OCCUPIED COUNTRY

Apparently Nothin'

"Hiya. It's your Mam."

"Hiya Mam, what's the news."

"Your Dad's blood pressure's too high for them to carry out the 'procedure' so they're going to keep him in until Friday and try and do it then."

"Keep him in?"

"Yes."

"What's the bloody point of that? he'll be wound up to high heaven with the calibre of dickhead they've got wandering around on the ward. Blokes with their 'personal' TV systems turned way up loud 'cos they're deaf and they 'don't like headphones'. Constantly being woken up by the groans, growls and God knows what else all night. His blood pressure will be sky high and the fact that he's stuck in there will probably send it even higher."

"Well the doctor wants him to stay in."

Doctors eh? The sun shines don't it? What they say is received like the ten commandments by my Mother's generation. I'd feel a lot better and I reckon he would as well, if he was sent home to try his new medication otherwise he could spend a week in hospital and, come Friday, his blood pressure could still be too high.

---

Six hours later: "Hiya, it's your Mam."

"Hiya Mam."

"Your Dad's coming home."

"But I thought???"

"Yes but the Doctor's just checked his schedule for Friday and he's already got too much on so your Dad can come home."

"And the Doctor couldn't have figured that out six hours ago? I reckon he's just had a shedload of private patients book in."

---

So another trip to the hospital and back to their flat. My Dad's pig sick. He was hoping that this latest trip would be his last for quite a while. It's bloody hard for my Mam as well. She's obviously worried to death about him.

It's a good job they've got me to ferry them about. He just wouldn't have been up to the constant bus journeys to and from Crumpsall Hospital. It's awkward to get to from where they live anyway and it costs money.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: old age, what an absolute bastard it is. Is this all we've got to look forward to?

I hope not as I've always harboured a vision of myself with a full head of distinguished grey hair supported by a snow-white beard, playing blues and jazz on my trusty Fylde and partaking of the odd glass of vin rouge here and there. Books, fillums, music, photography, art. Kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, baby-sitting, day-trips, holidays. Life!

And who knows? Perhaps I'll still be doing this.

Going gentle into that good night doesn't come into it. I am going to rage and rage and rage and rage against the dying of the light.