Medical Confusions

Marianne in the next bed - valiant white-haired lady - with various new knees and hips - I think it was a hip this time - was always convinced she had been given the wrong lunch.   "Did you order cauliflower with your lunch Sue?"  "Yes, Marianne, I did."   "Ah. I got your cauliflower then, and you got my turnip mash."  "No, I got my cauliflower, as ordered. You ordered the turnip for supper."  "Ah, yes. Of course."

She sent her lunch back on the day I left the ward on the grounds that they had given her cauliflower, not the carrots and peas she had ordered.  They came patiently back: "No Marianne, you ordered carrots and peas with your supper. This is your lunch. With cauliflower, as ordered."

I think if they had got us to order our supper after we had had our lunch, rather than before,our elderly brains might have been better able to cope.

As it was, when I was asked for the millionth time how old I was, I said "47", thus knocking a good twenty years off my age...   Which come to think of it might be why my maths teacher wrote that dream warning to them not to trust my maths.

Yesterday I felt very tired - not surprising, my body has been through another major shock and has a lot of repair work to do.   Feel so grateful that we are so "wonderfully made" that even in this state of imperfection, the healing processes are still miraculous, and carry on unsupervised by me. All I have to do is to balance rest and exercise, try to keep cheerful, and eat healthily. I went to the meeting via phone last night, which certainly helped build me up.  We had lasagne and salad last night.   I am back on part time food duties.  I got my own lunch - bread, goats cheese and fruit - made the salad and its dressing, and put the Cook's lasagne in the oven.  Col served it up.  I am planning baked potatoes with the rest of the salad today.

The Captain went out on his first photo trip and I managed fine.

Today I must at least start to tackle the butterfly paperwork, and also begin the struggle to get the appointment with my young surgeon to get my stitches removed.  Or rather, my staples.