The Side Effects

Now this seems to be a throwback. Up at ridiculously early hour because of a wandering child. At least I have a DVD player to watch my favourite recuperative programmes.

It's 5am so it must be time for an episode of Star Trek. How can I stay awake while watching Kirk, Spock and the gang.


Maybe the child has nothing to do with it. It could be a side effect. The first pill has been taken - four more to go. There's an ointment to rub all over my gammy right hand. I am wondering how an ointment can help a hand.

The pills are supposed to be anti inflammatory but the pharmacist told me I had to take it in the middle of a meal otherwise there would be rumblings in my stomach.

I thought a gammy tummy to remedy a gammy hand. What kind of choice is that. And besides I can't take pills to stop pain. We have to get to the source.

So the radiogramme later on Friday and then the neurologue after the holidays.

I was a bit tearful earlier as my dad had to take lots of stuff which had horrible side effects like a gammy tummy. He spoke about the difficulty of it all. It made me sad to recall it. Still does.

But he was battling cancer and gammy legs. At the moment I'm fighting a dicky hand and a boy who does not be too keen to sleep.

He has a siesta at school which renders him buoyant of an evening. Perhaps when the siestas stop he will be more malleable and tired at night time.

Auxiliary controls as some characters would say on a 1960s sci-fi series.

The Course

The trip to the doctor was its ever drawn out self. The appointment was for 10.20am. But we've been going for years and we know that 10.20 means some time after 11.

This relaxed approach to the time vortex has knock-on effects.

I spent the prelude to the visit showing the middle child Sex Pistols videos on YouTube.

Then the big child came into the kitchen and we watched a few numbers from the Specials. By the time the boy came in we were onto Madness.

Apt really. Because that's what I thought had enveloped me when I sat at 1050 waiting for my 1020.

Exasperation hit at gone 11 when I realised that the trip down nostalgia lane had ramifications.

I had not taken my cheque book nor my health card.

Sat in the waiting room without the vital pieces. I declared my incompetence to the doctor immediately and said I would come back immediately after the appointment.

She said I'm not moving from the surgery.

The point of the visit is a gammy hand. I cannot grasp anything with my right hand.

Is it repetitive strain injury? Is it a trapped nerve?

Well I'm on the merry-go-round. Off for a radiogramme thang on Friday morning and then I'm seeing a neurologue in early November.

Following my visit to the cardiologue in September, I'm feeling very integrated.

As middle age and its attendant crises take a hold, I am going to try and see if I can pass off a mistress as a sexologue.