Yesterday I took June to the hospital in York because she’s been having trouble with her knee – the oposite one to the one she had fixed last time. While I was waiting I managed to type up a few notes and develop a few ideas for the TV comedy project I’m working on. Although that progressed well, June found out that she’s going to have to get the knee replaced, which she isn’t looking forward to, but as she’s already in pain anyway the long term means it’s the better option.
When we got back I went for a walk and seemed okay until half way when I suddenly felt very weak and quite dreadful. this continued even after I returned and I was forced to have a nap on the bed. When I woke I had a coffee but didn’t really pick up until the evening.
This morning I felt pretty good again, which is just as well as it was another trip out. This time I took June to the eye clinic in the hospital in Hull where she was having a check-up on the progress of her cataracts. The news was a bit better here as they haven’t yet got so bad that she’s in need of an operation and her actual eyesight has improved slightly since she was last tested. On the way home we bought a cherry tree from the garden centre.
While I was sitting in the hospital this morning waiting for June, I overheard a couple who were sitting to my right. I thought at first that they were husband and wife because he looked to be in his seventies and she looked about the same age. It actually turned out that she was his mother and he’d brought her into the hospital, but although she was obviously grateful, their conversation showed how independently minded she was.
Him: I think you should move into a bungalow.
Her: I don’t want to move. I’m happy where I am.
Him: If you moved into a bungalow near us I could keep an eye on you.
Her: I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. Besides, I like living where I am. I don’t need to move.
Him: I’ll put you a new handrail on your stairs then.
Her: I don’t need a new handrail.
Him: I’ll do it in wood so it matches your other one.
Her: I don’t want a new handrail.
Him: Okay, I’m just worried about you getting old.
Her: I’m not getting old.
Him: Well, you’re 97.
Her: 97 isn’t old!
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing out loud. But good for her for not letting him do things she doesn’t want.