He's still groggy and sister said a very sweet voiced nurse answered his phone for him.
The funny thing is, I've been conscious of a hospital smell around the house all day and unless you've been in hospital I can't describe it. Call me silly but I think my son has been with me all day.
The cat is in serious decline. Daddy's car is here but daddy is not. She's barely eaten and is still on my bed. Looks like I'll have to waft a can of the expensive food under her nose. I can't remember if I blogged that he asked me for a set of steps at the foot of the bed because the fat little object can't climb on the high bed.
And the bed is high. His mate came round last night and put 3 planks under the chipboard and in the way of all men, measured up just a tad wrong. The planks stand out about 3 inches which was enough to cripple me several times over today. My doc's going to take one look at the bruises tomorrow and want blood tests.
So from a low sofa bed barely off the floor, he now has a penthouse lounge. Planks, chipboard, 6 inch high density mattress, 2 inch sofa bed mattress with a doona on top and all fixed down with a fitted sheet so tight I think I could bounce a coin off it. I'm sure he won't mind that the sheet is mint green with pale pink roses and the doona cover is pale turquoise with pink butterflies.
A trunk is at the bottom of the bed for the cat. All his clothes are in a basket on a stand so no bending. And a chair for his mate to sit and have a beer with him. TV, light, DVD viewer, mechanical grabber all within reach.
And thanks to the paternal side of the family for all their help, every non bit of it.
11 comments:
Carpenters have a saying - 'Measure twice, cut once."
... and as Dr. Quinn, medicine Woman used to say "He's sleeping now, my work here is done".
You have been brilliant.
Annie O, I'm just pleased that someone helped him and I'm encouraging his mates to visit.
You will be pleased to know that the cat is eating but will be back on my bed before long.
The smell of hospitals probably depends on which ward.
Ward Three North, Cabrini, the orthopaedic ward reeks of old age, at least that's what first hit me when they wheeled me and my broken leg through the door.
My children detected it too when they came to visit.
The smell of ageing and something you can't quite get rid of, the chemical, medicinal smell that overlays the stench of disease, decay and death.
But this is inevitable. This is life, and in time we grow accustomed to it.
By the time I left the ward I had forgotten the smell entirely.
I hope your cat does well in a safe place away from hospital.
Hello cuties, my bed is about to collapse from all the notches in it, romance can ruin your furniture.
Mechanical grabber! I could use one of those myself.
I have to keep getting up off my bum to get things that are just out of reach.
Hope he gets well really soon and isn't too cranky being bedbound for a while.
Cats not eating is a nationwide trend it seems.
Good morning my little sweeties I've got through too this week despite a meeting with my social worker niece (all social no work) who should be locked up but is at large. I'm off now to visit my pal Mr Mad Geoff claimant to the throne of Australia who won't pay on public transport because he owns it, we all have ideas. I've never been ill never been in hospital except for physical attacks made on me by other people and which work out to the benefit of latte POONCES who are always off to the fucking doctor! It evens out. I'm alive because I'm furious. That's all.
I'm not smug, one should never be smug, there's always someone better off.
-ROBBBERRRRRT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HOW TO BE AN ARTIST:
1. Morality.
Anyone can be immoral.
Post something!
Well pardon me, when I'm in a pleasant mood I think of Pentridge, my alama mater.
PENTRIDGE MON AMOUR!
Bread roll
Mug of tea
Hey Pentridge!
Grey blanket
Grey walls
(oh my golly)
Hey Pentridge!
C Division
Bucket to shit in
Stub of candle
Hey Pentridge!
You taught me all
Taught me true
My formative years
Hey Pentridge!
Composed right this moment. With exhuberance, and with love. To say I miss you, and I love you. Pentridge.
I love you.
Elisabeth , it's one of those smells that triggers memory, mostly bad.
Robbert, you need a iron bedstead and an acetelyne torch.
River, you must get one, it will save your shoulder especially reaching up high.
Phil, believe me the appetite is back with a vengeance.
Damn it RH, I will post and it will be about the wedding show, that'll piss you off.
A wedding show post would piss me off? Are you kidding?
I'm accustomed to your flounces.
-ROBBERRT!!!!!!!!!!!
I needed an acetylene torch in the Pen.
Damn glad BOH is ok but J, careful on those planks!
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