Weeknote

Sick note

A week after the fire, Mrs L started feeling unwell. She had a fever , a headache and just felt rotten. Flu and COVID tests were negative. She spoke to our Doctor, who recommended she continue with paracetamol and rest. The medic suspected that all the stress of the fire had lowered the immune system and a virus had got in.

A few days later, Mrs L felt worse not better. On Saturday evening we agreed that we'd go to Accident & Emergency the following day. I settled down with a book, expecting a long wait. Actually, it wasn't long before Mrs L was in triage. She was sent out to wait for the results of a blood test. From there, things accelerated. Well, they did for Mrs L. I just kept reading. My wife's inflammation markers were sky high. 412 versus "healthy level" of 5. The Doctor had never seen markers so high. X-ray and CT scan were organised. As the afternoon wore on, I slipped away to feed the dogs. I also intended packing a bag for Mrs L. It seemed likely she would be staying in - at least for a while.

While at home, she called to confirm my suspicion. She would be staying in. I checked the terms of our travel insurance. We were due to fly to Krakow in 48 hours.

By Monday, the markers were dropping. Down to 321. Still a long way from 5, but heading the right direction. The thing is, nobody has the first clue what is causing them. The CT scan shows nothing untoward. Nor the x-ray. They've started administering antibiotics, but they still have no idea what's wrong. One Doctor cheerfully admitted that we may never know. It's a bit unsettling, to be honest.

Markers are down again today, and we await the results of a blood culture in a few days, which may help us...or may not. Certainly, Mrs L will remain in hospital for a little while yet.

Never a dull moment, over here.

Cleanup

Yesterday, I went for a walk along the route I take the dogs when the weather is cooler. I ascend a partially-made road that is dotted with houses. Mostly, these seem untouched by the fire bar one which was completely burnt down. The bondu is black. I was struck by the absence of noise. No birdsong. I imagine the birds took flight on the night of the fire and there's no reason for them to come back yet. It's surreal to see the landscape so transformed. Familiar houses now sit in a weird moonscape, where the ground and trees are black, against the bright blue sky. Everything smells of wood smoke. Here and there, I can still see roots smouldering. They can burn for weeks.

The tavern has stopped being a relief centre and reverted to a restaurant, and villagers are meeting up and swapping survival stories. Everyone notices the randomness of the fire. One can walk down a street and find a pair of houses a few feet apart. One has been completely gutted by the fire, while its neighbour stands untouched. In our back garden, we have a line of Cyprus fir trees. Seven, tall, thin trees. Six are untouched. The one in the middle is badly burnt. The middle one. I stood looking, trying to work out how that specific tree caught fire. I assume it must be an accident of embers on the wind, but mostly, I recognise just how extremely lucky we were.

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