Uncle did spend the night in hospital. The doctor was very keen to keep him in and hydrate him; Uncle was insistent on going home. By this time it was 10.30 pm, Husband was still with him and I was still waiting. And going slightly crazy as my gynae appointment was due this morning and while I didn't expect to sleep well the night before I hoped to get to bed at least.
In the end Uncle - unhappily - relented and stayed in so Husband was able to come home.
I did the usual thing of setting the alarm and then waking at regular intervals wondering if I'd turned the volume down so much I wouldn't hear it and then lying awake worrying about my appointment, Uncle, the number of people on my need-a-slap list, and the world in all its confusion. (To be honest the world didn't really worry me too much; I was rather preoccupied with closer-to-home matters.)
Up at the crack of dawn, to the hospital, a nervous wreck, saw a very nice doctor who told me I had a small 8 cm cyst on my lady bits. I estimated that with my hand and exclaimed, 'Small? That's big!'
'No, it's not,' she assured me, using both hands to demonstrate the size of other cysts she'd seen.
The choice: 'Operate now or monitor in four months?'
'Let's wait shall we?'
I danced out, reassured by her words that I was low risk. (Although some may argue with that assessment.)
From that department it was off to the ward (amazingly both in the same hospital) to see Uncle who complained that he'd been cold, the bed was too small and he should never have agreed to stay in. It seems to me that he is much happier when he has something of substance to grumble about rather than sitting in his apartment, dozing and staring into space with only vague complaints.
He'll probably go home this afternoon when we have a live-in carer arriving for a trial period. I said, 'You might not like her.'
'I'll cope,' he said, determined to get home at any cost. I should have recorded those words for future playback ...