Patience is frustration

Patience is not a virtue I has come to discover, patience is frustration that another day has gone past and still nothing from either Papworth or from Broomfield.
I have two more tests to do and nothing. All I can think of is my specialist's words that telling me that I only have a two year window and already a month has past and dippity squat from anyone and I'm now down to an one year and eleven months window. Two years didn't sound as bad somehow, but I'm now beginning to realise how slippery time actually is.
Three years ago about this time of year, I would be counting down the weeks to my June holiday in Turkey, striking off the days on my calendar, getting excited. Now I have a cold fear that just wants to hold on to each day, but at the same time wondering if maybe tomorrow will bring my letters.
No wonder my nerves are as tight as a drum skin, as I find myself pacing around my bungalow just lately waiting for the postman to come, who of course brings me everything other than what I want and need.

I had to ask the doctor to come and see my mother's back again, so we can finally get her booked in to have the cyst removed.
I'm sure that the doctor thought I was making up the fact that mother couldn't get down to the doctors to be seen, as when I was telling the doctor about how feeble she was on her legs and how she kept stumbling. The doctor asked mother to walk from room to room in the bungalow so she could access her and mother started walking upright around the bungalow, near enough swinging her walking stick around like Charlie Chaplin!
'Me fall over? Not since I fell about of bed two summers ago, I don't fall do I Debs'
Ok, I'll remind her of that next time she moans about her legs and how she can't walk anymore or we have 'words' and she tells me that she fell in the kitchen after I had left like last Sunday.
I can understand that mother is frightened that she'll end up in a home, but all the doctor was trying to do was to get her some physio to keep her knees agile and keep her out of a home.
And we told her that as she was parading up and down the front room like Miss World!
Of course as soon as the doctor left, the real mother came back.
As I said, my patience is running out... correction, has run out on me. Patience is frustration.

Lots of love Debbie x