How life at 75 reflects life at 8 and the 83 bus

I may have said already that back in May 2015 I was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis (scarring of the lungs, which could erupt at any time). The same day as I received the diagnosis the thoracic specialist who saw me picked up on the fact that I had 'a heart problem'. The latter turned out to be more serious so took priority and in February 2017 I had open heart surgery to replace my aortic heart valve. Somehow I had managed to live 73 years with two cusps instead of three resulting in a valve that had been working a lot harder than it otherwise would have done.

The good news is that I recovered well and at no time have I ever felt any pain or discomfort, so by the end of 2017 life was pretty much back to normal and the main risk I faced (and still face) was my lungs becoming inflamed by an infection of some kind. The things I do to avoid this are pretty simple: no going to the cinema or theatre, meetings, crowded buildings, all things I manage with ease except for the occasional appeals to my vanity when I get asked to speak at a meeting or do a display. Writing this I have just realised this Wembley bus boy has not shared the fact that since October 2018 there has been a Nottingham City Transport 35 'History Bus' bearing his name.

This pic is taken from London Transport Buses & Coaches 1952 by John A S Hamley, published by Images in 1993. The photo was taken by A B Cross opposite Alperton Station. The book is out of print can be be bought secondhand on the web.

Anyway back to how coping with old age and health is like an 83 bus ride c.1952. Here is the text of an email I sent to an old Swinderby Road friend yesterday. I hope it speaks for itself: 

I’m currently on antibiotics and will attend my first lung ‘boot camp’ next Tuesday and therein lies my problem. There are periods when it is hard to be positive. I suspect I have spoken about becoming a ‘Half-day person’ and in managing that, lots of good intentions become baggage which either falls off the handcart you are pulling or pushing, or you push off to lighten the load. Other things fall off unnoticed. 

Another analogy is that of travelling back to Wembley on a Sunday evening on an 83 bus as a child (it’s always an 83 bus on a Sunday) from relatives in Kingsbury. Back in those days London Transport buses operated to a rush-hour timetable whatever day or the time. (this was a laudable union thing to protect jobs and pay - faster journey times = fewer buses = fewer drivers/conductors = less overtime = fewer family holidays and so on). What this meant at 6 o’clock on a Sunday evening was a very slow bus ride home, which I actually enjoyed, listening to the purring sing-sing of a gentle AEC bus engine. Nothing much happened, the buses were usually so slow that passengers just hopped on and off. Eventually it would turn onto Ealing Road and I’d get off outside the Regal.

Well, my life now is much like an 83 bus ride back then and I am very grateful for the fact. I know where I’m going and I’m very happy to be doing it slowly. In this respect I remain one lucky bunny.

Today I feel low but not down. I see such days as inevitable. The hot muggy days don’t help but it’s easy to do what  I’m told: stay indoors, stay cool and drink plenty of liquids. I probably haven’t been helping myself with self-imposed deadlines to help people and groups that I Iike. There is baggage on the handcart I mentioned earlier that needn’t be there.

The good news is that I still feel that I have plenty of time if I let life dawdle a bit like my 83 bus. My heart surgeon’s last words to me after my surgery were ‘Next time it will be keyhole’ and that is an appointment c.2029-2032 I want to keep, even with my lungs!

So that's it for now.