Here we are another day another week another groundhog day. It’s tough isn’t it?Those of my family still at work in Covid-land are exhausted, tearful and need a break. Those not on the front line but spending all day shouting…’ unmute unmute’ all day at their screens have headaches, earaches and backaches.
Those of us who are exhorted by the dystopian type rulings to stay behind the front door, open a window and accept useless food parcels of tinned spam are working out how to break free.
Daughter in NHS land had suspected Covid. Tested. Negative. But told to return to work until retested because the testing was not conclusive. Eh? What? She was feeling dreadful but began to get better enough to return to the ICU covid land. My mother had a fall. Forgot to use her alarm. Mastered the intricacies of 111. Answered 2020 questions. After many hours,.,. They told her to ring her GP. She did. Many more hours later with my help and that of my brother in Toronto , yes Toronto. As in. Canada. Thousands of miles away.

Their GP concluded by landline phone, that she has an inner ear infection. Erm? How does that work? Some ability to peer down the aural cavity? Really? Surely not. However, a neighbour was despatched. medication was administered and somehow seems that order is at least temporarily restored.
There are some funny stories in all this maelstrom of zoominess.
I am infinitely proud of my parents who have mastered zoom, online bridge and berating Tesco online for not giving them priority slots. They in fact have a weekly slot but, no, they want daily! Not least because they need some top ups. Why? Well, my mother has enrolled on a zoom English Literature course. Every Monday the attendees listen to the lectures, write their notes, join the discussion. At 11.00 there is a comfort break. The screens remain on, the ‘students’ temporarily go off to sort themselves out. They return, sipping mugs of coffee and order is restored. Well in theory that is.
Mum indeed goes for a comfort break. She obediantly goes for a pee. Then she goes to the kitchen. Fetches a mug and a glass. Pours my father a scotch takes it to him in a glass. Pours herself, yes, you have guessed it, a scotch…in her coffee style mug. Pops back in front of the screen and sips delicately just like the rest of the class. Ooops could that be the diagnosis for the ‘inner ear infection’?
Whatever. I am indeed proud of them! Our family zoom on Sunday is a hilarious recounting of all these stories. Including my father’s tale of putting the electric kettle on the gas hob to boil! Two of my sisters have not quite managed to master zoom. So mum and dad are trying to help..THEM! One seems unable to speak or hear. So looksblankly at the screen. The other shouts to try to get heard.. Toronto can no doubt hear without a microphone!

On my own medical front, in brief. Bladder and kidney have got in a muddle. The antibiotics did not seem to help. Nausea hit. The paracetamol had no effect. Kidney pain reached new levels..Stronger painkillers caused terrible nightmares and hot sweaty episodes. It was in short been rubbish. But a telephone consultation was arranged by Jerome’s new secretary. In truth I refused at first. No no I protested. I am fine. He must be so busy. But her gentle persuasion worked. New- phone- weird- incoming- call message and fortunately I answered without saying anything too crazy..it was Jerome himself on the line. We agreed neither of us knew what day of the week it was. He made a suggestion concerning Dipstick ( remember him? not heard of for weeks!) …this is probably, he said , how Dipstick used to feel pre lockdown . What day of the week? What patient/ Who am I ? Where am I?
Oh my days how we laughed and laughed. I was actually crying. Tears streaming down my face we somehow got a grip and worked on a plan . How the hell he manages to do this, in the midst of such a bloody dreadful massive lockdown of patients but crisis for NHS. 31, 000 deaths. That is so effing terrible. There never was a bloody plan was there? The 2016 pandemic exercise was such a disaster, the then Chief Medical Officer Sally concluded we could not cope with a pandemic, so we could not plan for a pandemic. That then is history. This then is how 2020 will be remembered. Only now has it been thought sensible to screen and quarantine visitors to UK ports. Hallelujah…the thought that such visitors would not significantly affect our R number has now been refuted. We are all experts in R numbers now. Some plonker in plonker land has come up with 2metre distancing not 1.9m not 2.1 but 2.00 metres that is the significant statistic. Really? My God what will our grandchildren make of it? I hope pray and expect their parents and grandparents will explain it in more comforting terms with the benefit of hindsight. Hope. Hope is always useful.
Whatever happens next, and there will be a next, we will still laugh again. But it may well be 2 metres apart with a pair of pants on our heads. FFS.
But please keep laughing. We can do this. If my NHS daughter , Jerome, Tom J, Beth and all the others we know personally or distantly can, we can. Oh yes we clap them. Oh yes, we laugh with them. Theirs then, is my final bit of humour for tonight:
My Dad, elderly and a bit Alzheimer ish but still so funny and so full of stories. Tonight, he laughed and laughed at his own story. Well after I got the clap on Thursday we had the VD stuff on Friday. He stated. His grandchildren took a moment. That frozen zoom moment, to realise this was his idea of a funny story. The more straight faced he tried to keep the more we all laughed.
And yes, actually my parents remember VE day only too well. As that near neighbour of ours Capt Tom keeps telling us. ‘Tomorrow will be better’.
Ever the realist. He usually quietly adds …but tomorrow never comes.