As you may have seen from a previous blog post, Neil's brother Paul was killed last week. The cortege of 7 coffins that were repatriated and paraded through Wootton Bassett on Tuesday? One of those was Paul. Neil seems to be coping okay. In theory he's going back to work on Monday, but we'll see. I'm worried about Neil, and I'm being affected by every news article about another soldier or marine that is killed. And they keep dying.
On Tuesday my kitten Alfie went missing. I'm down in Basingstoke with my family, so Jen has been feeding the Beastie Boys. When she went around on Tuesday, one of the windows was open too wide, and Alfie was nowhere to be seen. I wish I hadn't left the window open, but it was only open a crack and it was too stiff for Alfie to push. Apparently he got stronger :-(
And then there's Michaela. Michaela is my twelve year old sister. For months she's been having abdominal pains, and had been diagnosed with period pains, then with swollen stomach glands, then with a urinary infection. She went for an ultrasound to check her urinary system, and they found a 5cm cyst on her ovary. She had to wait for a gynecologist's appointment and last week the gyno arranged for her to have an operation to remove the cyst.
Yesterday my Mum and I took Michaela to the local hospital, and we waited with her during pre-op blood pressure tests and billions of questions. Mum went down when they knocked her out, then Mum and I waited impatiently while the surgeon cut her open.
It was a little funny when she came back; she was very very stoned. Giving everyone these big dopey grins and waves, and was convinced she saw a cat on the ward. Eventually the consultant came around to tell us that Michaela had two very healthy ovaries. This was a relief, because there was concern that one of the ovaries would have needed removing. However, the consultant then informed us that there was no cyst. There never had been a cyst.
Mum's furious. So is Michaela. She was cut open for nothing. So now I'm sat on the sofa in Mum's living room, and Michaela is on a bed that the neighbour brought down for us. She's in horrible pain, and there's nothing I can do to help her. I kinda wish I'd stayed at home. At home I couldn't have helped. Here there's nothing I can do. I'm angry at the hospital, surely they should have done another scan, to check the state of the cyst? It had been 4 weeks since the first one.
So there you have it. Oh, add my best friend's relationship issues, another best friend who's in crisis over uni and emotion and depression and counselling and everything else, and a constant headache, and ankle pain that won't go away. Things are just generally shit right now, and I wish they'd get better.
I suppose there is some good news though, I got a haircut...
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