Visiting my Mum in hospital I read her chart out so that between us we could fathom its depths (the consultant had already walked passed and had shown no interested at all in giving his patient’s relatives a single word.
‘Used marmalade’ I called out, reassured that my mother was eating. She insists there hadn’t been any marmalade. I look a bit closer and figure out the handwriting.
‘At 16.03 used commode’ I announce.
Four days of hospital visits rather than going home should be fun.
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