Pyjama Saga

2nd November 2011 Wednesday

Feeling guilty about not spending much time with my husband - my father consuming all my spare head space. Last night I said ‘let’s go for a walk tomorrow’, but this morning I succumb to my sore throat and stay in bed with the pussy curled against my back till nearly lunch time. My husband says he doesn’t mind - he’s working on his clay creatures - glueing broken limbs and toes.

When I arrive at the hospital my father is asleep so I creep away and sit in the car, the rain pounding on the roof, the windscreen steaming up. I could go to Tescos but I don’t want to lose my parking space. He’s surprised to see me even though he’s not really confused any more. But the peeing thing is bad. The pads aren’t working. The lovely nurse has to change him and the sheets twice while I’m there. I drive back to his room and pick up more pyjamas and later drive away with a big bag of wet clothes, leaving him in the hands of another lovely nurse helping him off the bed.

I load the washing machine and as soon as the spin cycle is over I shove all the damp pyjamas into a plastic bag and we drive to the cinema to meet my sister and her husband. After the film I hand the bag over to her. She’ll get them dry tonight and take them in to the hospital tomorrow. And so the pyjama saga begins.

I’m so grateful for this little hospital and the doctor and the nurses and the NHS. But I’m not holding out much hope for a solution to this flowing pee. Which I didn’t think I’d be writing about in a blog. I hope my father doesn’t mind. He's always been so encouraging about my writing.