Happy 2012! I have to admit I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Eve. I looooooove Christmas and for me New Year pales in comparison. However something this year made me think of the traditions that use to happen when I was younger. We would all go to my Great Auntie Betty’s for Christmas Day and then New Year’s Eve, but New Year would include more friends and neighbours. Just before midnight the men, with me tagging along, would go out the back gate, down the entry (alleyway) and round to the front door. At 12 someone would knock, the door was opened and the New Year let in. This was always done by a man and preferably one with dark hair – Auntie Bet was made up with B for this reason. I don’t remember any of the other traditions actually being carried out but I do remember people talking about things they use to do such as carrying coal, bread, to ensure there was heat and food for the coming year. At our current house I suppose I couldn’t expect B to go out the back door and round the front on his own, let alone carrying stuff, since it would involve several six foot fences.
Anyhoo, back to this year. The three of us spent New Year’s Eve quietly at home. Last year we went to one of our neighbour’s but his lady friend has shingles so I had to steer clear. We went to Auntie Ann’s on New Year’s Day when she cooked a fantastic roast. I ate everyting on my plate (about half/two thirds what I’d usually eat) much to B’s amazement and also causing him to exclaim ‘How come you ate all that but don’t eat all your tea?’ A friend said I should have pointed out that it was three o’clock in the afternoon and not half past nine at night! Bud got his own roast dinner too.
And you won’t believe what happened yesterday. Or maybe you will because I do tend to be slightly accident prone as evidenced last week by me knocking over two full 500ml (roughly a pint) glasses of drink within three days prompting B to ask if I was going to continue at this rate.
Anyhoo, back to yesterday. I’ve been going for dialysis on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday at seven am. B took me Boxing Day and the Wednesday of that week as there wasn’t transport available. Friday I got picked up by a mini bus type ambulance at 6.25am, Monday it was 6.10am and it turned out I needed to be ready not for 6.30 but for 6.00 as arrival time depended on who else they were picking up from where. On Wednesday I was picked up at about 6.20am and everything went fine, I felt quite good, I watched a couple of films and did some crocheting. Then when we were finished I started getting flashing light type things in my eyes suggestive of a migraine so more than anything I just wanted to get home. I managed to get down to the ‘Hospitality Suite’ without incident even though things weren’t too clear. I think you have had to experience these visual disturbances to understand completely, you can still see but not properly – it’s so weird. As it happened the driver was at the desk when I got there so there was no wait. I got on the mini bus and sat as far back as I could so I wasn’t near any bacteria I didn’t know, er I mean people I didn’t know. Altogether there was five of us being transported and I was dropped off first.
This is where it gets a bit gross so anyone with a delicate stomach may want to look away.
My sight went back to normal and fortunately no headache actually materialised. BUT I suddenly realised I felt sick. Now we know that for me ‘I feel sick’ means ‘Pass me a sick bowl immediately because I’m about to make a deposit’. BUT it was okay because I had a poop scoop bag in my pocket just in case of this eventuality. I fished it out and whilst juggling the netbook bag and large bag of crocheting/yarn I threw up. Now I thought that it had all gone either in the poop bag, in the crocheting bag or down the front of my coat so I didn’t even contemplate letting the driver know. It would appear though with the benefit of hindsight that I was wrong. I just relievedly got off the mini bus and flopped into the house, where B took my coat, hat, gloves and scarf and threw them in the washing machine whilst I went for a wash.
However it turned out that the bottom of the paper/board bag I had my crocheting in was er, we’ll go with moist, meaning that some of the vomit must have hit the floor! And I got off without saying ANYTHING AT ALL!!!!! Every time the phone rang today I thought it was going to be Hospital Transport telling me I’d been black balled. B said ‘Why didn’t you just tell the driver?’ to which I responded ‘Because I didn’t even look at the floor!’
Plus with my nature of coming clean with everything I need to explain/apologise for it to someone. Maybe I should start with the girl who sits in the other back seat ‘cos she probably got an eyeful after I’d got off. Ugh – I don’t think there’s much worse than other people’s sick. Usually I hate being sick in front of people, particularly those I don’t know, and at one point in the Royal I spilt bloody (my mouth was bleeding a fair bit) vomit on my bed sheet as I sat up in an attempt to avoid the ‘Hostess’ (catering lady) seeing the bowl of sick. So it’s not a sight I would usually force on anyone.
As it turned out I did feel decidely off for the rest of the day, slept most of the afternoon, was sick again just after I’d had a bath and barely ate any tea but I feel much better today, apart from the guilt.
So, hopefully, I’ll get picked up tomorrow morning and I really hope it’s the same driver so that I can get things off my chest first as last. I mean I’ve only been picked up three times and have already managed to make a mess.