition, and testing the urine sample which we had the presence of mind to keep, the G.P. thought there might be a stone in the kidney. Pethadin was administered, and Jack was temporarily out of his misery. I was relieved to see him lying there all serene, his face free of that terrible pain. Helpless to do anything physically, I could but watch and wait. Mrs. Reeves was available if needed, but it was profoundly frustrating not being able to help Jack myself. I sat by the bed, completely resigned to what was happening. Jack, usually so alive and in control, was now out to the world – and to me. I wondered if this was how it would all finish. Was this indeed the beginning of the end of our new life together? Not that I thought Jack was going to die – but what if this illness should be a long one? I could not nurse him. When he lay in bed, I could not even reach out and touch him. And the doctor had hinted at surgery. How long would it take Jack to get over that, and would he ever be fit again? All these questions went round and round in my head, as I continued my watch. Meanwhile, Jack was still snoring away, though not in a normal kind of sleep. His face was grey, and twitched now and then. Sometimes his eyes opened blankly. I did wonder if he was asleep, or semi-conscious aware of everything. So I talked calmly at intervals about everyday things. "I'll just draw the curtains." "Please say if you want me to get help." "Just going to the other room, Jack. Back in a minute." I even switch on the radio cricket commentary – anything to maintain a relaxed atmosphere. I tried not to dwell on the black side, pushing the morbid thoughts to the back of my mind. But when the doctor returned at 7 p.m., his quiet but meaningful enquiry reiterated all my fears. "Now, what d'you say, Jack? Would you like a bed in hospital overnight?" Jack, still only half awake, admitted to having the pain. The silence while he considered the question seemed to last far to long. The old conviction that disabled people were denied the right to control their own lives came storming back to me. To my surprise, Jack's reply came firm and clear: "No, thanks. I'll be all right". I waited – convinced that the doctor would insist we were in no position to cope under these circumstances. Instead, he patted Jack on the shoulder, saying, "All right, you know best. But I'll give you another injection for the pain, and call back in the morning." I breathed a little sigh of relief. I was pleased that Jack obviously felt secure enough to stay here at home. It was also reassuring to know that the doctor trusted us. My optimism was returning. I suddenly knew that we could win this fight together, as we had so many others. By now I had become very cool-headed. Once in his drugged state, Jack was no longer able to issue instructions for making him comfortable. How glad I was that we knew each other's needs so well. As it was, Jack would not have complained at all, but I realised that his limbs should not be allowed to go numb. Mrs. Reeves' nursing training confirmed this, and she volunteered to give Jack a wash. "He should feel easier after that, I think," she said, caringly. "And he must keep drinking, you know, my dear," she added. Rising to the command, I said, "Perhaps a cup of tea would be a change from fruit squash?" Waiting for the kettle to boil, I then realised that I was in need of some refreshment myself, having had nothing since lunch. I prepared myself a sandwich. It would not do to neglect my own needs at a time like this. Eventually, Mrs. Reeves got him into what I considered to be a comfortable sitting position, supported all round with pillows. But in any case, he was now snoring contently. Miss Barnes came in that evening, and insisted on staying for as long as it took to settle us both down for the night. Jack's drug was wearing off, and to our astonishment, he suddenly said, in an alert tone, "Right. I think I'll lie down now, please." Miss Barnes convulsed with laughter, grateful for the excuse to release some of the tremendous build-up of tension. He talked more cheerfully saying that the pain had now subsided. He accepted another drink, and was soon snuggled down on his favourite right side. It was well past midnight before Miss Barnes left, and I promised to telephoned her with any news. We managed to fall asleep and, miraculously, the night passed without incident. Next morning, Jack insisted on getting up. The pain was not too bad, and only half a tablet of pethadin sufficed to keep it at bay. The doctor paid an early visit, and seemed pleased with Jack's obvious improvement. Thankfully, surgery was considered unnecessary but Jack was given an appointment at the hospital to make sure. Though frightening at the time, that short, sharp episode served to remind us of yet another achievement. The hospital examination showed no stones in the kidney, and there had been no recurrence of the pain. But Jack has faithfully followed the doctor's advice to keep up a large liquid intake daily. Overcoming this nasty experience boosted our confidence. We had coped with a fairly serious degree of illness, without relinquishing our independence. The least we could do was to care for our wellbeing as well as we knew how, and by reading, and checking with the doctor, we set the pattern for our present state of good health. I never become over-complacent, realising full well that we are but frail human beings, after all. But while the feeling of wellbeing exists for us both, I thank goodness itself, and enjoy life. Soon after Jack's bout of kidney trouble, we both accepted Mildred and Bill's second invitation to holiday with them – this time, in London. In anticipation of this, Roland offered to redecorate our living-room, and brought wallpaper books and paint charts for our perusal. We spent a very pleasant time choosing the varying shades of green which we liked so much, and in our absence, Roland and his wife set to work. When we got back, we barely recognised the place looking so clean and different. It was a lovely welcome.