Gnocchi fritti with salad

I’ll keep this short as my phone and I are similarly lacking in battery this evening.

As those on the Facebook group will be aware, this morning mum woke up in severe pain and, after a few conversations with medical practitioners of various types, an ambulance was called. We waited for just over an hour, and the paramedic team that arrived was wonderful: the lead paramedic gave his opinion, which was the same as mine

• a torn muscle causing pain
• which was treated with codeine causing constipation
• which was causing frequent urination
• which was causing (or at least contributing to) anxiety
• which was making the pain from the torn muscle worse
• and so the cycle goes on.

He told us, though, that he wasn’t a doctor or an expert in abdominal problems, and that only a thorough check-up at hospital could accurately diagnose the problem.

So off to the hospital we went, with lots of tears and panic and confusion the whole way, and then we checked in and we waited. The wait didn’t seem excessive to me – less than two hours – but mum complained and told me she wanted to go home and cried and told me she wanted to go home, and so on the whole time we were there.

I did manage to make a friend – another person who’s both a carer and a chronic condition haver – and got lunch from the Friends¹ shop which was, of course:

Then we had an examination from a doctor mum really liked, despite struggling with his African accent (not particularly strong to my ears, but I lived in a properly multicultural city for most of my life so am perhaps more accustomed to people who don’t have a generic south-east English accent), then blood was taken for testing. Then we waited some more, although this time in the coffee shop with cake to sweeten the deal, then we waited some more for the doctor’s clearance to leave.

(The diagnosis, BTW, was what I and the paramedic thought, with the addition of stomach pain being caused by mum typically eating her last meal of the day at around 6pm, then not eating again until 12pm the following day. She has promised to try and eat breakfast tomorrow morning, even if it’s just some fruit, but I don’t know if she will. The mental health issue wasn’t addressed, so I’m left clinging to the promise of an appointment with the Mental Health Practitioner next week, as mum has made some comments in the heat of an anxiety / depression attack that leave me thankful she can no longer drive.)

Then we waited (albeit briefly) for a taxi, then waited in the taxi in a long, slow moving queue of traffic caused by road works that are causing such disruption that a number of businesses are apparently considering court action against the council for permitting it.

Finally home, I prepared to cook dinner only to be told by mum that I looked tired. I wonder why?

Dinner was gnocchi fritti (fried potato dumplings, these ones filled with garlic and cheese), which tasted of meh, with garlic², served with salad. Then I consoled my weary self with cookie dough ice cream, which my churning guts are currently greatly regretting.

So, there we go. I will shortly lie down to sleep, and pray I don’t get an early morning “I’m hurting – help” wake-up. Again.

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1. Not the US tv series: the Friends of St Mary’s charity shop, which sells everything you could need, unless what you need is fresh fruit or vegetables. ↩︎
2. They’re new, from La Famiglia Rana brand, and my expert reviewer recommendation is: don’t bother. ↩︎