Jun. 24th, 2013

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Right, well IS is happy. Great. Beverley isn't happy. Big, fat surprise. She sent back his disabled stickers (meaning she never plans to take him out again) in an envelope to mum with no note, no nothing. I rather think the Cold War has begun where she's concerned. I fail to care, as does mum.

However...

She (mum) rang me at 8.15 yesterday morning to check that I was still going over because she "hadn't been able to get out for a couple of days" and needed stuff. So I asked if she was poorly and she said "I'm fine, I'll tell you when you get here". So naturally I spent the next 2 hours in a lather of fear. I honestly didn't know what to expect.

So I got there and it turns out she'd had a day last week when she'd felt dreadful - really back to how it was before - she went to the doctor who was very concerned and sent her straight to the hospital for tests. The hospital called her in for these tests on Saturday morning, which shows how concerned they were (and also I have to say, how fab the NHS can be when it works).

I think we all know where this is going, don't we? Yes, she'd suffered a mini stroke. She's absolutely fine, 100% recovered, no residual problems at all. They've tweaked her medication and want to do a brain scan this week, but they caught it within the 'golden time', the first 3 days, and she feels fine. There is some furring of the arteries, but no more than expected for a woman of her age, so hopefully nothing further will happen. And now of course I'm torturing myself with the thought that one mini stroke can lead to a series of them, which can lead to the Big One. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm never happy unless I've got something to be scared of.

But on a positive note, the house is looking really nice now. Finished with the living room, nearly finished what is now the spare room and since I'm over there on Friday I may start painting the hall. She was supposed to be having a minor op on Friday which is why I had to be there, but that seems very unlikely now, since they're not going to want to put her under a general when she's a week past a stroke.

God though, if it's not one thing it's a bloody nother.

I could sit here and weep, I really could.

And not only that but I've just read a really (guilty pleasure) type book - one of those glorious Regency Romances that deserves capital letters. All was going well until somebody went 'skeet shooting'. I don't think we've have ever shot a skeet in this country. Clay pigeons, yes. Whether we did or no that really threw me out, and badly.

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