All will be well

Some of you will know that Ian (Ed) was admitted to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital last Wednesday evening, with suspected leaking of his aortic aneurysm. He was very ill, so it was a blue-light ambulance.

He was taken to A&E, had a scan, and was immediately whisked into theatre for late night surgery. The fear was that the aneurysm had actually burst, which is fatal in 90% of cases. Fortunately, in Ian’s case it was on the point of bursting but had not yet done so, and the operation went smoothly.

He was in intensive care for two days, then moved into the surgical ward.

For three days he looked terrible. Full of tubes, on large doses of morphine, and practically comatose. But on the next day there was a marked improvement. Most of the tubes had been removed and he was sitting up and taking notice.

Yesterday he was allowed a cup of tea, and the remaining tubes were removed. By now I could hardly believe it was the same person. He was chatting normally, able to smile and laugh, and had been up and taken a few steps.

Today the change is even more remarkable. He has walked round the ward and up and down stairs, and had food. What’s more, they’ve told him he may be ready for discharge by the weekend.

I can’t help but believe that a huge raft of prayer from family and friends has made all the difference. It has certainly supported me through what has been a somewhat hairy time, and I think the constant, steady improvement in Ian’s condition – far quicker than expected – has been somehow borne on a wave of prayer. I can’t pretend to know how prayer works, but I am so grateful to all those of you who have supported us in this way. Keep up the good work, the results are magnificent.

Oh, and I LOVE the NHS. All those health professionals have been absolutely wonderful. Not only extremely skilful, but very kind and considerate towards worried me as well as Ian. And naturally, it hasn’t cost us a penny.

The trouble with mice…

You may remember that I’ve had trouble with mice before. Pesky little creatures, seemingly with only one desire – to frustrate the life out of me.

Yes, all right, I admit it. I’m to blame for their stubborn refusal to obey, but dropping them several times onto the tiled floor of the conservatory is no reason for them to turn up their toes at the earliest opportunity.

It’s true the latest one lasted several months, but any appreciation of that fact swings out of the window when pointing and clicking and scrolling produce nothing but a feathery excuse for movement. When you can’t get the mouse to move the cursor, there’s nothing for it but to curse.

Since my latest mouse reached that stage today, and all the previous mice – resurrected from various drawers in the study – stood in obstinate solidarity with it, refusing outright to work, there was no choice.

Ed and I hopped into the car, drove to the mouse generating shop and purchased a new one.

So far it’s working perfectly. But I haven’t yet ventured into the conservatory…