the bore of hospital

I have more floaters. They’ve appeared (or I’ve noticed them) in the last week. A horde of pinprick dots in the left eye. That means going to the eye clinic.

That means going to Hereford. The car parking charges have jacked up tremendously in the last few years, so I’ll have to park in the one long stay and trek across town. Remember to take sunglasses and reading glasses, because, once I register in A%E, the routine will be dilating eye drops and waiting around. It takes four hours for the eye dilation to wear off.

Every procedure carries risk. And every hospital routine hours of boredom. I’m not looking for ward to this. 😦



T’s inability to see the TV hit a new low last night, when he asked me to read subtitles for him. Over the last few weeks, he’s been asking me who is talking onscreen, when we’re watching the sixth part of an historical drama. I asked him to make that appointment to have his eyes checked and he brushed it aside impatiently. The last time I mentioned it, he made false promises.

I’ve been watching his screen, if I pop into the study for something. A few months ago, he was delighted when I gave him my 24 inch monitor, as I saw he was struggling with the 21 inch I’d previously given him. Then I showed him how to change the size of the image in Word. Now he’s gone from one page, to half a page, to a quarter page.

In Devon, he frightened me with a complete inability to read my road map. He had to lean over it with a large magnifying glass. by the time I had to make a choice to turn, he still hadn’t figured out where we were. If he warned me of a road sign or a cyclist, it was when they were a few feet from the bonnet. I have no idea how he manages to drive, but I suspect he doesn’t want to have an eye test in case he’s told not to drive.

It would wreck his lifestyle not to drive.  I can well understand his hesitancy. “Never let them take your car away from you,” our neighbour, Hilda, told me a few weeks ago. “You lose all independence.”

I do understand. But I dread any news that someone gets hurt by this.

Cold Water

Today found T about to enter bathroom with kettle. That means he’s boiled water to wash in. I was busy fixing his mobile phone, which took all of yesterday. I abandoned that to ask about the water, sensing a new problem.

“I ran it,” he says. “It’s cold.”

“Do you mind if I try?” I ask, which he agrees to. He’s right – the water is cold. I head for the airing cupboard, which houses the boiler controls.

“Don’t worry about it now,” he says. That’s one of those statements that does not translate, for me. Am I meant to put it on a to do list? might as well do it now. I check everything and find the electricity switch for the central heating/hot water control has been turned off. T, of course, has no idea how that might have happened.

“Darling, you sometimes open the door to the airing cupboard before you have a shower. What do you do in the airing cupboard when you do that?”

We used to have a system of turning on the shower pump before having a shower, but that ceased a year ago. So I’ve put this behaviour down to seeking to turn on the hot water, forgetting there is no need to do so, anymore.

“I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do, darling.”

“No I don’t. Anyway, I wouldn’t switch that off.”

I do hope we don’t have an infestation of pixies. 😉

[Later note – T accidentally turned the switch off when he was hanging wet clothes in the airing cupboard. It was during his struggle to reinsert the vicious drying frame. He’d crap with figuring how to put things back together and wouldn’t notice the click of a switch in the general mayhem.]