Oh Well...

So Easter Monday was interesting. Baby A has been quite ill, scaring me with how hard she was finding it to breathe. Finally went to A and E on Monday and she was admitted to Whythenshawe hospital. Little tangent, we went to A and E at Trafford General, but Trafford General don't have a children's ward anymore, so we got to go in an ambulance to Whythenshawe, which was way too busy and full. Aren't the people who decide where we should all go for medical care a bunch of pillocks?

Anyway, I reckon she was already on the mend when we went to the hospital - great thing hindsight, eh?! And we may as well have been at home for the amount of attention we got. You arrive, nobody tells you anything, you have to go out and get that cot they said they were getting 2 hours ago, you have to go out to find out when she is getting her IV antibiotics, you have to go out to ask why the oxygen isn't actually turned on when she has been sitting there in an oxygen mask for 2 hours, you have to go out to find out where the registrar is that you were told was coming. He came, at half past midnight. And you have no idea where food is... Thank goodness for the little woman called Wendy, who brought me fruit, a hospital gown to sleep in, toiletries, and went in search of nurses when none could be found.

I don't blame any individuals. I think the nurses and doctors and everybody does work hard for the most part. It cannot be easy working with ill children. But the system is set up in such a way as to make it virtually impossible to provide anything more than basic and/or emergency care. I really don't think we needed to be in hospital, but at least that option was there for us. I was a worried parent. A had been ill for a week, and every time we thought she was getting better, things changed. They reckon it was bronchiolitis. One of those things I have never heard of, but now when you mention it to people, everybody knows somebody who has had it.

All other things on hold for the moment. I read other people's blogs, and wish I could write more, cuz I used to be really good at writing. But now the living seems to get in the way. I get angry that others seem to have so much time to do so much and actually blog about it, while I just hope to get a shower a couple of times a week, and maybe get some knitting and crocheting time in. I think I have forgotten how much time babies take. But then again, so do they all.

Off to wash some dishes, some pants and me, while hoping the babe stays asleep for another half hour, as I climb over all the shoes, laundry baskets, old post, bags, toys, nappies, and musical instruments that accumulate on every horizontal surface.