H is for... hiatus

H is for hiatus, as well as oh hell no.

A few months ago I was shopping at our local Co-op (also our only supermarket in a reasonable distance) and was served by a member of staff who was very, very obviously ill.  Her nose was running, her eyes were streaming, she was sneezing and coughing over her hands, which she then handled all our food and change with; she said she'd had some time off work, but couldn't afford to have any more time off.

We disinfected our hands when we got home but since she touched everything we bought we inevitably caught it too.  Luckily my mother got over it very quickly.

I... didn't.  For almost three months I've coughed and sneezed my way through life waiting for this woman's cold to leave me.

A week and a half ago, my left eye turned bloodshot.  Last Saturday I went to the Boots pharmacy in Nottingham (since we're always being told we should go to the pharmacy rather than take up space at the doctor's or at A&E).  The girl behind the counter seemed generally pretty bored and told me to go to the doctor's.  I explained it can take between one to five weeks to get an appointment where I live, and she told me to go to the walk-in clinic in Nottingham and wait for a couple of hours to be seen.

I didn't.  Because funnily enough, I wasn't in Nottingham to go to the doctor's, but to see friends instead.  I did however buy an eye bath, an eye moisturiser and some sterile wipes.

Of course, if she'd actually paid attention to what I'd said to her rather than saying "well it's not conjunctivitis", she might have noticed that I have sinusitis, which seems to be a side effect of Typhoid Mary at the Co-op.  She might have even sold me a medicated eyebath and, by extension, perhaps I wouldn't be sitting here now with half my face swollen up due to my downright gross sinuses.

H  is also for hopefully, that normal service might be able to be resumed a little tomorrow.

Hopefully.