Alex's Historical Fiction

Another strange day

Tuesday. It started with a mild disappointment. We were to get the local free bus to the supermarket. But it didn't turn up. Me & the dp regrouped, and went into town earlier than we'd planned to get the essentials. I also needed to pick up a key text from the University library. I'd taken this text out in early December expressly to help with the writing of my lectures. But it was recalled just before Christmas. On checking the library catalogue earlier this week, I found it was already back. So I trotted along, only to find it wasn't on the shelves. The library assistant asked me to come back later whilst she launched an investigation as to its whereabouts. I was in despair, as I really needed this key text.

Me and the dp had an early lunch. I was convinced it hadn't really been worth me getting out of bed that day, but we worked out plans to get round the problem and I calmed down. His workplace has a copy (not easily available, one way or another) and we determined to photocopy it. It is not a short text. But photocopying is better than being held to ransom by variable personages and occurrences. On leaving the shop, I asked for details about the job advertised - working on the counter of the establishment's classical music sales department.

Some light shopping ensued, and the day was looking up by time we managed to get all the items we wanted, even including some clothing!

On to what I anticipated being the real downer for the day: this week's hospital appointment. After 1.5 years of going to appointments, I really didn't expect much. But.

I didn't realise I hadn't seen my named consultant before, but he was in this time. We know it was him, as he actually introduced himself. I now think of him as The Shifter.

'Right,' he said after examining my notes and my foot, 'I think it's a trapped nerve.'

There may have been a quiet smack as my jaw made contact with the floor. He sounded so certain. In the past many months of indecision and uncertainty from his colleagues, he was actually making a pronouncement.

Apparently trapped nerves in feet normally happens to specifically middle-aged females. That would be more or less me. It's nothing to do with inappropriate footwear either. Which is just as well, as I've only ever worn high heels once in a blue moon; I'll tall enough already, plus high heels aren't practical on archaeological sites :-)

'And I think you need an injection of cortisol,' the saintly consultant added.

Wow.

The injection was a little uncomfortable since it was straight into the foot. I felt a rush of adrenalin as he stuck the needle in while I successfully fought my inclination to groan, wriggle and snatch my foot away.

The Shifter was rather aloof and a little cool in answering our questions, but, as I whispered to the dp when we walked back to town:' 'I think I'm in lurve' Mostly because The Shifter was decisive, whereas the main impression from his colleagues has been confusion and lack of knowledge where my foot is concerned. Even if he's wrong, at least he's chanced his arm and offered some sort of solution. Bless him.

The wait continues. The injection won't take noticeable effect till probably Friday, but things - hopefully - will improve over the course of six weeks. In 75% of cases, the cortisol clears up the problem. Here's hoping I'm not in the unlucky quarter, and it might even be worth me applying for that classical music job.

Oh, and on returning to the library, they had triumphantly found my key text!

However, the day ended on a very sad note. We got back home and found a note had been pushed through the door. Alf, our elderly neighbour had died and his funeral is next Tuesday. After being taken very ill last year, he'd been in care.

Very much a day of sharp contrasts.

posted by Alex Bordessa @ Wednesday, January 04, 2006