Daily Prompt: Take Care
When you’re unwell, do you allow others to take care of you, or do you prefer to soldier on alone? What does it take for you to ask for help?
JOANIE
Only for I caught the banisters I’d have been down on my head. ‘Twas my own fault for not being careful.
Nearly killed stone dead by an empty teacup.
I always bring a cup of tea to bed with me at night. It helps me sleep and now since there’s antioxidants in it it’s only good for me. Bring it down with me when I get up in the morning, usually around 6. They’re all off to work around me at that time. With all the cars going there’s no hope of a lie in. Not that I’d would, the joints would seize for the day if I did that.
Wasn’t I holding the teacup in my left hand last Friday, as I always do, leaning against the banisters to guide myself down, as I always do, when it happened.
I felt for the first step with my foot but got caught short on the second. I thought it was wider. You’d think I’d know better and I going up and down the same steps for the last fifty years. But no. Fool here was thinking of other things and not paying attention.
It frightened the life out of me.
I let out a bit of a shout too, but only a little one.
It was down to the cup or me.
It was a nice cup too. I had it nearly three decades, part of a set I bought with the Green Shield Stamps. Maybe it’s older than that, they haven’t done the Green Shields for God knows. It had primroses front and back. Inside the rim was a little yellow bud with two leaves. You could see it every time you tilted the cup to take a sip. I was very fond of it. Last of a set.
Charles, God rest the shite, put paid to the rest of them, saucers and all, many years ago.
I’m still picking up bits of china. That’s always the way when something breaks, bits everywhere for weeks it seems. You have to be careful clearing up too. Fine bone china sticks in the skin if you try to do it in a hurry.
My hand is all cut where the cup caught it as it shattered.
Feck.
I took a fine bit chunk out of my little finger but with the fright I didn’t feel it until I saw the blood. It’s a right mess. You’d swear I’d grabbed the blade of a knife. In hindsight it probably could have used a stitch but who’d be bothering doctors at that hour of the morning? I’m not going to be one of those old cronies that run in and out to doctors and hospitals at the drop of a hat. It’ll heal.
In time.
I have it wrapped up nice and tight and there’s no more blood coming through the bandages. Unless I hit it off something, which I’m careful not to do.
It’s hurting like billyo but I have the Panadol for it.
And Marie, across the road, if I only let the poor child help me.
Jesus, no Panadol is strong enough for the pain in the arse I was last Friday. I’m rightly ashamed. Between the hurt and the fright I was like the Antichrist and poor little Marie got a bit of my bad mind. I must go over later with a biscuit and apologise. That sweet little girl only trying to help.
She caught me putting out the bin, not an hour after it happened.
“Oh Joan I see a bandage, did you hurt yourself?” she asks.
“Is she stupid? Why else would I be wearing a bandage?” says ‘Biddy bad-mind’ here to herself.
I told her nothing.
“Only a scratch” I said.
“From the roses”.
I left it at that, but she continued.
“Roses?” said she.
“Oh they can give you awful infections”.
“Have you had a tetanus recently?”
“I don’t need a tetanus”, says I.
“’Tis only a scratch”.
She couldn’t leave well enough alone. No.
“Will we pop down to the doctor?” she says.
“I’d be happy to bring you”.
“Pop my hole. If I needed a doctor I’d go myself and without any help from her”, I think to myself. Isn’t that shocking but that’s the way my mind was working. I’m putting it down to the fright. Either that or I need a personality transplant.
“No thank you”, says I.
“I’ll be fine”
Then I hit the sore part off the bin.
It lit the hand off me so I went inside again, fast. I had to run it under the tap for five minutes to cool it down, and all the while I’m bitching about the poor child, out loud, to the empty kitchen.
“I’m going to be persecuted with her again this winter. I just know it. Every second day, knock, knock.
“Here’s soup”
“Here’s stew”
“Here’s all sorts of shite”
“Do you need anything?”
“Do you want anything?”
“Can I do anything?”
Can you just feck off to hell!
Jesus!
Only for the dog I wouldn’t answer the door to her at all”.
I was rightly ashamed of myself when I calmed down.
The Burren and Beyond 