Categories: everyday-disasters
Date: 28 April 2009 09:18:04
So there I was, tired from travelling, arriving home to find a husband deep under a sweaty duvet and a son left to his own devices. It was immediately clear that hubby was dramatically ill. And son, who had done a good job looking after him, was getting fed up with being motherless.
After a quick pack of essentials in a bag, and a message to the mother of the boy Genius Brat was supposed to be going round to play with, we were off to A & E as fast as you could say proctologist (if you really want to say such an unpopular word). A phone call to the urologist beforehand had ensured that we jumped the casualty queue and pretty soon were in a ward apparently called 'Majors', which sounded frightening. Before long hubby was on a trolley, on a saline drip (he was very dehydrated from sweating in bed for days), and had his first intravenous antibiotic shot. After that nothing much happened for a long time, other that a text from son's friend's mother saying she'd collected him and would keep him overnight if necessary - a huge relief as we'd left him alone without being very clear what was happening to him next. Nothing much, other than people flitting in and out of our bay for no apparent reason, continued to happen for about four hours. At last he was moved into a smaller ward called something like a Clinical Decision Unit, purely to get him out of the A&E ward and therefore meet the targets for getting patients through in less than four hours. Then finally we were told what ward he would be on, and I could leave. At this point I had been sitting for approximately five hours. Only the Guardian Weekly crossword I had in my bag made it bearable - remarkably hubby actually managed to put his mind to some clues.
I then had a brilliant idea. If son's friend's mum had taken the boys swimming as usual on a Saturday, they might just about now be finishing up their customary kebabs in Archway Kebabs, who serve 'probably the best kebabs in the UK' (according to their sign - a rival opposite now advertises 'probably the best kebabs in Europe). And the kebab shop was literally a minute or two's walk from the hospital. So round I walked, and there were a mother and two boys, quite surprised to see me. This meant I could take Genius Brat home (to the great displeasure of his friend). On reflection maybe that wasn't such a good idea...
Anyway, one diagnosis of septicaemia, a lot of antibiotics, and two days, later, hubby was released back into the community, somewhat shaky but without the blinding headache that he had gone in with, and carrying yet more strong antibiotics with strict instructions about taking them. Our brief holiday, scheduled to happen in six days' time, while GB would be at genius camp, was beginning to seem possible again. But, for the sake of readers who are waiting for the next cliffhanger (and to the tune of Eastenders) I have to say - there was more to come. Tune in tomorrow for the next nailbiting instalment...