Taking The Piss ...

Hi There, 

So after last weeks escapades in Ireland, and after spending a fair amount on PANDORA in Ireland's sale season (although I must admit I did grab some great bargains) both me and my bank manager were more than happy I was finally on a flight back to Blighty. Now I am back home, sat on my sofa as Mr. Warehouse plays GTA and the dog plays ball with her imaginary friend (or the resident ghostie - I don't know), but with coming back home comes also the unrelenting stress of my situation with Mr. Warehouse and how financially we will be able to afford the next few weeks. 

I am concerned about money and the lack of it, especially what with the upcoming events such as the wedding of Mr. Warehouse's cousin in Newquay, mounting birthday's and my upcoming (and much needed) summer break away with the Tweedles. I would like to go back to a day whereby neither of us thought twice about heading out for dinner on a Friday night coming home from work or going to the cinema for a mid-week flick. But I suppose that in the long run we will be able to do that, just for now we will have to give it up for a short time before Mr. Warehouse is back on his feet and financially we are more stable. The fact that I am working two jobs and still struggling with finances I think speaks volumes, but as the British always say, it doesn't rain but always pours and this was certainly true for me this past week. 

Getting in from my driving lesson I helped Mr. Warehouse in preparing dinner and feeding the dog. It was just gone seven in the evening. Settling down I had said to the boyfriend that something didn't feel right and I could sense another bout of Cystitis coming on. Now for those that don't know, Cystitis is a bacterial infection that mainly affects women and causes issues such as retention of urine, burning when urinating or indeed more serious issues to do with your bladder, kidneys and sexual organs. The condition doesn't just make life with the infection annoying and uncomfortable, but for me can go from normal to crippling pain within an hour and this, coupled with the urgent need to pee and the frustration of nothing coming out but still feeling a full bladder, is some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. This is exactly what happened on Thursday night. 

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I had arrived back home from my trip to Southern Ireland when I started to feel the onset of yet another infection and given the fact that I had been suffering from recurrent Cystitis and Thrush Combo's since March I was pretty fed up when I could feel another one coming along. Knowing that if I didn't act soon I would be wanting to claw my insides out with a fork by the time I went to bed, I took some paracetamol and a salt sachet you can buy over the counter and hoped it would clear up in a few days. I didn't even get into a few hours for as the moments were passing sat watching telly with my boyfriend the agony started. Constantly up and down going to the toilet I couldn't bear this much longer and decided to call the doctors whom passed my call through to the local hospital. It was serious now and by the time they told me that a prescription would be waiting for me to collect it at the local Accident and Emergency department I was crying, bent over doubled in pain on my bathroom floor. 

Being in the situation I am, what with no car and a limited income, I asked the doctor who I spoke to about getting the prescription written out so I could collect the tablets at the hospital and he explained that since the Pharmacy shut an hour earlier that I would have to go to an all night stockist. There would be no other option than to get a cab across town to collect the written prescription, then get the cabbie to drive to an all night Pharmacy to collect it and then back home so I could take it. Stressed and unable to deal with the situation and with nowhere else to turn I called my Dad. Reaching out for him to help was something I rarely did, only because I knew he doesn't have a great past record in helping me out when I'm in a pickle. Dialling his number I was sure he could help and as he answered and heard me in floods of tears he asked me to calm down and explain everything. 

After going through all of what I had already tried and expanding on the situation that was in hand I asked for his help. 
"Can you come and collect me and take me to where I need to go, Please Dad?" I said through broken croaks and tears. I was not expecting the response being that he was ready for bed and couldn't help because in his own words 'by the time I come and collect you, the trips could already be made and you would be back home'. He lives under a half-hour from his door to mine, a town down on the train line in Flitwick - Not the next county he would have you believing. I just didn't understand. He was my Dad. He knew the stress I was under with money. He knew the financial situation I was in with Mr. Warehouse and the likes. And yet still he did not help. Nothing. Scared and worried about what was going to happen, Mr. Warehouse had enough of the seeing me in pain and had called a cab already, ushering me into the back of it as I clutched at my abdomen and attempting small talk with my father. 

Sure enough I was up to A&E in no time, over to the Pharmacy and back home within the space of forty-minutes, no thanks to my father of course. A patronising phone call from his girlfriend and a follow-up call in the morning tried to justify his actions but nothing made a difference; I was still out of pocket nearly thirty-quid in taxi fares not to mention the twenty-pound prescription costs! Got to love the NHS and all their charges for working people haven't you. The last conversation ended with my father saying that if I needed any financial help or anything else then just to call him. But correct me if I am wrong, but that is what I had already done, wasn't it? Reached out for help when I needed it the absolute most? And he couldn't be bothered? Why the hell would I ask for anymore help when my Dad has been unable to help in several situations before? 

I have spoken to Miss Tweedle-Dumb and other friends back home and further afield than Flitwick and all of them had scolded me for not coming to them next and asking for their help. I suppose naively I thought my Father would help me. Obviously not. If it was one of his girlfriends niece's, nephews or other family members it would have been a very different scenario. Everything would have been dropped and they would be straight round, helping and rallying around to try and do whats best, but for his own daughter it was lost. Since then I haven't spoken to him and at the movement I just dont want to. He hasn't even apologised or tried to offer a constellation prize for not being there as a Father, nothing! Its too raw for me to speak with him at the moment and need some time to cool off before I speak to him or his girlfriend again. I knew my mother was a piece of work but two crappy parents? Come on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx