It’s been a while…


So, it’s been a while. No, I haven’t disappeared off the face of the Earth. Just been a bit busy. Which is probably, in actual fact, the best time to write. Something to actually tell you. But it didn’t work out. Was just too tied up. The truth is, life is always hectic here. There are four children. What else is to be expected? But the last few weeks have been extra special. Firstly, we had three visitors over from Scotland. My parents and the daughter of my very best friend. An adorable girl, who I’d have happily adopted. However, I had to permit her return to her own mother eventually. Although, I did manage to hold onto her for an extra week with the aid of the Volcanic Ash Crisis. A nod and a wink to you Eyjafjallajökull.

On top of that we had a good go at record-breaking. On the second week of, and essentially what should have been the final week of their stay, we went to the doctors a total of five times, plus twice to the hospital.

The second visit to the hospital really took its toll. We were there for over nine hours. Mainly in the waiting room. Our actual time being attended to amounted to around forty minutes. We were finally allowed to leave, and on our return journey home, I swore to my hubby that this time, this is it.

The following week I didn’t go to the doctor at all.

I am a rebel.

The hospital even called to see why I hadn’t made a follow-up appointment. I wanted to say I’d rather rip off my own head, but politely I informed them that all is well, and what on earth is the point when all is well? Honestly, are they touting for business now?

Mind you, they probably have our children on some kind of at risk register by now. I informed our GP on one of our more recent visits, that my son had been up during the night again. This time making himself something to eat. This worries me in case he starts to cook. He has made fried eggs unattended before. A shock to me. Being awoken in the morning by a smiling face, armed with cooked breakfast. Luckily we hadn’t all been crisped in our beds. When you have a son who hasn’t control over his impulses, it’s scary to know he’s up in the middle of the night ‘doing things’.

Before we went into the surgery, I informed Aden, that I had to talk to the doctor about his issues. I expressed that I had no intention of badmouthing him. On the contrary, I would only be honest and that no-one is annoyed with him. Just concerned for his and everyone else’s safety. He needs his medication again. He needs help. We need help. It’s the only way forward. I told him that the best thing to do is to stay quiet. No need to feel defensive. No one is attacking him.

I explained the worry of the situation to the doctor.  I cannot, of course, be expected to watch him 24 hours a day. Then Aden blurted out, that, the only reason he arose in the middle of the night was because he didn’t have any dinner. Gobsmacked I just sat there. Staring. Failing to tell the doctor that he’d had a three-course-lunch at the Sushi lounge. Of adult proportions. Comprising of chicken skewers with salad and hot rice (in a delicious sauce),  followed by sushi. And that he couldn’t eat much of the three types of ice cream dessert, with fresh fruit, biscuits and cream. That Kashi and I had been lumbered.

Then, that very day, after an afternoon out, he’d  demolished a whole pizza for his ‘dinner’.

Mouth open I sat there. Un-defending. I think a slight utterance of “Aden” may have gasped out of my mouth.

No doubt written in permanent marker somewhere next to my name lies the inscription: “This woman does not feed her child”.

The whole situation, of course, is not helped by the fact that he’s the skinniest boy in Germany and I nowadays look like I actually swallowed a child.

So, I managed to stay away from the docs until… today. Ten whole days. Definitely a  record. At least in our family. We’ve had no electrocutions. No rashes, strange or otherwise. No projectile vomit. No halved fingers.  No scratched cornea – through pencil sharpening or fingernails. No splinters under fingernails requiring  surgical removal. No drinking of undelicious liquids. No dares that caused issues to health and no unusual viruses. We have been free.

Until now.

This time I’m here. Yes, it’s me. I’ve been feeling a little unwell since last week. And not from the heady excitement of my possible leisure activities. I think I have been bitten. At least that’s what I thought. Then I thought I’d had a reaction to the bite, so I thinned my skin a little with some steroid cream. But it’s got worse. Lots of little blisters. All trying to swallow themselves up in one another to become one considerable beast. I would have gone to the chemist. But unfortunately, the positioning is rather delicate and I didn’t really intend to reveal myself in the middle of his shop.

The receptionist has dignified me with a female doctor. Few and far between in our practice. So I’ve accepted my appointment and I’m waiting for her.

…..

She called in another male doctor. So he also got a good look.

“Shingles…”

Again. And in my battle to seek other gainful activities, I have not only lost, but I am also informed: I am too late for the tablets!

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