Just this and that
Apr. 17th, 2007 08:08 amSunday was my mother's birthday. Since my father had decided they'd be going to their house near Salzburg that very day, there was of course no room for a celebration. Neither was there a posibility he day before, because at her age all the packing etc. stresses her out too much.
But the best is still to come: Obviously my father forgot to put one bag in the car, and unfortunately it was the one containing his medicines. They realized when they'd already arrived at their destination. What does my father do? Instead of simply driving to the next pharmacy on duty (they'd certainly given him his medicines, since he's 82 and doesn't exactly look like a junkie) they get in the car and drive back home. My cell phone was switched off at the time, so my mother called my brother who then called me. I thought I'd have a heart attack. My father's insistence on diving longer distances at his age is something that makes me want to throttle him (unfortunately we're not on speaking terms, so I'd have to shoot him fom afar) - not because of his health and safety, because I couldn't care less about that, but because my mother is in the bloody car. And then he goes and does it twice. Nothing happened, though, and they arrived home safely.
I'm quite worried about my mother anyway: She's had some form of rheuma for 7 or 8 years and has to take cortisone. That it itself wouldn't worry me, because her bones are ok (no sign of osteoporosis) and the only side effect is her skin getting very thin, i.e. the slightest impact immediately draws blood. Not nice, but something one can live with. What I absolutely dislike are the more and more frequent fever attacks she tells me about - we're talking about a few hours of her temperature going up to and beyond 39. At 78, that's extremely dangerous, especially if the person in question is my mother who just gets up the next day and goes about her chores as if nothing had happened. I've been imploring her to see an immunologist (that a word in English?), but so far she hasn't. When she had two consecutive attacks last weekend (yes, the weekend with the there-and-back journey to Salzburg) she told me she was going to see the doctor there. but, as I told her, he's an excellent country GP, who will probably tell her to see a specialist, because the symptoms clearly indicate a problem with her immune system. Then I asked her if she'd packed an antipyretic (which in her case would be a good idea - usually I'm all for lettig a fever run its course, but certainly not when it comes to a person that age). Needless to mention she hadn't. The problem is, if I show her too much of my (I think justified) worries, she'll just stop telling me, and I prefer to know how she is. So just AAAARRRRRGH!
Met the lovely![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scatha_b yesterday for coffee and a chat in the sun. We're both government slaves public employees, though at different ministries, and seem to share some other interests as well, and I really enjoyed meeting her.
I meant to run a few errands afterwards, but the Muse started tugging at my leash, and so I went home and continued to write the new, still untitled Lumione fic. More than 8000 words, and they haven't even met! Why? Why? I wanted this one to be short, but then the dialogue just starts in my head, and I have to write along. But I like what I've written so far. I think I managed a decent split-up with Ron without making him look more moronic than he is anyway. Book 6 hasn't done anything to endear him to me, so it's al his fault in the first place.
The problem is that something I'd intended as a mere plot device to make Lucius and Hermione meet is develping into a full-blown subplot, and I hadn't reckoned with that while writing the outline. So either I find a really brilliant way to kill the suplot, or I declare defeat and will have to develop it further. Grrrrrr to the Muse.
But the best is still to come: Obviously my father forgot to put one bag in the car, and unfortunately it was the one containing his medicines. They realized when they'd already arrived at their destination. What does my father do? Instead of simply driving to the next pharmacy on duty (they'd certainly given him his medicines, since he's 82 and doesn't exactly look like a junkie) they get in the car and drive back home. My cell phone was switched off at the time, so my mother called my brother who then called me. I thought I'd have a heart attack. My father's insistence on diving longer distances at his age is something that makes me want to throttle him (unfortunately we're not on speaking terms, so I'd have to shoot him fom afar) - not because of his health and safety, because I couldn't care less about that, but because my mother is in the bloody car. And then he goes and does it twice. Nothing happened, though, and they arrived home safely.
I'm quite worried about my mother anyway: She's had some form of rheuma for 7 or 8 years and has to take cortisone. That it itself wouldn't worry me, because her bones are ok (no sign of osteoporosis) and the only side effect is her skin getting very thin, i.e. the slightest impact immediately draws blood. Not nice, but something one can live with. What I absolutely dislike are the more and more frequent fever attacks she tells me about - we're talking about a few hours of her temperature going up to and beyond 39. At 78, that's extremely dangerous, especially if the person in question is my mother who just gets up the next day and goes about her chores as if nothing had happened. I've been imploring her to see an immunologist (that a word in English?), but so far she hasn't. When she had two consecutive attacks last weekend (yes, the weekend with the there-and-back journey to Salzburg) she told me she was going to see the doctor there. but, as I told her, he's an excellent country GP, who will probably tell her to see a specialist, because the symptoms clearly indicate a problem with her immune system. Then I asked her if she'd packed an antipyretic (which in her case would be a good idea - usually I'm all for lettig a fever run its course, but certainly not when it comes to a person that age). Needless to mention she hadn't. The problem is, if I show her too much of my (I think justified) worries, she'll just stop telling me, and I prefer to know how she is. So just AAAARRRRRGH!
Met the lovely
scatha_b yesterday for coffee and a chat in the sun. We're both I meant to run a few errands afterwards, but the Muse started tugging at my leash, and so I went home and continued to write the new, still untitled Lumione fic. More than 8000 words, and they haven't even met! Why? Why? I wanted this one to be short, but then the dialogue just starts in my head, and I have to write along. But I like what I've written so far. I think I managed a decent split-up with Ron without making him look more moronic than he is anyway. Book 6 hasn't done anything to endear him to me, so it's al his fault in the first place.
The problem is that something I'd intended as a mere plot device to make Lucius and Hermione meet is develping into a full-blown subplot, and I hadn't reckoned with that while writing the outline. So either I find a really brilliant way to kill the suplot, or I declare defeat and will have to develop it further. Grrrrrr to the Muse.
