Saw the nurse at the doctors on Thursday about my pressure sore. She’s taken a swab from it just in case there’s any infection as it’s smelling a bit…
Friday morning was my Aunt Bet’s funeral. My mam was ok, but a little bit away with the fairies. When she’s like that she can’t make decisions so I kept getting ‘would this coat be ok or what about this one’ over and over again. The same thing happened about the burial in the cemetery and the gathering afterwards – she wanted to go, then she didn’t, then she did…. We ended up going to both.
I’ve got a loud squeaky hip. At best it sounds like a squeaking door. At worst it sounds like someone breaking wind….
When I was last at the hospital I mentioned the squeaky hip to the Man Himself’s sidekick consultant. He said it wasn’t anything to worry about.
At a Catholic requiem funeral there’s a lot of standing and sitting. My hip was in full vocal squeaking mode so all I could hear was ‘rrrrrrrr’. It was really embarrassing.
One thing I thought that was in a bit of bad taste was the council workers hadn’t removed the bright yellow digger from the cemetery while the burial took place. A few feet behind the grave was the digger, with a little workman sitting ready to fill in the hole the moment the mourners had gone.
I was back to see the nurse at the doctors this morning about my pressure sore. The results from the swab aren’t back yet. The nurse has put a different dressing on it and as I’ve got to keep it dry at all times, I’m not allowed to shower or take a bath. Thankfully I have to go back on Thursday so hopefully the water ban will be lifted then.
Having a rub down with a flannel isn’t quite the same as soaking in a hot bath….