EUNE FROUQU’THÉE D’JÈRRIAIS – (A FORKFUL OF JÈRRIAIS)

We continue our series of article in Jèrriais – Jersey’s own traditional native language. The ‘frouque’ in question is a digging fork, rather than a table fork. An English translation follows. This contribution comes from Helen Romeril

TCHOEU D’TIGRE

Bouônjour bouonnes gens, ch’est Helen Romeril (ou ‘Rom’thi’ s’lon l’ Dictionnaithe) tch’a l’pliaîsi d’vouos présenter un articl’ye pouor eune frouqu’tée d’Jèrriais.

Aniet, j’voudrais vouos explyitchi pouortchi qu’ j’ai eune grand’ tendresse pouor l’hôpita à Bounemouth. En Juilet deux mille dgiêx-sept, Michael, man parchonnyi de trente-siêx années, fut malade comme un tchian. Il eut eune sâprément haute tempéthatuthe jusqu’à quarante, i’ s’êcaûdrit et il eut l’trembliot. 

Auprès trais jours enfîn, il’ acceptit d’aller siez l’docteu. J’criyis qu’ Michael eut l’Limes Disease, quand tu’as ‘té mordachi par un tout p’tit annima tchi s’nouôrrit d’ tan sang (‘tic’ en Angliais). Mais, nânnîn, ch’ ‘tait piéthe. Lé docteu nouos env’yit înmédiatement à l’hôpita.

Auprès deux’trais heuthes, et un tas d’êpreuves, lé docteu nouos dit qué Michael avait eune ‘leukaemia’ et qu’i’ fallait aller à l’hôpita d’ Bournemouth dêliêment. Eh, Man Doue d’la vie, tchi choc! 

Quand nouos arrivînmes, tout l’monde, les docteurs, les nosses et l’s aut’ malades nouos fîtent la beinv’nue.  Â côté d’ l’hôpita, y’ avait  un pti’t appartément qu’les pathents pouvaient louer et où’est qué j’restis. Étout, y’avait un lac hardi paisibl’ye auve des grands paîssons dé riches couleurs, des cannards et des mauves (ch’na m’fit heutheuse car j’ pensais à Jèrri). Y’ avait étout un grand restaurant tchi vendait du sîmpl’ye mangi et un café tchi ‘tait un mio pus excitant.

Ch’tait un bouôn c’menchement. Et d’même, auprès eune semaine, jé r’vîns siez-mé, car not’ fil’ye, san bouonhomme et lus mousse dé quatorze mais, y restaient pouor souôngni nos deux tchians.

Mais chutte niet-là un docteu m’ téléphonit à deux heuthes lé mâtin. I’ m’ dit qu’il’ avait hardi r’grêt mais, malheutheusement, Michael né pouvait pon prendre la ‘chemotherapy’ qu’avait attatchi san boudîn. I’ fallait qué j’èrtouônne à l’hôpita tout d’siette pa’ce qué Michael avait bésoin d’eune opéthâtion et y’ avait eune haute probabilité qué Michael mouoth’thait.

Tchi tèrribl’yes nouvelles! Jé n’ savais pon tchi faithe car i’ fallait qu’j’attende la préchaine avion. J’avais l’tchoeu d’vômi.

Mithatchuleusement, j’pus acater un titchet d’avion sus man p’tit compiuteu. Et, car jé n’pouvais pon èrdormi, j’nettis toute la maîson. Et pis, j’fis eune pronm’nade auve nos tchians sus la grève dé Ouaisné.

Lé fréthe à Michael d’meuthait à côté d’siez nous dé l’aut’ côté du clios. Et don, à siêx heuthes j’lî explyitchit la situâtion et i’ m’ cachit jusqu’à l’aéroport.

Heûtheusement, i’ survêtchut et la preunmié chose qu’i’ dit au docteu fut qu’i’n’voulait pon mouothi d’vant d’dithe “à bétôt” à ses tchians. Tchi biche affilée! 

Micahel avait bésoin d’eune s’gonde opéthâtion et i’ restit pouor deux mais dans ‘intensive care’. Quand i’ r’touônnit au ‘ward’ normal, i’ c’menchit à créheuler. Auprès un tas d’êpreuves, lé docteu dit qué, tristément, Michael avait eune conseunmtion dans ses ponmons, sa rate et ofûche dans san chèrvé et s’n êtchinne. Malheutheusement, Michael ‘tait sus la rouelle dé la mauvaise forteune car la méd’cinne ’tait hardi forte et probabliément ou pouvait l’ tuer, pa’ce qu’i’ ‘tait bein fouaibl’ye. Sapré milles pipes! Lé preunmié jour i’ fallait engouler eune quarantaine dé boulets! I’ finnit auprès deux heuthes, et pis, i’ les vômit. Lé pouôrre médgian!

Étout, Michael souffrit d’eune enfliammâtion dans les ponmons deux’fais, il’ eut des caillots d’sang dans ses ponmoms et ses reins mantchitent à travailli.

J’laîssînmes l’hôpita au c’menchement dé Dézembre. Michael avait des gambes dé mouosson (il avait pèrdu eune trentaine dé kilos) et i’ ‘tait d’couleu d’dgiâbl’ye enrhînmé mais auve un ênorme souôri sus sa fache.

Enfin, Michael restit quat’ aut’ mais dans l’hôpita en Jèrri où’est qu’i’ r’chut d’l’arsénîn (car san corps ne pouvait pon toléther l’ chemo) pour èrmiédgi à san Conseunmtion. 

Et don, achteu j’pense qu’ous comprannez pouortchi qu’j’aime tant l’hôpita et tout les pèrsonnels!

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COURAGE IN THE FACE OF ILLNESS OR PAIN

Hello good people, it’s Helen Romeril (or ‘Rom’thi’ according to the dictionary) who has the pleasure of presenting an article for Eune frouqu’tée d’Jèrriais.

Today, I would like to explain to you why I have a great love of the hospital in Bournemouth. In July two thousand seventeen, Michael, my partner of thirty-six years, was very ill. He had an extremely high temperature of about forty, he was sweating and he had the shivers.

After three days he finally agreed to go to the doctor. I believed Michael had Limes Disease when you are bitten by a tiny animal which sucks your blood (‘tic’ in English). But no, it was worse. The Doctor sent us to the hospital immediately.

After several hours and lots of tests the doctor told us that Michael had leukaemia and that he had to go to Bournemouth hospital immediately. Oh, my goodness what a shock! 

When we arrived everyone, the doctors, nurses and other patients welcomed us. Next to the hospital, there was a small apartment which relatives could rent where I stayed. There was a very peaceful lake as well, with huge, colourful fish, ducks and gulls (this made me happy as it made me think of Jersey). There was also a large restaurant which sold simple food and a café, which was a little more exciting.

It was a good start. So, after a week I returned home, because our daughter, her husband and their daughter of fourteen months were staying there to look after our two dogs.

But that night a doctor telephoned me at two o’clock in the morning. He told me that he was very sorry but, sadly Michael couldn’t take the chemotherapy which had attacked his intestines. I had to return to the hospital straight away because Michael needed an operation and there was a high possibility that Michael would die.

What terrible news! I didn’t know what to do because I had to wait for the next plane. I felt sick. Miraculously, I was able to buy a plane ticket on my laptop. And because I could not sleep, I cleaned the whole house. Then I walked our dogs on Ouaisne beach.

Michael’s brother lives opposite us on the other side of the field. So, at six o’clock I explained the situation to him and he drove me to the airport.

Luckily, he survived and the first thing he told the doctor was he didn’t want to die before saying goodbye to his dogs. What a cheeky goat!

Michael needed a second operation and he stayed in intensive care for two months. When he returned to the normal ward he started coughing persistently. After lots of tests, the doctor said that sadly Michael had TB in his lungs, his spleen and probably in his brain and spine. Sadly, Michael was very unlucky as the medicine was very strong and it would probably kill him because he was very weak. My goodness! The first day he had to swallow about forty pills. He finished after two hours and then vomited. The poor devil!

Michael also suffered from pneumonia twice, blood clots in his lungs and renal failure.

We left the hospital at the beginning of December. Michael with his sparrow legs l (he had lost about thirty kilos) looking like death warmed up but with a big smile on his face.

Lastly, Michael stayed another four months in the Jersey hospital where he received arsenic (because his body could not tolerate chemo) to cure his TB.

Of course, I think that now you will understand why I like the hospital and all the staff so much!