Blonde with One Leg

One of our most notable holiday-makers booked for her week while sitting in the bath.

 

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when the telephone rang.  “Hullo!”.  “Are you busy?” enquired a strange voice.  “Not particularly, why?”.  “Could you come and help me into the bath?”.  “What – now/”.  The explanation was concise and clear.  Lily’s nurse was on holiday, and she had been promised a visit from another one but more than a week had elapsed.  Lily was feeling dirty.

 

“Do you live alone, then?”.  “Yes”.  “… and you can’t get into a bath without help?”.  “No, I can’t.  Can’t you just come and give me a hand?”.

 

The agreement to this request was received with obvious jubilation.  The address was an estate four miles away, so the journey took between fifteen and twenty minutes.  At the house there was no reply to a knock on the front door.  Through the tall back gate was a back door, slightly ajar.  “Anyone at home?”.  A voice from somewhere upstairs answered.  “Come up here.  I am all ready for you in the bathroom”.  And she was.  Lily was sitting completely naked on the cover of the lavatory seat.  She was a well-built blonde with only one leg.  The other ended in a stump just above where her knee had been.  The bath beside her steamed with warm water; towels were hanging ready on the chromium rail beside the wall; the soap, sponge and face flannel were ranged on the side of the bath ready.  Lily, her bright eyes expectant, held out one arm.  “Help me in”, she said.  But her lips and the nails on her outstretched hand were a greyish-blue.

 

“Are you alright, or do you usually have a blanket bath?”.  Lily was insistent.  Yes, of course she always got right into the bath.  Yes, she knew she had a bad heart, but no-one need bother about that.  She knew what she was doing.  Her nurse always allowed her to have a proper bath.  She was beginning to look anxious, and her breathing was becoming agitated, so without more ado, she was helped to slither down into the water.  She began washing her one leg, and then she soaped herself right up to her neck.  Her colour improved every second; her lips lost their blue tinge, and she had a pink flush either side of her face.  She held out the soaped face flannel for her back to be rubbed, and, had she been a kitten, she would have purred.  “Rub it hard”, she pleaded.  Then, turning round, she enquired, “Would you like a cup of tea?”.

 

The kettle, a teapot, cups and saucers, sugar, milk, and a plate of biscuits were all laid out on a tray on the white working op in the kitchen.  Over her cup of tea sitting in the bath, Lily talked.  Yes, she had left everything prepared.  There was no sign of crutches anywhere around, but further enquiries elicited the information that Lily’s usual mode of movement was on her bottom; she used her crutches if she went into the garden to hang out the washing or to do a bit of hoeing, but indoors getting about was easier and quicker on the floor.  She was taken out from time to time in her wheelchair by her home help who, she said, was very good to her.  One wondered how anybody could not be good to such evidence of independence, such astonishing morale, and such courage.

 

But, said Lily, she did miss her holidays since she had lost her leg.  So her application form was filled in at her dictation while she was wallowing in her bath and she accompanied the party on holiday yearly for the following six or seven years.  It was not often that she lost the blue tinge to her lips and any extra exertion resulted in a few minutes of breathlessness.  To the query about how her doctor felt about her going on holiday, her reply was characteristic.  “Oh, him!  He told me I had better not risk it this year, but I told him I had booked and paid my money, and I would be going”.  So that was that.

 

We had only one alarming incident involving Lily.  She was being taken out in her chair to have a look at the sea and was being pushed down the road towards the beach.  She was strapped in safely and her helper set off, but about fifty yards from the Camp was a small uneven strip of road surface where digging had been filled in.  Carefully the pusher tilted the chair but, unfortunately, the little wheels caught on the further edge of the soft surface and the chair tipped forward.  The chair fell on its side.  The frantic pusher, with some effort, heaved the chair up again, only to find her passenger unconscious and the blue pallor alarmingly all over her face.  She pushed the chair to the side of the road, pulled on the brakes, and dashed at full speed back to the Camp for help.

 

Three helpers pushed the semi-conscious Lily in her chair back to her chalet and lifted her gently onto her bed.  Two of them turned her onto one side and the third kept sensitive fingers on the thready pulse at her wrist.  Lily slept.  Gradually the dreadful blue colour receded and small pink patches returned to her cheeks.  As they all watched, her breathing became quite and regular; the nurse, with her fingers on the small throbbing in her wrist, nodded, and the rest crept out quietly.  The last one stopped for brief instructions.  No, there was no point in getting a doctor; he could only advise that Lily should be left to rest until she recovered.  “But look in every five minutes or so”, was the request.  Two hours later, Lily woke and wanted her dinner.  “Hadn’t you better sit here and have it brought to you?”, was the suggestion.  Lily was shocked.  “Of course not”, she complained.  “I’m on holiday, and I want to be in the dining-room with the others”.

 

On one occasion we were travelling to our holiday destination by coach, and Lily was with us.  We scanned every town and village through which we passed, with anxious eyes until, at last, we said it.  “Public Toilets”.  Our coaches pulled up in the lay-by and we made enquiries.  To our dismay, the toilets were underground, down fifteen steps, but they would have to do.  So our wheelchair folk were off-loaded from the coaches and lined up along the footpath on the approach to the steps.  Two helpers to each chair gently lowered them, and then, with some difficulty, hauled them up again.  Arriving at the bottom of the stairs, ready to carry our chair up again, we were halted.  Lily was coming down.  Her good leg was energetically propelling her down step by step on her bottom; her stump with its pink cover was held out in front of her.  Her pink dress, dragged up behind her, showed several inches of white lace at the bottom of her slip.  Expertly she descended the steps, reached the bottom, and before anyone could give a helping hand, she slithered round the corner into the nearest door and slammed it determinedly behind her.