Second Helpings

Frustrating Farce

Another week in Paradise...NOT. Wednesday morning dawned and we waited on tenterhooks for the hospital phone call to tell us dad was on his way home. We'd been on the ward the day before and taken his television, clothes, drinks and other belongings home. Again, we'd filled his fridge with fresh produce and had put the morning on hold to meet the carer who would be coming to help him settle in.

A first phone call informed us transport from the hospital was delayed and it would now be some time in the afternoon when he arrived. Fine, we have no plans and are thrilled to have lived the whole of this year around hospital arrangements and chaos.

A second phone call informed us the doctor had arrived on Dad's ward and was concerned about some abnormalities in a blood test taken the day before. After three months in hospital it seems a little strange this was only picked up on the day before his release. So, the hospital claimed it would be necessary to keep him a couple more days while the problem was sorted. A second care package bit the dust and I spent the afternoon rearranging appointments and cursing.

Yesterday we arrived at the hospital to find the ward is closed yet again due to a second outbreak of the Norovirus. No visitors or discharges and another dose of deja vue. A doctor informed us Dad's potassium levels were so high he could suffer a heart attack if sent home, but then informed us all could be fine by Friday for his release. It must have been a miracle treatment he diagnosed for the problem and the 72 hour clear period with no infection on the ward not applicable this time.

This morning we were informed the ward will be closed until Monday at the earliest and they are planning on discharging him then with yet another new care package in place. We have delivered his belongings and TV back to the ward and won't be fetching them again until we actually see him arriving at his house. If that day ever arrives.

In other news, we took Paul and family out for a meal on Tuesday, for Mey Ling's burpday. It was a little subdued to start with, but a pleasant Thai restaurant and the antics of the grandmonsters soon loosened things up. I think things are pretty much back to as normal as they ever will be on that front now.

It's turned decidedly hot, but not the sort of comfortable heat of the Greek islands. More the sweat, sweat, drip drip type. Running around to hospitals and connected places isn't exactly enjoyable in these temperatures, but you know I'm not one to complain.

Neither will I grump about the rumblings of World Cup fever which threaten to engulf the whole country for the next month or so. I refuse to add to the money-making racket of almost every shop selling huge ranges of clothing, accessories and silly gadgets connected to the event. I'm not English by birth so I'll use that as my excuse. I have a feeling I'll be escaping upstairs to watch an awful lot of DVD's over the next few weeks and won't be able to wipe the smirk off my face when all the flags and banners have to be removed after England lose at some stage during a penalty shoot out. Me? Cynical? Never.

Next life I'm going to be an orphan from the start, grow up to be a none practicing lesbian spinster with a few toy boys on the side, but no children, and not one sarcastic bone in my body.