…then you may or may not be able to reach me; my Dad has fallen at home and broken his hip joint. He’s comfortable as you can be in this condition, reportedly singing Flanders and Swann songs with my sister Mandy who ferried him into hospital.
The oddity is that whist I was in hospital last year after the bike accident my Great Aunt Betty was likewise in hospital, with a broken hip much like my father’s. Betty went to Royal Worcester Hospital and it is suspected by us that it was there she acquired the bug Clostridium difficile (aka C.diff) which nearly killed her in several hideous ways.
On that basis my sister has firmly ordered the Royal Worcester not to operate, and will be making him comfy overnight before attempting to ship him to the Priory (where I recuperated from France), or (amusingly) to the local BUPA hospital in Droitwich where the same surgeon from the Priory also works.
If he gets into the latter he will be being operated upon mere metres from home. That would be very good indeed.
Anyone who knows my dad can leave best-wises as comments, I’ll print and forward.
Here we go again. Thanks all. 🙂
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