The OM has been out of hospital for four weeks now. Fortunately Gill has been coming in to cook him a dinner or lunch. For the first couple of weeks he was coming to ours for breakfast on account of the fact that he had been told that he should lift nothing – not even a tea-pot – for a seemingly indeterminate length of time. So a regular visitation for porridge with blueberries became the norm for a while. And it was fine after all, it is time with my father in which we can have a thorough and meaningful two-way chat. Ok, so I’m half right there.
With us about to take a break for a few days in south Wales, I managed to intimate to him that perhaps he was well enough to make his own breakfast. So the next morning I was just enjoying a minor lie-in when I was awoken by my name being called in the yard. I got up to find my father standing in the drive, looking up the yard at some of the young cows in the field which were moo-ing loudly at the next field. He instructed me to go and find out if any had escaped. I walked all of 30 paces to discover that there was no problem and that all cows were accounted for.
As I walked up and back I was thinking I know that the cows were the original reason I took over this garden, and that one has to be careful that this herd does not get into contact with next door’s (which has TB in the herd). And I also know that he has just had major heart surgery,
“But for fuck’s sake, can you really not manage to walk the short distance to the gate to find out for yourself?”
Is what I did not say to him.
Is he just playing this for all it’s worth? Has the general anaesthetic really had that much of an effect on his short-term memory? He says he WORRIES so much more these days. Well I guess you would, but everyone needs a bit of positive mental attitude.
“So you’re doing your own breakfast this morning?” I enquired as I retreated through the front door.
“If you like” he said.
So I got my way, without the use of expletives, which is a good thing.
But not as satisfying.