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I had heard from others who had been to visit that he was improving now the stent had been fitted. He was now off the oxygen and was able to eat a bit more normally.
Apparently, according to the nurse, he was sitting up chatting in bed the morning after the stent all OK.
My head is fried and I'd booked a weekend away with my 5 fabulous cousins in a cabin in the Forest of Dean. We booked it in about October last year. The 6 of us have been away twice before for one or other of our big birthday celebrations and this one was every bit as good as the others. I walked 20,572 steps on my first full day there, 11,489 on the 2nd day and 8087 on the day I came home. We walked for miles and when we got back to the cabin we all had a vino or two in the hot tub under the stars. Perfect. I had intended to take my mind off the situation at home, and to be fair, by request, we spoke very little about it, which suited me fine.
However, when I came home, I had to go visit himself in hospital. I went to town in the afternoon to get a pack of 2 men's pyjama bottoms in Primark, having ignored dad's advice to 'Just take a quick trip to M&S to get me some pyjamas.' I suspect he had not bought pjs in M&S since they really were £5 a pair.
I drove to collect Ant and we both got to the hospital at 7.30pm. We found him on C7 having been moved that day from B6. On seeing us he aid 'Ah. Right. You know I have just had to wait 37 minutes for someone to bring me one of these.' He held up a hospital disposable male urinal bottle thing (the cardboard ones). It was one of 4 on his bedside table. He went into minute detail on the time he'd asked and carried on moaning about how he shouldn't be expected to wait that long. It was ridiculous, he said. Next he went on about his washing and how the nurses wanted to change him every day and that too was ridiculous. Next he started on about when he was going to have his 'street' fitted. That, of course, was also ridiculous that they had sent him to the other hospital to have it fitted but they could only put a camera down and because the doctors were all training from home, there weren't enough people to fit the street, he said, as they needed seven people, he said. And one of the doctors, working from home, had children who of course were running around and creating dust, which, of course, he said was bad for street fitting...
I reminded him it was a STENT. 'Yes' he said. But they can't fit a street if they're not in the hospital. I told him they'd told me it was already fitted. He looked at me, highly irritated by my apparent stupidity and lack of understanding and he repeated, while playing the air piano, and with his eyes closed so he didn't have to keep looking at the irritation in front of him who clearly didn't understand, despite him talking to her in an irritated tone with simple one-syllable words 'Yes, but they need more people to fit the street.'
When he'd said his piece, he opened his eyes and clocked me daring to look out of the window with the MOST bored expression I could muster. I wanted him to stop talking so I could explain he'd had the new stent. He had already explained the minutai of his 'street requirements' more than three times since I'd arrived.
'Your STENT was fitted last Thursday.' I told him.
'My... something went where?' he said, looking at me as if I was simple.
'Dad. Your STENT was already fitted. The doctor told me and as you so clearly don't believe me or don't understand me, I will ask the nurse to explain.' I managed to find a lovely nurse who was passing who agreed to explain to him he'd already had the stent. She went in and told him. He argued with her and the nurse and I decided between us we'd get the doctor to also explain to him in the morning.
The conversation followed its usual form, him sitting in bed acting like everybody was there to serve him and him telling us YET AGAIN, everything that was wrong with him in the tiniest detail and what needed to be done to put it right. He didn't ask how we were, how was the family, how was my weekend, or anything else about anything outside.
He truly is the very epicentre of his very own little universe.
At the end of the visit, he said. 'Look we all agree that it's of the utmost importance for them to get my street done, so I can eat, then I can get stronger, then they can do my cataract and I can see again and then I can come home. At least we're all on the same page as far as that's concerned!'
Are we though?
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