The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

To be succinct, Wednesday was even more irksome than I’d imagined and, I’d imagined it to be more than a little irksome indeed. I’d started with a dicky stomach, through giving myself nervous spasms of the gut and lower back.



Then, having accepted a lift to Clatterbridge Hospital off Dad, I quickly learnt how far the place was from a busstop I knew, once the scan was over and, experimented a little on a warm, very sunny day.



As to the scan itself, well it was held at the Cancer Unit and, the staff had let me keep my Ankh on as well as dimming the lights for me, to enable me to remove my glasses comfortably.



Once over, the lady who’d taken it said to me, “We’ll be contacting the consultant [semi-private] who’ll contact your G.P. with their report. Meanwhile, you contact him, in a week or so.”



Now, in the past, all this would go through my doctor, so I’d walked away muttering about ‘purchase providers.’



Anyway, once that was attended to I had travelled homeward, then gone to the doctors to pick up my ‘sick-note’, which had not been ready and, the staff were faffing about an emergency, three of them, to deal with the sort of thing I used to as a care-worker.



I’d been asked to wait and replied, “I’ve got to go to hospital” then left. Twas either that or lose my rag, as I know the request for the note had gone through on the 9th.



“Well, after a coffee and sit down I was travelling again, to the Liverpool Royal and boy, was it warm and, did I forget how far up London Road the hospital was.



I was shattered by the time I got there, taking photo’s on the way…



The doctor I saw was pretty good, but the result was as expected by me, as I’ll be going back in a few weeks, for a colonoscopy. “Oh wonderful!”



Come Thursday morning I was up and out by nearly eight, so as to be at the doctor’s as early as possible, to see about the sick-note. As it happened, I saw the same woman who I’d seen the previous day, who hastily explained that my doctor had seen to it soon after I’d left.



It’d been irrelevant, as I hadn’t been able to wait, so why bother telling me? Anyway, I’d got back just in time for a quick coffee, before joining Dad to do the housework. Thursday’s supposed to be ‘a quickie’; I do wish someone would explain that to Dad.



And speaking of Dad, the last few days he been re-concreting bit’s of the drive and, in Thursdays heat he finished his job on it, as I went to the village to see about his housekeeping.



Again, it was overly warm, for me… and, I’d still been tired from Wednesday’s runaround. But, I had got a few tasks finished and, got some of the new story written.



On Saturday I got up real early, so as to give myself reasonable travelling time, for me to goto West Kirby and a Doctor Who convention, held at the Hilbre Court.



I got to see Debbie Watling, who had regaled us with some good stories. Then at lunch Peter and had gone to the front, to eat on sandwiches. And maybe it was the sun, or something else; but Peter fit, so I stayed there holding his hand and just talking to him, until he relaxed and, finally began to snore.



Once Peter awake, we sat awhile talking, until he felt well enough to return to the convention. I had not gone in with him, as the body was starting to tire somewhat, so I’d walked back to the station, needing a pee.



Needless to say, The Dee opposite the station, had provided both what I had needed and, a much needed whiskey.



I got home to find three letters waiting for me. As none of them looked good, I’d decided to leave them till the next day, as I had wanted to end the day well…



Then come Sunday morning I’d kept the promise I’d made to myself, by reading the letters I’d left, learning that they had meant what I’d thought they would, one being an appointment for a camera in October; another was for a series of bloods and, the third had been from the DWP offering the same time for an appointment for my medical that I’d already told them on record, that I could not make, before they’d given me the same time, nine, the first time around.



Needless to say, a walk to The Mere had helped assuage my stress, somewhat…



Come Monday I had phoned my M.P.’s PA who has been helping me with the dole and after listening to me ramble about being issued the same time once again, he’d said to me, “Leave it with me.” That’d felt like a mountain being lifted from my shoulders.



I went to Karl’s after tea, pleased to be out and about and glad to see Karl, whose company I do value.



Then there was Tuesday and Dad washed his nets, then became obsessed with the small tears in them and, kept going on and on, as I’m trying to get ready to go to Liverpool Royal Hospital, to have blood taken, prior to my operation. When I had finally got out, it had not taken me long to realise that without the camera that had died on the Monday, I had felt lost; almost as though an appendage was missing.



On the way back home I had stopped off for a whiskey on the way to the station and had another bought for me by a fellow named Roger, who I’d got talking to, who seemed to find me interesting enough to warrant the drink, so I’d stay awhile longer.

Considering how I’d felt the other week, when I felt mortified at the prospect of being perceived as boring, this had been the fillip I’d needed.



Talking of Dad, Father’s day had entailed a series of little treats throughout the day, like a tot of whiskey, an apple crumble etc. Come the end of the day I’d asked him if he’d had a good day and, I wasn’t surprised to hear, “Not bad, I suppose.” And then, he’d started rambling on, about the weather.



And, speaking of the weather, I’m thankful for the rain of late. There’s one thing being lawn obsessed, as Dad and I are, but it’s highly irksome when there’s not enough rain, to go with your efforts. Anyway…



I guess that brings me back to distraction. I mean, I get anxious when I think of non attendance of a medical, ‘coz my MP’s PA said, ‘Leave it with me.’



I mean, get that one wrong and I get sanctioned by the dole… And then there’s a series of hospital appointments; so yes distraction is sought and found. For instance, I’ve just finished another story, which pleases me know end and, amongst the plethora of stuff I have acquired of late was a film I last recall being shown on teevee about ten years ago and not since, ‘Spacehunter: Adventures In The Forbidden Zone.’ It was a sheer delight seeing Peter Strauss and Molly Ringwald. Oh, I do like some things, about the Net.

Wednesday I had got to dwelling about the fellow who went to Dignitas in Switzerland, with an inoperable spinal condition and, a poor prognosis for the future and, I’d got to thinking of myself and, my own condition, looking at the many parallels between us… Needless to say, I’d dwelled for much of the day… And then,

Thursday was a runaround day, for me. Firstly Dad and I had got the housework done, then I’d got out and, had got to the dentists for 3:10, when I received the device I’d been measured for to stop me grinding my teeth. It looked a heck of a lot smaller than I’d imagined it would! Anyway… I digress. I’d got home after what had seemed like the walk to end all walks, to find a letter from the DWP, telling me my medical interview had been cancelled. They’d get in touch, when they have a new one for me.

Needless to say, I’d stressed badstyle.

First the first one went poorly, as they seemed to know little of me, even though I’d kept then informed of any changes in health. Then they gave me a time for the next appointment that I’d already told them previously on recording, with a witness, that I’d not be able to make. Then, after changing that appointment, they then cancel the appointment I’d been looking to, just to get this all over with…

And, I got that thing from the dentist ‘coz I grind my teeth when I’m stressed. Well, it does seem like I got it at the right time…

Then come Friday afternoon Dad took me to the hospital in Thingwall, the one without nurses; a good looking place, set in beautiful countryside. The consultant I’d seen had been a very old fashioned sort of fellow, who I’d found most informative.

It seems, according to him, the cartilage in my nose is ‘squiffy’, having been damaged at some time: and, he’s booked me for a scan, to verify his conclusions.

Well, having left the place I had begun my journey back, on a sunny early evening and had eventually come to a junction, where I met a girl of fourteen or so, walking her dog: “Which is the best way for the bus?” I’d asked. In answer, she had directed me the way I had recalled from a previous visit to the hospital.

“So where does that go?” I’d quizzed, pointing right.

“It’s just a short-cut, sort of winding country lanes…” she had told me, which had brought a twinkle to my eye.

“So that’s the way I’m going…” I’d retorted with a smile.

And, although it had been tea-time with lots of motorists taking the short-cut, I’d walked the road facing the traffic, as The Highway Code say, causing more than a degree of consternation, for the less confident motorists.

Occasionally I’d stand away from the road and on the embankment, taking pity on an occasional motorist, but generally not… Although, I do recall standing there and had taken a photograph, of the fields and, a tree in the in the field, with the Azda in the far distance… and then, a small red car had passed by, with my Father at the wheel.

As I continued my walk to the busstop I’d considered why I’d seen him and, I can only conclude he’d got tired waiting for me; so had done the ground tour of the area, looking for me… Well, needless to say, over the weekend, whenever I’d said how much I’d enjoyed my walk Dad had given no response.

And when it hasn’t rained, Dad’s taken every opportunity to concrete the eroded drive’s surface … determined to make the best of the weather, at every opportunity, to see to ‘his jobs’. And truth be told, I still kind of admire him, as he lies on the settee after he’s finished his dead, ‘feeling jiggered’. He’s eighty-seven and, when he’s lying there like that, so often comes out with the same remark, “I can’t understand it; I used to be able to work for eight to ten hours a day and not get tired…”



On Wednesday I went to the doctor, where I got an appointment for Dad and I for the following day; the same time, different doctors.



Come Thursday I bathed after housework, then Dad and I both went out, with him going out first: I’d convinced Dad and my doctor, to get my Dad’s skin’s marks seen to, while I saw the head lady of the practice, for an invasive intimate exam, saying to her at the time, “Well I guess I see my Doctor … for other things than I see you…”



After tea the phone had rung; it’d been the doctor’s reception: “We managed to get you an appointment for you at the Royal, next week…” Then as I’d paused to take my breath at the speed of events, she had added, “And, she wants you in for a full set of bloods…” Whoa, so not only do the Martians get me: so do the vampires, sheesh…



Needless to say, there are sunny day and rainy days and somewhere in the middle are hospital days: On the Friday Dad and I did the shopping. Then after some gardening I’d gone a hobble [walk] to Raby Mere on a sunny day. It’d been on my return home that I’d found a letter waiting for me, informing me of an operation on my face the Wednesday next at Clatterbridge Hospital and, thankfully in the morning.



As I said to the fellow who sold me my poison [tobacco], “I’ll be having a facial probe in the morning and, an anal probe in the afternoon. So no casserole…”



{It meant cooking the casserole on the Tuesday instead.}