A Mother's Story: Anger
Life in north east England (yes, we've moved!) with an eccentric Welshman and a small white dog that thinks he's a Rottweiler.
Looking forward
Today was great. The dogs and I actually managed reasonable length walks without skidding either on the ice or the mud - a first for a good few days. And while that made a very pleasant change, I couldn't help thinking how lovely it will be when we can go walking again in surroundings that look more like this...
Oh for blue skies again...
Or how about some apple blossom?
And of course, this being Wales, the daffodils!
Spring can't come soon enough.
The thief
Yesterday was 'ladies who lunch' day in Chester, which was lovely, as always. Driving back along the A483, I heard the faint ringtone on my mobile, but couldn't do anything about it until I got home. Once home, I let the dogs out and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, noticing idly that there were a couple of bedraggled and half eaten slices of bread spilling off a plate on the draining board. The dogs came back in and I remembered the missed phone call. It was Keith.
"Nothing important," he said, "just to tell you that the little white so and so (aka Jake) pinched my sandwich when I wasn't looking!"
It seems that Keith had been sitting at the computer, just biting into his sandwich when his mobile rang and, as reception is often somewhat variable, he stood up and wandered over the the window while he was answering it. In a flash, Jake had reached up on his back legs and pulled the sandwich off the computer desk. Luckily, Keith managed to grab it off him before he could tuck in.
Chez le medecin
Diagnosis agreed with by GP.
Blood taken for blood tests, including liver - rather worrying!
Appointment for ultrasound sent to local hospital.
Disappointingly, the doc didn't suggest that I should desist from all housework, cooking, dishwashing etc until further notice.
I did try it on Keith but he wasn't having any.
Ill
A few months ago, I was ill with what seemed to me to be a gall bladder related problem - pain under the ribs and around the shoulder blade and vomiting. When I told Elder Daughter, I got the typical response, "Go to the doctor."
Do I really need to?" I asked.
"You'll be sorry if you don't and then you get a full blown attack," was the reply.
Why are doctors so bossy?
Well, according to the age-old wisdom that daughters should follow their mothers' advice and not the other way round, I didn't. I just hoped it wouldn't happen again. When it comes to ostriches and heads in the sand, I hold the gold cup.
Fast forward to last night, sitting at Dad's, watching television and becoming increasingly aware of pain under the ribs and around the shoulder blade. After downing a couple of gallons of Gaviscon, I gave in and announced that I was going to bed and that I would be fine after a good night's sleep. And so I would, I expect, if I had managed to get a good night's sleep. Instead, the pains got steadily worse, there was no chance of me finding a comfortable lying position and I soon lost count of the number of times I vomited. (Bet you really wanted to know that, didn't you?)
So after spending a night in which I increasingly doubted whether I would ever see morning - well, you know I'm prone to exaggeration but the thought did cross my mind - I got up this morning feeling somewhat better and well enough to drive home. Staying an extra day would have been awkward as I had a number of appointments arranged for tomorrow.
However, I have to reluctantly concede that Elder Daughter was probably right (OK she was definitely right) and I should pay a visit to the doc's. It's either that or live on dry toast for the rest of my life.
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