Gone Septic

We have today been obliged to seek the advice of a doctor.

We do not often do this, preferring to apply our own home remedies and stitches to injuries, but today we have had no choice.

Mark has had a sore toe for some time. We have been contemplating this with interest but not much activity for a while, sore toes being unpleasant, but hardly life-threatening. He has trimmed the nail and skin away from the sore bit, filled it with antiseptic, and put his sock on over the top.

When this did not work we tried some antibiotic cream. We have a tiny bit of this, left over from an old injury, I forget what, probably one of the dogs, vets hand out useful medicines far more liberally than doctors. It is brilliant for any injury that will not respond to washing in Dettol and smearing with Germolene, but there is only a little bit left, we know we are unlikely ever to get any more, and so we use it sparingly, but it didn’t work anyway.

We wondered then if it might be a fungal infection, and tried some fungicide. This was proper foot-fungicide, not our usual application of Bordeaux Mixture, which turns your feet blue but works rather well.

That didn’t work either, and when Mark came in from work last night, his toe was read and swollen, and red lines were beginning to snake up his foot to his now-swollen ankle.

We diagnosed that it had Gone Septic, which was one of the perils we were taught to fear in our youth, and rang the doctor. Eventually he rang back after Mark had gone to work, back and diagnosed over the telephone that he had a sore toe, for which he prescribed a week-long course of antibiotic tablets.

The NHS is brilliant these days. It is so much quicker not to waste everybody’s time turning up in person and showing the doctor your injuries. Also, since you can’t actually show them, and you are generally busy doing something else anyway, you don’t need to do the tiresome doctor’s visit thing of buttonholing them to whinge about all of your other concerns, like rashes or palpitations or sore knees.

Mark was at work by then, so I had to go to the surgery to collect the prescription.

I was not allowed to go in to the surgery, because of the Brave New World rules, and instead I had to stand in the car park until somebody passed me some tablets out of a window.

He is going to take them as soon as he gets home from work. I am glad about this, because somebody on the Archers died of sepsis a couple of years ago, and it jolly well needs to be taken seriously.

I am glad that we have got some tablets. I do not want Mark to die. He has not left any instructions for his funeral or anything. At least Prince Philip was properly organised, which was one less thing for the poor Queen to worry about.

I did not go to work. Instead I stayed at home and cooked things. Mostly they were dull things like biscuits and yoghurt, but also I made lots of things that I haven’t been able to make when Oliver was at home because he doesn’t like them, like a huge pan of vegetable soup, and coconut prawns.

I have been wanting to make these for ages, ever since Number Two Daughter assured me that they were nice and we bought the hot air frying machine that doesn’t make you fat. I have prepared some this afternoon and we are going to have them for dinner.

I think I can hear Mark’s car.

I am going to go and cook them.

Have a picture of some moss in the Lake District.