The Dreaded Day Arrives

Today is ‘Wear Your Old Band T-Shirt To Work Day’ at least according to Steve Lamacq. I’m tempted but not sure I’d get away with it and deciding which particular old band t-shirt to wear would be nightmare. I could wear one over the top of my cycling gear this morning I suppose but as they’re nearly all black, it would not exactly aid my visibility on the roads.

It turns out to be unexpectedly icy this morning or perhaps it was only in Spondon because I had done over ten miles before I encountered any at all. Then, as I took my usual short cut through the back streets, I saw the road glistening at me, and probably grinning too, as I tried to navigate the corner, which also slopes downhill. The odds were stacked heavily against me; well basically I didn’t have a chance. This was exactly the same spot where I came to grief last year. You’d think I would learn wouldn’t you? So seconds later, there I am facing the wrong way up with an old lady dashing across the road to rescue me. I jump up quickly before she decides to issue mouth to mouth. Seems I’ll now have a nice bruise on my hip to add to my growing portfolio of injuries. I will have to stop taking that short cut in winter but then I said that last year. I just didn’t think winter had arrived yet.

L is naturally sympathetic and concerned that she’ll be pushing two of us to the pub in a wheelchair tonight. This is because today is the day; the dreaded day has finally arrived. L dropped him off and reports back that our little dog looked petrified as she left him quivering in the hands of a nurse. Great. That makes me feel a lot better.

Apparently the vets asked if there was anything else we wanted doing while he was ‘under’. Now there's a question. L would normally have been tempted but under the stressful circumstances, politely declined. I think one thing being cut off is quite enough for now.

L’s been the stressed out, worried parent all morning but we soon get the call that MD’s had his op, has come round from his anaesthetic and is recovering in his kennel. Hopefully a comfy one with plenty of pillows. There’s no news on the vet and whether he’s ok. From the size of what he’s had to take out I was worried the vet might strain his back removing them.

L goes off to fetch him after nipping home first to put a roast and Yorkshires in the oven for him, as well as a hot water bottle in his bed. I’ll let that pampering pass... I did tell him last night to look forward to being a very spoilt dog for the next few days or so. Of course there’s the added advantage that if he’s not up to eating, I might have to eat it for him.

I could do with a spot of molly-coddling myself with all my bumps, bruise, fractures and sprains. I’d settle for getting tucked up in bed but I reckon I’ll be well down the list of priorities tonight.

The patient is well enough to great me at the door when I get home but all the same we decide to stay in and hold his paw tonight.