I DISTRACT MYSELF WITH A GAME OF FYWOOTH

You might think me a bit nonchalant for continuing to blog like this while my Mum's in hospital. The thing is though, I feel like I kind of need something to do, some way to get my feelings out there without um... breaking into tears, or worrying about helplessly rambling to people who might not know how to react. This is sort of distracting. And I need that.

"Just pick up the phone if you need to," said someone this morning. I do appreciate that. My Dad and I have been inundated with offers of support from all kinds of unexpected quarters, which is truly humbling and wonderful.

Thankfully Mum's looking better all the time. She seemed much brighter today, sipping tea and making a little foil trophy out of a Tunnocks wrapper. It's nice when the challenge is its own reward. We have to celebrate those little moments and champion them like big ones, I think.

That's how I feel playing my daily game of Find Your Way Out Of This Hospital. Today, the adventure took me through the Eye Block and almost (but thankfully not fully) into the Maternity Ward. It's like a warren of wide blue passages, identical staircases and lift-shafts and I am notoriously poor at orienteering. When I got to the entrance I gave a little whoop and then swung open the doors to the car park... before realising of course that I wasn't actually parked on that level, going down to the level containing my car, there discovering that the pay machine was on the other level, going back up, paying, and then finding my way back down again.

You'd think wouldn't you, someone who writes instructions for a living, thinks about logic and loves diagrams, would stop and read the map once in a while? You'd think that. Maybe that's cheating at FYWOOTH though? I might time myself tomorrow.

Another thing I did today (to distract myself) was to go back and sit in the corner of Starbucks with a cup of tea and a cinnamon swirl. Comfort food eh? It should probably be called a saccharine swirl or maybe a fat-loaded, sugar-soaked pastry with hints of cinnamon. I guess they might not sell it so well though with that kind of rebranding. I thought about that as I sliced into it with a plastic knife. What if all disgustingly unhealthy sweets and treats were all called things like Death Buns or Obesity Cakes? Anyone want a cup of caffe calorifico and an effluent-filled panini down at TaxDuckers? Anyone?

Half-way into the sugary fatloaf, I suddenly thought about the hospital, about being wheeled down those wide blue passages with an oxygen mask clamped to my face, surrounded by concerned doctors with clipboards. I don't really want that. That would be a much less enjoyable way to play Find Your Way Out Of This Hospital.

I left half a cinnamon swirl where it was.