Pristine

The blog took a back seat for a week while my troubled son was here. The time we spent together was very good. He said it was better than the last time he was here. He filled me with joy, opened up, smiled, improvement was evident. He loves our new dog Sheba and she loved him too as only dogs can. They seem to have an uncanny nose for those who need love. She stayed close to him. So did I, without crowding him.

We (Mrs Horse and I) didn't hassle him about getting a job, just tried to love and enjoy him as he is. There is a lot to enjoy. We love him so deeply, as with all our sons. The Irish have a belief that those like him are "touched" by God, which makes them extra special, a kind of measure of how we are doing, caring for the troubled.

I've been turning over in my mind my decision to leave my career, other possible futures which I felt might out his future at grave risk. As I spoke or did things with him I was reminded of the words of an old song:

I don't care how much it cost,
I don't count the loss,
As long as I
Can see your face again.

That about sums it up don't you think? There are so many lost unloved souls today, I don't know why. But we are called upon sometimes to reach out and be there for people.

Oh! I had my delayed heart tests - my arteries were described by the specialist as "pristine". So much for my worries! Pristine is my word for the day, a beautiful word.

Tests

I went to the hospital today to have a cardio CT. There was an elaborate process of preparation. First abstinence from anything with caffeine for 24 hours, then nicotine and alcohol for 12 hours, then food for four hours before the test and finally any liquids for two hours. I followed the instructions to the letter. I found out later that idea is to empty the stomach and bowels because the dye they use to view the heart arteries can make you ill.

There were three people having the test that morning, an African lady, a former mid wife from the same hospital and myself. Mrs Horse came with me to give moral support. We were prepped for the test and placed in hospital beds, ready to go. Our pulse rates were lowered to between 50 and 60. Mine was pretty low already but I was given a beta blocker to get it down below 60 consistently.

Catheters were about to be inserted when a technician came around to announce that the CT machine wasn't working and a technician had been called. Mercifully the nurses decided not to administer the catheters until the status of the machine had been determined. I slept during the wait and had strange dreams, possibly influenced by the drugs administered.

There was time to observe what was going on in the ward. A man was wheeled in next to me with throat cancer. He was facing some heavy duty chemo therapy and a catheter was being inserted into his stomach for pain relief. His wife was with him and could barely contain her distress. They had already been on a painful journey. Then he was wheeled away and gone, probably forever from my life.

Across the way was an older Scottish gentleman. He was 67 and a veteran of trips to hospital. It wasn't clear what he was in for, but it was a cardio ward. His pulse rate was at 173 at one point. He put up with the inconveniences of hospital admission with great dignity and often looked across at me with a friendly expression. The only thing that disturbed him was when a clearly deranged young woman became upset somewhere nearby, just outside the ward. She was demanding to see the doctor and then to go home, with lots of expletives.

Otherwise the ward was peaceful and the nurses and staff looked after us very well. After about two hours, our tests were all rescheduled for the following week.