Although I sought to remain inert, wallowing in the blazing sunshine, upon the deck chair on the balcony earlier this morning when the sun was yet at its acute angle, my profitless and tranquil retirement was soon obstructed. I was unable to dither and allow my mind to wander aimlessly and soothingly. The cool air was for the first time warning of prospective moments to follow commensurate with the prismatic evolution of the trees along the distant shoreline of the river. The decidedly northerly wind gusts challenged my autumn apparel of a Patagonia shell with a high collar (and a silk scarf to boot). What however convinced me more sorely was my admission that a trip to the Pembroke hospital and matters related thereto awaited my grieving attention.

When the Renfrew hospital staff had informed me yesterday that my preliminary attendance was required at another hospital – either Pembroke or Ottawa – I wasn’t long perceiving the preference advanced for Pembroke.  So Pembroke it was.  The last time we had been to Pembroke was for something involving a political campaign or the Landowners Association; and the time before that had been for a funeral.  Both events were long ago.  Going there today satisfied our wish for an autumnal country drive (although the trees haven’t yet completely adopted their colourful ambition). More to the point, the Pembroke hospital was at first glance everything one might hope for in a country hospital; viz., accessible and inviting. Though I hesitate to use the word inviting to describe a hospital, I think you’ll agree the alternative is less comfortable.

In short we succeeded within minutes to establish where I must go on the scheduled day at the scheduled time. And where to park. Just putting that information out of mind is a moderate relief. I find increasingly I can bear the deprivation of guessing. It’s an infection which I find too coincides with my proliferation of habit and custom. I think it’s called Old Age. Coincidental with this curmudgeonly achievement was our later determination at our local trusted pharmacy that sponge bathing prior to surgery has undergone a degree of alteration or moderation.  Though we haven’t as yet accurately determined the conclusion, it is at the very least a topic for conversation during the upcoming Pre-Op conference. And somewhere else in today’s unraveling enterprise we corresponded with the very kind gentleman at Carebridge Community Support with whom we’ve arranged a volunteer driver to and from the hospital on the day of surgery.

There were two other matters which arose on alternate bookends of today’s venture.  My sister called to invite us to a Thanksgiving dining celebration.  It will naturally be a family reunion.  We determined what our contribution would be and later accommodated accordingly.

Distinguishing the other bookend was a standard call to my favourite gas station. There I ascertained that my Petro-Canada App would not enable me to get and to pay for fuel. When I therefore diverted to another nearby gas station (and used the App successfully to get and pay for gas) I telephoned Petro- Canada’s headquarters and spoke at considerable length with their agent in the Philippines. The clerk was clearly unaccustomed to such prattle but in due course rightly concluded the problem was not me but the App. She advised she would refer the matter to senior level of stewardship for information and investigation.