The wife rang me soon after I arrived at work to say she was not feeling very well. She thought it was what she ate the previous evening, which I also ate. Not very inspiring to hear since I had half a bacon roll in my mouth when she called.
She did soldier on to take him to hospital for his eye check. As his right eye has no feeling and won't close, it is at some risk of permanent damage. They've found some scratches on the cornea and say the vision is "frosty" so we have new medicine for it and have to patch the good eye for an hour a day to force him to use the bad one. He is becoming too reliant on using one eye.
When she got back from the hospital, the wife rang to get me to go home. She looked terrible when I got in - goodnes knows how she managed the trip. She was slumped by a radiator looking wan.
I took over cares for the boy and she went to bed. We made coffee for me and tea for the pandas. He painted a picture for Sandy (the fluffy dog). We played with his Thomas the tank engine train set and watched it on TV.
With a bit of coaxing, I got him undressed and bathed. He took great delight in washing my face, which then extended to my hair. Got him dressed and did preparations for his trachy tape change. As he was behaving so well and showing his Postman Pat soft toy what was to happen, I did the tape change on my own for the first time. The wife will be livid when she finds out (two people are supposed to do it) but he was never at any risk. Had he thrown a strop, I might be less sanguine. There you go, the boy's life is a series of risks. What's one more?
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