ladders, wrong, ok

Two ladders and the shadow of a ladder.

"I didn't mean to call you up," says a very precise woman's voice when I answer the telephone this morning. There is that curious hiatus which sometimes occurs when a wrong number is called. It is prompted perhaps by a sort of curiosity, about whom is talking to whom, and even a fleeting desire to begin a conversation. Having recently dialled a wrong number myself, I am more than usually sympathetic. "I'm calling the Halifax Bank," says the voice. Unfortunately that piece of information leaves me with no openings. The Halifax Bank is something ,which  even if I had an identity crisis, I would still know for certain that I am not. So I have to concede that the number she is calling is the wrong number. Two voices return to the ocean of sound on which they float.

"The blood tests are fine, all the tests and the x-ray is OK. You can go home," says the A&E registrar at the Kent and Sussex Hospital. That is the good part of my four hour visit to the hospital. The bad part  is for Heidi who discovers  me keeled over on the floor yesterday morning and rings for the ambulance. I have had  no worrying symptoms apart from a sudden feeling of nausea following a streaming cold yesterday, and could only have been unconscious for a minute or two. The unexpected is at least interesting. The A& E department could not  be more efficient or kinder, and, although I have no book with me, I don't have time  to be bored. Another good part is the visit, just before we leave, from the hospital chaplain, a  gentle lady, who realizing that spiritual sustenance, is of little help just now, brings us a cup of tea. "I double up on these duties", she says. " And adds, gripping my wrist, "don't lose your faith.".