Only a Vicar

So Mum has had her cancer op. Tumour removed, everything sorted, surgeon happy, Mum safely home.

As a retired nurse she is the very worst kind of patient. She gets terribly stressed before anything happens, and then doesn’t listen to a thing afterwards. Her blood pressure was high (but not as high as when she had it done at her GPs) before the op. Of course – she was so stressed, I’m surprised it was low enough for them to do anything. That stress might have heightened it before-hand and relief lowered it afterwards... perish the thought I was offering a sensible suggestion; I am only a vicar.

After the op, Mum was shivering. It’s the general anaesthetic wearing off, I said; do you feel feverish? Yes, she said. Well, there you go, I said, that’s it.
Then the sister came in. “I feel shivery,” says my Mum. “What’s wrong with me?” And she gets the same explanation. Of course, I’m only a vicar, so I couldn’t have been right, though I have had a general and know exactly what it feels like.

She had no pain killers last night. She didn’t sleep well – she had a pain. Amazing. They cut into her, and she had a pain. She accepted the pain killers this morning (“bit of overkill, all these,” she said, grimacing) and then called me at lunchtime to say she was feeling much better. Except – it turns out she had palmed some of the painkillers because she thought them a bit much, and it wasn’t till her friend Maureen told her it was the right dosage that she accepted them.

I tell you, it was like this when she had her heart op, and that time I was often alone coping with her. Nurses. The worst patients.

But she’s fine and as you can tell, very much herself – and for all that I am very grateful. Thank you Jesus; it’s been a worrying time, and I am grateful for all her little ways. Long may they continue (preferably with her in Lancashire and me in Pontypridd).