… Lots of moans everywhere;
A moan year of despair –
Plots have grown so unfair.*
I associate the smell of ammonia with medical facilities, or medical facilities make me think of ammonia. Anyway, so far the fates have decreed an ammonia-filled year in one way or another. First, there was the hospitalisation and sad passing of the close cousin, and the memorial service.
He had seemed perfectly fit when his wife was given a ‘death sentence’ diagnosis, as did another of the younger cousins who has also since predeceased her.
Then, when Son-i-L took his car to a mechanically-skilled uncle of his on the morning of the seventh to check why a warning light was issuing a warning, the uncle complained of dizziness. That afternoon he was taken to hospital, and went into a coma. Family came from countrywide just in time: he died the night before last. He was a reasonably-fit 68-year-old
One just never knows.
Far less drastic, but annoying, has been that at the very beginning of the year I came in from a late swim, and I flung my wet towel over a wall of the shower in the dark so as not to wake the slumbering household. I felt something bash my ankle rather painfully – I had dislodged a swan-shaped ceramic soap receptacle that had been left on top. Muttering, I went to bed.
The next morning there was a trail of blood from shower to bedroom, and some really gory sheets. The swan had somehow shattered on the way down and had inflicted a deep gash. I cleansed the wound and applied antiseptic – but neglected to get stitches or a dressing. Stupid of me. In due course the whole foot and ankle became swollen and a gaping hole developed. Eventually I succumbed to family demands to go to the doctor, and have had to go on a week’s course of antibiotics. The doctor has prohibited beach visits and swimming for a month. I am experimenting with waterproof dressings.
As it turned out, the antibiotic will now serve a dual purpose. A much-filled (with lead!) tooth broke off and will have to come out on Monday.
Then, on Thursday, I have a considerably overdue appointment to see the optician – so that I’ll be able to see him better? I wonder how a blind person copes when they need to see a doctor …
*Note the fore-and-aft rhyme scheme.
© Colonialist January 2014 (WordPress)