Hold the phone!
Call the quack. I’m reporting myself for a ginormous ‘senior moment’ overnight and am beginning to feel that those snivelling turncoats and junior family members who have been chipping away at my confidence and sanity by regularly telling me I need to go for a cognitive ‘dementia test’ may at last be correct.
One day last week – I forget which – I popped in to my GP surgery in order to have my winter ‘flu jab – one of the great benefits of the NHS which too many (including myself) criticise from time to time for its cost and inefficiency problems.
That … and my old age Freedom travel card thingy … are very-pleasing-to-have amenities that make me feel slightly better about being an oldie than would be the case (if I didn’t have access to them), if you get my drift.
The expedition (the one to the GP’s surgery for a ‘flue jab I mean) went like clockwork. The great thing was that some time earlier, out of the blue, I had received a text from the surgery on my smartphone alerting me that ‘it was that time of the year again’, and I was entitled to one, and would I like to ring or call in to arrange a time. I duly popped along to the surgery – well, in actual fact I was going past it anyway on the way to a shop and used the opportunity to drop in, and set up my ‘date’ with the nurse.
I then had another text alert sent to my smartphone on the evening before said appointment.
And the next day turned up – had the jab – and was out on the street again, all in (I’d estimate) less than ten minutes in total, including my stint in the waiting room.
Simples.
In chatting to the nurse I had mentioned that I thought it was about this time of year (close to my birthday) that I normally came in to have my blood pressure taken – and possibly some blood as well, I couldn’t remember – and she responded to the effect this was indeed the case … and booked me in for an appointment to do these thing at 5.15pm last night.
Everything again went like clockwork. I strolled home and put an entry in my diary for 5.15pm for last night. And spent the weekend telling people about it.
Until yesterday, when in the morning I received another text alert reminder about the appointment – and then went about my business, which included an outing on foot to my bank in the high street (to hand in a cheque) and then up the hill to the tailor’s which was arranging to put a new zip in a coat (of which I am fond but whose zip had somehow managed to ‘seize up’) for me. They had sent an email saying that it was ready for collection.
With all that – and a food shop, laundry visit and nip down the road to arrange an MOT test, plus a bite to eat for my lunch – I felt I was achieving a great deal in my day (not always a boast I can make) and therefore retired to my bed for a snooze at about 3.20pm with a clear conscience.
I awoke shortly before 4.45pm, ‘came to’, and then roused myself and walked through to my drawing room and computer, on which I checked for emails and then went to the YouTube website in order to look up Jim Morrison of The Doors because I’d seen an article on a newspaper website on the subject of his standing as a supposed poet.
All good you’d think.
Especially when I then made myself something to eat about 6.15pm and watched a bit of telly before retiring to my bed for the evening at about 8.00pm.
Until about 10.00pm, when I woke again with a start and realised that there’d been a glaring gap in my day.
I’d totally forgotten about my blood pressure etc, appointment with the nurse at my GPs!
