The long slow road to recovery

I have been neglecting this - and feel guilty that I didn't let you know earlier that my mum is now out of hospital (as of Friday) and back at home. Which is good news, but it's strange that seeing her in her home environment has made her seem more fragile. When she was lying in her hospital bed, it wasn't noticeable she'd lost 11 pounds in weight - and now weighs a mere 113 pounds. So tiny and fragile. Now she is wearing normal clothes, the weight loss is hard to miss - her clothes hang on her, and she's asked me to go clothes shopping for her so she's obviously lost more of her mind than we had first realised (ha ha). My dad is dressing her, so she's wearing some combinations of clothes she mght not immediately have thought of for herself, but they are warm and comfortable. She's not eating a huge amount and she's not sleeping at night - but she's napping through the day in fits and starts. The bruises on her arms, neck and backs of her hands from all the drips and drains are now a lovely oily shade of yellow, but at least they have stopped being that really dramatic blue-black. But progress is progress, right?

She feels confused in herself. She told me that something, she doesn't know what, isn't quite right. I've just got off the telephone to Mr W's mother, who is really good at practical advice. She said, rightly, that when mum was looking and acting positively perky in the hospital, she was high on drugs, and I should not forget this. Before she came home, the doctor people removed all of the drugs. So to think she's almost going backwards now is not uncommon, but she isn't, she's just coping without the drugs. Mr W's mother also said that friends visiting my mum would help. My mum had loads of visitors in hospital, and I don't think she's had any (except Mr W, me, my brother) since she got out. I'm going to call all her mates tomorrow and ask them to go visit in the next few weeks. It will take my mum's mind off things, and in the absence of physical activity, will hopefully help her work up an appetite.

I have another second round interview (my first second round interview was last week and I'm supposed to hear by Friday about whether I got it or not) tomorrow and involves a drafting exercise on an area of law of which I know diddly-squit. I'm supposed to be online finding resources to read, but stopped to read some new comments on here on the way and realised an update was in order.

This whole thing has also affected the dymanic betwen my mum and my dad. My dad is overweight, diabetic, has had DVT, and is ginger. My mum went to the gym twice a week, walked a lot outside of the gym and had no real health problems. She used to mark A' level papers and do supply teaching at a local school, and enjoyed getting out of the house. Now she'll need a lift to go anywhere and I think she's going to reduce her excursions rather than want to impose on my dad for chauffeur service. She's not used to being dependent. My dad is not used to having a dependent wife. It won't remain like this, and I'm completely confident my dad will continue to be a tower of strength and a shining example of kindness and thoughtfulness - I'm not joking, he's surprising me. I mean, I'm finding the whole thing quite hard to deal with still and I've been living my life and working and interviewing, and all the time my dad has been completely immersed in the nightmare with my mum. He, well, they, are overdue a break but there's nothing that can be done - he won't relax until she's better; end of story.

And I'm feeling guilty. Because I'm not doing more to help my dad and to reassure my mum that she's not gone nuts, and that she should just relax and stop beating herself up for not recovering faster, and stop worrying about things. It's been two weeks and more now, and I'm not used to such long periods of emotional strain (is anyone?). Even though the emotion is less heightened than it was back on 9th, it's constant. It's comparatively low-grade now, but it's enough to drain the energy and if I'm not careful it's a short slip down the slide to becoming a snappy and occasionally tearful miseryguts.

Roll on spring and better weather, roll on a job offer, roll on bedtime. I'm going to be more cheerful from now on. Whether I have to go do some exercise to produce some endorphins or whether I can manage it by less extreme methods, we shall see, but I can't help notice that most of my recent posts have been relatively depressing and that's not actually an accurate portrayal of the past two weeks, I've seen some lovely friends and eaten some truly amazing food. Now it's late and I need to do some research or Mr W will kick my butt when he gets in from work, so no elegant sign off, because I think I can hear his key in the door...

Hopefully her last night in the hospital

My mum will be out of hospital, fingers crossed and all being well, tomorrow sometime. She called today to tell me dad had checked out of his visitor's room, and had gone back home to pick up some of her clothes and check the cat out of the cattery. Now, my mum has been optimistic (to say the least) about her release date so far, and my dad has been the cautious one. If he's checked out and collected the cat then he can't be expecting her to be in hospital much longer.

She's still shutting her right eye to avoid seeing the weird images that her brain creates to try to make sense of the very fuzzy amount she can see through her right eye (because, basically, she can see colour differences still). She is seeing an eye specialist (it's late and I'm not spelling opthalmo...bod properly) on Monday which is something to look forward to. Bdum - tsch.

I had my second round interview for the job I would kill for earlier this week. I want it even though it would involve an hour drive each way; which should give you some inkling of how much I want it, that's how lovely this job is. I'll let you know if and when you will need to avoid London roads, don't worry.

I have another interview tomorrow and I am knackered. My eyes won't stay open. I have read the website and prepared some responses to suggested questions. I'm beginning to get concerned I'm not concerned enough. The rational part of me, which is fast cracking up under the steely glare of the larger paranoid part, considers that as I've had three interviews in the past two weeks or so, I don't actually need to re-prepare the things that have been churned to the top of my mind. Things like, why I want to leave my current job, why I'm great, which worlds I have conquered in the last three months and which diseases I have cured in my spare time.

So I'm going to call it a night. Relatively happy thinking my mum is probably spending her last night in the hospital, and that this time tomorrow I'll be in bed and asleep, and this whole two week long period of slightly-higher-stress-than-usual will just about be finished.

G'night and sweet dreams. And positive vibes again for tomorrow please - they seemed to work earlier!

Going well, no more dramas

We got to the hospital early on Sunday morning and installed the radio before leaving the room so mum could listen to The Archers. She seemed much, much better on Sunday. She was a bit tired out by about 1145, so we left her to sleep. Mr W's parents visited with a basked of fruit and muffins, which by all accounts look very impressive. I am not holding out much hope there will be any left of either tomorrow (Tuesday) when we next visit.

We got home and had lunch, then Mr W fell asleep on the sofa. I snuggled up in bed - I had a stomach ache starting and decided to ignore it and hope it went away. We were only napping briefly before going back to see mum in the afternoon. However, my stomach got worse and worse and so we didn't return *hangs head*.

I didn't actually get any sleep at all as every half hour I was up and running to the loo to erm... do what you do when you have a vicious stomach upset. I am actually going to see the doctor about it as soon as I can (ok, hopefully before the end of March) as it's the same thing I had for about six months when I was 14 and my dad lived in Turkey - I caught something weird out there and it just never bloody went away. I think I've now had it three times since I had it back when I was 14.

So, I called in to work and told them I was ill. Of all the luck! And now I'm trying to work out some competency questions for my second round interview later this week (please send out positive vibes to me over the next 24 hours) because I REALLY REALLY want this job. Massively.

I called my mum earlier and they've removed the two drains from either side of her scar (so not the lung drain) and she reckons she'll feel a lot better when they take out the lung one. That one makes me feel funny - there's a sort of clear plastic (enclosed) bucket on the floor on her left hand side, and a thick-ish tube running from it up to her left side where it goes into her lung between ribs. I've not wanted to see it and have avoided the whole thing. I kicked the bucket on Sunday but mum didn't say it hurt, which was a relief. When we help her to sit up or lie down, I'm always on her left, and always worry about stretching her side and causing pain by moving the drain thing around. Yuk yuk yuk. I think I'll feel a lot better too when they've removed everything! Anyway, she seemed fine and we had a normal conversation, and we're hopeing she'll be out by the end of the week.

And she's out!

of the Cardio ICU. Yipee!!! My sister-in-law called about 2pm to say mum had been moved to a private room. We went in for 3pm as planned. Mum's new room is large, and she has her own bathroom (but you can't lock the door to it). The room was quite warm when we turned up but cooled down gradually as we lowered the thermostat and opened the window. Mum is on the fourth floor and overlooks a relatively picturesque clock tower above the main entrance to the hotel, and can read the time on the clock (she's long-long sighted). Mr W pointed out the QPR flood-lights which were also visible. We all had a cup of tea (with biscuits) and chatted. Mum seems to be mentally back to normal - the stroke doesn't seem to have damaged her personality or her intellect.

Her right eye is causing some issues. Apparently she can see some shapes and her right eye tries to make them into shapes she's seen before. For example, there was a piece of medical kit on the floor by her bed and she was convinced it was a person on the floor with an orange and cream stripey jumper. The machine had orange bands on it - so she can obviously see some things but her eye is having some fun filling in the blanks. She should be seeing an eye specialist and a neuro person soon; they will probably set those meetings in motion on Monday.

Mum is meant to cough because that will help her lung recover. She's on some nebuliser thing - I didn't fully understand the explanation the nurse gave so I asked again, and still didn't understand, so I left it. The nebuliser gives her steroids to do something to her lungs but seems to be making her cough. And she does not want to cough. I wouldn't either if I had an 8 inch zig-zag line (think pinking shears) down the centre of my chest, either. They are apparently going to try to synchronise the painkillers (di-hydra-codeine, one of Mr W's personal favourites, and tramadol) with the nebuliser to help her cough without feeling like she's falling apart.

We left about 5pm and picked up a radio in Argos on the way home. We've got to get it to the hospital by 10am tomorrow or she'll miss The Archers. We don't want to put her through that, on top of everything else she's been through!

I am so relieved. I think my dad is too. My mum is sniping a bit at the slow speed of her recovery and needs to be reminded she's not just had her tonsils out, and to take it easy and not worry about when she's leaving. She was announcing earlier today that she'd be home by the end of the week; because when she turned up they told her they would usually expect someone to stay six days in recovery and she's been in two days already. I think she might take longer, what with the minor complication of the collapsed lung (which is still draining).

The food is good (dad just called to tell me), she's in her own room, the nurse is pleasant, and all she has to do is sleep and recuperate. Really, really hoping that she's felt the worst she's going to feel already, and that my dad has seen the last of the disturbing sights he will just want to forget, and that from now on mum will get better.

Collapsing

Lungs - today's little twist.

During the quiet time (ok, this isn't an Aboriginal story, but refers to the time between 1pm and 3pm when no visitors are allowed in the C-ICU) my mum's lung collapsed. When my dad and brother got back after 3pm the doctors (well apparently the anaesthetist, registrar and nurse I think) were about to insert a tube through under my mum's ribs just below her breast and drain her collapsed lung. She asked dad and brother to stay, but unfortunately my brother's response to seeing medical needles (yes, he isn't affected in haberdashery departments) is identical to mine on seeing blood. So he had to regretfully decline because someone conking out on the floor of the C-ICU might not be conducive to stress-free insertion of said tube.

My brother stopped in here to fill up his thermal coffee mug before heading back somewhere up north to catch a 'plane to Poland. His wife is coming down tomorrow so we'll see her at the hospital in the afternoon I imagine. We ordered pizza and it arrived at the same time as he did, so we all had a couple of pieces. Not the healthiest of suppers but there was no meat on it (not kosher) and we had thin crusts. We caught up and had a relatively pleasant evening.

We're off back to the hospital tomorrow after shul, and my dad is obviously there at the moment; either still with her or in his room hopefully by now if she's stable; and will call with any news if there is any and I'll check in at about 9am in the morning. I'm so glad he put the cat in th kennels on Thursday, I'm sure he's physically less tired staying in the hospital than trekking back and forth on an hour round trip, and until Wednesday he was doing it at least twice a day.

I wore some perfume on Wednesday and my mum sniffed it when she kissed me and said she liked it and I'd worn it before. I had - on my wedding day. So I was thinking of getting her some, plus the showergel and moisturiser, for when she's allowed to stop using Hibiescrub (and here) which we use at home on our hands, but which my mum really doesn't like. I don't think she ever will now though, too many unpleasant connotations I would think.

On a somewhat lighter note, I have been invited to an interview at a huge well-known IT (well, I had heard of it) company at some point next week. I won't actually "go" to the interview as it will be conducted on the telephone with the head of HR. I haven't done a telephone interview before, so any hints on how to practice or what to watch out for would be hugey appreciated.

Update following surgery

well my mum had the surgery and came out without having another stroke (sometimes when they remove a clot or something a bit breaks off and then you have another stroke) which is really good news. She didn't recover as fast as the doctors would have wanted - she was bleeding internally for longer than normal, and she wasn't breathing by herself and was breathing too shallowly to disperse all of the anaesthesia.

About 10am today she stopped bleeding internally so they've removed the drain from her heart area. Which means there are less open wounds/ potentail sources of infection. When they tried to reduce the work the breathing machine was doing last night (trying to make her breathe by herself) she stopped breathing each time - but they started her up again with the machine and tinkered with her drugs.

She is feeling very sick and was sick (well, nothing in her stomach so she was bringing up bile) as soon as they took the tubes out from her throat and replaced them with an oxygen mask. She has a stomach ache now and because they think that's linked to the anaesthesia (that she's not getting out of her system) they won't let her lie down even though she wants to.

She's got tubes in her neck, one in the back of each hand, and one in the right elbow. Which makes drinking and eating a bit painful. It makes me feel faint to think about that aspect, but I've had it easy - I think my dad is completely traumatised, because he was there for the whole not breathing being sick thing last night. And it must be horrific to see the person you love, or anyone at all really, hooked up to that many machines.

Still, she's fully awake now and just very, very cross. Which is better than the woman in the bed next to hers because she had a post-operation stroke and appears to be brain-dead. Mum gave the anaesthetist an earful this morning and seems to be completely fine from a mental point of view (obviously no sight in her right eye still, which I forget and then stand on her right side...).

Hopefully she will be taken out of the Cardio-thorassic Intensive Care Unit soon. They were hoping to move her this afternoon but as she's recovering slowly I'm not sure if she will be moved then or not. She's not drinking enough, so when we turned up we made her tea (Earl Grey - she doens't drink typhoo stuff) and she drank two cups whilst we were there. The doctors are concerned she's not drinking enough and is currently dehydrated.

My brother and I have to get ourselves tested for this Atrial Myxoma thing; apparently it can be hereditary. Seeing as it is very rare in the first place and the median age for having one is about 56 I'm not that bothered. I need to read more about it - I'm not sure whether it's that you have your first stroke at 56 or whether the polyp starts forming then. They said that the polyp my mum had could have been growing since birth, or middle age, but they don't know. I think that I'll go to my GP and arrange to be tested (it's an echo cardio thing, rather like a baby-scans) sooner rather than later.

I'm at work now but finding it hard to concentrate on much so I thought I'd update this. It's never a picnic recovering from surgery, least of all when you were not in tip-top condition to start with. When dad called yesterday evening to say she was out of surgery Iwas so relieved (I had been sleeping, so relief set in when Mr W woke me up, just to be pedantic). I hadn't realised there was so much after-surgery risk. Not so much the risk even - just seeing my mum sitting in a chair, half blind, hurting to breathe, unable to cough, unable to be comfortable (because she can't lie down and they won't let her doze off), it's quite a painful thing to watch. Mr W is a tower of strength, he's had more surgery than most and he's asking questions of all of the consultants and anaesthetists.

Atrial Myxoma

Is what they found out my mum has when they finally did the scans. It's a benign tumour in her heart, and it probably caused the clot which caused the stroke which made her permanently blind in one eye, in the house that Jack built.

We went in for this evening's visit in a bit of a hurry - my dad called when we were about to leave and told us about the tumour and that she was being moved immediately. Obviously as soon as the NHS did the echo thing test today (four days after admission) and found this tumour, they jumped into gear. She was ensconced in a new hospital, one with an excellent cardio-thorassic department, within four hours of them finding the tumour. We got to the hospital before my mum and dad left, and I went in the ambulance with her. We were a small convoy with Mr W and my dad following all of the way.

My dad finally agreed to stay over in the hospital which is a relief because he's insisting he's fine. He's coping fantastically but is clearly in a bit of a state just below the surface; unsurprisingly. Both my parents are completely calm about the whole thing so the other one doesn't get worried. My mum said, in the ambulance, that she can't get upset because it will worry my dad. Admirable sentiment - when I had three stitches in my arm, *everyone* knew I was in pain! And my mum is going for open heart surgery and is still being quite calm. To be honest, I don't think much of it is a front and I do think she's calm about the whole thing. Or drugged, of course. I'll ask her later in the week.

So tomorrow morning we're going to go to the hospital to see her before her operation, and then depending on what my dad thinks or needs or wants we'll either stay until she's safe in the ICU or come home and wait for the jungle drums from my dad, who is obviously staying as close as possible for the duation. She probably won't come around until late tomorrow and we'll know more then.

As I started the day with a mission to get the hospital to do the damn scans my mum needed, I'm happy that they have finally been done. But as the saying goes, beware of what you wish for.

And another saying - be grateful for small mercies. My brother lives up in Manchester, and can't get down as quickly and easily as we can. I think that must be worse - at least we can drive over. It only takes 30 minutes or so. So I'll call him in the morning (my dad has kept him up to speed this evening) and discuss. He's great for googling things. Before we knew what her condition was, my sister-in-law had already worked out open heart surgery took about 5 hours in the US (when the article was written which was last March).

On a lighter note, Mr W won a caption competition in the Telegraph. I'm not sure when it will refresh, but as the prize was a signed copy of the original you can always come over and see it!

Tuesday update

Hmmm. Well, my dad is trying to move my mum to either a private hospital or to the private wing of the hospital she is in at the moment. But a private hospital won't move her until the NHS hospital have worked out what is wrong and have decided on an "intervention plan" which is apparently NHS-speak for treatment.

So after a fruitless weekend speaking to local hospitals he decided that once the Stroke Team (apparently a one man band) and the Opthalmo [insert your own spelling here]… Team (never seen them; don’t know if it’s a troupe or not) had visited her as planned on Monday we’d know a lot more. We would know what they can do about her eye, or at least what caused it.

My mum feels sick. It could well be due to one or many of the following: no fresh air (windows always shut), hot rooms (well, obviously), slight stink which is exacerbated by the heat, a constant headache, she hasn’t had a bath since she turned up, she has one of those needle things in her arm "just in case" which has not been used since insertion, the bed is in an awkward position and she can’t find the buttons either to call the nurse or to alter the bed.

She's a bit fussy with food, and does not like fatty meat at all (it makes her sick), so she's not eating what they are feeding her – which apart from the teatime sarnies (which we eat!) sounds pretty well tailored to include most of her (TBH, it's quite small) food blacklist. My dad took in roast veggies and mango and walnuts and greek salad today. I was stunned to hear this, then he mentioned Waitrose opened early – and had some sort of bar where you can pick these things up. I don't think my local waitrose has one, but I'm minded to check next time I go! When I go in this evening from work mum has asked me to stop at M&S in Marylebone to pick up some mango pieces, a chicken sandwich and a St Valentine’s day card for my dad (well, for my dad but from my mum, and probably from the Cards Galore there rather than M&S) - so it's not likely she'll starve or, with the amount of mango she's eating, get scurvy.

She doesn’t like ear 'phones, so I don't want to get her any audiobooks - plus there's the whole need to pay attention. She can't read so I can't get her normal books. I can't think of anything else I could take in to while away the hours and the tedium. She can't play sudoku. She probably couldn't play that Nintendo DS lite game that all the Resolver boyz have that works out your mental age (although I’m working out if I could get it for her and keep it for me…). However she has had visitors, in impressive numbers. Two friends on Sunday, three yesterday, some bringing freisas, and my mum loves the smell of freisas. Apparently the yellow and white ones smell more potently than the other ones, as they lack the colour to attract the bees. So on balance I don't think she's about to die of boredom, but I just can't think of anything to amuse her that she's not dependent on other people for - and doesn't need depth perception for. Ideas on postcards please!

It turns out they have some MRI/ ultrasound tests lined up for later today (fingers crossed please they actually happen) on my mum's brain and her upper chest, including all the arteries and her heart, to work out what caused the stroke. Apparently she might have a hole in her heart which might have let the clot form, and she still has a blood clot in her head which is giving her a bad headache – the treatment for which is aspirin. Anyhow, when they work out what happened on Friday they can start working out if it is treatable and whether they can let her go home or to a place with a nicer environment (and no thieves – someone, whether a patient, a visitor, or a staff member, jolly well nicked her pashmina on Sunday when she wasn't looking, and she's in one of six beds far away from the door so it’s not a passerby because they don't have them, and thinking about it incenses me, but dad said I shouldn’t replace it or bring it up in conversation). We should find out more today after the tests. What I mean is, my dad should find out more. I know I'm bugging him (he told me I'm bugging him, that's how I know) so am going to try to call the ward sister for information on her rather than calling my dad from now on. It can't be easy for him to deal with all of the queries from me and my brother, and as much as I don't like talking about it, I should really understand that he doesn't either.

I feel a bit of a heel about it but we didn’t make it in last night, and I didn't even call after 6pm. But I'd spoken to dad and he'd asked me to visit tonight instead, and said there was no need to go. Consequently I was sound asleep by 9pm, along with Mr W. We didn't actually fall asleep together – he hit the sofa and as there was no room I went to bed. Fully clothed, obviously. I woke up to wash and change when Mr W decamped to bed and felt very relaxed and well this morning (only to start having twinges of guilt about feeling good blah blah you know the score with this Jewish guilt thing). I had my interview yesterday and I really really liked both the company and the interviewer. They called before lunch yesterday to set up a second round interview (yay!) for next week!

I'd set aside my lunch hour to prepare for my other and unrelated interview tomorrow but the recruitment consultant called to move it to Thursday afternoon. I'm not sure if he realizes that a company that can't keep its appointments is getting quite annoying. This is the second move this company has asked for (was Tuesday, then Wednesday, now Thursday). But hey, it's not as though I have a personal life or anything remotely to do with my spare time apart from prepare for and attend interviews. I was tempted to tell him to sod off and to tell the company to ram their job but then I realised there was a teeny tiny chance that would be classified as an over-reaction.

Thank you very much for emails and comments wishing her well - it means a lot. I realise that it’s probably more normal to tell people face to face or on the telephone, but I find it easier just to announce it here and only speak about it when I have to. It saves some time. I seem to be thinking about it a lot and writing about it helps me (although not you – I shudder to think how many non sequiturs there are in this post), and if people then know about it then I don't have to explain. When people are concerned it seems to start me on the waterworks which I don't like. But I am genuinely grateful, and I think my mum likes hearing how my friends are wishing her well again.

More tomorrow if there's anything to say.

Well it was a stroke.

And she still has not recovered any sight in her right eye. The whole area around that eye is very painful to her. When she lies down you think you can see a difference in the texture of the skin around her right eye, and when she looks tired, but when she's smiling and sitting up there is no difference. The eyeball itself looks a little red around the edges but I can't decide if the iris and pupil are still the same. Certainly her left eye was dilated.

We went in to see her and timed our arrival with my brother and his wife to perfection but in an unplanned manner. Three visitors per patient at any one time, so we all went in and had a bit of a chat, then Mr W and I stayed and they went off to get tissues (her right eye was weeping and the hospital issue tissues were very scratchy).

We got out the goody bag we had taken in (Tisserand lavender hand cream that she loves, a warm pink pashmina, some slippers that Nona had knitted for me) and she looked a bit happier with slippers and a warm scarf on. We chatted for a while and then went downstairs to find the others - again timing our arrival with sibling such that we bumped into them on the stairs. My dad came down to the coffee area to join us after a brief while and told us everything that had happened; as it had happened; since it happened. I already knew all of this from my father and brother, but Mr W was still piecing the chronology together from bits I probably didn't explain too well. We went back up and made a list of what should be brought in to make my mum more comfortable in the night. A personal radio, CD player, various CDs (Rachmaninov, Debussy, Chopin and Enya), Elizabether Arden Eight Hour Lip Balm, Garfield, some ear plugs and her glasses. My dad and brother disappeared home to pick up the bits they had, and Mr W and I stayed there. Explaining that everyone feels de-personalised in a hospital and that it's not just because she has had a stroke. Everyone gets walked to the loo in case they fall and sue, and because they have so many patients sometimes they don't ask you if you want your pills they just give them to you, and that none of this is because they see her on the slippery slope to dementia and senility (her words I think).

We talked about the fact she'd not known it was Friday yesterday when the doc asked after it happened (about 1045). We didn't think it was that big of a deal - she hadn't got a newspaper yet and would have no reason (being retired and having just finished marking A'level papers) to know whether it was Thursday or Friday. We discussed how everyone knows World War II started in 1919 (because Germany was never going to tolerate the Versailles treaties entered into that year) and those other questions that TV and radi docs ask stroke patients. We put some hand cream on.

She seems fine in her head but very wary of herself - she's constantly running lists of children or teachers' names through her head and making sure she can remember her 2002 registration group. Her eye bugs her because she can't pour her own drinks as her depth perception is shot. Still, she told me she's still going to see Madame Butterfly this week.

My mother either had a severe migraine or a stroke

earlier today. My father sms-ed my brother and me about 3pm and we both called within seconds of getting the message. Apparently my mother had well, suffice it to say he was very worried. She was experiencing most of the "stroke" symptoms on this website.

We called back and forth and then I left work early. The doctor was going around to the house again at 6, so it wasn't too long. My dad said she was comfortable and having a nap, but the thought that she could be lying there with her eyes shut but not asleep really worried me. About 7pm my dad said they were taking her to the local hospital. So I spoke to her briefly and she sounded so embarrassed and upset. My mum said she had to go and my dad said good bye. He called about 10 to say she was still in A&E but that she had had some blood tests (waiting on the results) and was going to have X-rays (later on) and scans (in the morning). He's going to call me back at midnight but he seemed to imply that whatever it was had happened and was now over. She might not get completely better; this might be the new reality. He said how she couldn't see through one eye or move the opposite hand. And how, once they'd worked out what was wrong (or what they thought had happened), they could move her to an appropriate specialist hospital (like the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford).

He said he would call back about midnight, so we ate, and now we're just sitting around and waiting. It's not so bad, I have cleaned the place. And I keep thinking how horrific it would be if her experience of A&E is how I imagine or remember it to be. But my objective at the start of the whole thing was to get her into a hospital as soon as possible and we've done that. So now I get a good night's sleep and wake up refreshed to clean and tidy some more, then go and get my nails done (I have a job interview on Monday, and another on Wednesday), and for Mr W to meet me and drive us out to the local NHS hospital. I've no idea what to expect, but should have spoken to my dad at least three times before then if not more.