Veg hoisin noodles

I was OK yesterday: tired, and still in some pain, but OK. And then, around 4pm, I suddenly wasn’t.

I was thirsty: desperately, painfully thirsty. I downed pint after pint of water, and still felt like I could stick my head in a lake and drink the entire contents. I felt woozy, and confused. My body didn’t feel like it belonged to me. I really didn’t feel at all well.

So I called NHS 111, and the out of hours doctor I spoke to was concerned: “something’s clearly not right”. So, at her express recommendation, off I went to the Emergency Department, for the third time in one week.

Four hours later, the blood tests came back negative, and the initial sympathy from medical staff turned to strained patience and open condescension. The duty doctor told me “I can’t stop you feeling thirsty”. The nurse who removed my canula gave me a patronising little lecture about looking on the bright side and “you know there are people in this hospital actually dying, don’t you?”

I reacted to this about as well as you would expect, with lots of tears and a few comments that should have raised concerns about my mental wellbeing. She told me to “not be so silly”, which… is not the right response to someone in mental distress.

Another nurse who approached me with concern, seeing me crying on the way to the toilet, wouldn’t meet my eyes when I emerged, making me suspect she had been told not to engage with me.

After a 40 minute wait for a taxi ride home with someone who was clearly fishing for my agreement to his antivax conspiracy theories, which is not what I wanted after midnight at the end of a very long day (or any time, really), I had to bang on the door several times to wake mum to let me in, as I had been unable to get her to understand the concept of “lock the door behind me then take the key out of the lock so I can get in”.

Suki refused to come out from under the kitchen cupboard for her (very, very late) supper (I subsequently learned that she has changed to hiding behind the sofa in the living room, which I think is a good sign), then I had to work out all the new meds I had been given. I finally crawled into bed at about 2am, too exhausted to even cry.

After all that, I could have done with a day of rest, but of course I didn’t get it.

First I had to resolve some confusion over mum’s meds with the carer who came in, then I had to arrange for the closure of the caring cover. Then I had to arrange transport to two medical appointments next week – one for mum, one for me – then do a meal plan and accompanying grocery order.

Then it was time for Lady Friday’s visit, then, while she and mum were out in the garden, liaise with the fire safety officer who had come to install a new smoke alarm, mum’s 20 year old one having finally beeped its last beep.

I got the time to read a couple of chapters of my book before I had to cook dinner, which involved the sort of one-the-spot change of plan I struggle with when very tired, as the main ingredient of the planned meal had already been used. I ended up doing a very plain veg noodle stirfry (frying in just a splash of water) with some hoisin sauce, to which I added some pre-cooked shredded duck for mum. (I can’t eat duck because, until my gallbladder settles, I’m meant to eat as little fat as possible. Not that I like duck anyway.)

I had the last little bit that mum didn’t want, then had a big bowl of Weetabix with hot oat milk and a handful of raisins, and felt moderately better. Now I have to sit through Comic Relief, which gets on my nerves at the best of times, and hope Suki re-emerges to resume the earlier snuggle session which saw her up on the arm of the sofa beside me, leaning against my arm and purring loud enough to rival the passing light aircraft.

Sleep well tonight, everyone. I really, really hope I will.