The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2237 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The days lurched on towards Christmas. The combination of trying to deal with hospital visits and the three mouseketteers made life rather fraught at times, especially when deteriorating weather was added to the equation. It rained and it blew and in places it flooded.

According to the experts the jet stream was fired up by energy created by hot air moving north up from the Caribbean and cold air moving south from the Arctic. Where they met, storms formed and sod’s law tends to mean they hit the UK somewhere. Okay, we’re not talking Philippines type cyclone and the devastation that produced, but it’s bad enough. Remember this is Blighty, damp and mild where the biggest risk from the weather is mildew, not frigging hurricanes, although they do get more storms up around the north of Scotland than we do in the south.

On the Monday before Christmas our two casualties became the walking variety and were discharged to my care at home. Mr O’Rourke seemed to think I could cope with them, perhaps because I’ve been there, done that and got the dilators.

Neither of them seemed to feel that dilation was a pleasant experience and had to be reminded in hospital. It was only when I threatened to help them with a mallet that they agreed to do it twice a day. Danni was only using the small one but Sammi had the adult sized ones and complained about the larger one every time I saw her. I tried to explain that unless she was going to make love to a spaniel, she needed to persevere. She suggested she might stay celibate. I reminded her that was okay for her but any boyfriends or husband she acquired might have different ideas.

“But it hurts,” she protested.

“So does giving birth, but women still do it.”

“What’s that got to do with poking a large piece of plastic in a small hole?”

“If you wish to integrate as a full female, then sex is usually one of the things females do, usually with a male.”

“I did basic biology, Mummy, so I know about the birds and the bees.”

“Why bother having a vaginoplasty if you’re not going to use it?”

“My panties sit better–or will do when I don’t need to wear a sani towel to catch the goo from poking it with the plastic.”

“You could have had everything removed and no vagina. It would have healed more quickly.”

“Yeah, could have got that weird friend of Danni’s to do it, saved the NHS some money.”

Dunno about that, she did Danielle’s and she still needed the experts to stop her bleeding to death.”

Sammi blushed perhaps remembering how she’d cussed her sister for causing her own operation to be postponed.

I collected them both from hospital and had to tell Danni not to lift her case.

“Why not?”

“In case you pop your fanny.”

She looked at me in astonishment and began to laugh, “You’re joking, Mummy–aren’t you?”

“No I’m not, the muscles in your abdomen are quite strong and could cause the lining of your vagina to be expelled.”

“What, like fall out?”

“Yes, they call it a prolapse and it can happen to biological women too.”

She laughed in disbelief.

“Theirs can’t fall out, don’t be silly, it grew there with the rest of their body.”

“It can, my mother had a prolapse, your bum can do the same.”

“What? Your bum can fall off? That’s silly.”

“Your bowel can fall out through your anus.”

She looked at me in astonishment as if I was telling a joke. “It’s true,” confirmed Sammi, “there was a picture of a weight-lifter who strained himself lifting and his guts came out through his arse. Covered everyone nearby in shit.”

Danni looked at her in disbelief but allowed me to bring the cases down to reception where I then left them and went to get the car. I loaded them and my two passengers.

“So how come you won’t prelapse or whatever?” Danni asked me.

“I’ve been healed a lot longer than you, missy, I’m also bigger and stronger.” I think she rolled her eyes at me as she got in the car because I saw Sammi poke her. Thankfully the drive home was uneventful and Jacquie helped me bring the cases in–the weather was now driving rain with the prospect of it getting worse overnight. I hoped Simon would be able to get home from his office and was tempted to send him a text telling him to be careful.

The conditions continued to worsen outdoors and some of the fencing went awol which meant we had to be careful letting Kiki out. Tom was hoping Maureen would be able to help out the next day.

Meanwhile indoors the two patients had the other girls running round for them until I explained to them that they were quite capable of carrying a cup of tea or a book themselves, it was only lifting heavy objects or moving their lower body violently that was risky, so driving can be contra-indicated soon after surgery.

Both of them reported strange sensations down below which I was able to explain as the nerves healing, which takes some time–I didn’t tell them that some may not heal at all and the sensation retained/recovered is individual. I remember having the feeling that I had an erection a week after surgery which was most disconcerting. Some months later, it began to establish the new organisation down below and I was aware of sensations coming from inside me, which was gratifying on several levels.

David came in to do the dinner and didn’t look at all well. I sent him home and whatever he was going to do I ignored and did a cottage pie for quickness, using half a minced cow–shades of Desperate Dan–oh no, that was cow pie.

The girls arrived home from the salon and were absolutely whacked. They’d opened early and finished late trying to get everyone in to have their hair done before Christmas. They were also working on Christmas Eve until lunch time.

Simon got home at half past eight, the trains were all over the place with flooding and landslips. I was mightily relieved when he arrived and he was delighted when he found out it was cottage pie cooked by my own fair hand. While he was eating it, Ingrid phoned to say she thought David had flu–there was quite a bit of it about according to the school and other sources. That would mean me cooking Christmas dinner–oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time–but I also knew that David would do it better, were he well.

I was pretty sure he’d organised a turkey and the other bits and pieces but I’d check the next morning. If he hadn’t, it was going to be a long day, a very long one.

“What’s the problem?” asked Simon as came off the phone.

“David has possibly got flu.”

“Poor chap–that can be nasty.”

“Yes I know. It also means I have to cook the Christmas dinner.”

“You’ve done it before, in fact you’ve done it several times.”

Don’t I know it. “Yes I know, but compared to how he’d do it, mine is rather amateurish.”

“You’ll be fine–besides if you’re that worried we’ll go to the hotel.”

“You can’t book the hotel tomorrow for the following day.”

“Wanna bet?”

“No, nor do I want to put the catering staff to any further troubles, it will be fraught enough without the owner’s family turning up en mass.”

“It’s an option.”

“Thanks for the thought, but providing David has ordered everything, I’ll manage somehow–if not we’ll have cottage pie again.”

“If it’s as good as that was, I’ll happily eat it again.”

“I wonder what they’d call it made with turkey mince?”

“Foul?” he suggested before I chased him out of the kitchen.