As weeks go, this has not been a great one. Eldest went to hospital for what should have been a fairly routine operation on Tuesday morning at 6.30am. She is still there on Friday morning. She suffered from continued bleeding and lost 1.6 litres of blood. On reflection, this was a massive loss of blood, and could have led to truly awful circumstances. Fortunately, it was recognised as serious, and a further operation, drips and transfusions were administered. She appears to be back with us properly today, and with any luck, should be able to come home. Without going into the whys and wherefores of the surgery and the failure to stop the bleeding, it has been a traumatic week, and I genuinely feel like I have been through surgery. I've not been able to get to the hospital as much as I would have liked as I have been looking after youngest who has been too upset to go to school. It has served as a real reminder of how fragile life is, and how precious my family is. It is amazing how quickly they turn from being a teenager to a baby again. The whole experience has also left me wondering if we let people in authority walk over us a little too much. Whilst the vast majority of the staff at the hospital have been superb, there are some really special people there as well...not least the surgeon who carried out the first operation. His bedside manner was appalling from the first consultations, and nothing has changed my mind since then. Should I look into the whole incident further? Well, some dear friends and relatives think we have cause to ask questions at the very least, and I suspect they are right. I just want my family back here safe and sound first and I will consider what to do next.
I remember World Cups for many reasons. Italia 90 was spent on a boat on the Norfolk Broads...what a week that was. I should perhaps blog about it one day. Then there was the 2002 penalty against Argentina, on the day we moved to our old house. All these memories interlinked with what we were doing at the time. What were you doing when Gazza lost the plot in 1990? I was in Woods Wine bar in Borehamwood...on the brink of tears. So this time around, the memories will be interspersed with the smell of hospitals, and mad dashes backwards and forwards to the train station. Then we come onto Sunday. Germany awaits England, and the usual jingoistic nonsense and references to the war will be mentioned in the popular press. We have been poor so far, and there is not much evidence that we will get any better, but then I remember 1990 and the dreadful performances that we put in back then, so there is always hope. The trouble is, even if victory is secured on Sunday, then the whole nation will start to believe that we can win the competition, and in my experience...that is usually a recipe for disaster...We shall see.
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