Yesterday, Daisy had a stroke. Luckily, she actually had a carer with her on hand (she was just setting down to have breakfast); we were going out to see her to play Scrabble, like we normally do, but then we got the phone call.
It’s a waiting game. She isn’t paralysed down her (left-hand) side. She’s very weak and sleepy, but that’s to be expected after a stroke. She can walk, but not stand. She can’t speak in any coherent way at the moment. And, more worryingly, they think she can’t swallow.
Of course, it’s early early days and no one really has any idea what kind of recovery she will make. That’s not my being blind and oblivious; it’s the truth. She had a big stroke about five years ago (I thought it was three, and I assumed this was a TIA, as on the phone they said ‘mini stroke.’ What else am I to assume?), and made a very good recovery. I mean, she was affected by it, but it wasn’t….BOOM, you’re a vegetable. Which is a disgusting way to talk about people anyway.
Mr Mediator spent a lot of yesterday with her after I got hold of him. He’s taken today off to do the same thing. His sister, Ann, was there as well for some of the afternoon, and I’m sure she’ll travel again. She’s more easily unsettle-able and rock-able than Mr Mediator. He has too many people to care for.
I can’t go, because I’d be a hindrance rather than a help.
Waiting on news, dbsgirl.