#My cousin is a resuscitation nurse working in London

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Sorry, new to this blog but wondering why you were so traumatised by the pandemic?

I moved to the UK at the end of 2017. I had made friends, but not deep social networks. For me the trade-off was that I was more lonley, but I was meeting exciting new people, going to exciting new places, and doing exciting new things. One of the things I realised quite early in the pandemic - is that it was heightening whatever was most stressful about your situation. For parents (and many other people) it was never getting a break. For me it was the isolation.

I lived alone. Initially, I went 11 weeks without having a conversation with someone in person. Then I met with one friend once a week - I had a little walled area outside the back of my flat and we sat socially distanced every week. There was a two to three month period where I did a little more - met up with other friends in their gardens or mine, went to the pub outside and did some traveling for work. But it was a level of isolation that I would have found unimaginable.

My team didn't meet regularly - I think we met about every two months. I didn't quite realise how unusual that was. And I was mostly grateful that I didn't have to deal with Zoom and Teams (which I did and do really struggle with). But what it meant was that each day I had to get up, figure out what work I could do, push myself to do whatever I could to meet my basic needs (which were never going to be met under these circumstances). I was profoundly alone.

Home was New Zealand - with everything that implied. My friends and family were safe, and before too long sending me pictures of a completely normal life on. But I had a job - it was due to end in March 2021 and I wanted to know what was happening before I made plans. It wasn't until November that I realised that I might never know and so I booked a ticket - still hoping that by the time it came to leave, I'd know whether or not I was coming back for my job or moving home. I booked my ticket for mid-January - if I was leaving for good I'd need to pack up over the Christmas break, I might need to go into work to finish tasks that could only be done in person once it was open again in January, and then I figured I needed two weeks after that to make sure I was well.

I started to read the Facebook groups from other New Zealanders heading home - to figure out what was involved. To come into New Zealand you had to spend two weeks in a government run hotel room - Managed Isolation. I'd booked my spot at the same time as I'd booked my ticket home.

The trees turned to sticks (it was only my fourth European winter; the barrenness still surprised me) and it got darker and darker. I still met my friend every week - sometimes in the snow, but everything else that I might have been able to do stopped.

I had to sot out my flat - I had to act as if I was going to be leaving forever, so that I'd be ready if I was. It felt impossible - feeding myself working and going to a stupid walk for my stupid mental health was taking everything I had; going through everything I owned as well seemed impossible. But I couldn't get any help - not for the sorting that took place inside my house - I had to do that myself.

Then things got worse. At first all we knew that infection rates were going up and up and up - then they started talking about the alpha variant. The rules started changing - at first just the rules in the UK. That added stress - I had to take everything to the charity shop on Christmas eve, because I didn't know if they would reopen again. There was another level of calculations to everything I did. What needed to be done today, because it might be shut tomorrow. It began to snow. I had never driven in the snow.

I realised I probably wasn't going to know whether or not I was coming back when I left.

Then, on the 3rd of January, New Zealand announced that anyone who was traveling from the UK needed a negative PCR test 3 days before traveling. I was traveling on a Tuesday - I'd need to get the test on the Saturday. None of the places that offered guaranteed turn around were open on the Saturday. Boots said that 99% of its tests were back within 24 hours. What would I do if I was in the 1%?

By that time, all the places in Managed Isolation were booked up. If I missed my slot the next available places were in March. If I didn't have a negative test, if anything happened with my flight, I would be trapped - having thrown everything I had at trying to get out.

Then they started cancelling flights. There were three routes back to New Zealand at that point, via Singapore, via Dubai and via Doha. Singapore stopped allowing transit passengers from the UK. The week before I was due to leave, Emirates cancelled their flights to Australia - with 48 hours notice. I was so afraid that my flight would be cancelled and I'd miss my spot in managed isolation.

Hoping and trying to move for something better had turned a miserable, but bearable situation, into something that felt completely untenable.

I kept having to make calculations - if it snowed on the day that I needed to get my PCR test - which was riskier? Driving in the snow for the first time - or a 40 minute cab ride each way?

Each day seemed full of impossible things, but I had to do them. I wouldn't be able to sleep till 6am, and then I'd have an exhausted nap at 6pm. I would suddenly become very aware of my breath and unable to breathe automatically - I had to consciously take each breath.

I said goodbye to some people across a frozen parking lot. Most people I didn't say goodbye to at all.

I caught the plane. The workers at the hotel wrote a heart and 'welcome home' on the paper bag which held my first meal. I still have the bag.

My first experience when I came out of managed isolation was at Auckland airport - as I took my flight home. At hte food court, everyone was sitting and moving and interacting as if everything was normal. I felt like an alien who had gone through a worm hole to another civilisation. People were so close to each other. I cannot really put into words how unbelievably greatful I am that my friends and family were safe, that I was looked after in managed isolation, and that I got to return through the worm hole and begin to heal.

But it was only beginning. I still get flashbacks, particularly to those awful, desperate few weeks when it felt like I was crossing a rope bridge and each of the ropes were being cut one by one. I have had them from eating a churro, the government changing their policy in response to the delta variant, thinking about the existence of the audiobook of 'Venetia', watching the triathalon at the Birmingham Commonwealth Games, listening to Grace Petrie's Northbound, hearing that someone wasn't able to get on a plane they really wanted to get on.

Right now I am in period where it feels like the emotions of that time are really close to the surface. I don't really know why. But I think the only thing to do is acknowledge that I went through something really awful and that it still hurts and feel the grief and pain when it comes - rather than push it away. I decided to answer this ask to see what writing some of it down felt like.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 152

Chapter Summary - Danielle says goodbye to her grandmother and Tom learns more about her from the experience

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

A concertina is like a small accordion.

The Willie Clancy is a huge deal in Irish traditional music and takes place every year in Miltown Malbay, Co Clare.

Bangor is in County Down and contrary to the belief that the Troubles are based solely on religion, they are far more complex than that and are more predominantly based on political beliefs, those who see themselves as part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (Unionists) and those who see themselves as Irish (Nationalists). Bangor is 72%, Unionist.

The Falls (in Belfast) and the Bogside (Armagh) are staunchly Nationalist, and I mean 100% nationalist. You would not be harmed these days going to them if you are British or Unionist, you would just not feel in any way welcome.

The Parting Glass, as explained, is a traditional song recently covered by Ed Sheeran.

As an Irish person in Britain, I have to say I have experienced some acts of racism, but I live in a depressed town with high unemployment and little understanding, so it is par for the course.

As D-day for Brexit approaches, a "no deal" scenario keeps cropping up and with no idea what that means for non-national people in Britain, fears like those Danielle references are becoming more worrisome.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He inhaled deeply and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was tired but he knew he had to be there for Danielle who was far more tired than he was.

Danielle had flown back from the US from an important meeting with the rest of the Safeguard group and had gone for a shower when her phone rang. Seeing it was an Irish number, Tom answered in case it was important. He took in everything the woman on the phone said on him revealing after that Danielle was in the shower. When she came back downstairs, slightly tired but in good humour, she noted Tom's face immediately and waited worriedly for him to tell her what was to be worried about.

“Tom?”

“When you were in the shower, a hospital called. It's your grandmother.”

That led to them being in the city of Cork where Danielle and a few of her family were waiting for the inevitable. There was little hope for Sheila, she was very much deteriorating in health.

Danielle was exhausted but she continued to be there for whatever member of her mother's family needed her. Tom tried to help but to be honest, there was little he understood of what her aunts said with their strong accents and their tendency to use Irish thrown in a lot of the time.

“Elle, love, you need to get some sleep.” Tom urged, seeing Danielle lean back against the wall, clearly exhausted.

“I will, in a bit.” She sighed.

“Elle, you have not even eaten today.”

“I am fine.”

“You need to eat. I am going to be the stubborn partner and insist you get something to eat.” He smiled.

Danielle huffed a small laugh. “Yes, boss.” She pushed off from the wall to go to the shopping centre across the road to get something to eat when a beeping came from the intensive care unit and a crash team rushed through the halls. Danielle looked at her aunt who walked out of the room looking worried. “She…Danielle, what's this?”

Danielle looked at the paper in her hand. “It's a DNR, a 'do not resuscitate' form. it translates as to leave her to pass away rather than prolong the situation really.” She explained. "It means when she goes downhill, just to make sure she is comfortable and allow her to go peacefully."

Her cousin, a nurse at the hospital walked over to her mother. “Mam…it's really for the best.”

Danielle's aunt inhaled deeply before nodding her head. “Okay.” As the eldest, she had the greatest say, so she signed the page.

Danielle gave a slight nod in agreement with the decision before going to her aunt. “We are just going to get something in the shop, do you need anything?” She smiled.

“You're grand, Danielle, Pet. We'll call you if anything changes.” Her aunt gave a tired smile. “Have you even had some time away from here?”

“Plenty of time for that at a later date. If it's alright, I may go back to the hotel for a shower.”

“Alright, we'll see you later so.” Catherine stated before going to find a doctor to give the form to.

Danielle could barely recall the journey back to the hotel and crashed as soon as she hit the bed. Tom ordered some food and urged her to eat after a while. With a shower to attempt to wake her again, Danielle ate and made her way back to the hospital, deciding to walk the short distance in the nice weather, Tom, who felt she needed more rest walking beside her.

“Are you okay?” He asked as they walked.

“Yeah, I mean, I'm not stupid. She's been going downhill for a while, I just... it's sad. I don't really know my Mam's side of the family so with Nan about to leave us, I feel like I have even less of a tie to home now.” She explained. “I suppose in one respect it's okay because I am building my life in England, but…”

“Home is home.” Tom added. “A lot of actors have left Britain and indeed Ireland and other countries to go to the States for work and they say it too. You build a life elsewhere, but you are from where you're from and holding onto home is a big thing. I feel it when I am away but it's the reason I love living in London, I am from England and I am fortunate enough to live there.”

“Do you remember when we met Lucas for lunch and he asked about Brexit?” Tom nodded that yes, he recalled such. “Do you ever think about it? I mean, I get occasional racist comments about being Irish, if they get worse or if the government decide to fuck out all non-nationals, I am not sure where that leaves anything.”

“Is that why you have not been willing to go look at houses recently?” Tom asked, noting of late that Danielle was not the least bit interested in continuing their house hunt.

“Well, it's scary investing in a second home there if all that is going to happen is I will be forced to sell soon.”

“You're in England with nearly a decade, I cannot see this going that badly, but if it does, you're so long in Britain, you could not possibly be forced to leave.”

“It's just worrying. I want us to know that if we do this together, it is not going to be a waste of our time. I want whatever we get to be the house we want, the one we still love in a decade.” She looked at him and smiled.

Tom smiled back at her and took her hand in his before kissing it. When he went to leave go again, she gently tightened her grip, telling him she wanted to keep the contact. Both enjoying the anonymity of the city none would expect to see them in.

*

It was the next day when the DNR form Catherine signed became relevant. After a goodbye and a kiss on the cheek to her grandmother, Danielle said goodbye to Sheila for the last time. She stood stoically next to Tom as the doctors walked out of the ICU with Catherine and Margaret, another of Danielle's aunts and gave their condolences to the family. Tom stayed beside Danielle, letting her know he was there for her. He had sadly lost his grandparents, so he knew the sensation, but the words she said on the road from the hotel resonated with him, she was losing her ties to Ireland and in many respects, Tom felt saddened for her, for very obvious reasons but part of him also hoped that Brexit would not chase her way as it was doing other Irish people.

The funeral was small, they went to West Cork to the small parish that her grandmother was from for the funeral, which he noticed was all done in Irish, Danielle reading a piece from the altar for part of it, Tom fascinated by the manner in which she spoke, her voice sounding entirely different in Irish. The whole affair was quiet, until after the meal in the hotel close by, after that, he was slightly startled by the show of music that took place. He looked to Danielle for an explanation.

“Nan was mad into music, so naturally, we remember her this way.” She smiled sadly.

“What's that little accordion?” He pointed to the instrument he had seen a few occasions before in lock-ins but did not know the name of.

“A concertina.”

“How old is that girl?” He asked in shock at the young child playing the instrument diligently.

“She is nine, she's been reared with music in the house and been taking lessons since she was four, her father is a huge trad man, goes to the Willie Clancy in Clare every year.” Tom gave her a confused look. “It's a trad festival, a week-long, with trad groups from all over Ireland go and just play together in one town in Clare, it's a big deal.” She smiled. “Mam would make sure we were there every year without fail, it was one way to guarantee she'd see her lot for a few days, Dad would just be happy in a corner with his whiskey and a good song.”

Tom smiled at the fondness Danielle had for her old family occasions. She clearly spent time with her cousins as a child as he had his, but again, the words she had regarding not having much by way of family ties to Ireland came to him.

For the most part of the evening, they sat in a corner, listening to the music and occasionally talking to family or old friends of her grandmother and grandfather that recognised “Bridget's girl”. Many got curious as to the English fellow she had and more than one checked was there Scottish in him, to Tom's surprise, that seemed acceptable to the majority of them and apparently negated a lot of his English-ness.

One man made it very clear he was less than fond of Sheila and Daniel O'Brien's granddaughter being with a British man. But Catherine shooed him off and informed him Sheila had met and adored Tom, talking fondly of the lovely man her Danielle had brought over to meet her from England, informing one and all Sheila's thoughts of him. It was the only time Tom really felt a moment of uncertainty and a tad unwelcome in the whole situation, he wondered if Danielle ever felt similar; the manner in which she rubbed his hand when Catherine defended him made him think it was something she knew something of.

When the evening turned to night and the celebration of the life of Sheila began to come to a close, Tom was startled when the final song was requested of Danielle, who to his utter shock, sung a song he had heard before but listening to the words, he realised were sadly poignant to the saying of goodbyes.

They were staying in the hotel the afters of the funeral were in, so with goodbyes to her family, he and Danielle went upstairs to their room. Inside, Danielle sighed and took off the clothes she had borrowed from a cousin for the funeral. Tom had hired a suit from a tailor not too far away, so he tidied it into the wardrobe for the night for them to return before their flight the next day.

“I am sorry about Sean Daly.”

“Who?”

“The fella that was not quiet of his dislike of Brits.”

“I was in Bangor for a while, I think it is safe to say, I have been in more hostile company.”

Danielle laughed. “Tom, Love, I hate to break it to you, but Bangor is fairly Unionist and Protestant, so you were under little to no threat there. If you said it was the Falls or the Bogside, I'd sympathise, but Bangor is fairly safe. So is Cork, but still. I know it's never pleasant to have people be so averse to you for no reason. I know I joke and comment on the whole Irish and British thing, but still, it's not nice when people say so aggressively.”

“Do you get it often?” Tom asked curiously.

“Not in London, it is more tolerant and multicultural but on some sets in more remote areas, comments occur, yes.”

Tom said nothing for a short time before getting into the bed, Danielle quickly following after and curling up against him. “Elle?”

“Mmhmm?”

“I didn't know you could sing.”

“I'd hardly call it singing.”

“But what was that tonight?”

“Mam and Nan loved me singing that song as a child and there is no way you decline a wish of the deceased. I sang it at Mam and Dad's funerals and she told me to sing it at hers, I couldn't decline.” She explained.

“Well, I have to say, I am somewhat startled, I never knew it. What is that song?”

“The Parting Glass, an old folk song, made more famous by being in an Assassin's Creed game and I am fairly sure Ed Sheeran covered it.”

“You sound different when you speak Irish and sing, your accent is stronger.”

“You're making me self conscious now.” She admonished before toying with some of his chest hair. “Thank you, Tom. For being here for all of this.”

Tom frowned at her. “Elle, I would be nowhere else, you silly woman.” He dismissed. “I am here for you Elle, no matter what.” He kissed her head. “I love you.” She just continued to lean against him and say nothing as she processed the act of burying her grandmother, a woman she always loved dearly and admired.