the blogging boil.
All of a sudden my posts seem...
well not to put too fine a point on it...
This week has been a strange one,
Tuesday, I took a much loved elderly neighbour
to have his eye injection.
The 'specialist' I use the term loosely,
was so busy telling the nurse about her wonderful
holiday that she without a care just
wanged the injection into his eye...
'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'I can't even see your hand, let alone fingers!
More drops went into his eye...
'Now how many?'
She then proceeded to put her finger
over the eye and rub it in a circular motion.
To disperse the fluid into the place it was
What do I know? I'm just an ordinary woman,
not one swathed head to toe in fabric
with only my face showing!
Isn't Assad an eye specialist as well?
Of dozens and dozens of eye injections this
was by far the most painful.
My lovely man is a sprightly eighty three
with a seriously ill wife at home.
Then on Wednesday it was my birthday.
Yesterday I went up to Kings College
Hospital with a friend whose husband had just had
an operation to drain a bleed in his head.
Kings College Hospital is where
Simon was given the news that he only had
months to live.
So for me it was going to be a toughy.
I'm a big toughy- teflon-toffo!
On the train a young woman half a carriage away
answered her phone,
as I looked, all the while thinking
I watched as she dissoved into tears.
Leaving my friend, I set off down the carriage
where people sat reading their papers,
Touching her lightly on the shoulder
I asked if she needed some help.
She said through the tears that
the call had been from the hospital to
say get there as quick as you can
your husband is dying.
We were on a train with eight stops to go!
I hugged her as she told me about his brain tumour,
which she said was a secondary cancer.
The words poured out as she talked me through the ghastly tale.
Her one year old son had the day before been running a high
temperature and she wanted to get home to him.
'If only they'd told me my husband was dying, I would have stayed!'
Still our fellow travellers carried on trying it seemed, not to notice.
'As soon as we reach the station, give me your coffee and run.'
That was the last I saw of her.
That beautiful young woman with her whole life
in front of her, has been on my mind ever since...
was she on time to be with him when he died?
As my friend and I walked out of the station,
both of us wondering what to expect with her husband:
I got a tap on the shoulder.
'You were meant to be in that carriage today
for that lovely young woman!'
That lady was also going to see her husband in neuro-critical care.
four different ages and times.