A statistic in the NHS crisis.

I can hear the noise as my chest moves up and down. I look around for the cat, the phantom snorer in the house. No-not here. Then I cough and it changes, of course it’s the wheezy crackles that have been my soundtrack since Christmas. Much improved, so much so that I’m free from the hospital bed and back home. Christmas has been packed away, a new year welcomed, gifts sniffed and tried-some eaten and life has returned to a normal rhythm. Except I feel so different. I’m depleted and fragile. I feel like a two dimension of my three dimensional self. Christmas itself was full love, fun, games, amazing food and great company. By the 27 Dec most of us had flu symptoms and were slipping down a slope still saying we were fine. By the 28 I gave in and asked for help. I was admitted to hospital and despite a brief return home, I stayed there until Jan 11. It shocks me as I write that. Those days melted into the new year, never to be reclaimed as I got the help I needed to recover from Influe