Wednesday, 10 October 2018

Cat is dead

Sunrise in Hundon
There is no early mist, but a clear blue-sky sunrise, perhaps the last before he continues his winter trek behind the far wood and neighbour's house. Horse is standing quiet in his field. I am back in the waiting room where first I waited with Eds to receive the bad news of carcinoma of bladder. I am first in the room, and the receptionist books me into the system.

A large, bald-headed, florid man enters, dwarfing his wife, and stands at the end of the aisle. "You have to register," his wife says.

"I can't go down there - the computer's blocking it." His wife sighs and goes to sit down, "whatever you say." He moves awkwardly round the aisle to lean over the desk corner, forcing the receptionist to move. He sits, looking self-important, then suddenly smacks his scalp hard and examines his hand. "There was a fly on my head," he explains.

The Cat is removed and its corpse thrown in the bag for the fire. The nurse is a gruff, tall man with a coarse sense of humour, who looms over me. "This is one time you're glad you've only got a small one!" he laughs, referring back to the huge three-cylinder flushing job I had before. I go to the cafeteria with Ann and we consume several drinks.

MA took her to the physio yesterday for excersises to her broken hand. Waiting there, Ann got a new pack of mints out and said, "would you like one?" MA said, "thanks, mum," opened the pack, popped one in her mouth, then dropped the pack into her bag, leaving Ann mint-less. In the shop, she buys two packs of mints.

We walk round the grounds in the warm air. It is surprising what people drop or leave. By a waste bin is a clean, new, pink phlebotomy cuff, dropped when someone cleared rubbish from their pocket. In the woods under a bench is a hard hat and hi vis jacket, left by a workman after his sandwiches. In the cafeteria, I find a bright red carrier bag with a boxed radio-controlled toy, perhaps a present for a child. I leave it with the staff, and hope the child will get the gift.

Two hours later, the nurse puts me through my test.  From over 300mL, my residual is now 16mL. He beams. "This gives a new meaning to 'Free Willy'," he explains, "you're free to go."

Later I walk the dogs - their first proper airing for a week. The air is still warm, the sky clear blue. They race like puppies. I smile, for it is a beautiful world again.