Hospital Drama

Dear Diary,

Fuck me, what a strange few days I've had. Can safely say I don't ever remember going so quickly from the heights of joy to the depths of despair.......

As you've probably guessed, Monday wasn't too fantastic. After getting no replies to my texts or calls all day, Joe's brother called me - he was in hospital. Apparently the daft-arse took 3 sleeping pills (hasn't been sleeping well since his cat was put down) instead of the conventional 1. Shaking, I jumped a cab and whirled into the hospital, preparing to face down nurses and demand to see him, whatever visiting rules may be. Slightly different from TV apparently, as they just let me walk straight through. Never let it be said I don't have a flair for the dramatic!

I sat by his bed shaking, trying hard not to look at the drip in his arm and focus on his breathing, but needless to say, I was shit-scared. Still, he eventually woke up and explained everything. He'd taken the 3 pills to knock him out (as just 1 wasn't working) - then, on the way to work the next morning felt incredibly sick and light-headed, so turned straight back round and got himself to hospital before passing out in the reception area. We laughed at his idiocy, bought sandwiches when the trolley came round, and tried everything to ignore the clinically obese man in the next bed, snoring loud enough to topple the Taj Mahal.

SLIGHT misunderstanding later on, however. When the councellor arrived to talk to Joe, there was a lot of talk of "Does your girlfriend know?" and "How have things been recently?" and "You did the right thing coming here." Something clicked (well, so I thought). Thinking he'd lied to me all along about the "accident" thing, and it was in fact a big cover story for what could only be described as a suicide attempt, I calmly got up and walked out into the corridor, before bursting into tears. Put frankly, I was terrified. It slowly started to make sense - the redundancy, the terrible home life, losing his best friend...... The councillor eventually walked past me, taking a hasty look at my teared-up face before quickly walking away. Some fucking councillor!

But Joe explained when I went back in: He'd never attempted suicide. Due to the effects on his body and what he'd blurted out in a semi-concious state, it was automatically classed as an overdose, and the nurses assumed it was attempted suicide. By the time he'd woken up, stomach pumped and chart filled, he was way too embarrassed to tell them the truth, which is why he went along with the lie. So effectively, he pretended it was a suicide attempt, to save face. Naturally, I was incredibly angry (demanding he told them the truth) and still a little doubtful, until he pointed out two things:

a) He had me in his life, so why would he? (ok, totally sickening sounding, but awwwwww). And
b) As a Catholic, his soul would be damned forever, so even if he WAS considering it (which he wasn't in a million years), he never would. Eeeee, those crazy Catholics.

Anyhow, he checked himself out later that night (despite disproving looks from everyone) and I stayed at his all week to look after him. Won't deny that it was strangely fun playing Mother Theresa for 4 days - well until my Hippocratic oath was broken, shall we say (well, it HAD been 5 days!) Anyway, nohing to worry about, just sore kidneys and a lot of weariness. Have told him that if he touches sleeping pills again, I'll break his arms. See what I mean? Mother Theresa doesn't have SHIT on me!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx