RETURNING FROM THE HIATUS

I’m afraid things didn’t go quite to plan after the removal of the plates and pins from Ferretfingers’ ankle.

The next few blogs will explain why and what happened next

They are taken from the journal I keep by my bedside and carry around with me when I’m away from home.  It helps me to put things and my feelings about them in writing.  The alternative is screaming (not always possible), punching someone or something (not recommended) or homicide (not allowed).

As Oscar Wilde's Gwendolyn said in The Imporance Of Being Earnest "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train."

Please see The History of Ferretfingers’ Ankle

Thursday 27 March 2025 08.00 - Royal Victoria Infirmary

Yesterday, two weeks after the operation, at 9am we went back to the Freeman to have the dressing changed.

The nurse cut off the old dressing, said “Eww” and swiftly wrapped the sterile sheet around Ferretfingers’ leg.

Sadly she wasn’t  swift enough to prevent me from seeing it.

The operation wound looked like wet spam with a long yellow line and was dripping.

The sisters and consultant were fetched.

They all said "Ew" too.

Photographs were taken and emailed to colleagues.

The wound was gently cleaned, rebandaged, and we were sent to Xray and Room 17; blood samples were taken.

After not too long a wait the consultant came back and said “There will be a bed for you in the RVI this afternoon.  Go home, give him lunch, get everything ready and take him in.”

As we walked in the door the phone rang.

It was middle sister “Oh you sound down.”

So at least I could get some of it off my chest.

I found the number for the Mining Institute’s librarian and rang her.   

She passed her mobile over to Fester who asked if he should come home.

What The Actual F!?!

Then I emailed everyone who I thought should know.

And Facebooked.

And did some admin that couldn’t wait.

Then Fester came home and made Ferretfingers’ lunch; first wingeing that there was no bread.

Left me entirely to my own devices.

I really could have done with some support and sympathy.

A hug for Christsake.  “Oh poor you, that must have been hard.” Something like that.

FUCK ALL IS WHAT I GOT.

I’m sure he’s feeling it too but it’s as if I can cope with everything so get on with it.

What he’ll say in his defence is “Oh you never asked.”

But maybe perhaps you don’t need to be asked to offer care and sympathy.

He does this through bars of chocolate which is all very well but I actually need someone at my back giving me a soft place to fall.

I appreciate he believes I’m strong but once in a while I wish I didn’t have to be.   

I have no one to lean on.  I am mothering three men.  I want my mum.

Anyway…

Here we are all ready and waiting for them to wash out the wound; debrade the bone and God knows what else.

God also knows when we’ll get home.

Some of the above may seem disloyal but please remember, dear reader, that I was under considerable strain when writing it.