Red Hand of Ulster

Like most kids large and small, I normally love December. But this month is proving to be a dishonourable exception.

I've already bleated on here about our little house break-in where our visitors didn't take much but chose to transport what they had in our car. Still no sign of that.

Well, there's been another development.

I was in the bathroom on Friday morning and turned around to walk out the door. But because I'm a clumsy so and so, I managed to catch my hand on the corner of the wall.

It left a mark of probably around an inch, with the skin being broken by only about a quarter of that. And only superficially. No big deal. I seem to have a minor accident at least once a week these days. We move on.

It was little bit stingy for the rest of the day, but I barely thought any more about it.

And when I woke on Saturday, the mark was still there but there was no pain at all.

However, as I was about to get up, I suddenly felt all sickie-bokey. And within a few minutes, I'd barfed up twice. Just great.

The nausea kicked in after that and I was forced to spend the entire weekend in bed. And the longer I lay, the sorer my hand and then arm became.

This was how my hand looked on Monday  morning.

The photo was taken at Leeds General Infirmary.

This is me have my having my first go on the intravenous drip shortly afterwards. (They connected me by my 'good'/broken arm).

And this was how I slept on the ward last night.

Big up, aiiiii.

Things have since taken a turn for the better, starting this morning with the consultant ruling out any immediate need for plastic surgery. (I did ask if I could throw my chin and nose into the mix, but he said no). And the swelling in my hand and arm has definitely gone down.

I'm being kept in for at least another night and there could be more to follow. But hey ho, it's not Charlotte's birthday party until Saturday and I'd be very unlucky to miss out on that.

Then let the Christmas frivolities begin.

Unless there's a lightning storm, because I'm toast.