A trying 24 hours…

Photo by Martin Coward

The photo above is near where I live. During my school years, I learned to ride horses just where this happens twice a day.

I once drove some colleagues from the US around my area, and this happened during the drive. They were in complete disbelief despite the very apparent evidence.

I broke my own rule with my title today. I used 24 instead of writing the words. It is poor writing practice and I don’t like it. But I am weary from trying to stay well. On Sunday night I called for paramedics as I was struggling to breathe. Around 10pm. Eventually, I went to bed leaving lights on, and my packed bag in case I should be taken to hospital.

I woke at almost 8am and found a missed call from SWAST at 06.21am. I was puzzled as crews have entered my home at 3am before.

I made my way to hospital to be nebbed, but found the ED to be hostile to my physiology. I left and went home. Half an hour later paramedics arrived. Thirteen hours after my call. This is how busy they are. They were great and fixed me.

My inhalers ran out yesterday. The pharmacy has none until Thursday. My lungs were screaming at me, so I went to my surgery. I did not get a warm welcome. Despite their ability to neb me they consider it a job for SWAST or ED. That SWAST is in a critical incident does not matter. That ED is hostile to my illness is irrelevant. My previous GP nebulised me there.

In the end, I was nebbed. It has helped me through the day. I have had to rest more.

I am in touch with an old friend again. I’ve known him since I was 18. He was a reliable friend to me, and helped me when I was in schtuk. Once, I phoned him as I was lost in Wiltshire, and asked him to get a window that was ajar at the back of my place further open and climb in to get a phone number from my address book by my phone. ( Remember those days?). He once also jimmied open my car when I locked my car keys in. AND HE was the one that noticed when I sat on his brother’s motorbike and burned my calf through the muscle. I felt nothing, but was in shock and he noticed my white face.

A carful of us headed to ED, me still not feeling anything, That burn took months to granulate.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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