Hurrah for free state healthcare. My leg has been freed from its cage, William continues to be kept going, and with a smile on his face. And we have father and son splints. Mine is temporary, and needs to be worn whilst walking around. William's need to be worn overnight, and will most likely be a semi-permanent fixture. But they have tractors and helicopters on them. Which makes them far superior.
It has been a while since my last blog. All sorts of things have happened. Term ended at Tonbridge, and I once again have given up English teaching, to try and return to my old singing job. At the moment, I have approximately four confirmed dates in my diary when I have paying work. Two days after I left paying work, I went to Lille for an audition, where, outside the opera house, I turned down a particularly tenacious beggar, who told me that I was rich, and that I should f-off back to England. Bi-lingual beggar he may have been, but his grasp of the realities of my finances were about as sound as his understanding of the Entente Cordiale. And I didn’t get the part. I did come back with a decent bottle of St. Julien though. Some things are worth dipping into the overdraft for.
Things may temporarily look up on the cash front when Direct Line finally cough up the insurance payment for my last flat flooding. Although they will be unimpressed by the fact that it has flooded again. I have yet to figure out what I have lost, as it is still inches deep in foul smelling South London effluent, and I haven’t been able to get in. Odd that I spent at least a year as an undergraduate living in conditions only slightly less squalid, and never felt so fussy. However, now that my leg-metalwork has been taken off, and I am sporting my plastic open-toed orthopaedic boot, I’m guessing that squelching through raw sewage isn’t the way forward. Especially as I am still sporting open post-surgical wounds. Ideally, I need an NHS wellie. Which hasn’t been forthcoming, so I have been unable to explore. Even so, I do know that my copy of John Humphries' book about English Grammar has bought it – I saw it floating by the front door. I’m not sure I needed my recent career choice illustrated in quite such a graphic fashion.
They may not be able to provide wellies, but the NHS has come up trumps in every other regard this month. 24 hours after my frame had been removed, William had an extremely nasty turn, and I was in casualty again. He toddled over to give me a cuddle, and three minutes later, was shaking uncontrollably, going blue, and showing every symptom of ‘septic shock’. I phoned for an ambulance with my spare hand. It arrived in five minutes, and I was then astonished by just how quickly it is possible to drive from Addiscombe to Mayday hospital. Within the hour, William was sitting on a trolley regaling all who would listen with the intricacies of various Thomas stories. When you hear griping about the length of hip replacement waiting lists, it rather falls into relief when you know how impressively the health service can perform when they need to. Having said that, it did look briefly as if the nearest bed they could offer was going to be in Hampshire. And Dad’s waiting for a hip replacement.
William is home again now, and on familiar form, if a bit weary. He has mastered the phrases “I want,” and “I don’t want,” and is rather good at saying “Please!” However, he rarely, if ever, actually knows what he wants. It’s very confusing, approaching the age of three. It seems to have sparked a sort of mid-life crisis. “I want a cuddle!” “I don’t want a cuddle!” These are difficulties recognisable to all men. It was no surprise to come home yesterday to find him seeking solace in the arms of a nurse. When you’re a toddler, it seems, state healthcare can even stretch that far.
