Chateau Midden:1
This is the second week I’ve missed Tyne Bridge Morris practice due to family
commitments.
Last week I stayed home because Fester, the father of my
children, was on his way back from an EU biodiversity meeting in Brussels. This week is his fault again.
(Bear in mind whilst reading the following that Fester is a
well educated, intelligent man in his late fifties.
He is a BSc, MSc, PhD and Fellow of a scientific society.)
For the past few months Fester’s elbow has been getting
bigger. It gives him a Popeye look. When he mentioned it to his GP at his regular
blood pressure check he was told it was just a bursa (fluid) and not to worry
about.
But about a month ago it started getting even bigger and
red.
Did he go to the GP as advised?
Then he started complaining of feeling tired and ill, and
spent a whole weekend in bed.
Did he go to his GP?
Eventually two white heads appeared at the tip of the elbow
and his arm was scarlet half way down to his wrist. Having once had a carbuncle in a tender place
myself I knew what this meant. But he
still wouldn’t go to his GP.
“It’s got a little infected with being scratched by
brambles” he says rubbing more Sudocreme into it.
A couple of nights before his daytrip to Brussels he was in
the bath and the heads burst. (Sorry if
you’re eating whilst reading this) White
stuff poured out of them. I have a
strong stomach but it made me feel squeamish.
Even so I assisted in squeezing out as much pus as possible before
dressing it (you try putting a plaster on your right elbow if you’re right
handed).
“Oh” says he “I feel a lot better now that’s out – no need
to bother with a doctor – it’ll dry up on it’s own.”
I told him it would come back without antibiotics, I told
him it needed dressing and covering (well he was dripping pus), I warned him
about septicaemia. My sister (a retired nurse) spoke darkly about it “getting into the bone.” All to no avail.
Then a couple of days ago it starts reddening again.
“Oh it’s where it’s been rubbing against my coat”
Yesterday afternoon more white heads and he starts feeling
“tired” again.
This morning he finally rings his surgery, sees the practice
nurse, gets antibiotics and dressings.
He spent most of this evening in bed. Which meant I made tea for the boys – chicken
nuggets and chips.
About 8pm Number One son was watching tv, Number Two was on
the internet and I was on the ‘phone to my sister-in-law discussing our 91 year
old Dad’s health.
Suddenly there’s uproar upstairs with Fester shouting “Get
to the bathroom” followed by an ominous splatting noise.
Number
Two son was being sick - half digested
chicken nuggets and chips all over the landing - and in the bath.
So I spent the next little while scraping up
and scrubbing down with hot water and disinfectant. It’s strange how none of the childcare books
tell you how to get bits of chicken nugget out of the plug hole (bits of potato
mash up and push through).
Of course Fester couldn't do anything about
it except say it wasn't the chicken nuggets and chips but had to be a bug.
"I've got diarrhoea myself" he says
I finally reached the end of my tether
"Of course you have. You're
festering. You're infected all over -
inside and out. You should count
yourself lucky you haven't got blood poisoning."
Which goes to show you shouldn't make fatuous
comments to a woman scrubbing your son’s sick off the landing carpet and trying
to stop the recently spayed cat from licking it up.
His reply?
“Yes – but I’m awfully cuddly”
I suppose I should be grateful Number Two got
out of the office before heaving so the keyboard is still pristine. Now that would have been a nightmare to
clean. (We have to grasp these little straws of good fortune.)
I’ve had a prophylactic glass of Tia Maria whilst typing
this.
It should kill the bugs.
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