A deeply unpleasant day.

As noted elsewhere (probably the previous blip?) I went into the 8th not sleeping, temperature soaring and cough returning. So the first 5 hours were spent with the window open, enjoying the cool night air and sipping cold water and trying to remember when I last took paracetamol. 

I did eventually get a couple of broken hours of sleep before Alex appeared; so not knowing of this was a resurgence in the previous CV type virus or a new CV as the first one wasn't, I took myself off to the kitchen and tried to figure out how much I could get the boys to do for themselves without direct contact from me.

In a state of mild panic, I left a message at work, called NHS111 who don't open til 8 and left another message at the diabetes nurses. Message to Her, and also to the lad's mother. And then a whirl of one calling back, another calling back, and the long and short is if you're not about to die,  you're cast adrift to figure it out for yourself.

Diabetes were the best; they were specifically focussed on Alex and said if I could get tested and prove if I had / had no got CV, it I'd had it and roughtly from when then it would make life easier. Otherwise without knowing I am stuck with 7 days quarentine for me and 14 days for the boys, rising to a maximum of 28 if one gets it on day 14, then the other has to hold fire until they too get it or 1 days are up. Back to 111 - we only test NHS frontline staff; everyone has a sob story as to why they should be tested. Thanks for your understanding; all the hallmarks of our current government's casual callousness disguised as efficiency.

All of us stuck in a 1 bedroom flat. Great.  Also the boy's mother not unreasonably doesn't want her dahlings back as her 82 y.o. dementia suffering mother also lives there. So she's facing not being able to see her boys, 500 yards away but off limits. And the rock that is Her - calmly (at least to me) offering insight to my poor abbled sleep deprived brain. To be fair, the diabetes lot said they would see if there was any way they could get me tested, but ultimately I've still to hear back from them.

But wait, what's this? A lapsed blipper along the road got wind of the predicament (OK, I might have sent a slightly desperate plea for assistance) and offered to lay in 14 days supply of foie gras and sourdough and premium gin (trans: bread, milk, apples) which was gratefully accepted.

That done, I crawled off to the kitchen floor to sleep. 

Shopping was duly delivered; there were a bunch of tulips included to cheer me up but succeeded in sending off into sobs. I managed to get into the house, stick the shopping in the kitchen and hide in the bathroom until I was presentable to face the boys without inducing any undue panic.

Lunch - can't remember - was administered and more fitful sleep on the kitchen floor. But - importantly - no worsening of symptoms. 

Afternoon came and went and I limped from a prone position through another round of feeding them. By about 8, I was feeling  better; not well, just better. Better enough to sit in the corner of the living room from my portable nest, half watching the start of the DVD box set of Only Fools and Horses left from the outgoing upstairs neighbour before despatching them one by one to bed. 

I gratefully took the last paracetamol of the day and mercifully slipped easily into a deep and much needed sleep.

The merest glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel towards the close of a trying day.


Stop Press: 
 

Nxxxxx Mxxxxx, Granton Harbour
There's a parrot sitting in a tree outside 12 Wxxxxxxxx Gxxx if anybody has lost one.

My email of the day, just to add complete whatthefuckery to a confusing day