Of trains and mortality

Strange travel directions are dancing lessons from god - Kurt Vonnegut.

First stop Bedwyn Surgery for medicines and advice. Mum is not getting better and we really need slip sheets and a bed with hospital sides, which we've been waiting for all week. 

It's Kerry's birthday tomorrow,  so the plan is to head back to Scotland for the weekend and come back on Sunday/Monday. Bill gives me a lift to the station and the journey begins. 

The route is getting routine. Bedwyn, Hungerford, Newbury, Reading, Paddington. There's some disruption from storm Ciaran, but I'm at King's Cross in time to get a falafel wrap before getting on a very crowded service to Edinburgh. At least I have a seat reserved.

By the time we pass York the community care team and a GP have both visited mum. Fabian and the carer are both there, and they say that I should come straight back. 

I get off at Newcastle, tell Kerry the bad news, and get the next train South. Its rammed, standing room only, but at least its moving. At Paddington there's still disarray. All services west are delayed or cancelled.

Eventually I get one heading in generally the right direction. Jol picks me up from the station and I'm back with mum by 9. 11 hours travel and I'm back where I started. 

My mother is barely functioning,  but she seems comfortable. Jol and I sit by the bed,  holding her hand.