Well That’s A Relief; Now What?

6 Oct
Peripheral blood film of a patient with iron d...

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Good news, sort of: there is no sign of cancer in the Hub (though they didn’t look at his soul; I don’t think they have a camera for that).  They biopsied a polyp but they tell us that’s routine.  However, if no news is good news, it’s still no news; there’s no explanation yet for the Hub’s anaemia.  He will be called back for a discussion at some point and he just has to keep taking the iron tablets. 

It was a long day yesterday.  The Hub was to be given a sedative and had to be accompanied home afterwards; I don’t drive so we had to get a taxi to the hospital: two buses and a fair bit of walking are two buses and a fair bit of walking too much for the Hub at the moment.  He’s not breathing well – a combination of the anaemia and a chest infection; his pallor gives the word ‘grey’ a bad name; he is in more pain than usual because he had to come off the anti-inflammatories; and he has the ongoing CFS/ME, of course.  He is one sorry little puppy.  He’s so unwell, we haven’t had an argument in days; never thought there’d be a day when I missed his pig-headed shouty view of the world; but I do. 


Still, enough about him.  I had a horrible day too, but nobody wipes my brow.  While I waited for him, I had to read two books and the paper, drink tea, eat crisps and chocolate and sit on a chair deemed too cruel for use by the Spanish Inquisition.  That was a long three-and-a-half-hours.  Well, it would have been, if I hadn’t had two books, the paper and lots of snacks to keep me going.  Why don’t hospitals add a library or a tv room or something for family & friends?  Even a comfortable chair would help.  But no, it’s all spend the money on the patients; look after the patients; make the patients comfortable while they wait two hours for their procedure. 

We arrived twenty minutes early, so that bit was our fault.  They took him in early and made him wait over two hours, so that was their fault.  They prodded and questioned before the Big Probe and gave him paper boxers to wear under a girly gown.  You check in your dignity along with your valuables when you go into hospital; luckily for the Hub, he’s used to that, appearing in my blog every day.  He said they pumped him full of air and he lay in a ward at some point, having a fart-off with the other testees.  He swears he did one four minutes-long.  At last I have competition!  


Pardon my vulgarity; I was not brought up that way, as Rizzo would say that Sandra Dee would say.  Of Irish Catholic descent, I come from what my mother called the capital of Ireland, Liverpool; and we are a refined lot.  We always say ‘please’ when we ask for your wallet and jewellery; and we never steal your tyres without resting your car on even piles of bricks.   


It must be the Mancunian rubbing off on me after all these years, though I don’t think it does take years: Tarik the taxi driver, who told us he hasn’t been here that long, had a fund of horror stories to share about his life in Levenshulme; most of which seemed to involve being on his break and eating pizzas and kebabs while he watched young men knock out their drug addict girlfriends and youths insult grannies and generally behave in an anti-social but all-too Mancunian manner. 

The taxi driver going home was Stockport-born and bred, but he talked just as much.  So much, in fact, that he forgot to turn on his meter until we were halfway home, and had to ask us how much he should charge.  I gave him a decent tip.  I wouldn’t have normally, what with being Scouse and knowing the value of a penny; but my husband had just been told he was cancer-free and I was in the mood to celebrate.  Now, if I can just rile the Hub so he yells at me, we’ll all be happy. 


The prompt for this week’s We Write Poems is What’s for dinner?  I haven’t been in the mood to write poetry this week, so I dug up some old ones on the same theme. 

A Recipe For Torture 


Too many cooks
Not enough broth

Main Course: 

Four planes
Dead thousands
One paralysed nation

Stir until hatred reaches a peak. 


One concrete cell
One bucket of water
Two bare feet
A dash of electricity

Throw together and watch carefully
as your suspect surges the walls.
Look on in satisfaction.
Extract information.
Discard waste.

Please note: No guarantees can be given that
following this recipe will produce the desired results.



Recipe for Contentment  

Ingredients: food,
good film, children home, husband,
dog.  Mix well.  Relax.


How To Bake A Cake  

With care and good scales
or you’ll fail.
You’ll burn it;
flop it; scrape
it off the
plate and pop
it in the bin,
   to your children’s accompanying wails.


38 Responses to “Well That’s A Relief; Now What?”

  1. Mary October 6, 2010 at 12:35 #

    I especially loved your recipe for contentment.

    (On another note, most hospital waiting rooms I’ve had to spend a lot of time in do have TVs here, for which I’m always grateful.)


    • Tilly Bud October 6, 2010 at 17:04 #

      I think they probably do in the main wards; but this was a day visit and they don’t cater for women who used to drive and lost their nerve, I’m afraid.


  2. Irene October 6, 2010 at 12:39 #

    Totally riveting! I mean I was riveted. I’m so happy for good news about the Hub. Your humor is infectiously good, prose and poems. Like your style a lot.


  3. Diane T October 6, 2010 at 13:07 #

    Love your humor in both prose and poetry. Glad Hub had good news. Ah yes, and making a cake is not ALWAYS easy!


  4. b_y October 6, 2010 at 13:21 #

    Best to the Hubs–it can be horrible not knowing the Why.
    (you must have your “old” poems filed and cross-referenced to be able to find such apt ones)
    the torture poem, unpleasant as it is, knocked me out


    • Tilly Bud October 6, 2010 at 17:05 #

      I have a file of hard copies so I rifle through it on desperate days.


  5. pamela October 6, 2010 at 15:37 #

    Tilly good news about the hub!
    I loved all 3 of these and while the torture poem is an unpleasant subject it is finely crafted.


  6. 1sojournal October 6, 2010 at 16:21 #

    Glad for the no bad news on the Hub. Enjoy reading your poetry and prose, you seem to have an insatiable supply of humor. It took me days to find mine again after my last visit to the hospital. Hope all goes well, and I’m with the others: the torture poem is harsh but well-written and thought provoking,



  7. slpmartin October 6, 2010 at 16:41 #

    As always a delight to read…so glad that you husband got a good report from the hospital…also glad you were so resilient as to have survived the waiting room. 😉


    • Tilly Bud October 6, 2010 at 17:07 #

      Finally, a little praise for yesterday’s real sufferer. Thanks for understanding 🙂


  8. flo October 6, 2010 at 20:54 #

    Great news about Hub! Poor things having to cope with all of this, however, to quote a line from a rubbish film, HOPE FLOATS.It’s one of my many mantras, that and the tale of boiling frogs, but this isn’t the time or place for that one. Give Hub my love, and you too, and look after yourselves and each other. x


    • Tilly Bud October 7, 2010 at 10:51 #

      The Hub sends it back (reciprocated, not returned unopened).

      Re the frogs: is that like the lobster that doesn’t know it’s in hot water?


      • flo October 7, 2010 at 23:04 #

        Yes. So clever. I have been a boiling frog at times in life x


        • Tilly Bud October 8, 2010 at 12:03 #

          Sometimes you’re the spawn; sometimes you’re the menu. That’s life 🙂


  9. vivinfrance October 6, 2010 at 21:55 #

    Good for Hub, sorry for you. Just arrived home. Too tired to read poems. Tomorrow is another day.


    • Tilly Bud October 7, 2010 at 10:51 #

      Glad to have you back! Take your password next time.


  10. Ron. October 6, 2010 at 23:30 #

    I’m glad you can happy your way through the harrow.

    I never thought I’d say this: I loved reading about the Hub’s fartfest. Rollicking!

    And the poetry’s sublime, even recycled. Yum.


    • Tilly Bud October 7, 2010 at 10:54 #

      What a wonderful phrase, ‘happy your way through the harrow’. It’s now in my notebook.

      I never imagined I’d write anything like that – I can’t even say the word ‘fart’; I think it’s horrible.


  11. Linda October 7, 2010 at 00:34 #

    Glad for the good news— the day sounds harrowing. Loved the poem. Take it easy.


  12. Uma Gowrishankar October 7, 2010 at 08:03 #

    Your prose and poetry made me laugh and cry. Great writing.


  13. vivinfrance October 7, 2010 at 09:04 #

    It’s because of your ever-present humour that we sit up and take notice whenever you write of something serious, eg he torture poem – extremely well crafted though uneasy reading. I love the recipe for contentment, and the cake baking one is pure Tilly!

    I hope they find the cause of hub’ anaemia.The first 19 years of my life were severely anaemic until they discovered that I had spherocytosis. My spleen was destroying red blood cells so they took it out. Nowadays there are medical treatments for the condition, which is hereditary. My Mum was diagnosed as far back as 1948, but at that time they didn’t know about the hereditary thing. My sister was diagnosed when pregnant, so they did all the tests on me, and we both lost our spleens. Subsequently, 2 of my sister’s four children had it and their children in their turn, fortunately tested at birth and treated successfully. It’s worth asking about, as spherocytosis is relatively rare, and may not have been tested for.


    • Tilly Bud October 7, 2010 at 10:56 #

      Poor Viv 😦

      I’ll make a note of it for when he sees the doctor. We suspect it’s caused by the lining of the gut being eaten away by the anti-inflammatories, but you never know.


  14. vivinfrance October 7, 2010 at 09:06 #

    PS, I loved the fartfest! Jock reckons I could fart for an England team!


  15. Musings October 7, 2010 at 09:33 #

    Thank goodness your Hub doesn’t have cancer, but I wish they’d find out why he’s anemic. That’s a worry, too. This was such a fun post to read although I’m hoping everything will be OK. I don’t drive either…much…


    • Tilly Bud October 7, 2010 at 10:58 #

      I’m astonished; I thought all Americans drove. The only one I know of who didn’t – and she’s fictional – is Debra Winger in Legal Eagles.


  16. Flying Monkey October 7, 2010 at 15:09 #

    I always enjoy reading your blog. The ability to laugh at yourself and life is a precious and rare human quality and it shines through all your writing. Loved the bit about the farting as well ;-)Glad the Hub is okay.


    • Tilly Bud October 8, 2010 at 12:02 #

      Your comment was in my mind as I wrote today’s (08/10/10) post.

      Thanks for enjoying me!


  17. gautami tripathy October 8, 2010 at 01:07 #

    All are very good. A touch of Irony, here and there, with wit!

    a subtle hint


  18. ms pie October 8, 2010 at 20:48 #

    funny funny funny… well not all the parts… glad to hear the hub is cancer free… sounds like an exhausting day… waiting rooms are sat night live skits waiting to happen… having waited half a day myself for something similar i can identify… it is good to know that love blooms even in the most trying of dayz…. fart foto is hilarious…. torture and contentment.. makes one appreciate the simple reality of a no struggle kind of day…


I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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