Tuesday, 17 November 2015


I put the phone down, and sat down. If I’d have had any brandy in the house, I would have necked one, despite me knowing that it would be bad to have booze breath on the school run.

The hospital had called with an operation date. The three month waiting list turned out to be a bit of an overestimation, and a cancellation has bumped my daughter up the queue.

The metal in her spine is being removed (I don’t know what titanium fetches at the scrap yard, but the NHS needs all the funds it can get). The titanium rods and bolts that were fused to her spine seven years ago, providing the scaffolding for the bendy bones to knit around and straighten up, are coming out. The nerve pain they’ve been causing should disappear along with them. And her posture shouldn’t be affected - the rods did their job a long time ago and are basically redundant. I feel like I should send them for re-training and give them help with writing their CV.

It’s December 11.  

I’m calm. I am.

I’m not.

Song is Patty Griffin - Hurt A Little While

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