Holding Hands

Sunday in Western General Hospital and all is well. Writing this on my iPhone  whilist lying in bed following a tasty bite of lunch and listening to a nurse yapping away vigorously in the distance. Hospitals are fascinating places, ever changing.  Never stopping to rest and recuperate yet somehow managing to maintain some level of order and discipline so that everything goes on as before, seamlessly reordering itself. 

This morning I was lying in my bed chatting to one of the nurses or more like she was chatting to me and we got talking about her home country and somehow or other she began to describe the death of her sister, followed soon after by the death of her mother who had decided that there was no longer any point in living now that her daughter was dead. 

It was all quite poignant and she became tearful and upset as she told me her story  so I took her hand in mine to comfort her and she told me that she had held her mother's hand just like that as she died. By this time I was getting into a state myself and she was using my tissues to wipe away her tears. So a heavy morning for us both but I think she must have found it therapeutic to tell me. She's a lovely nurse whom I've known since my last time here in July. 

I'm writing this on my iPhone and the keypad is not designed for prolonged use so I must stop now and get ship shape for my visitor, George, and do the homework he left me last time he was here. He's a hard taskmaster is old George. 

Meantime my condition improves slowly everyday and I see Mr Speake in the morning for further discussions on couple of issues slight concern and let's hold he orders my cathete removed.