There was a public sector strike in the UK yesterday so, as a non union member and relatively new employee I was having a quiet day in the office. That was until I got a call on my phone around 16.30.
"I'm in A&E"
It was my wife. My heart sank. In a fraction of a second, all manner of horrors flashed before me. As cyclists, it's always that worry that pervades. Calls during rush hour, the commute taking longer than usual, the run of sirens in the distance. A&E means a Rider Down situation and that's never good.
As my wife tells me that she's been there all day I remember that she was driving today. She went to the GP this morning to see about The Pill which needed changing and to talk about some worrying symptoms which she thought was indicative of a blood clot. Since about 9am they've been slowly working their way through tests and while they think she might be right, they haven't been able to find anything.
I call out of work early and rush on over. After the horrors of navigating my way round of all of Sheffield's Northern General Hospital I manage to track her down to the CDU, Clinical Decisions Unit. I find her tucked into the corner of a waiting area looking tired and pale. She hasn't had to do a lot but lots of waiting around not knowing what's going on over medical matters is a pretty draining affair. We talk a bit about what's happening to her and I'm issued to the vending machine for more eats (once I've determined they aren't planning anything requiring nil by mouth) as she hasn't had anything in a while.
Due to the absence of bike racks I've locked to the underside of a handy fire escape. Not in the way but undesirable enough to warrant going back out to find something better. When I return my wife has been taken somewhere else so I'm left to sit nervously in the waiting area for something to happen. 20 horrible minutes later I'm summoned into a treatment bay.
The diagnosis is in, it's blood clots. On the lungs. She's been given a jab of Warfarin in the stomach and told she needs to be kept in overnight. We sit there and she's scared so I don't get to be. That's the kind of relationship we have, if one of us is loosing it, it's down to the other one to hold it together and keep the show running. As the compartmentaliser, that's mostly my job. As it sinks in, we work out that I need to go home and pick up the essential overnight stuff. Clothes, laptop, phones, knitting, entertainment. I'll need to take the car as well.
It's my wife's company car. I'm not insured to drive it*. I can't have an accident in it, even one that isn't my fault. Adding another level of stress that I could happily do without. About the time I'm pulling away it begins to properly hit me. Blood clots, bad enough on the lungs but if one of them starts to move and it could be a stroke, a heart attack, something fatal. But I can't react now because I've got things to do and I need to do it very carefully. I do that switching off thing, shut out all the reasons, rationalise everything to the nth degree and just focus on the simple mechanical things you're doing.
Back at the hospital and it's outside of visiting hours. Fortunately the ward staff have seen enough partners and family of patients. Give them some latitude and patient is easier to treat as well. We talk, my wife is feeling well enough, pleased to have her own things and some non-hospital food. She missed dinner while being treated and has only managed to get some toast out of the hospital staff. I suspect individual kindness over a special from the kitchen. I get some looks from the staff and it's clear it's time to go. Time to leave my wife in unfamiliar surroundings with a potentially lifethreatening condition.
Back in the car and I can feel myself wavering. Switch off again, you've got to get home. Close to home I realise I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since lunchtime and I'm in no mood to cook now. I pull up outside the local Chinese takeaway. I can't get out of the car. I know that if I walk into the takeaway I won't be able to decide what to order and I'm pretty sure that means I'm going to cry. I carry on home and cry over cooking beans on toast instead. I've never felt more pathetic and useless in my life. I tried to write last night but couldn't. If I run through that panic, switch off cycle a couple of time then I have to pay for it. A mental collapse of sorts with next to no sleep. Made worse because the one person I really need is not too far away but completely unreachable.
This morning bought better news, no issues overnight, free to go home. Moved onto an oral Warfarin subsitute and instructed to do nothing strenuous for the next three weeks. Apparently even walking into town is off the list. Tough medicine for a very active person but doable.
*Yes, I know, it wasn't legal. I didn't do it lightly, this met my criteria for exceptional circumstances.
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Topic: Blog Thread 4; Live Free or Blog Hard - 'cos we all like blogging (Read 568905 times)