Good news! The medical interventions have helped enormously, and H’s Grandfather is rather better. They’re even hoping to send him home to enjoy Christmas in his own favourite arm-chair.
The relief. I feel all limp.
Of course, he’s not and will never be cured – he is seriously ill (out of respect to H’s family’s privacy, also my own anonymity, I’m feeling leery of posting details), and he’s old and frail (if amazingly compos mentis), and this is a reprieve only.
*Has a little weep, blows nose, gets grip*
Anyway. Christmas is on.
Annoying news! My period is due on Boxing Day. When we’ll be going to stay with the In-Laws for Festive Socialising. Hurrah! And H is horrified at the very idea of trying to drive for 150 miles with me puking with gong-like regularity next to him. No idea what to do about this. The metoclopramide my GP prescribed doesn’t always work. I am getting rather pissed off with feeling the first ripple of ick, taking the stupid tablet, and half-and-hour later dry-heaving for twenty minutes anyway.
And H has a bad cold and feels miserable and spends his nights making noises like a disgruntled buffalo on loop.
And my job is veering wildly between interesting and amusing (nice colleagues, you know) and stressful, dull, prolonged, and annoying (the other colleagues, you know). I have whiplash. And haven’t reached home before 7:30pm all week. Augh.