Holiday Time

I went away on holiday with my wife last week, my first time away from home since the stroke.

We stayed in a “normal” room, i.e. not one for disabled people. Deliberate – I had to know if I could cope. It was an organised coach trip up to Scarborough. Aimed at more “senior” people, a lot of my criticisms were based on this age thing. For example, the hotel was without internet, and nobody was bothered, except for my wife and I.

Getting onto the coach was very dependent on where we were parked, but was generally okay – there were plenty of things to hold on to, to lever myself in. I tended not try moving when the coach itself was moving, I found that my bad leg was prone just to flopping out into the central aisle.

The room itself was en-suite, with both bath and a shower. I have that at home, but with grab rails. Here, there were none and I did not dare use the bath, although got on okay in the shower. Again, plenty of things to steady myself on. and I could safely use my good hand to lever myself off the toilet.

During the week, we visited Whitby, Pickering and Bridlington, plus had a day in Scarborough itself. We went to Goathland, where they filmed the TV show Heartbeat, although I never watched it so it wasn’t really significant, just an hour or so in a pleasant moorland village, and we visited the WWII prison camp Eden Camp which is maintained as a museum.

Fatigue was a big-ish issue, I did a lot of sitting, although of course this was the coast, so there was plenty to watch. I did manage to see places, but couldn’t just “wander” like I used to. My watch counts my steps – a normal day these days is just a few thousand, but here one of the days was 12,000. which would have been average when I was healthy, but is a marathon now! Because of this, my sugar was well-controlled, until I realised I could push it by having the odd cake or ice cream. There were lots of mobility scooters about Scarborough, which is very hilly, although I didn’t try one. I’m anal in that respect – if I can’t do things normally, I don’t want to play.

Pickering is the terminus of the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, and we were lucky enough to see a train arrive, although we didn’t have time to travel. Pickering itself was pleasant enough, though there was precious little else there.