I’ve now hit a Freecell that is worse than anything. Maybe I’m cured!

I’m sorry about last night’s silence. My husband suddenly, in the late afternoon, developed an infection of some sort – high fever; cold, clammy skin; violent shaking. Mercifully, Helen dropped by just as I was reaching the your-blood-sugar-is-low-please-eat-your-supper-dear stage. We tested his blood sugar, and it was low, but Helen also google’d and diagnosed an infection. We phoned 111.

We’re working on the assumption these days that my husband wants to stay at home at almost any cost, and also under the shadow of the fear that if our “care package” is interrupted for too many days, it will be withdrawn.

The NHS as it presents itself in real life is totally different from the collapsing institution of the media. Omitting from my narrative various alarums and excursions, the emergency dr said that he needed intravenous antibiotics. They act much faster than pills, apparently. He needed hospital, she said. So we decided to let him be taken away.

He was getting stronger before even he left. Helen went with him, bless her, and was there until 2 a.m. – Perdita and I went very gratefully to bed. He was much better this morning, and is coming home in the next couple of hours, with oral antibiotics. And Kelly and Bill will come to put him to bed, as they did yesterday. And all is well – or, at least, as well as it was before.

As for knitting, there is not much to report. I finished the neck ribbing for the Tannehill, but haven’t finished tidying up. This afternoon during hospital-visiting-time, I cast on a pair of socks. I wound the skein into a ball so long ago that I can’t remember what it is – conceivably, Into the Whirled. It's rather nice. I got a couple of rounds done.

Comments

Isabella, Comment Monday, I love the idea of a cat being taken to the rescue shelter because he was “boring”. That’s fully worthy of Thurber. I’ve told Perdita she needs to sharpen her repartee.

Shandy, we need to talk about sleeves. Tomorrow, I hope.