So I’m back in London as there’s loads to do here as well as in Somerset. The tiny garden needs a bit of TLC. I need to get some fleece for the tree ferns and the bananas although last year I didn’t fleece. Well I did. But I didn’t fleece the plants.
But so far I’ve been on a roll. A veterinary roll. Have you ever met a poor vet? Me neither. So last week Bob the cat was limping. I was away so Ian had to ask our friend Cate for a lift and took him to the vet where they couldn’t find anything. Which didn’t please him. He said he knew that there was something wrong. He came away with some liquid painkiller. And a nagging feeling we would be back.
Come Saturday we find a lump on Fat Harry’s back. Monday it’s worse. So off I Trot with him to the vet . Not great as I have been awake half the night. Listening to the US presidential debate. So off we go – . That in itself is no easy task. Fat Harry is a big cat. One that hates his carrier. Even worse he hates the car. We rarely get to the end of the road without a disaster. Think smells. Bad smells. And it’s not me. Honest.
But surprise. He behaves and Yep. He has either a bite or a scratch on his back. So they drain it. My spending money depleted for October. One good thing though. Fat Harry has lost weight. Like my wallet.
I leave joking with the vet I hope I don’t see her in a while. She understands and laughs. Hmmm. Laugh is on me. I’m back again on Tuesday. The next day.
Bob this time. Again. He’s limping badly and in pain. That’s my day done. I’m having a hair cut at 9. A doctors at 1. Life of a retired man. Off I go to the vet. Turns out he has an abcess on his paw. So an anaesthetic later he’s ready to come home. I have now provided the vet with sufficient funds to purchase a designer handbag.
Back home Bobs next to the radiator on the landing. Fat Harry has a better way of keeping warm. Isn’t that what a chimenea is for?
Now it’s my turn. Not the Vets as I can’t afford their fees. The good old NHS. I have a bit of arthritis in my hands. It’s a family thing. Runs in the family. Dad had it. Mum had it. Brother has it. My mother always blamed my fathers side so I don’t know how she thought she got it. But she always blamed the Jones line. Never the Robins.
The surgery has a new clinic. A trained Physio. Checking on my dodgy hands. My thumb on my left. My middle finger on my right. Turns out I have trigger finger. Well trigger thumb really as it’s not my finger. She was brilliant. Explained everything then threw in the killer question. So ‘ do you want a steroid injection now or do you want to go away and think about it ‘
Think about it? I wanted to do a runner. I don’t like needles. At all. I know that sounds strange as I have Accupuncture on a regular basis. But that’s different. My mother knew I hated needles. When I told her I was having Accupuncture she was shocked. But I was more shocked at her typical response. ‘ why are you having Accupuncture ‘ she asked concenrned. ‘ to make me a nice person ‘ I joked. ‘ do they have enough needles ‘ she responded. She never lost it. The first day I went to the nursing home to see her after she moved in my dad asked her if she knew who I was. ‘ I have no idea’ she replied. ‘But whoever you are you need to lose some weight’. Her dementia and Alzheimer’s had taken its toll – I had only seen her two weeks earlier. – and she never recognised me again. But she made us laugh.
I digress. The steroid injection happened. And it hurt. I know I’m a big girls blouse but I wanted to cry. I didn’t obviously. Stiff upper lip and all that. But i bit my lip so hard! Today my thumb feels easier Lets see. Fingers crossed. Oh. Sorry I can’t cross them. Arthritic fingers and all that !
I’m b hoping theres no more vet visits for a while. Please?
So I have a list of things to do. A long list so I’d better get on with it. Before Ian comes home.