Two f***ing days…
TWO f***ing days…!!!
That’s how long she managed to stay home this time before
calling another bloody ambulance and getting herself hauled back into the
clutches of the same NHS who had pronounced her fit to be sent home on Sunday as they cleared
their books in time for the brave new dawn of the first of April.
Surely somebody, somebody, must have made that decision and thought that it was the correct one,
but you do have to ask yourself whether the boomerang effect of being
re-admitted on the second day afterwards means that it was the wisest option to
have chosen.
And so this damned, wretched bastard of a year rolls on and
on and on with no end in sight, no change on the horizon, and my own life
vanishes down the toilet once again for the foreseeable future.
Unless it doesn’t…
And then we’re into a far worse case scenario that really
doesn’t bear thinking about in terms of its horrible-ness…
The call came just after 8.00pm on Tuesday, almost exactly
50 hours after I left her at home on Sunday evening, hoping against all hope
for at least a period of relative stability and “normality” (whatever that
might be…). After I put the phone down, I sat
there for a while quietly raging before heading to a keyboard to vent in the
only way I know how, and then, after another round of anger, rage and
philosophy, I went to bed to try and get a decent night’s sleep.
Not that you really do sleep properly under these circumstances,
as you have half an ear cocked waiting for the inevitable telephone call in the
middle of the night coming to turn your world upside-down, and even if it doesn’t
come, the fact that it might do keeps you
on edge and leaping out of bed at the slightest imagining of the possible
ringing of a distant land-line, although, truth be told, since the incident with
the extension leads last year, most nights we really can’t hear the thing even
if it does ring, which somehow makes it even worse, and another restless night
passes just when I was hoping to regain some of my energy.
I can’t stand it. I really, honestly believe that I simply
cannot take any more of it.
When I put the phone down it felt just as if someone had
punctured a balloon and that the balloon they’d punctured was me.
I’m sorry but I really am too damned tired… too damned
exhausted to write any more about it…
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