I was going to blog about my usual Sunday adventures, silly observations, huge parsnips and the like, but then, just as I’d loaded in the piccies I wanted to use, hubby plods into the study and asks me to look at his back again. He had seen the doctor on Friday and was given a huge dose of penicillin for an abscess on his back, which I have been checking reasonably regularly but this time when I checked it, it really had changed into something quite nasty looking, the abscess is now four to five inches across, starting to leak poison and changing to a darker colour, with the infection in the skin having spread down the back and across the shoulder by two to three inches since this morning. “Mmmm” sez I. And then I look at him sat on the chair.. and he’s sat there with a light film of sweat on him, feeling cold with the occasional shiver, but to me he feels hot. “Oh right”, me thinks. I broach this carefully… “well I think, you might need to see a doctor”. “Oh” he pipes up, “The doctor said that I might need to go to the emergency doctor if it got worse, they’d give me an extra dose of antibiotics” I’m thinking, “that needs lancing”, but I say nowt. I grab my knitting on the way out the door and a hat, as I didn’t have time to mess around with the wig.

Now I’m very cynical so you will have to excuse this next paragraph or two.

Fortunately we get to the hospital at about six o’clock which in my eyes is the perfect time on a Sunday in the winter. Its been dark for a couple of hours, so the children and accident prone adult people who have broken/sprained limbs etc during their Sunday outings have generally been seen and sorted and the after tea/dinner brigade where the children’s temperatures have soared in the evening, have yet to be worried enough to get an appointment.

However, there are still five children ahead of us. Now I personally have nothing against children, I even managed to have a couple of my own. But, are children really that ill that they need to be seen by an emergency doctor if they manage to run up and down, screaming and laughing. Three out of the five children look in rude health, with one boy aged about four, when he was called through by the doctor, ran up to the open door at considerable speed, dropped to his knees and skid into the doctors room with a huge laugh on his face. Is it me… is it?!! I can only say there must have been something wrong with him as he came out holding a bottle of that vile tasting yellow antibiotic medicine, waving it triumphantly he was, it was as much as I could do to stop myself leaning over to him to tell him quite how vile tasting it was..

So, I’m knitting a scarf, which I’m getting towards the end off and I’m thinking, “Well, if hubby does have to have surgery, I should be able to get this finished”.. as dreadful as that sounds, he’s chirruping similiar comments to me, so its all good.

We’ve been there for an hour, its hot, I’m hot and a couple of the children have taken to running to the bin, which happens to be by me and back again. Its really putting me off my knitting. And not only are they running backwards and forwards they are getting applauded by their parents every time they do so. Hubby’s looking knackered, but not quite so hot as he’s taken paracetamol so his temperature is coming down, but he looks reasonably poorly and still the children run up and down….

So,… I take my hat off.

Its amazing how quickly a noisy room can go quiet, isn’t it?

They stop the children running, bliss.

Half an hour later we are called in by the doctor, the doctor and I admire hubbys abscess, it has nearly become an entity in itself, a truly wondrous thing. “Well” says the doctor “I think it needs a” and he mimes a slashing movement. I agree. So we both agree, but off course hubby has no idea as he has his back to us. So we tell him. Then we have to wait for the surgeon. We are ushered into another room. And we wait and wait a bit more and then a bit more and eventually I get my knitting out again. We comment about how I really am going to finish it and I say in a joking manner, “Do you think the surgeon would mind if I knit during the procedure” and then a light hearted conversation ensues about what did the French women knit whilst they watched the guillotine, we agree it was most probably socks.

So we wait for another three quarters of an hour and I’m just casting off when the surgeon arrives. Now what is a true knitter to do. Yep, I carried on… So there I am, standing in the corner, bald as a coot, casting off, whilst answering questions from the surgeon about the abscess. You couldn’t make it up if you tried. Fortunately, in the time it takes to go and get the supplies he needs for the minor surgery, I finish casting off and am able to give my husband my full attention.

Those of a slightly sensitive disposition do not read the next paragraph.

Oooh, it was a bit gruesome, hubby was a very brave soldier, the best bit was when the surgeon called me over to have a look and he said, “Listen” and he then inserted the scalpel back into the open wound and moved it around and you could hear a faint click, click, clicking… it was where he was popping the pockets containing the poison.

Hubby looks alot better this morning, so that is good news.

Back to my usual Sunday blog.

Little Robin Redbreast singing for his supper at the plot.

I feed the birds at the plot, I’m not allowed to feed them at home. Firstly because in the back garden we have a few chickens so it could encourage viruses or lice etc from the wild bird population and the problem of feeding birds in the front garden is that we have three cats one of which is an extremely efficient hunting machine. Much as Willow might like me to put up a feeding station for the birds for her enjoyment, my conscience won’t allow it.

Little Robin Redbreast enjoying his supper.

In late summer we planted some King Edwards we had found at the bottom of the fridge that were making a bid for freedom. We dug up a few to see what they were like, they look like tiny new potatoes although quite a few have been eaten from the inside out. We should get enough for a nice little addition to the Christmas lunch though..

And look at this for a Parsnip. There is no skull duggery involved here, it weighs 4 pounds 4 ounces.

Christmas lunch is shaping up quite well, we should have home grown carrots, swede, brussel sprouts, kale, potatoes and monster parsnips.