Boys

My rash is getting worse.  It now covers about 80% of my body and if Mr. Waffle wants to pat me comfortingly, he can only rub the top of my head. Up every 1-2 hours last night applying cold face cloths to my spotty person. Make with the sympathy please.  I’m off to see my fourth dermatologist shortly.

Which is worse?  The fact that the workmen start at 7.00 outside our window giving residents an appreciation of what it’s like to live in a war zone or the fact that they appear to give up for the day at 9?

By the by, please see photo which proves, if proof were necessary, that Belgians regard parking restrictions as  pplying solely to others.

There is still no floss in the supermarket.

My parentsÂ’ boiler has been repaired.

And would you like some information on my mystery illness? The touching concern of some friends following my recent post makes me think I should put them out of their misery. There are a few things wrong with me. Starting with the most banal:– I have a rotten cold. Let’Â’s move on to more exciting things. About two weeks ago something started biting me. Could we have fleas?  But we have no pets and are reasonably clean and nothing was biting my loving spouse.  An extensive examination of the sheets revealed nothing.   They were changed and the mattress hoovered nevertheless. The biting continued.  My husband started to worry about me as I crept into the bedroom, pulled up the duvet and pounced on what always turned out to be an innocent piece of fluff (where is all this fluff coming from anyway?).

So it went on.  And the bites got worse and worse.  And, finally, last week, I consulted my tame medical advisor who, ever one to provide comfort, said that the spot distribution sounded like smallpox, but it was unlikely to be that.  Since the tame medical advisor lives in Cork, he suggested it might be worth seeing someone locally who could actually inspect the damage. By this stage, my legs were red, raw, weeping
and swollen up in a most alarming manner and the rest of me was pretty itchy.  Walking was painful and difficult.  So on Monday, I went to the dermatologist who, conveniently, is a couple of doors down from my house.  The result was most gratifying.  She called in a colleague.  They both oohed and aahed and tut tutted that I hadn’t been to see them earlier.I
held my breath for a photo in the Belgian version of “The Lancet”. They’Â’re not sure what it is and yesterday they sent me off to another dermatologist who isnÂ’’t sure what it is
either.  And I have had lots of blood tests and a biopsy which has left two stitches and a glamourous bandage on my neck.

Because of further complications which will be revealed in due course, they havenÂ’’t really been able to prescribe anything except rest but IÂ’’m going back at lunch time to be hovered over by two dermatologists and two other doctors will be phoning in to give their tuppence haÂ’penny worth.  More details to follow in due course. By the by, I’d like you to know, they say itÂ’s definitely not flea bites.