About seven years ago, Keith had a few episodes of venous bleeds from one of his feet but fortunately, nothing since, until yesterday, that is. The day before, he had noticed a tiny pinprick of broken skin on his left foot and put a plaster on it, which he removed yesterday morning in the bathroom. It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs, and I was in the middle of making the bed, that I heard a cry of anguish and, rushing to the top of the stairs, I was confronted by the sight of Keith, sitting on a step vainly trying to stem the flow of blood spurting out of his left foot. Several sodden towels later, the bleed was showing no signs of stopping so I took the decision to dial 999 and request an ambulance pronto, which duly arrived within minutes, together with two very nice men in green who proceeded to investigate, interspersed with a conversation about their ambulance and Keith's along the lines of 'My one's better than your one.'
And, guess what? The bleeding had stopped under all those towels, but they bandaged it up, wrote copious notes, decided he didn't need to have a ride in their ambulance after all and departed.
The rest of the day was as normal - for Keith anyway. For me, it involved lots of cleaning up of blood and phone calls about insurance and quotes for new stair carpet.
So, last night, with the stairs now looking as if half a dozen axe murderers had been let loose on them, we took ourselves off to bed.
Fast forward to this morning. Keith got up at six o'clock, as he has a 'round bottom' and doesn't tend to linger in bed once he's awake, whilst I promised myself that, today, I would not be leaping around with towels, doing battle with fountains of blood, and turned over for another hour of zeds.
Unfortunately, fate decreed otherwise and we were soon in the middle of a scenario almost identical to yesterday's except that, this time, it was the bedroom carpet that was getting it.
This time, the bleed didn't stop properly so, foot tied up in a plastic bag, I drove him smartly down the road to the hospital. This time, he saw a very nice doctor, who put a couple of stitches in, which, fingers crossed, have sorted it.
However, Keith has spent the day looking pale and interesting and confesses to not feeling 100%, so I am hoping a good night's sleep will have him feeling much better by tomorrow.
"I can't see how murderers are able to clean up every speck of blood like they do in the films," Keith mused last night.
"Oh they probably have dark coloured carpets," I said.
"What colour carpet are we going to get?" he asked.