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Jan. 11th, 2011 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolDue to things being mad, this didn't get posted to DW, so here are the two posts from today:
9.16am: My mother has just spent her second night sleeping in a corridor in Southport hospital. Dad took her in with abdominal pain on Sunday night, told me on Monday (I had a super Monday), went to see her last night and still in a corridor due to no beds being available. Not sure what's wrong yet. In work, waiting for a phonecall, in between looking through CV applicants for a role we're advertising where no one can apparently read the phrase 'please attach cover letter'.
More news as I get it and have a free few seconds to sneak on LJ. Southport visiting hours means that my evenings have gone kaput for a little while.
(The last time I saw Mum is hospital it was because she had just given birth to my sister. Forgive me if I am a little unnerved by the whole experience.)
In a corridor.
9.19pm: Gallstones, infected gallbladder, possibly surgery needed but no one quite sure. Mum is convinced she's going home tomorrow, with the pinprick pupils of someone who is on an awful lot of morphine to stop the pain. I suspect she may not, in fact, be going home tomorrow. I am aware that gallstones are pretty common, and your gallbladder is something you can cheerfully live without, but it's all still very unsettling.
Ugh, this is rubbish.
9.16am: My mother has just spent her second night sleeping in a corridor in Southport hospital. Dad took her in with abdominal pain on Sunday night, told me on Monday (I had a super Monday), went to see her last night and still in a corridor due to no beds being available. Not sure what's wrong yet. In work, waiting for a phonecall, in between looking through CV applicants for a role we're advertising where no one can apparently read the phrase 'please attach cover letter'.
More news as I get it and have a free few seconds to sneak on LJ. Southport visiting hours means that my evenings have gone kaput for a little while.
(The last time I saw Mum is hospital it was because she had just given birth to my sister. Forgive me if I am a little unnerved by the whole experience.)
In a corridor.
9.19pm: Gallstones, infected gallbladder, possibly surgery needed but no one quite sure. Mum is convinced she's going home tomorrow, with the pinprick pupils of someone who is on an awful lot of morphine to stop the pain. I suspect she may not, in fact, be going home tomorrow. I am aware that gallstones are pretty common, and your gallbladder is something you can cheerfully live without, but it's all still very unsettling.
Ugh, this is rubbish.
