Sunday Selections #244

Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files.
 
The meme is now continued by River at Drifting through life.  The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent.  Post some photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to River.  Clicking on any of the photos will make them embiggen.
 
Like River I usually run with a theme. This week?  I am cheating a bit.

These aren't my photos.  They are ones from the smaller's portions holiday.  Before he left he purchased a global roaming SIM card.  We tested it.  It worked.  In Iran it doesn't.  He can send and receive texts.  No phone calls.

So far he is enjoying himself immensely.  On his first day in Mashad he was sitting at a 'bench looking at my map to see where I was and met a retired artist and his friend.  Had an interesting chat about Iran, they ended up giving me some nice dates and then showed me where the hotel was.  Typical Iranian hospitality'.

I doubt that a foreigner in Australia could expect such kindness. 

The first two photos are from Mashad,

He then moved on to Isfahan.

 Sorry I can't give you any details.  I am a bit surprised at the statues though - not what I expected at all.

This next one came with the notation:  'The river was dry'.  Very dry.

My final photo for the day is completely off topic.  Andrew had a post yesterday where he discussed gooniebags - the bladder from within wine casks.  I mentioned that we have a statue in town which has been given that name, and he asked to see a photo. 

I have seen people blow up the bladder and use them as pillows too.

Home Alone

From now until the second week of November I am home alone.  Or more accurately home with Jazz n Jewel.

The skinny one headed off on holidays this afternoon.  Is he well enough?  I don't know, but he thinks so which is WONDERFUL.

He is starting in Iran, moving to Russia (and I have told him that a Faberge egg would make a suitable souvenir), and finishing up in the Netherlands.

I too am going to have holidays.  For quite a long time now I have been putting my own wants and needs at the back of the queue.  Time to focus on me.  And the cats.  And the garden.  And books....

'On the whole the easiest way to relax is to stay at home and make everyone else go away.'
Alice Thomas Ellis

He is home...

Thank you so much for all your supportive comments and emails.  They have meant a lot.

On Wednesday I went to visit.  He was on oxygen, a drip, and had a catheter and a drainage tube installed.  They had just promoted him from ice and water, to clear fluids.  And told me that they intended to send him home the next day.  The drainage tube could be removed some time next week.

Lemon-lipped doesn't begin to describe how that made me feel.  Ballistic with anger/disbelieving/teary/overwhelmed.  All of the above.

I considered simply refusing to come in and pick him up.  With no money, no clothes and no keys it would have been interesting to see the hospital's solution.

Somehow the idea that it might be a touch premature percolated into their grey matter.  So they kept him for Thursday, subject to review on Friday.

This morning, they were balanced on the fence.
 ' Maybe he can go home, maybe we will keep him for another day'.  'We will take out the drainage tube and see...'

When I went in at the start of visiting hours, the drainage tube was still in place (draining freely and copiously).  He was still on oxygen and he still had a cannula in his arm.  He had been told his diet was unrestricted.  Progress of a sort.

It took three staff to remove the drainage tube.  When they let me back into the cubicle they were telling him that he would need to keep a careful watch to ensure that it didn't become infected, back up with fluid behind the incision, ooze pus, become painful (more painful?), become red and swollen...
'If it does any of those things you can see your general practitioner.'
 'There is a three day wait to get in to see her.'
'Oh, perhaps in that case you could ring the hospital...'

Which we most definitely will.

Over the next hour they took him off oxygen and put him back on it.  They made him walk and cough.  They removed the cannula.  They took him off oxygen again.  And announced he was free to go and that they had someone coming into his bed shortly.
 'And if you wait downstairs, we have prescribed medication to go home on.  The wait might be several hours...'

He was already an attractive grey colour, so I negotiated for the ability to pick up the medication for him later in the day and got him home.

When I rang a couple of hours later to check they assured me the medication was ready, so I went back in.  They lied.  It was nearly ready.

There are still quite a number of unresolved questions.  He has an appointment in the surgeon's rooms in four weeks time.  At that appointment we will not be fobbed off with flunkies, or given a scanty 75 seconds of the important man's time.  I will get answers, and I will indicate deficiencies in the treatment he/we received.  And, if necessary I will go further.  And further.  Which will make the skinny one cringe.  Tough.

On a much nicer note, over the next few days I hope to be able to visit your blogs again.  Thank you again for your support and your patience.  It has meant a lot.

  

A long day

The skinny one and I fronted the hospital (early) for his 9am appointment yesterday.

The admissions nurse was one of our neighbours - which shocked both of us.

He was given the stunning attire to change into, complete with hat and booties.  And did.

And we waited.

Ten am:  Still waiting.
Eleven am:  Ditto
12 noon:  You guessed it.

People in the waiting room came in, people in the waiting room moved out.  We waited some more.

1 pm:  Still waiting.
2 pm:  'Second verse, same as the first...'
2.30 pm:  He was finally moved to a trolley, destination the theatre.  We were told that it would be 6pm before he was in a ward and I could talk to anyone.

So I came home.  Fed the cats.  Dealt with their kitty litter.  Put out the garbage and the recycling.  Dried his dressing-gown which I had washed before we left for the hospital.  Waited.

6 pm:  I rang the hospital to be told that he had only entered recovery less than half an hour earlier.  He wouldn't go to a ward until 7.30 or so.  'There are no phones in recovery so I can't put you through or talk to them and relay how he is on to you' (liar, liar pants on fire...)

I rang at 8pm.  'No, he hasn't reached a ward yet... Ring in half an hour or so'

So I did.  He has just got to the ward (hooray) but we are too busy to talk to you.  Ring back later.

So I gave up and went to bed myself.  Trusting, hoping that they would ring me if anything went pear-shaped.

He has had the surgery.  He is alive.  Both good things.

And today is a whole new day.

Happy Dances

His high and skinniness was asleep when the phone rang a few minutes ago.

It was the hospital on the line.  Do I think that he could/would possibly agree to surgery next Monday?  'We are sorry for the short notice...'

YES.

And now I have woken him up.  Which gave me pleasure on lots of levels.  The pavers are not here though...

Pre-Admission clinic tomorrow afternoon.  'Are we familiar with the process?  Do we know where to find them?'  Given that this will be his seventh abdominal surgery I hope so.  I really hope so.

Surgeon's Playground

We went to see the smaller portion's surgeon on Friday.  After examining the skinny one he commented that his belly was 'a surgeon's playground'.  True - and I wish someone had told them to play nicely.

After six abdominal surgeries it is strongly reminiscent of Frankenstein's Monster.  And there will be another operation in the New Year.  Hopefully the last but no guarantees.  Sigh.

The smaller portion drove off to visit a friend a little while ago.  The friend lives more than 600 kilometres away so he will be gone for a couple of days.  Is he well enough?  I don't know, but he is an adult and it isn't my decision.

And I am going to revel in being home alone.  I am tired to the bone and beyond, my pain levels are high and bits of me are non-functional.  There is cleaning, weeding, shopping and baking to do - and they aren't going to happen.  And will still be there when I surface again.  

I have a commitment to Lifeline and another to the Multiple Sclerosis Peer Support Program which I will honour - and everything else can go hang.

Give us this day our daily whinge.

Who knew?

Before my gardening obsession reached its current levels a daffodil was a daffodil was a daffodil.  And now my eyes have been opened.

There are just so many different flowers, all bearing the daffodil (or jonquil) name.

His high and skinniness still can't often get outside, so yesterday I trotted out and picked one of most of the daffodils and jonquils which are flowering at the moment.  And yes, for a change, if you click on the photo is will magically enlarge.

Aren't there a lot of different colours and shapes?  And these are just the early flowering variety.  There are more (lots more) yet to come into bloom.  Woo Hoo.

And I love these crocus too.

It is raining.

Literally and metaphorically.

The smaller portion is coming home today.  The hospital argued for yesterday, less than twenty four hours after they had allowed him food but (reluctantly) they agreed to let him stay for another day.  Big of them.

Where he is concerned, cautious optimism is the order of the day.  We are not out of the woods, but things are looking much, much better.

The literal rain is gentle and more than welcome.  The garden is drinking deep and daily more bulbs emerge.

The metaphorical rain?  His sister is unwell.  Running a temperature.  And difficult with it.  Sigh.  So I will have two invalids, neither of them well behaved, who need to be kept apart.  I really, really don't want him to catch whatever she has acquired.  And she refuses to see a doctor.  Or take any medication. 

On the positive side, Jazz will be very, very happy.  Only the smaller portion is nice to him (or so psycho cat insists).  I have been punished daily with tooth and claw for being the wrong person.  Hopefully I will now bleed a little less.  Literally and metaphorically.

Moving Forward

Little, by little.

The surgeon is pleased with himself (when are they not) and believes the operation was a complete success.  Good - but they said that this time last year too.

Today they closed the incision.  Yay.  The smaller portion had taken photos which were forwarded yesterday to his nephews who described it as 'an epic wound' 'fully sick' and 'totally awesome'.  Wuss that I am, I didn't enjoy looking at it.

He is still limited to sips of clear fluids, with food unlikely to be introduced before early next week.  The proof of the pudding will be in the digesting, so please join with me in crossing appendages in the hopes that when he is promoted to food again it moves through (and out of) his body as it should.

Wine o'clock continues to be one of the highlights of the day.

Thursdays Outing (or I was wrong)

Last Thursday I got up early as I almost always do.  Before the smaller portion had emerged I had fed the fish, let the cats out, brought the cats in and fed them, taken the recycling down to the bin, done three loads of washing and detruffelated the kitty litter.

What energy I have is morning energy and I was already starting to flag, but planned to continue my weeding extravaganza.  And then he threw a spanner in the works by announcing that he 'felt like an outing'.  My immediate reaction wasn't positive.  Not at all positive.

However, and it is a big however, he has had depression for many years now and very often essentially shuts down.  He doesn't want to go out, or see anyone.  Which is not good for him - or for me.  Medication has taken the deepest most dangerous edges from his depression but very little more.  And over the years he has tried several different anti-depressants and the current one has been far and away the best.

So, if he actually wants to go out it is something to be encouraged.  And if I don't go, neither will he.  He decided that he would like a country drive, finishing up at Tidbinbilla.  Tidbinbilla is a nature reserve about forty kilometres away from us.  We hadn't been out there since a firestorm tore through the city and surrounds in January 2003.  The damage done to the nature reserve and the loss of wildlife were heartbreaking.  Since then a lot of time and effort has been put into restoring and rebuilding.

When we arrived it was about lunch time.  While we were buying our pass (and we bought one for a year) the ranger at the Visitor Centre told us that if we drove the ten kilometres or so to The Sanctuary (a wetlands ecosystem) we would be likely to see platypus.  'Of course we thought.  In the middle of the day - chance would be a fine thing'.

Just the same we headed off in that direction.  Tidbinbilla Valley is very beautiful, and home to wetlands, grasslands, woodlands and eucalpyt forest habitats.

And then we reached The Sanctuary.  It is surrounded by bushland and protected by a predator proof fence.  The paths are wheelchair accessible and there are many benches and viewing areas, and some impressive art work as well.

The path led us first to the pools where we had been told we were likely to see platypus.  AND WE DID.  WITHIN MINUTES.  TWO OF THEM.  And I was smiling so broadly my face hurt.  I am sorry that the photos are not better.  If you embiggen the next two photos you will just see a platypus in the middle of the pool.

We stayed there for quite some time and then continued along the paths past the interconnected ponds.  Our next treat was to see Brolgas - Australia's only native crane.

I was a very, very tired puppy by then so we slowly headed back to the car, enjoying more quirky artistic features on the way, like the verses on this seat.

And then a slow and scenic drive back to the entrance - stopping to take the mandatory photos of kangaroos.

I really, really didn't want to go.  I wanted to stay home and weed some more.  And I was wrong.  I cannot remember ever seeing platypus except in zoos and the brolgas were a first too.

And to add to my wrongness.  I weeded on Friday.  I weeded on Saturday.  And I did too much.  By Sunday I was so tired I was nauseated, my vision was blurred and my pain increased significantly.  And today I am only marginally better.  It was good for the smaller portion to get out - but it was also a very healthy break for me.

Mea Maxima Culpa.

He is home.

Drat it.

Many years ago I went (once) to see an arrogant toad with an M.D after his name.  He asked 'what seems to be the problem'.  'I have a throat infection' I replied.  Toad's response 'And when did you complete your medical training'.  There are no prizes for guessing what was wrong with me.

I still haven't completed (or started) medical training.  However, I do know the smaller portion well and, over the years have experienced far too many medical dramas with him. 

He has been discharged too early (with horrendous consequences) before.  Yesterday was the first day since his operation when he had been allowed a 'normal' diet.  At lunchtime the first such meal arrived - just as he was whisked off to have an ultrasound.  When he returned his lunch was gone.  He was also still receiving, and dependent on oxygen.  We took him to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and he was an attractive grey shade and gasping when we returned him to the ward half an hour later.  Hospital staff had flagged his imminent discharge and he said 'I really don't think I am ready'.  Coming from his lips this is a HUGE admission.

This morning at 7.30 he rang me to say that his doctor was very pleased, and that he was being sent home today.  WTF?  And sent home he was.

A community nurse will come and change his dressing on Friday, and on Monday another will remove the multiplicity of staples currently holding him together.

'Make an appointment to see your surgeon in four to six weeks time'.  'You may drive when you can complete normal (but unspecified) chores in say, two weeks time'.

Waiting for the discharge papers to be completed and to collect his medication exhausted him.  He couldn't face anything to eat (and food has a number of issues for him) and fell into bed when we got home three hours ago.  He is still out like a light.

I so hope that this isn't another premature discharge.  Hope it, but am not convinced.  Cross your fingers and toes that his vile convalescence is the worst I have to deal with in the coming days and weeks.

PS:  In their efficiency the hospital has just rung me to ask 'when he left the discharge lounge, and whether he had his medication?'  Superlative record keeping.  Not.

Enough already

I have to say that I am getting bored with this, and I am sure you are too.  After this post I think I am going to ignore the hospital and try and focus on things which don't make me weep or swear or both.

I have been up to the hospital and have made some positive strides. Again. However, the energy I was holding to do so has left me with a wooooosh, and I am now limp and lethargic. I am finding it difficult to care about much, though perhaps a weeks sleep would alter that.

I have profuse apologies from the doctors (we got there while they were doing their rounds – registrar and two interns) for causing me pain by keeping me out of the communication loop. Again. They told me to tell the nursing staff that I was to be notified of events as they happen. You know, minor events like the need for a blood transfusion at 2am and its subsequent failure. The nurse I spoke to was defensive in the extreme.' I wasn’t told because they don’t usually to protect patient confidentiality.' 'They didn't know I would want to know.' This from the woman who has seen me twice a day and who I have asked to page doctors so I can extract some information.

Surprisingly I didn't rip her head off and nail it to the nearest coffee table but merely assured her that I had permission. I then went and indicated to the skinny one that on pain of significant unpleasantness he was to confirm that authority when/if asked.

The medical team tell me that they are pleased – well they would wouldn’t they? The blood in his urine is significantly reduced. His haemoglobin levels have stabilised. His blood pressure is within normal ranges - though it was dropping again this afternoon. He can now have ‘free fluids’ as an advance from ‘clear fluids’. Custard and jelly, oh joy and bliss. The stents may come out this afternoon. They were still there at three thirty so I would guess not. He is moving more easily. The wounds are healing well.

And the atypical pneumonia (or perhaps just a chest infection) about which I was also not told is responding to antibiotics. That was the point where I started to lose it, and made it very, very clear to the team of doctors that I resented being kept in the dark and that it was making additional work for them. All the males i(including his high and skinniness) in the cubicle squirmed. Danger, danger - emotional woman at no paces.

They have no real answer about why he had an poor reaction to the blood transfusion. It is being examined in case there was something wrong with the batch of blood. A report will be made (but almost certainly after he has left the hospital is my guess). Since then his temperature has been normal and there has been no loss of consciousness.

Apologies and promises. Again. We will see.

I will be lodging a formal complaint. After he has left hospital since I don't trust them not to indulge in some spiteful payback.

And hopefully this is the last post entirely devoted to medical mayhem. Things of beauty. Silliness. Or both.

A set back

I should know better than to get complacent.  I do know better.

In the small hours of this morning the hospital decided that the skinny one was dehydrated (whose fault was that?) and that his blood pressure was too low and dropping.  So they decided to do a blood transfusion.

To which he had a very bad reaction.  His temperature shot to 38.9, and he started drifting in and out of consciousness.  The resultant kerfuffle woke the whole ward.  About which I care less than nothing.

Needless to say we gained this information from the smaller portion and from reading the notes which the physiotherapist had carelessly left by his bed.  Hiss and bloody spit.

Tomorrow I am on the war path.  Himself is tired today - but he had just finished the longest walk he has taken since the surgery when I saw him.  He is getting his clear fluids, and also some effective pain release.  Both good things, but my feet are still on that path to war.

A Stint with Stents

We went to visit this morning hoping that either the stents had been removed, or that he was off having them removed.

Wrong on both counts.  He had been told (early) that the stents were coming out this morning, but had heard nothing further.  I had some errands to run for him so we left.

And guess what we found when we returned?  Nothing had changed.  He still had the stents.  He had spoken to his nurse about it, and she said she 'knew nothing' but would follow it up and get back to him.  Deathly silence ensued.

So I went to the Nurses Station and spoke to the sister in charge.  Just for a change - she knew nothing and his nurse had just gone off on a break.  She went through his notes and saw that yesterday his stents were marked to come out.  There were no further notifications and nothing had happened.  'I will have to page his doctor.'  'Please do.'  Are you seeing a pattern here?  She promised to get back to me, and I rejoined the smaller portion and his sister.

He has been walking today.  Yay.  His bed is by the window.  Yay.  He feels very, very uncomfortable and cannot sleep.  Quelle surprise.

We waited.  He had been told he could have clear fluids - but had been given nothing but ice.  We topped up his ice supply.

And then a junior doctor from his medical team appeared.  Yay.  And for the first time we got a sensible explanation about why the stents were still in place.  Those of you with delicate stomachs should skip the next paragraph.

The stents are attached to a catheter.  If the stents are removed, so must the catheter and he will be swollen and sore so the catheter could not be re-inserted without causing considerable discomfort.  He is not walking easily or well at the moment, so having the catheter in place is both more comfortable and convenient for him. 

The medical team will review the need for the stents (and catheter) on a day to day basis.  He is improving so rapidly that they think it will be one or two more days at most.  After a little prodding from me (which caused the smaller portion to squirm) he apologised for the poor communication and promised better in the future.  (I will hold them to that.)

I was on a roll then and asked why if the smaller portion had been told he could have clear fluids he had only been given ice.  More apologies and a promise to ensure that it was rectified by dinner.  More squirming from the smaller portion.

The medical team are very, very pleased with his progress after such a major operation.  Yay.  And off he trotted.

And then the nurse re-appeared from her break and told him that she had been unable to find out why the stents were still in place.  How hard had she tried I wondered - but didn't say.  She too promised to ensure that he got a range of clear fluids - soup, jelly, juice.

We went down to the cafeteria and brought him back green tea - which hit the spot.  And we left, happier than I have been.  He is in considerable discomfort, but is improving.  Hopefully he will become more stable on his feet and then the catheter and the stents can be removed.  And, while the smaller portion did not like me prodding the doctor, it achieved results and I feel no guilt.

Thank you all for your support - and a big thank you to those who visited Mistress Snark's parlour.  I had such a good time.

On the silliness front?  Today I saw off one of our neighbour's cats with a pump-action water pistol  The cat views our bird feeder as its personal smorgasbord.  I scored several direct hits and it scarpered home looking like a porcupine.  I smiled broadly. 

Wine o'clock calls...

An update and a diversion

The medical mayhem continues.  One step forward, then do a reverse flip and half pike.

When we went up to see the skinny one this morning he looked dreadful.  An attractive shade of grey, propped up in the chair beside his bed, attached to far too many bells and whistles.  HOWEVER, the surgeon had been and was very, very happy with the operation.  While we won't know for three months whether it has been a success, early signs are positive.  Yay.  About time too.

The surgeon was so happy with the operation that he decided the stents that were installed in the smaller portion's urethra yesterday could be removed.  Today.  Back to theatre, another general anaesthetic.  Joy and bliss.  We asked the smaller portion and the hospital to ring when they had a time for this next procedure.

When we went back this afternoon we had heard nothing.  Neither had he.  He was still (unsurprisingly) in acute discomfort.  He had been taken for a walk, which was apparently very, very unpleasant.  He was a better colour though.

So I trotted up to the nurses station.  'We know nothing'.  'Please find out.  As soon as possible.  And let your patient know (and preferably me too).'   'We will have to page the doctor.'  'Please do'.  And so they did.

Needless to say the doctor hadn't responded by the time I left.  The smaller portion promised to nag about it every chance he gets.  I would assume that the stents are there until tomorrow.  Hiss and spit.

The smaller portion rang a little while ago - very down.  The stents will be removed tomorrow morning.  More hisses, and more spits.

*********

And now for the pleasant part of my day.  My silly side is strongly developed.  When Mistress Snark invited me to afternoon tea in her parlour, I was very pleased to accept.  There is  a teaser below - and I would be very happy if you would join me for afternoon tea with Mistress Snark, Jezebel and ...

Afternoon tea is a most civilized British invention – an opportunity to snack with impunity. However, in Mistress Snark’s parlor, you never know what might be floating in your tea or what those cute little sandwiches are hiding under the bread.

Sunday Selections #106

Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files. 

The meme is now continued by River at Drifting through life.  The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent.  Post some photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to River.

Like River I generally run with a theme. Today it is the fishtank which lives in the corner of our lounge.  It had been looking a little very sad so has been extensively rejuvenated, just in time for the skinny portion's sister to arrive.  (She, like the skinny portion himself, is very fond of tropical fish).

Tomorow is D Day.  We are to be at the hospital at 6am (which horrifies the man whose preference it is to spring out of bed at the crack of noon).  I have however (being a basically mean person) pointed out to him that he can sleep the rest of the day away.  Hopefully he will be one of the first cabs off the rank.  After which the waiting begins.  I do not expect to hear anything until the middle of the afternoon at the earliest so his sister and I will come home to where we can pace in comfort.  We will go back to the hospital to visit him as soon as we can, though I don't expect he will remember it.  That first visit is to comfort and reassure me anyway.

Thank you so much for all your support.  I cannot tell you just how much it has meant to me.  I will post updates when I know anything, or of my frustration if I don't.

Finally we are moving forward.

What a week it has been.

The smaller portion was operated on last Friday to restore an ileostomy.  Not the outcome either of us wanted, but necessary.  In the following days his surgeon gained the nickname of the 'invisible surgeon'.  He apparently made no visits to the hospital over the weekend, leaving it to the hospital registrar or to the intern.  Their visits all took place at a time when the smaller portion was either non compos mentis, asleep or in the shower.  We know that if either a bagless state or a return to the more manageable colostomy are possible at least one more and more likely two more operations will be necessary.  We wanted to discuss what had been done, and what the smaller portion's could expect in his future.  It seems these are unreasonable requirements.

Finally on Monday the smaller portion was allowed clear fluids.  Which he promptly vomited.  So they moved him back to nil by mouth.  He was rushed off to x-ray and there was talk that he had a new blockage - in the small bowel to match the untreated one in his large bowel.  There were murmurs of leaving it to settle by itself. There were also talks of further surgery.   His sister and I were less than happy and tried (very hard) to make an appointment to see his surgeon.

'The doctors do their rounds between six and eight in the morning.  You would not be welcome.'
'You could come in around nine and ask to have the registrar paged.  Lots of doctors (including by inference the one we wanted) are on holidays.  It is school holidays you know.'

So we came in the next morning, arriving at about quarter to nine.  The registrar was paged.  And paged again, and again, and again.  Finally the intern arrived to say that if we waited he knew we were here.

The registrar arrived (over three hours after he was first paged).  He really didn't want to talk to us.  Tough.  He pooh-poohed the idea that the smaller portion had another blockage, while leaving it open as a remote possibility.  He professed himself very happy with progress, but refused to discuss any long term prospects.  'They are matters which should be discussed with the surgeon at the follow-up consultation.'  He agreed (when pushed) that it may benefit the smaller portion to hear that he didn't have another blockage.  When it became obvious that we were not going anywhere he proceeded to do just that, adding that the smaller portion could have fluids again.

Which the smaller portion lost fairly dramatically during visiting hours that night.  I gather that many visitors to the ward  (we were not there) were adversely affected.  How sad, never mind.  Back to ice and intravenous anti-nausea medication.  We also found out - after the event naturally, that the smaller portion has been on the emergency surgery list for the twenty-four hours which included our discussion with the registrar.  Hiss and spit.

The next night?  The same as the first, just a little bit louder and a whole lot worse.

Somewhere in the middle of the week we, as opposed to he, had a very bad day.  I made myself a cup of tea.  I put the teabag in my cup, added the water and then the milk.  I took a sip.  I took another sip.  It was cold.  I hadn't turned the jug on.  I finished it.  Later that day his sister wanted a cup of soup.  She tipped the packet into her bowl.  She added water.  She stirred it, she tasted it, you guessed it. She drank it.   We think it was on the same day that I shut her in the garage.  Like a good passenger I hopped out of the car and opened up the garage.  She drove in.  I shut the garage.  'Haven't you forgotten something?'.  'No, what?'  'Me.'  Oops.

Today we have had a turn around.  The doctors have been round and have promoted him to eating food again.  And he had porridge (which he dislikes) for breakfast and an egg and lettuce sandwich (which he hates) for lunch.  When last we saw him he had retained both of them.  We have however told him that if the hospital makes going home noises tomorrow he is to tell them that he doesn't have enough money for a taxi home, has no house keys and has no-one to pick him up.  I hope he heard that.

There have, as usual, been some wonderful sights to brighten our days.

Early morning glory.

Birdy joy at the hospital.

More birdy joy.

And the delights of a gentle rain and low cloud down the valley this afternoon.

Thank you all for your support and good wishes.  They have meant a lot.  In the coming days I hope to be able to come back and pay some long overdue visits to your blogs.

Not a good day

The Smaller Portion goes into surgery to replace the ileostomy at one o'clock today.  There will be at least another one and probably two operations after this.  The next operation is tentatively scheduled for three months from now.  Joy and bliss.

The bad, the worse and the beautiful

This has not been a good week.  Until life calms down a bit I will continue flying into the blogosphere, depositing a post and flying out again.  I am hoping that soon I will have the time and spare brain cells to enable me to read and comment on other people's posts.

The Smaller Portion is still in hospital.  His bowels are still partially (almost completely) blocked.  Today he had a colonoscopy - a last ditch attempt to avoid going back into major surgery.  It failed.

 He was told nothing after he was returned to the ward except that from midnight he was on 'nil by mouth'.   The nursing staff knew, or professed to know nothing.  Sadly, fasting spells imminent surgery to us.  (Since the 19th of June when he had his last surgery the Smaller Portion has been on an unrestricted diet for only three and a half days).

While I was visiting him a baby doctor appeared (I use the term baby doctor to describe one with limited experience and/or authority.  In this instance he had nothing to do with maternity care)  He confirmed that the colonoscopy had not been able to clear the blockage.  He went on to say that this meant that something would have to be done.  And from that point he descended into mealy mouthed platitudes.  Perhaps a colostomy would be needed.  Or then again it could be an ileostomy. Almost certainly a bag would be necessary, or maybe it wouldn't be.  It might be needed permanently- or maybe not.  Perhaps they would remove the narrowed segment of bowel and do a resection.  Or maybe not.  The surgical team would need to meet and discuss the options.  Which left us in limbo - not a nice place to be

The Smaller Portion and I know that he would need to sign a consent form before they could do anything - and that he needed much more information.  The fasting from midnight suggested to us that they wanted to get him to theatre early tomorrow.  If they are able to tell him what they plan to do he will sign the consent form and ring me.  Joy and bliss.

It has certainly been a stressful week, but there have also been magical moments of beauty which I treasured.  Early in the week I thought I had lost my wallet.  I went tearing outside just after dawn to check the car, and was greeted by this (and the wallet was indeed on the floor of the car).

The cockatoos at the hospital continue to add pleasure to our afternoon visits - they are elsewhere in the mornings.

And this week another bird has brightened our days.  We have been seeing one or two Red-Rumped Parrots, so I have taken to bringing my camera up to the hospital.  Today, when we badly needed the cheer, a small flock of them were in the tree outside the hospital entry.  Not only were they there, they were co-operative as well.

And I almost forgot.  Tonight's sunset was pretty special as well.