Yesterday evening saw a bit of excitement in our house. It began with my fella laying on the floor and moaning.
Naturally the first thing I did was laugh but it turned out he wasn’t too well.
An hour later as he hugged the fan, complaining that the room was spinning, I decided maybe I should take him seriously so I phoned the NHS helpline. Not too long after, an ambulance turned up on the doorstep to check him over.
Well, I’m very glad it did, mainly because the second he stepped inside it he began projectile vomiting.
The relief that he didn’t do that all over my carpet was immense. However this led to him being taken to hospital.
A number of hours in A&E and a latte and a chocolate bar later (to hell with the diet) I was thanking God that I’d had the sense to take my kindle along and trying to decide who I’d rather feature in my next book, his nurse, his doctor or both. (There’s a lot to be said for being a writer with a fertile imagination. )
Unfortunately, eventually, my book ideas wavered and the chair became too uncomfortable to relax in with my kindle. I ended up stuck for something to occupy myself.
This is when best friend reminded me why I love her.
A few Facebook messages and suggestions later and I was having great fun positioning the sick bucket on parts of fellas body and taking pictures. (It’s amazing what you can get away with when people are asleep.)
This helped pass the time brilliantly. It was only as we left the hospital some hours later that I saw a sign stuck to the wall.
Apparently, taking pictures in a way that can embarrass, remove dignity or, deny someone privacy is totally prohibited.
I’d like to say I was sorry I’d done it but that would be a lie. Let me assure you, the fella would have done exactly the same to me.
So, now he is home with medication. We don’t know what was wrong. I can only assume it’s a bug of some kind and have given him strict warning not to share it.
Will he listen?
I guess that depends if he wants some payback for the pictures.