The One With The Hospital, The Hot Doctor and the Swift Kick

As I mentioned in my previous blog about my Grandad's funeral, the boy has been in hospital.

In fact the boy has been in hospital twice. Once for 7 days while they tried to control the swelling in the lymph gland in his neck with antibiotics then, after a week at home, back for 5 more days while they did a short operation to drain the fluid from the gland, after it became clear that the drugs weren't going to be enough.

Hospitals aren't a natural environment for me. I'm scared stiff of people being sick, as I've mentioned before, so I am in turns baffled, grateful and admiring of people who choose to spend their working lives caring for the poorly. I couldn't do it, but thank goodness for those who do.

You hear horror stories about the NHS. I heard one only the other day about a good friend that frightened the life out of me, but the staff on the paediatric ward were amazing and the ear, nose and throat doctor who treated the case was... well... how shall I put it... easy on the eye. Well he was easy on my eyes anyway.And those of Nanny P who also confessed that he was "very nice indeed".

Don't judge us. We're only flesh and blood.

So on the day the boy was released from hospital after his operation, said Hot Doc (for that shall be his blog name- I'm shallow I know) had to exam the boys neck and throat area where the swelling had been.

"Hold him tight up against you" he advised me "With his back towards you, and put your hand on his forehead so you are holding his head back."

I duly obliged. Now as many of you know I'm a rather well endowed lady in the bosom department and I was wearing a wrap around top. I wouldn't say the boys were out of the barracks but they may have been just peeking over the top a bit!

I was sitting down and in order to check the boys throat Hot Doc had to look downwards as he stood over us. Not only did he get an eyeful but he had no option, with the boy jammed up against me jubblies,but to get a hand full as well. OK, more of a brush past the bad boys but it didn't stop me blushing like a schoolgirl on a first date.

To his credit he was extremely professional. When he left Nanny P turned to me and said

"You're embarrassed. You never get embarrassed."

She was right. I was. I must be losing it.

Then last Friday we had to return to the hospital for the boy to have a check up and make sure everything was healing nicely two weeks on from the op. Who should we get for our appointment but the Hot Doc.

He recognised us straight away. At this point I will say that was more to do with the boy and his reputation for screaming the moment a doctor or nurse came within 3 feet of him and not because of my charms.

The results of the swab were back and nothing nasty was found in the pus drained from the abscess. It was completely sterile and nothing to worry about, just a result of severe tonsillitis and nothing more sinister. What a relief. So Hot Doc just needed to have a feel of the neck, make sure the wound was healing OK and look down the boys throat to check the tonsils were now clear.

"You hold him again Mum, right up against you. Hold his arms down with one hand and his head back with the other."

I knew the drill. I was more modestly dressed that day with a high neck jumper on.. well it was a cold day... and I didn't know we were seeing Hot Doc again did I!

The boy struggled. Having one of those lollipop stick things down your throat is never popular, with anyone, but let alone the boy. Hot Doc leaned in to try and look into his mouth. Suddenly I realised that while I had the boys arms and head no one was covering the legs....

Too late!

The boy lashed out with alarming speed and accuracy. Hot Doc got a swift kick in the nadgers for his trouble.

If you thought I was embarrassed last time I was mortified now. For a brief second I considered offering to rub it better but even I thought better of it.

"Got his own back there for the scar on his neck didn't he" Hot Doc winced through a professional smile.

Either that or revenge for you feeling up his Mum's boobs....

It's a tough call.

And it's tougher in the NHS than we ever imagined.... especially when they have to treat the boy!

The One With The Poem For My Grandad

Sorry for the lack of blogs after my new year pledge to post more often.

It has, as we say in Suffolk, been a 'rum old time'!

For anyone who followers me on Facebook and Twitter who'll know that the boy has been in hospital with complications with tonsillitis causing an enlarged lymph gland and had to have an operation to drain the fluid from the nodes. He was in for 7 days, then home for a week, then back for a further 5 days. He is much better now and that saga is a blog for another time, but it was while he was at home, in between hospital stays, he celebrated his 3rd birthday.

And on the morning of the boys 3rd birthday my grandad died.

Grandad was my Mum's dad and my last surviving grandparent. He was 86 and had been in poor health for the last few years. But it was still very sudden, unexpected and bitter sweet on the boys birthday. He died peacefully in his sleep and that is all any of us can really ever ask for isn't it? I know it's the end he would've liked.

During his national service he was a chef in the Royal Marines and was posted down in Kent where he met my Nana. In tribute, at the funeral, we walked out to 'A Life On the Ocean Wave' as it's the official anthem of that regiment. Without the Royal Marines my Mum, Uncle, myself and the boy wouldn't be here. It was a rousing, jolly chorus. It made me smile.

I got to thinking about what I'd like to be played at my funeral, which I know is morbid but you can't help it can you. Something jolly. Something funny. Something a bit showbiz. Cabaret? Make 'Em Laugh? Bring Me Sunshine? The Theme from The Good Life? I want something that will have people tittering rather than crying.

I also got to thinking about how lucky I have been to have had 3 out of my 4 grandparents alive for a good proportion of my life so far, and how my boy had a Great Grandfather for the first 3 years of his. I also thought about how I love watching the boy with Nanny P & Grandad Atu. Their relationship is so precious and loving. The joy they all get out of spending time together, playing and laughing, is beyond measure.

So for Grandad's funeral I thought back to my childhood and the Saturday afternoons and Sunday teatimes we'd all spend together. Then I wrote the poem below and read it at the funeral. I didn't even get to mention the games of snooker on my Uncles snooker table he bought from my Mum's club book, or battenburg cake and Bullseye, or how much Grandad loved my wedding day, which he generously helped to pay for, and for ages afterwards said to me "That was a good day out girl. I haven't had a day out like that for years!"

So here are the things I remember about my Grandad. His garden, his veggies, darts, cards and homemade Suffolk rusks.

Rest in Peace Grandad. I'll raise a glass of malt to you every year the boy gets older.

Remembering

I remember as a little girl, in the garden picking peas,

Both of us together crouched down upon our knees

I'd eat more than I picked and you always used to say,

" Save some for our dinner" but I knew it was ok.

You grew radishes and onions and runners on a vine.

In the greenhouse were tomatoes . Your new potatoes were divine.

How everyone called you Charlie, but Oscar was your name

And how you laughed when I got a cat, and his name was just the same.

On Saturday, in the scullery, standing on a chair,

You taught me darts and round the clock and why you must play fair.

You liked a drop of whisky, and I used to sneak a nip.

You'd say it was our secret, but now I've let it slip.

And you liked a litle flutter on the horses, just for fun.

You'd put 10p on, just for me, and sometimes I even won.

We'd get a cake from the Newstead van, but you prefered home made.

So for Sunday tea you'd make rusks with the table neatly laid.

And after tea, a game of cards, Nine Card Brag was your choice.

We'd play for pennies and laugh so loud you'd almost lose your voice.

You tried to make me eat Pheasant, but I used to wince and say,

"I don't like it Grandad, it's too strong, please take it away".

And when I had your great grandson, you were proud and all a glow,

But you teased and said "You know you should have done that ten years ago"

A Dad, a Grandad and a Great Grandad, your love was strong and true,

These are the things I remember from the time I spent with you.