Another trip to Manchester

We’re home again. Another trip to Manchester done. Another trip planned for next week.

We went down on Tuesday. We had a very pleasant dinner, mainly due to the company of the Fox’s brother, even if the food was rather disappointing.

Then yesterday we went to the hospital. We sat and waited. And waited. Eventually we got shown in, over an hour later than our appointment. First we were seen by a student. Fair enough. He has to learn. Then a lady doctor came in. This was a surprise to us. We were supposed to be seeing a Mr Murphy. Had he had a sex change in the intervening week? No. Mr Murphy was in Munich & this doctor felt I should see the men himself. So we’re off back to Manchester yet again next week.

We returned home, shattered. All these trips to Manchester are certainly tiring. We both ended up feeling too tired to do anything, even to sleep. We tried for a nap but couldn’t get off. Then the doorbell rang – our neighbour come to see how we’re getting on. By then we concluded we best get off the village pub & some food. There we met some friends who were eager to know the latest. After they left we settled to a plate of simple fish & chips. Once home we sat & watched the TV for an hour before collapsing into bed, this time with a sleeping pill to ensure I did nod off to sleep. I finally got up at nearly 8 this morning, some 12-13 hours later.

The one impression we do have, having spoken to Mr Murphy’s nurse, is that Mr Murphy is definitely intending to operate unless something unexpected has happened for the worse since he spoke to Mr Barr at Christie’s. We’re treasuring that idea until we see him next week.

Our other conclusion is that Wythenshawe Hospital is as bad at bureaucratic inefficiency as Lancaster. Why didn't they just move my appointment to next week when Mr Murphy could have seen me & we would have had to make just one trip down to Manchester instead of two? I don't know.  Is this some sort of trial of my determination, persistence & sheer pig-headedness?