I'm going to have a hot chocolate, I can't drink tea this close to going to bed, too much caffeine, it keeps me awake.
You shouldn't drink too much milk though
Why not?
Milk is bad for you, you shouldn't drink too much of it
What on earth are you talking about?
I don't know how or why, all I know is too much milk does you no good.
Then why do they give it to babies?
Dunno
And how can babies live on nothing but milk for the first few months of life if it's bad for you?
Dunno
Really? How can something capable of sustaining life be bad for you?
Dunno
Are you thinking of coke? Because that's fair enough, too much coke is no good.
No, milk, I am thinking of milk, too much milk is bad for you.
And how do you know this?
Oh christ, I wish I'd never said anything, I don't know how I know but I know.
How is it bad for you?
I don't know!
Is it bad for certain age groups? Are you talking about all dairy produce?
Please let it go now.
I can't! I need to know if I should have this hot chocolate and I can't have it until I know!
So don't have it!
But I want it!
But that hot chocolate is made with water, not milk.
Oh... well that's ok then, I can have it.
Yes, yes you can.
But why can't I have milk?
Just fucking let the fucking milk go!
Don't shout at me.
I didn't shout.
Yes you did, you shouted at me about milk.
Well I didn't mean to shout.
Say sorry
No
What?
I said no.
You are so unreasonable.
I will not pander to your over sensitive nature.
I am not over sensitive! All I wanted to know was why I shouldn't drink milk!
Oh. My. God. Really? Are you still banging on about milk?
Well you're the one who started on about it.
I didn't start on about anything, all I said was that I heard you shouldn't drink too much milk.
You said you knew why.
Did not.
Did too.
Fuck me... are you 10?
I hate you.
I hate you more.
You cannot possibly hate me more than I hate you.
Stop talking.
You stop talking.
Fine.
FINE!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
So I gave in and went to see a Quack.
So the Quest For A Poo today led me to the Doctor’s. I never go to the Doctor unless I absolutely have to, this is half to do with me being horrified at the thought of explaining things about how my body is going wrong to a man in tweed, and half because my Doctor is spectacularly incompetent. I know this because for almost the full 2004 year I had to go in for monthly injections to try and reduce the severe endometriosis I had been diagnosed with, and each and every time I arrived at the surgery I had to explain to him who I was, why I was there and what he had to do, this was after fighting my way past reception who kept making me appointments to see the nurse when my consultant had clearly specified the injections were to be administered by a Doctor. I know they see thousands of people every year and I have no problem with him needing his memory jogging but my notes were on the computer in front of him, all he had to do was read them as I was walking from the waiting area to his office, but no, every month we had “and how can I help you Miss…er….”.
So I don’t go, because I figure sleep cures most things and the things it doesn’t cure can be forgotten about if you consume enough Jack Daniels and/or gin.
Today however it all got too much and I was beginning to have to crawl rather than walk, which can be embarrassing, so I took myself off to Dr Tweed. I told him what the problems were and explained to the man who injected me with Prostap for a year that I had been injected with Prostap for over a year. As a response to this, he took my temperature and listened to my breathing.
Now I am not a doctor so I am unclear as to the links between your bum and your lungs, perhaps this is something you learn when you decide to become a GP, that you must check every patient to make absolutely sure that they are in fact alive and able to breathe before proceeding. I am delighted to report that I am one of the lucky ones and can still breathe, phew!
So after asking me something which I will never be able to say out loud or type, he asked which pain medication had alleviated the symptoms before, to which I replied “nothing, actually I really like Codeine but I’m not meant to have any more of that, I liked it a little bit too much…”, which is the truth but is about as helpful as me putting a dead badger on his desk and asking him to make it all better. So since Voltarol has never helped he has sent me away with Mefenamic Acid and a warning that (and bear in mind that Dr Tweed’s warning whilst I was taking Prostap was that it might reduce my bone density which is massively useless information that only seemed to mean that I shouldn’t audition for a part in ‘Jackass’) whilst taking it I should stay away from direct exposure to…. Sunlight.
Yes, that’s right, I should not be exposed to the sun. I am a Vampire. Which explains the checking of my breathing, turns out I could actually be dead after all… or un-dead… whatever, lets just hope I can sit down without crying in a couple of days, at the moment I would sell my house and my sister for that privilege.
So I don’t go, because I figure sleep cures most things and the things it doesn’t cure can be forgotten about if you consume enough Jack Daniels and/or gin.
Today however it all got too much and I was beginning to have to crawl rather than walk, which can be embarrassing, so I took myself off to Dr Tweed. I told him what the problems were and explained to the man who injected me with Prostap for a year that I had been injected with Prostap for over a year. As a response to this, he took my temperature and listened to my breathing.
Now I am not a doctor so I am unclear as to the links between your bum and your lungs, perhaps this is something you learn when you decide to become a GP, that you must check every patient to make absolutely sure that they are in fact alive and able to breathe before proceeding. I am delighted to report that I am one of the lucky ones and can still breathe, phew!
So after asking me something which I will never be able to say out loud or type, he asked which pain medication had alleviated the symptoms before, to which I replied “nothing, actually I really like Codeine but I’m not meant to have any more of that, I liked it a little bit too much…”, which is the truth but is about as helpful as me putting a dead badger on his desk and asking him to make it all better. So since Voltarol has never helped he has sent me away with Mefenamic Acid and a warning that (and bear in mind that Dr Tweed’s warning whilst I was taking Prostap was that it might reduce my bone density which is massively useless information that only seemed to mean that I shouldn’t audition for a part in ‘Jackass’) whilst taking it I should stay away from direct exposure to…. Sunlight.
Yes, that’s right, I should not be exposed to the sun. I am a Vampire. Which explains the checking of my breathing, turns out I could actually be dead after all… or un-dead… whatever, lets just hope I can sit down without crying in a couple of days, at the moment I would sell my house and my sister for that privilege.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Update
Black Eye - my eye is yellow now, apart from the bruising, the area around the eye is yellow, I look like I have a disease, and today I have to go to Peterborough and meet people I have ever met before - what an excellent impression I will make! Moch answered the phone last night with the words "Hello Rocky", to this I say ha ha, funny girl.
Poo - It's been 8 days. Now I am no medical expert, but I can't think that that's healthy, I mean what's going on? Is my body not producing it anymore or is it all just sitting there? These are questions with no answer, what with me choosing English Literature and not Poo Science at university. I can deconstruct 'Ariel', but I can't figure out why I can't poo, at this point I know which one I would prefer to be able to do.
Poo - It's been 8 days. Now I am no medical expert, but I can't think that that's healthy, I mean what's going on? Is my body not producing it anymore or is it all just sitting there? These are questions with no answer, what with me choosing English Literature and not Poo Science at university. I can deconstruct 'Ariel', but I can't figure out why I can't poo, at this point I know which one I would prefer to be able to do.
Him; Did you get there ok then?
Me; Yeah, I'm here, tired though, can't wait to go back to bed...
Him; Can't sleep when you get home, we've got stuff to do.
Me; Like what?
Him; I've got to do you.
Me; Ah, spontanaity, truly a lost art.
Him; Can't get out of it now, I've put it in my diary.
Me; Your diary? Really? The one that says 'Friday - got up late, snow! ran to train station, was late for work, ate some meat, worked a bit, hate everyone, ate meat, worked a bit more, went home, ate meat, shagged bird, ate meat, sleep.
Him; Did you find my diary?
Me; Sweetheart, I could write your diary every single day.
Me; Yeah, I'm here, tired though, can't wait to go back to bed...
Him; Can't sleep when you get home, we've got stuff to do.
Me; Like what?
Him; I've got to do you.
Me; Ah, spontanaity, truly a lost art.
Him; Can't get out of it now, I've put it in my diary.
Me; Your diary? Really? The one that says 'Friday - got up late, snow! ran to train station, was late for work, ate some meat, worked a bit, hate everyone, ate meat, worked a bit more, went home, ate meat, shagged bird, ate meat, sleep.
Him; Did you find my diary?
Me; Sweetheart, I could write your diary every single day.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
A poo, a poo, my kingdom for a poo.
The brilliance of Imodium, is that it has the exact opposite effect on your bottom system to what you are suffering from, providing sweet, sweet relief. A side effect of Imodium, is that it has the exact opposite effect on your bottom system to what you were suffering from.
To put it succinctly, last week I was doing it too much, this week I'm not doing it at all. Turns that when I rejected my boyfriend the toilet, it got all upset and now never wants to see me again.
This is a problem.
Unfortunately, it is a problem the women in my family suffer from anyway, and when put together with a endometriosis legion the size of a mobile phone (Samsung T610 to be precise) in an unfortunate place, this means I have gone from one extreme to another, from the sublime to the ridiculous, from a rock to a hard place, out of the frying pan and into the raging, screaming, almost the most uncomfortable I have ever been inferno.
Ah well, nothing to do now but wait it out.
Black Eye Update - the bruise whch was just in the crease of my eyelid has spread down and around my eye, you know that joke where someone puts boot polish around the lens of a telescope and the next person to use it gets a ring around their eye? That, I look just like that.
And no, there will be no photographic proof, you're just going to have to trust me when I say I look like an idiot who got drunk and smashed their face into a door frame.
Sidebar - I know some people by a marriage that is now a divorce who are not very nice people, and when I say not very nice, I mean the head of the family was in the SS, when you get the impression they would make good Nazi's, you're not wrong. They keep photo albums of family illnessess, accidents etc, and on the extremely rare occasions I have found myself in their home I have been shown the aforementioned albums while sipping weak tea and eating bundt cake, "and this is Robert's rash on day 3.... day 4.... day 6 is a good one, it's where it started to ooze....". I'm just not sure what I would do with a photo of my gross eye, short of donating it to them.
To put it succinctly, last week I was doing it too much, this week I'm not doing it at all. Turns that when I rejected my boyfriend the toilet, it got all upset and now never wants to see me again.
This is a problem.
Unfortunately, it is a problem the women in my family suffer from anyway, and when put together with a endometriosis legion the size of a mobile phone (Samsung T610 to be precise) in an unfortunate place, this means I have gone from one extreme to another, from the sublime to the ridiculous, from a rock to a hard place, out of the frying pan and into the raging, screaming, almost the most uncomfortable I have ever been inferno.
Ah well, nothing to do now but wait it out.
Black Eye Update - the bruise whch was just in the crease of my eyelid has spread down and around my eye, you know that joke where someone puts boot polish around the lens of a telescope and the next person to use it gets a ring around their eye? That, I look just like that.
And no, there will be no photographic proof, you're just going to have to trust me when I say I look like an idiot who got drunk and smashed their face into a door frame.
Sidebar - I know some people by a marriage that is now a divorce who are not very nice people, and when I say not very nice, I mean the head of the family was in the SS, when you get the impression they would make good Nazi's, you're not wrong. They keep photo albums of family illnessess, accidents etc, and on the extremely rare occasions I have found myself in their home I have been shown the aforementioned albums while sipping weak tea and eating bundt cake, "and this is Robert's rash on day 3.... day 4.... day 6 is a good one, it's where it started to ooze....". I'm just not sure what I would do with a photo of my gross eye, short of donating it to them.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Glenn says next time I mention Ikea he'll black the other one...
So Saturday night Lovely Hot Ros and her fella came round to check out the swanky poshness of my palatial abode and much fun was had, I had finally made a clean break with my boyfriend the toilet and, although it didn't want to let me go, it finally resigned itself to moving on and I was free (imodium - get some - fucking amazing stuff).
We had some wine and we were talking about stuff and Ros mentioned an impression of this girl we all know that I do, it is an HILARIOUS impression, such is my talent for the lost art of the mimic (and by hilarious I mean cruel and by talent I mean I'm a bitch who is destined for hell), this impression involves lots of hair flicking and storming out of rooms to make a point so I duely stood up in order to flick my hair and storm out into the kitchen. I flicked my hair, I swung around, I lost my balance, I smacked my face into the door frame and....
now I have a black eye.
Which is an AWESOME thing to go back to work with.
We had some wine and we were talking about stuff and Ros mentioned an impression of this girl we all know that I do, it is an HILARIOUS impression, such is my talent for the lost art of the mimic (and by hilarious I mean cruel and by talent I mean I'm a bitch who is destined for hell), this impression involves lots of hair flicking and storming out of rooms to make a point so I duely stood up in order to flick my hair and storm out into the kitchen. I flicked my hair, I swung around, I lost my balance, I smacked my face into the door frame and....
now I have a black eye.
Which is an AWESOME thing to go back to work with.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Lurgy-tastic
God I'm so bloody bored.
This is my 5th day in my house, and for a place I usually wish I could see more it's slowly becoming somewhere I wish I could get away from... I can't go outside because my new lover, the toilet, cannot bear to be parted from me for more than half an hour. So I am stuck here, and I can't actually DO anything productive because I have to lie down and cry for a while if I do too much, like, you know, pick the post up off the doormat. Couple this with the 5 builders and their 10 friends having some kind of party involving loud machinery on the driveway and it's SO MUCH FUN BEING ME.
Shouldn't moan, really shouldn't, lots of people much worse off and blah blah WHY WASN'T E.R ON CHANNEL FOUR THIS MORNING? Seriously! That was the only thing I had to look forward to. Goddamn faschist TV programming bastards.
My mum rang and said she was going to come over to see how I was, then she said she didn't want to, then she said she would anyway, then she said she shouldn't, then she said she did want to, then she said she didn't want to catch it, then she said she'd see how she felt the next day, then I said she should stay at home. Please mother, just stay at home, PLEASE.
However, I have discovered that a distinct benefit of living with your boyfriend when you're ill means you can wear someone else's clothes, well I don't want to associate my clothes with feeling like this do I?!
This is my 5th day in my house, and for a place I usually wish I could see more it's slowly becoming somewhere I wish I could get away from... I can't go outside because my new lover, the toilet, cannot bear to be parted from me for more than half an hour. So I am stuck here, and I can't actually DO anything productive because I have to lie down and cry for a while if I do too much, like, you know, pick the post up off the doormat. Couple this with the 5 builders and their 10 friends having some kind of party involving loud machinery on the driveway and it's SO MUCH FUN BEING ME.
Shouldn't moan, really shouldn't, lots of people much worse off and blah blah WHY WASN'T E.R ON CHANNEL FOUR THIS MORNING? Seriously! That was the only thing I had to look forward to. Goddamn faschist TV programming bastards.
My mum rang and said she was going to come over to see how I was, then she said she didn't want to, then she said she would anyway, then she said she shouldn't, then she said she did want to, then she said she didn't want to catch it, then she said she'd see how she felt the next day, then I said she should stay at home. Please mother, just stay at home, PLEASE.
However, I have discovered that a distinct benefit of living with your boyfriend when you're ill means you can wear someone else's clothes, well I don't want to associate my clothes with feeling like this do I?!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Three things I got this week....
1. A pretty new driveway, mmmm, blockpaving and builder's bottoms, right in front of the bay window, nice....
2. A lurgy so incapasitating I feel like the toilet and I are entwined together, woven as one in a symbiotic orgy of disgustingness.
3. A pay rise, which is odd because pay review/bonus season is not until March, apparently what I have is a 'salary adjustment', that was right before I called in sick though.... My timing is quite something...
Which means if things continue in this pattern, by tomorrow lunchtime I should be hit by a bus.
2. A lurgy so incapasitating I feel like the toilet and I are entwined together, woven as one in a symbiotic orgy of disgustingness.
3. A pay rise, which is odd because pay review/bonus season is not until March, apparently what I have is a 'salary adjustment', that was right before I called in sick though.... My timing is quite something...
Which means if things continue in this pattern, by tomorrow lunchtime I should be hit by a bus.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Text Exchange
Him - What did I get you for Christmas when we were together?
Me - Soap, are you very proud?
Him - Where from though?
Me - Molton Brown and Lush, it was fancy soap! Why?
Him - Still soap though! Sorry, I owe you an ironing board at least... Just trying to justify gifts I have given to loved ones.
Me - You're going to find it hard to justify soap, especially as I bought you Star Wars Lego toys, which is an incredible gift by anyones standards, and you never, ever told me you loved me.
pause
Him - I still have the Star Wars Lego toys.
pause
Me - I still have the Molton Brown gift bag.
end
Me - Soap, are you very proud?
Him - Where from though?
Me - Molton Brown and Lush, it was fancy soap! Why?
Him - Still soap though! Sorry, I owe you an ironing board at least... Just trying to justify gifts I have given to loved ones.
Me - You're going to find it hard to justify soap, especially as I bought you Star Wars Lego toys, which is an incredible gift by anyones standards, and you never, ever told me you loved me.
pause
Him - I still have the Star Wars Lego toys.
pause
Me - I still have the Molton Brown gift bag.
end
Friday, February 10, 2006
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
ROS!!!
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Today we welcome a new reader, her name is Ros and she is very beautiful, everyone say Hi Ros!
For those of you keeping count, that makes 9 regular readers of Spanair, 9, n.i.n.e, NINE.
This picture does not do her justice, actually it makes her look like a raving loon, but trust me, when her mouth isn't opened quite so wide and her eyes are less 'I forgot to take my pills' and more 'I am buxom and blonde and naughty', she is a fox! It's the only photo I have of her on this PC and she can think of it as revenge for the photo of me with a puffy face she had on her wall for years and years.
Anyway, she's the best friend I made at uni, we used to drink squashed green frogs at Pu Na Na's in Hull and when we walked in the boys look at her and say 'man, I'd like to do her, those legs.... who's the other one?' and the boy next to the first boy would say 'Don't know, think they live together, that blonde one though... she's a fox.....'
Monday, February 06, 2006
I asked for this....
This week, well, for the next three days, I am working from home. I am working on this project which is going on in the south west and my manager arranged it for me to do my part from home. This is great! Although I haven't slept because I am so worried about it, so many things to do, haven't used the software before, no one to just look over and ask about anything......
I should not be worrying about this, the thing is though, I've realised that the longer I do this job, the more my self confidence is eroded, the longer I do the same three or four things in the same three or four places, the more I think I can't do anything else.
This is stupid, I can do anything I want to do, I just have to work at it, I just have to be allowed to try and not be held back because someone makes more money holding me back.
I just have to enjoy these next three days, and the three days next week. However, you have to set yourself rules, like no TV, and no sleeping (God I'd love some sleep, where has the sleep gone?), and no wandering aimlessly around the house, and no decorating the bathroom, and no chocolate HobNobs, and no re-arranging your wardrobe, and no re-organising your make-up box, and no planning your summer holiday, and no flicking through the Ikea catalogue (even though it's right there), and no filling out job applications, no no no....
Who am I kidding? I love the chocolate HobNobs....
I should not be worrying about this, the thing is though, I've realised that the longer I do this job, the more my self confidence is eroded, the longer I do the same three or four things in the same three or four places, the more I think I can't do anything else.
This is stupid, I can do anything I want to do, I just have to work at it, I just have to be allowed to try and not be held back because someone makes more money holding me back.
I just have to enjoy these next three days, and the three days next week. However, you have to set yourself rules, like no TV, and no sleeping (God I'd love some sleep, where has the sleep gone?), and no wandering aimlessly around the house, and no decorating the bathroom, and no chocolate HobNobs, and no re-arranging your wardrobe, and no re-organising your make-up box, and no planning your summer holiday, and no flicking through the Ikea catalogue (even though it's right there), and no filling out job applications, no no no....
Who am I kidding? I love the chocolate HobNobs....
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Panic.
Get home after an unexpected reprieve from working away all week. I pull up on the driveway at 3.30, pull out the car keys, wait, those aren't my car keys, those are Glenn's car keys, Glenn's car keys don't have house keys on them.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Fuck it's cold.
Right, call Moch, she lives like a mile away, Moch's not answering, well why should she? Even teachers aren't home this early unless they have one of those transporter things like in The Fly, God that's a disgusting film, that bit with the ear......
Think woman! call mum and dad, dad might be working from home, they're not answering either, Aimee won't be in..... Man it's cold... Glenn won't be home for three hours... I am going to freeze to death in the car....
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Might as well eat those emergency peanut M&M's then..... yep, nothing like freezing to death in a Rover to make you comfort eat.... Paul Mckenna would ask you if you really are hungry..... Fuck that.
Turning the radio on.... Kanye West.... Turning the radio off....
Call Glenn again... yep, no help, not like he can send me keys in one of those transporter things like in The Fly, oh God there it is again, the ear..... Not as scary as The Wicker Man though... definately more gross....
So... very.... cold.... bet this is how those arctic explorers feel, nah, bet they're warmer, they have bigger coats....
Might have a look at those job descriptions I printed off yesterday.... God there's a lot of crap in this bag.... gum... pens.... keys.... sungla... wait a minute! KEYS!
KEYS! I HAVE KEYS! YES! KEYS! KEYS TO MY HOUSE! I'M GOING TO LIVE! LIVE I TELL YOU!
Next door neighbour is looking at me like I'm crazy... probably because I was sat in my car for nealy half an hour and then started jumping up and down in aforementioned car, and then got out of it.
Idiot.
Me, not the neighbour.
Possibly both.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Fuck it's cold.
Right, call Moch, she lives like a mile away, Moch's not answering, well why should she? Even teachers aren't home this early unless they have one of those transporter things like in The Fly, God that's a disgusting film, that bit with the ear......
Think woman! call mum and dad, dad might be working from home, they're not answering either, Aimee won't be in..... Man it's cold... Glenn won't be home for three hours... I am going to freeze to death in the car....
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Might as well eat those emergency peanut M&M's then..... yep, nothing like freezing to death in a Rover to make you comfort eat.... Paul Mckenna would ask you if you really are hungry..... Fuck that.
Turning the radio on.... Kanye West.... Turning the radio off....
Call Glenn again... yep, no help, not like he can send me keys in one of those transporter things like in The Fly, oh God there it is again, the ear..... Not as scary as The Wicker Man though... definately more gross....
So... very.... cold.... bet this is how those arctic explorers feel, nah, bet they're warmer, they have bigger coats....
Might have a look at those job descriptions I printed off yesterday.... God there's a lot of crap in this bag.... gum... pens.... keys.... sungla... wait a minute! KEYS!
KEYS! I HAVE KEYS! YES! KEYS! KEYS TO MY HOUSE! I'M GOING TO LIVE! LIVE I TELL YOU!
Next door neighbour is looking at me like I'm crazy... probably because I was sat in my car for nealy half an hour and then started jumping up and down in aforementioned car, and then got out of it.
Idiot.
Me, not the neighbour.
Possibly both.
Life Support
Haven't posted in a while, but I haven't sunk into the depths of despair or anything as the pattern of recent posts might suggest, I've just had nothing to write about, and also I was fighting the depths if despair, a little bit, not about to drive off a cliff or anything, just prone to tears a lot. Glenn just loves living with me at the moment.
My family seems to be going through the ringer at the moment, my cousin (whose father is my uncle who died) was walking out of the solicitors office the day after the funeral last week and somehow managed to smash her ankle into teeny tiny pieces. She was taken to hospital and had an operation which has left her with three pins and a metal plate holding her together. Prior to the op though, her foot had to be manipulated into the correct position, this took three Drs, one on her thigh, one on her calf and one pulling her foot. She has had two children and said that she would give birth to ten more rather than go through that again, when I visited her in the hospital her face contorted with the memory of it. I think it really is time that someone gave her a break, 2006 is not working out so well thus far.
Gripe about the NHS 1 - Less than 12 hours after my uncle died someone from the hospital that treated him rang my cousin (his daughter) to ask if they were satisfied with the service. My cousin, quite rightly, told them she didn't feel ready to answer that question.
Gripe about the NHS 2 - Although she is in a room on her own, and we are grateful for that, she has no clock and TV's are hire only (£3 for 30 minutes). So she wakes up in the morning with no idea of the time, nothing to take her mind off what has happened to her and has to wait on average an hour for someone to come and take her to the toilet. I know that there are many, many people out there suffering much more because of this heamoraging organisation but how about this - stop paying people to call grief sricken relatives in the hope of preventing future litigous action and instead, put the money towards more nurses (auxillary or otherwise) to help people with their most basic needs, you know, like going to the toilet.
Just a thought.
My family seems to be going through the ringer at the moment, my cousin (whose father is my uncle who died) was walking out of the solicitors office the day after the funeral last week and somehow managed to smash her ankle into teeny tiny pieces. She was taken to hospital and had an operation which has left her with three pins and a metal plate holding her together. Prior to the op though, her foot had to be manipulated into the correct position, this took three Drs, one on her thigh, one on her calf and one pulling her foot. She has had two children and said that she would give birth to ten more rather than go through that again, when I visited her in the hospital her face contorted with the memory of it. I think it really is time that someone gave her a break, 2006 is not working out so well thus far.
Gripe about the NHS 1 - Less than 12 hours after my uncle died someone from the hospital that treated him rang my cousin (his daughter) to ask if they were satisfied with the service. My cousin, quite rightly, told them she didn't feel ready to answer that question.
Gripe about the NHS 2 - Although she is in a room on her own, and we are grateful for that, she has no clock and TV's are hire only (£3 for 30 minutes). So she wakes up in the morning with no idea of the time, nothing to take her mind off what has happened to her and has to wait on average an hour for someone to come and take her to the toilet. I know that there are many, many people out there suffering much more because of this heamoraging organisation but how about this - stop paying people to call grief sricken relatives in the hope of preventing future litigous action and instead, put the money towards more nurses (auxillary or otherwise) to help people with their most basic needs, you know, like going to the toilet.
Just a thought.
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