Hospitality

You always know when the phone goes at six thirty in the morning that it's not going to be good news. Mel's dad George is an unreconstructed auld fella who doesn't like to admit his weaknesses, even at 71, so when he called saying he'd been on to NHS24 after not having been able to swallow or keep anything down, even liquids, since the night before, and they'd told him to go straight to A&E... Well, within half an hour he was through being seen to and I was enjoying the waiting room.

Blood pressure, intravenous fluids, an ECG, and an injection to try to relax the muscles of the oesophagus later, and it was clear it was going to be a longer morning than anticipated, so Mel jumped on the bus to take over from me (as she wouldn't have to take the time off from out her annual leave) while I taxi'd home, quick shower, and rode into work for 10.30.

There was a probable endoscopy to be carried out, which George nodded away at to the doctor, then once gone declared to me that he was actually probably able to swallow a bit better now so it likely wouldn't be needed. It was clear he was a bit worried, but pride was stopping him say so.

Anyway, he's home now (a bed had been reserved for him just in case) and able to eat and drink, though he's got to go ad be checked out again in 6 weeks, and the doctor thinks there was a partial collapse of his lung. But I'll bet he's at the Japanese drumming tomorrow (that's George, not the doc).

Rest of the day was work (including through lunch to make back time); ride home; make dinner; eat dinner; clean kitchen; tidy bedroom; put away ironing; make dough for Mel to have pizza tomorrow night; but of work in the gym/garage; and now, at a minute past midnight into the next day, I'm stopped for the first time.