And I'll say it again, the only things left standing after a nuclear attack will be cockroaches, John Howard and me Mother.
I'm just back from the hospital and I can report her mouth is in working order. "Fix my oxygen tube. Adjust the pillow, my neck hurts. I'm thirsty when can I have water?" If she ever has to have another op it will be a mouthectomy.
No intensive care unit, not even a night in the high dependency unit. They did lie though, she's in pain. Not as much as this morning. Somewhere in the world, I hope there's a doctor having four injections of radioactive dye in his scrotum, with a woman standing by, saying it will only sting a little.
I walked around Westfield doing the rest of her messages carrying a mobile phone and worrying about not hearing it that I didn't notice that at some stage my wrap had fallen off. I made that myself with fringing and passementerie and beads and as my sister said whoever picked it up is selling it on Ebay as a tent embassy. I've reported it lost, perhaps it will stagger home covered in dirt and grass like Lassie.
Tomorrow I am not getting out of bed. I have five New Scientists to read and big red apples to eat. And if that bloody woman rings me at 7.30 in the morning I swear I'll disconnect her.
2 comments:
You deserve your Perfect Day - bed, New Scientist and apples.
So glad to hear that Ma Barker is giving a hard time - I knew she was feisty - and if your first remark comes about, we can enjoy the thought of her haranging Howard while the cockies all start chewing on his horrible sulky lower lip.
Bugga about your wrap though.
Let's hope a human found it and handed it in.
xxx B
I came back through Westfield today but no luck. I did get some black fleece on special so a new one is on the way, beads and all. Murphy's law, this means the old one will be found.
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