the longest day

And to think, I used to dread Saturdays for the tedium of a paltry few hours traipsing round Morrisons. Yesterday morning I returned to mum's. She was still in bed and looking pale and exhausted. She wouldn't eat and could only sip at cups of tea or a glass of Sprite. Trying to get her to take her usual medication (5 tablets) and an antibiotic was out of the question. My son and daughter arrived to add their support but not even that had the expected effect - mum no longer seemed to have the strength or inclination to chat, she just slumped into her pillows and dozed between coughing bouts.

I phoned the NHS helpline at 2.30pm. At 4.30pm an on-call doctor arrived and after examining mum, he called an ambulance to take her to hospital and receive treatment for her chest infection. The ambulance came about an hour later. Mum hated the idea of hospital but thought they were going to give her some magic medicine and send her home. The hours rolled by, interspersed by various members of hospital staff asking the same questions and jabbing needles in mum. Lovely daughter came for a while (beloved son had had to return to Nottingham to work a night shift) and mum had a chest x-ray and was attached to a saline drip. She coughed and complained incessantly. I didn't blame her. I was pretty cheesed off myself. We had to wait until after midnight to see a doctor - apparently two had phoned in sick and there were only three doctors covering A & E and all the medical wards! New antibiotics were prescribed and administered through the drip and a thoroughly fed-up mum was told she could not go home yet but would probably have to stay in hospital for a couple of days.

I finally said goodnight at 12.35 am. The taxi that took me to mum's to collect my car did not have a working seat belt in the front passenger seat. I was beyond caring. Home, where abandoned husband was waiting up for me, ah bless. Bed. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. And here we are again.