Remember how yesterday I blogged in some excitement because the Churchill had managed to do a few things right?
Well, scratch that. The doctor who was intelligent enough to come down and find me in the Day Treatment Unit to let me know that he'd booked me a tummy drain rather than trying to phone me at home when I wasn't there, was, unfortunately, not intelligent enough to book me a bed on the ward at the same time. No bed, no drain. So we traipsed all the way over there for the third time this week, bag all packed and bear in hand ... then hung around in the day room for a couple of hours, and then traipsed back again. Undrained. I know I said I didn't want an overnight stay, but this was not what I meant!
A nice little nurse scurried around quite determinedly on our behalf and he swears, cross his heart, that he has rescheduled both drain and bed (well, just scheduled bed, I suppose) for Friday. I'll believe it when I see it. Also, that means that I won't get my visit from Tim this week, so major sulk about that. *grump* And also it means that we will have been to the Churchill four days out of five this week, and the petrol mounts up. Imagine if I were having to do it by public transport!
It is quite a pretty drive: I'll give it that. The horse chestnuts and the hawthorn are over now, so you may cast as many clouts as may gladden your heart, but the elderflower is in bloom, and there are wild roses, poppies, moon daisies, ragwort, and some rather straggly but grimly determined Queen Anne's Lace. And everything is very green. Everything that isn't under a foot of water, that is.
I may sound quite resigned and chirpy about the Churchill fking up, but I am actually so cross that my jaw has locked quite tight and I keep having to massage it to loosen it up again. Grrrrrr.
I have often felt inclined to get my treatment moved to the Horton, which is near Banbury. But (a) I have no guarantee that it would be any better - it's run by the same hospitals trust - and (b) I don't know how to go about it.
And no, LM, I don't really think that moving to Wales is a viable solution!
Never mind. Here is Java Bear, who comes to hospital with me and cheers me up.
He had his work cut out for him today, I can tell you.
