I try very hard not to have Mrs Grumpy days. I like to try to stay positive and cheerful, to be grateful that I am here, and to make the best of each day. I know that there are many people less fortunate than me so I always feel guilty for a Mrs Grumpy day. However sometimes they can't be avoided.
It all started last week when the nurse came round. I had been concerned about a white coating on my tongue. It turned out to be nothing to worry about, just some oral thrush. But it needed treating with a prescription only item so she wrote me a note for my GP. My husband rang the surgery to make the arrangements. We then get the usual problem of the unhelpful receptionist. She says she has to talk to me and doesn't seem to understand that I can't come to the phone as I am temporarily deaf and I can't speak clearly. She also says I can't get a prescription over the phone as I've not had the item before. But I can't have an appointment to see the GP as he is fully booked. So the note from the nurse is delivered to the surgery and several hours later one of the Doctors rings to say that he is happy to accept the diagnosis of oral thrush but he does not agree with what the nurse wants prescribed. But at least we have a prescription for something, which we finally get filled the next day as it is for a non stock item.
I am now grumpy as this ointment doesn't seem to be working and I don't know why I couldn't have the drops the nurse wanted me to have. This is the third time the surgery have been unhelpful over my cancer. They wouldn't let me prebook an appointment to get my stitches taken out after my operation, and they refused to do a blood test that the hospital wanted them to do.
My husband has also turned into Mr Grumpy. This is because of our parents. Mine are normally unrealistically optimistic whereas his prefer the doom and gloom method of dealing with life. Over the weekend I don't know which set of them annoyed him most. My Mum was being particularly cheerful and kept saying she was sure I'd be eating full size meals within a day or two, I just need to get my appetite back and stop being a fussy eater. He then had a depressing conversation with his parents on the usual subjects of are we sure the hospital know what they are doing, isn't it terrible that I'm being treated at a hospital that has been placed in special measures, and what on earth are we going to do if my treatment hasn't worked?
Our moods were not improved by the arrival of a neighbour with a present to cheer me up. A box of luxury biscuits. It has been placed in a cupboard alongside other inappropriate gifts, namely a jumbo size toblerone, a cassette of relaxation music that sounds like a cat being strangled, some extremely unpleasant looking ornaments and several bottles of wine. I must admit I came close to opening the wine despite my promise not to drink alcohol again until the feeding tube is removed.
This all led to my husband getting very cross and complaining that nobody else understands just how hard all this is. I tell him yet again that there are those who do understand, that he should join this site, there are groups for him and people he could chat to. As always he refuses, says he can't see the point of it. I have left out various Macmillan booklets for him to read but they just seem to be gathering dust.
