Now if only I could get Keifer or, preferably, George Clooney to play the part of me...
Between the hours of 6pm and 7pm, Tuesday -
Come home from work, to find my mother, and father to a lesser extent, in a self-styled 'tizz'. Bad news from across the ditch - my grandfather, after having a pretty positive morning, even going out shopping with my grandmother, had several coughing fits in the afternoon. At least two of which brought up blood. Doctors and nurses called, and came on house calls, and it is not looking positive. My mother books a flight out the following morning to get to Tauranga at 6pm the following evening - one way ticket and will stay there until whenever, or my grandfather gets better.
5am and 6am, Wednesday -
Make a promise to myself to wake up in time to see my mother off. So this is what 5.30 in the morning looks like, it has been years since I have seen it. It is worth it though, as I give Mum a big hug to see her off into an uncertain day, and for the days and weeks ahead. Until my grandfather gets better.
6am to 7am -
I try to get a bit of extra sleep, but find it difficult to. The dog jumps up on the bed next to me, and I let her, at least for this morning, and the cat curls up to the other side. Would make a good photo, if the room wasn't so messy. I give up trying to sleep after half an hour and wake up, shuffle around a bit, the whole sandy-eyed feeling is not nice.
8am to 9am -
I start striding past the bus stop, but I can see the school kids are still there. Good, my bus hasn't been. Another five minutes of clockwatching, and I am sick of waiting, and feel I should catch the train to be on time, or close enough to it, to work. Two minutes slog up the road, the bus sails past me, and the rain goes from a light to a heavy drizzle. By the time I get to the train station, I am very drowned rat.
9am to 10am -
The boss heads over to talk to me. I feel guilty, as I have been fixing up something from yesterday for the last ten minutes, rather than working on any new stuff today. And the fix up thing is my own fault for not fact checking enough. But the boss only gives me an award for excellent customer service and team work - buying all those lollies finally gets me somewhere. I go over the sick grandfather and lack of sleep thing, and get out of taking phone calls for the day - helps I think that I am only there for half a day, before blagging off to a medical appointment.
2pm to 3pm -
After getting to my appointment twenty minutes early, and waiting another ten minutes, neatly finishing off this week's Economist - hey, it had the Wall Street tumble on the cover - I get in to see the neurologist. Recite my history of seizures, yet again, and try my best to describe what happens before I black out. Pins and needles in the back of the head rushing to the front seems to remain the best description. Poked, prodded, tapped as per usual, advised to try out epilim instead of dilantin, the latter apparently makes you drowsier than needs be. Bloods in three weeks, an EEG and follow up appointment in four, and still considering an MRI. Whatever the cost, I want this sorted out as much as I can. I want to know what is going on. Avoid the salesperson in the pharmacy as much as possible for being overly chatty, not so much to me as this divorced woman who the saleswoman baits into telling as much bitter history as she can get. Very uncomfortable.
5pm to 6pm -
The News. Prime Minister says for Australia to prepare for bad news. No, there is no repeat of September 11, nor have we invaded Iran. An Indonesian airliner on an Indonesian internal flight has crashed. Some Australians were on board, along with a lot of Indonesians. The Sumatran earthquake from yesterday is bumped well down the news, if it appears at all. Scooter Libby is convicted of perjury for that Iraq war evidence smear campaign. Reminds me of his former boss, Dick Cheney, on the television the other night, lamenting the state of US military hospitals. The way he glared down the camera, I just knew he wanted to nuke Walter Reed Hospital - freedom will be on the march in the hospital wings, very very soon.
Yes, that a random 24 hours in the life of moi.
Between the hours of 6pm and 7pm, Tuesday -
Come home from work, to find my mother, and father to a lesser extent, in a self-styled 'tizz'. Bad news from across the ditch - my grandfather, after having a pretty positive morning, even going out shopping with my grandmother, had several coughing fits in the afternoon. At least two of which brought up blood. Doctors and nurses called, and came on house calls, and it is not looking positive. My mother books a flight out the following morning to get to Tauranga at 6pm the following evening - one way ticket and will stay there until whenever, or my grandfather gets better.
5am and 6am, Wednesday -
Make a promise to myself to wake up in time to see my mother off. So this is what 5.30 in the morning looks like, it has been years since I have seen it. It is worth it though, as I give Mum a big hug to see her off into an uncertain day, and for the days and weeks ahead. Until my grandfather gets better.
6am to 7am -
I try to get a bit of extra sleep, but find it difficult to. The dog jumps up on the bed next to me, and I let her, at least for this morning, and the cat curls up to the other side. Would make a good photo, if the room wasn't so messy. I give up trying to sleep after half an hour and wake up, shuffle around a bit, the whole sandy-eyed feeling is not nice.
8am to 9am -
I start striding past the bus stop, but I can see the school kids are still there. Good, my bus hasn't been. Another five minutes of clockwatching, and I am sick of waiting, and feel I should catch the train to be on time, or close enough to it, to work. Two minutes slog up the road, the bus sails past me, and the rain goes from a light to a heavy drizzle. By the time I get to the train station, I am very drowned rat.
9am to 10am -
The boss heads over to talk to me. I feel guilty, as I have been fixing up something from yesterday for the last ten minutes, rather than working on any new stuff today. And the fix up thing is my own fault for not fact checking enough. But the boss only gives me an award for excellent customer service and team work - buying all those lollies finally gets me somewhere. I go over the sick grandfather and lack of sleep thing, and get out of taking phone calls for the day - helps I think that I am only there for half a day, before blagging off to a medical appointment.
2pm to 3pm -
After getting to my appointment twenty minutes early, and waiting another ten minutes, neatly finishing off this week's Economist - hey, it had the Wall Street tumble on the cover - I get in to see the neurologist. Recite my history of seizures, yet again, and try my best to describe what happens before I black out. Pins and needles in the back of the head rushing to the front seems to remain the best description. Poked, prodded, tapped as per usual, advised to try out epilim instead of dilantin, the latter apparently makes you drowsier than needs be. Bloods in three weeks, an EEG and follow up appointment in four, and still considering an MRI. Whatever the cost, I want this sorted out as much as I can. I want to know what is going on. Avoid the salesperson in the pharmacy as much as possible for being overly chatty, not so much to me as this divorced woman who the saleswoman baits into telling as much bitter history as she can get. Very uncomfortable.
5pm to 6pm -
The News. Prime Minister says for Australia to prepare for bad news. No, there is no repeat of September 11, nor have we invaded Iran. An Indonesian airliner on an Indonesian internal flight has crashed. Some Australians were on board, along with a lot of Indonesians. The Sumatran earthquake from yesterday is bumped well down the news, if it appears at all. Scooter Libby is convicted of perjury for that Iraq war evidence smear campaign. Reminds me of his former boss, Dick Cheney, on the television the other night, lamenting the state of US military hospitals. The way he glared down the camera, I just knew he wanted to nuke Walter Reed Hospital - freedom will be on the march in the hospital wings, very very soon.
Yes, that a random 24 hours in the life of moi.
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