The Day After the Day Before
For some utterly mysterious reason I didn’t sleep well last night. And then the phone started ringing. AAAAAUGH. It wasn’t till the third time I had plunged out of bed to answer it that it was Peter, saying that he had an appointment to see the doc at 10:40, which is quite civilised even by my terms, at least nights/mornings when I’ve had some sleep.
This doctor doesn’t think it was a TIA, with all its fresh new implications of prospective direness, which suits me and, of course, Peter. It’s interesting what adrenalin will do to the constitutionally anxious, which is to say, nothing very good. But some time during the dark sleepless watches of the night . . . well, okay, the bright sleepless watches of the morning . . . it began to seem to me more likely to be something more nearly resembling what happened last spring rather than a whole new thing. Not because whole new things don’t happen but because yesterday’s incident could be explained by dehydration, resultant screwed-up electrolyte levels, and Peter’s naturally low blood pressure. Which would then suggest it should be solvable by fairly simple and straightforward means.
And that is what the new doc thinks happened.* I acknowledge it gives one pause to worry** how much the way one presents the story affects the doctor’s reaction, but I don’t think we told it all that differently today.*** Possibly more to the point is that the doctor at the clinic had Peter’s case notes available.†
So Peter gets to have a lot more blood tests, with firm admonitions from his doctor to keep his fluid intake up and supportive threats of violence from his wife ringing in his ears. And I got to go home and hurtle, or rather mooch, hellhounds in the middle of the day, which none of us enjoyed much, since it’s gone all sweltery again. Rather against expectation I had a not-too-bad afternoon with PEG II†† and then spent a little time trying to hack††† Fantin Latour back to bearable limits and a lot of time watering. Watering out front at the cottage was enlivened by the arrival of the first guests for across-the-road’s 21st birthday party.‡ Dear gods. Four-inch heels, perfect hair and lacquered faces. I’m glad I was young a long time ago. I hope my dirty hands and ponytail didn’t ruin their mood.
When hellhounds and I got back to the mews for supper I compulsively checked my email, just like someone with perfect hair and four-inch heels,‡‡ and a blog reader had sent me a link to a fascinating and mind-boggling story of copyright violation and unbelievably clueless self-righteous malfeasance. Gah. How far we have come—in the wrong direction.
Read it and weep. Possibly also with laughter. http://www.jasonrobertbrown.com/weblog/2010/06/fighting_with_teenagers_a_copy.php ‡‡‡
And maybe tomorrow I’ll finally blog about the book I was going to tell you about yesterday.§
* * *
* Whom we saw at 11:30. I could have hurtled hounds or had a little more sleep. Okay, probably not sleep.
** See: constitutionally anxious
*** After another lo-sleep night however I was probably failing to give off the same rabid waves of dread and terror I was clouding the atmosphere with yesterday evening. Peter, of course, being British, wouldn’t dream of emitting rabid waves of dread and terror.
† I suppose it’s something about patient confidentiality but no, the hospital doc can’t tap into some central database and look up the history of the person sitting in front of them. WTF?? This is the sort of thing the Great Computer Revolution was supposed to be for, fifty years ago or so, when monster mainframes still needed to be sold to the public as a good thing: centralised data access.
†† Unless of course when I reopen the file after the next time I’ve had any sleep and discover today’s efforts say cksjhfgwonnbdujiwopwlqyttx.
††† Hacking is necessary to relieve my feelings. One of those phone calls this morning was from the dentist to remind me I have an appointment tomorrow.^ Aaaugh. Will the horror never end.
^ And no, no voice lesson. Whimper.
‡ The one that’s going to go on till one in the morning.
‡‡ No, she’d be checking her texts. I don’t know how to text. No, wait, I’ve promised Merrilee to learn as soon as I get my iPhone.^ I had a little on-line browse at the Orange phone store today, and they now let you get as far as choosing your phone and your payment plan before they tell you they haven’t got any 4s. But they say, brightly, that they’ll email you as soon as they get more in. I duly filled out their form and . . . got an immediate email saying, Hi! Keep checking our website for availability!
^ Although another friend is due to pass through the area soon and dandle her shiny new Android at me.
‡‡‡ Thank you, KW!
§ If I’m not wholly occupied tying my injured jaw back into line and pouring medicinal champagne over the wounded places.
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