ANY hopes of the vomitting being a one-off quickly disappear and by 2am Margaret’s called NHS111. Not sure how long it is, but an ambulance is at the door pretty quick.
As usual I’ll not quite with by this time but I rember getting cannulas in and IV stuff before the ambulance whips me to Ninewells.
I’m not on good shape, but attention is pretty prompt and poor Margaret sits by my bedside all night watching me spew, moan and writhe about. I’m moved to a single room in the acute ward around 8am, still not any better, but getting he best attention.
Margaret sit it out and explains to three or four docs and specialists that come round in between IV changes, bloods and other stuff. I think it about 6pm when I have a final huge spew of brown stuff and manage to fall asleep for the best part of an hour.
I feel a lot better. Still fucked, but a lot better when I wake and Margaret feels she can leave me for the night and heads back to Jane and Angus’s for the night.
I manage a few sips of water, seem to have stopped spewing and conk out….
