He walked it.

I was right. He got up this morning and had a shave and a shower and splashed on some deoderant and got spruced up and looked handsome and smart and came downstairs asking for some breakfast (he barely eats breakfast) because they were going to take six pints of blood from him, and he thought he'd better line his stomach so he'd be ready for the Consultant's appointment later in the morning. So I made him his breakfast. (It's not easy making fried eggs in my super dooper new pan that nobody's allowed to touch because the base is white. What colour do eggs go as they cook? That's right, so working out the level of "cookedness" is not the easiest of things to do when he is so hyperspecific on how his eggs are cooked.)

Off we trotted down to the dr's, with only one earbashing on the way. Whilst I was getting the details for the DVLA form he went in to get his bloods taken and he was out before the receptionist's ink was dry on the form. He'd forgotten the papers for his cigarettes so was going to come all the way back home when I suggested that I bought some new ones, because he was running low on them anyway and it would save coming home and we could go on from there. So that's what I did. He parked the car between the cones that said "police, do not park" and out I was turfed. Back in the car, he turned it round and off we went in the direction that we'd just come from.

We were early so we went to his favourite two shops. He bought himself a pair of Diesel jeans from the British Heart Foundation shop and we went to the Factory shop for a mooch about and came out with an ironing board cover (because my board leaves the pattern from the board through the cover and it's a mesh, so Biggey irons her cadet kit on a towel on the floor, and it's only a matter of time before the carpet is a casualty) and believe it or not a little coat thing for the dog. The dog is now not speaking to hubby because he does not like it. He dislikes it with a passion.

After spending very little (for a change) we tootled off to the appointment. Sat in the carpark I was run through the things I can't say and the things I have to say - no change there then. "I'm fine at driving, there's nothing wrong with my driving, you're happy to sit in the car whilst I drive" was the main one. "Telling me to say this hubby, suggests that you think otherwise and that you're putting me up to say it" said I. "No, I'm just telling you what you have to say" was his. Pfft. Anyhoo. In we go, coffee made, big comfy chairs were sat in - although he sat at the other end of the room, with us three opposite, so the Consultant got up and went to sit next to him, cut to look of shock on his face. There were big smiles, twinkley eyes, "everything is fine", "there's nothing wrong", "Constance doesn't think there's anything wrong" and blah, blah, effing blah. They asked him things, he answered. They asked him more, he answered. He said he wanted to get his "Cricikal" Record form done so that he could work with the elderly. "What?" "My criminal record thing done". Dear God. I know nothing about this. Apparently, he wants to have his disclosure done so that he can volunteer and sit in a minibus with the disabled and elderly and take them on days out, not as the driver but as the other person. WOW. Again, I had no idea about this. They were as stunned as I was. "That is admirable "hubby"" said she, "but you were only just mentioning that you would move to the middle of no-where because you didn't want to have any contact with people, does this not contradict this?" "Nah" says hubby. "I don't mind with old people - I've always liked them". Bless him (and I don't mean that in a patronising way either, he's always liked people that usually get a short shrift from society, so this doesn't suprise me, it's one of the things about him that I love). We discussed his confusion and forgetfulness and again, that's fine - there's nothing wrong with me. I'm sitting there with an incredulous look on my face. Where is all this guff coming from? More to the point they're lapping it up.

The occupational therapist was running late so we went away for half an hour, to Lidl's where we did a break neck speed shop, and returned, only for her to still not be there. We waited a bit and in she came. Hubby tootles off to have his tests, and I could hear him laughing and chatting away (charm offensive) and his nurse came through and asked if I wanted a word with her. I said yes.

We sat down in another office and she asked me how things were. My response? "At what level of his behaviour or memory loss or confusion will it take before anyone says there's a declilne?", she just looked at me. I continued... "He has walked today. He has smiled and said what he thinks you want to hear and there is no mention of medication being upped or changed, there's no issue with his driving even though some days I don't think he should be, his moods are declining, and he's more forgetful and he can't do things like he used to and I'm helping more and more, yet all seems well? I'm beginning to think that I'm either making it all up or I'm over egging the cake, because how he is in that room with you both is not how he is at home." "I don't think you're making it up Constance, I've had a word with the Consultant, she knows a bit more about how he's been at home and we're waiting on how he is with the occupational therapist". What happens next? The occupational therapists brings out hubby and says that there isn't that much of a difference between this test and last year's and that she only has a couple of scores to tot up but as far as she can see, there's not much difference. Hubby's face is full of glee, I can't believe it - although I can, because it's typical isn't it?

I was told to ring them in a fortnight to see what the results are, and if I have any issues... We have no appointment scheduled for next time, and just this once, I feel a little let down - and I don't think I've felt like that before. It might have been that everything was kept light for hubby, and that the occupational therapist was saying what he wanted to hear, but I doubt it, and what difference does it make anyway? We're (rather I'm) no further forward and it's back to just getting on with it. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm packing up the wallowing that I've done over the past week or so (apologies for this - must have bored you rigid with that one x) and I'm just going to deal with it as it comes at me. So if I slip back to the wallow stage, I would appreciate it if you just go "Hoy, Constance - get over yourself and get on with it" :o)

Where is he now? Oh. That's easy. He took the car, left me to put the shopping away, and off he went to cut his friend's grass. I don't know what time he'll be home, or if he's going to start on the shelves for the cupboard tonight or not, but you know what? The old Constance would have been bouncing her head off a wall, but not the new one. I'll see him when I see him, and I'll hand him the tape measure if he does decide to attempt the shelves. I'm going to be a glass half full kind of a gal now. Let's see if that makes it any easier. x