It's beginning to feel like a soap opera

Not a soap opera exactly but a drama where you never know what's going to happen next. A bit of a kitchen sink thriller. 

So ... today Uncle was due to have his long-awaited second cataract operation. He had his left eye done months ago and has been unable to read or watch television without difficulty since as he couldn't cope with the unequal spectacles they gave him. So today was going to be a big day, one I hoped might bring about an upturn in his mental state.

Not to be.

We took him and left him at the day surgery unit. Two hours later they phoned to say he couldn't have the operation because his INR was off the scale. I have no idea what INR stands for but I know it's to do with the warfarin he takes to thin his blood. And his leg was bleeding all over the place.

Husband went to collect him and ended up taking him to the assessment ward where we thought/hoped they'd keep him at least overnight to stabilise his condition - and stop him bleeding over his bed sheets for the third night running.

Not to be.

I am just waiting for Husband to collect me on the way, taking Uncle back to his apartment where I will spend the night. And, hopefully, hear him if he calls this time. (Did I tell you that I slept right through his shouting the other night? To be fair to me he is very weak and his cries are a little pathetic.) Maggie, a wonderful friend from his church, stayed with him last night and has provided him with a bell to ring if he needs attention. What are the chances of me sleeping through a bell ringing? No, don't answer that.

And if Uncle was depressed before how much more so will he be now?