Flowers from my elder son this morning - a lovely surprise in the middle of many surprises, not all so lovely.
I have never received so much attention within a relatively short space of time. I feel surrounded by well-wishers and supported by offers of help. I fear that it could become addictive, 'Look at me, I'm poorly.'
No, probably not.
I concentrate on getting all the paperwork in place, cutting the hedges and the lawn, tidying the shed (again), taking all that old roofing felt to the tip, not being the least bit poorly.
But I will be taking a bit of time off as I have to go into hospital at the end of this week to have my spleen removed.
Spleens are valuable and interesting things.
I know that now.
I didn't know before, but now I feel very attached to mine and don't really want to lose it. It has served me well and invisibly for 74 years, sorting out my blood balance and protecting me from infections.
Dear old spleen. I am sad to be parting from it.
The circumstances of our parting are to be as civilised as possible because I'm booked in to a nearby private hospital as a National Health patient.
Thank you, National Health Service.
This happened because the shortest waiting list was here, and the NHS needs to reduce its waiting lists and times.
I am grateful for the care and courtesy that has been shown to me through several potentially undignified pre-surgical assessments. There is not a hint of age discrimination (which I think could even justifiably happen when one has used up the three score years and ten).
So for a while I will be away from blogging. The private rooms have wifi, and I have a Tablet for e-mails, but not for writing anything more on a tiny keyboard and a morphine drip.
Bad idea.
I must not bid on eBay, either.
Anything could happen on the morphine drip, never mind the tiny keyboard.
