Herself is happy to be back in the nursing home, with the people who know her, care for her and tease her- the people who saved her life. I’m beginning to breathe normally again. I’ve had a good sleep. I’ll start dealing with all this soon. In the meantime, some random observations/ things that are coming back to me about the crisis time.
On the way to Enniskillen, as dark night turned into dawn and then bright sunshine, I was struggling with the seemingly strong possibility that Herself might have died before I got there. Driving (albeit on an empty road) was not the time to consider all the emotions involved there, so I focussed on practicalities. How would we get the girls to the most exciting event in the world ever, the JLS concert? What ‘clothes for a wake’ would I get Spurs Fan to bring (the Brother had a suit hanging in the car, luckily not needed)?
Oh, the bathroom! Herself’s house will be full of people and the bathroom will be a bio hazard (the Handsome Husband has Alzheimer’s and can hardly look after himself, never mind clean the bathroom). Will I be spending my first hours as an orphan doing the cleaning?
photo from here
The half dressed man to whom I pointed out a door buzzer into the assessment ward? That was the consultant hurrying to Herself, roused from the on-call bed. I’d been in the hospital minutes and I was trying to give directions to senior staff. Delusions of authority or what?
Directions? The hospital is all higgledy piggledy, with bits added on here and there, seemingly randomly. A new hospital is being built; until then, bring string to find your way back to the entrance. It look me nearly 24 hours to be confident of the routes to the canteen, the ladies’ and the front door from the ward Herself was in. And as for car parking- be prepared to walk miles. True, I often park far away in a nice, accessible, space, but most folk can manoeuvre better than I and still have to park a fair bit away.
Enniskillen looks well in 4 am sunlight. I don’t want to see it like that again.
I had to miss a hair appointment. I can cope with the white roots for another while, but not the too long fringe. I took the scissors to it myself. Forgive me Hairdresser Extraordinaire, I was stressed.
Next time- there will be a next time- I need to bring more clothes than I actually require, just to be able to change something, to make decisions and carry them out. I can’t control the situation, so if changing one pair of jeans for another is all that I can manage, then that’ll have to do.