Monday, 22 September 2014

Tied down

That's me at the moment - tied down.  Not literally, you understand; just metaphorically.  Although describing myself as being tied down is an exaggeration, but my wings have definitely been clipped.  You'll just have to pardon me if I'm mixing my metaphors.

My life is just a little constrained at present with me unable to make any time-sensitive arrangements, such as confirming that I will be at a meeting at a scheduled time.  The Old Bat (and I still say she thinks it's a term of endearment) has been unwell for over three weeks now and has been in bed all that time - apart from the one day on which we returned from France.  It hit suddenly while we were over there but I expected - and I think the Old Bat probably did as well - that it would clear up in three of four days.  The day after we returned to England it was obvious that what was wrong was a tad more serious than I had thought and I called in the doctor, who ordered blood tests.  (Have I not said this before - or am I back in that parallel universe?) When he saw the results, he referred her to the local hospital for an urgent appointment.  Meanwhile, the OB was in bed, eating very little, and losing weight and strength rapidly.  So much so that I became worried and called the doctor out again.

She came last Tuesday and ordered a repeat of the blood tests plus a few more besides.  She also told me that the hospital was obliged to see urgent referrals within 14 days, she would chase up the appointment, and transport would be arranged.  The appointment was advised to me only on Friday, by phone.  Advised to me with great reluctance as the person phoning had at first insisted that the message could only be given to the patient, who was then sleeping.  So, tomorrow morning I will be waiting for an ambulance with a crew of two to carry the Old Bat downstairs, transfer her to a wheelchair and whisk her away for tests.

Meanwhile, I can only leave the house to walk the dog or go shopping when I know that I have settled the Old Bat down and have a window (hateful term!) of an hour and a half to two hours.  As the timing of the OB's needs is not rigid, so the times when I can get out are very movable.  Which, I suppose, does mean I have no excuse for leaving the dusting, the vacuuming or cleaning the windows.  Always provided I stay within shouting distance.


Sarah said...

Hoping that tomorrow brings you some answers and that the OB is soon on the mend.

Buck said...

What Sarah said. My best thoughts are with you both.

(not necessarily your) Uncle Skip, said...

Please know that I completely understand.
I hope, too, the issues are resolved soonest.

Brighton Pensioner said...

Thank you all. And it reads horribly as though I was wallowing in self-pity, but it wasn't that; I was xxx**^"! frustrated as I wanted to get out!

And Skip, I know you understand only too well.

(not necessarily your) Uncle Skip, said...

...and I know it's not self-pity.