Bad news

And I mean REALLY bad news. Mum's taken a fall in the living room and dislocated her hip. After an hour spent in romantic discomfort on the floor the ambulance finally arrived and took her to the hospital. I wasn't allowed to go with her because of the f*cking plague. Nor will I be able to visit her. I wanted her to take my mobile phone but she panicked that she won't be able to deal with it, so no contact whatsoever.

I am really scared. I am scared shitless. I'm scared that they'll ruin her hip, just as the incompetent butchers in the other hospital ruined her shoulder twenty or so years ago. I'm scared that after a year of voluntary isolation she might get the cursed virus, after all. She's 89, for f*ck!s sake!

Somebody hand me a bucket, please, I feel the sheer irresistible urge to bawl...

Update: it turns out that the leg is broken, after all. Mum is now waiting for surgery.

Mum update

She's gone through surgery and woke up from narcosis all right. She's a bit confused, but it's apparently a result of narcosis and will clear up in a day or three. At least the very nice nurse I spoke to on the phone said so. Now the thing I'm mainly worried about is her osteoporosis - whether the bone is strong enough to keep the needle or pin or whatever it is they put into it. All we can do is to hope and to pray.

H - Little Emma's grandmother - dug out her old phone she no longer uses. We put Mum's SIM card into it, and I'll take it to the hospital for her, so that she'll have some outside contact, at the very least. I'll write her a user manual with 2 cm large, thick black letters; fortunately, it is easy to use.

That's basically it. I hung on the phone with the hospital and friends (Mum's and my own ones), took her medicines, reading glasses and a few necessities - not to mention her lucky teddy bear - to the hospital and am hoping for the best. After barely three hours of sleep that's the most I can do today.