Mag has not been well. He was sick unexpectedly during last week and then he was ‘ok‘. On Saturday he was quite poorly, had a sore belly and was sick so we all assumed he had a tummy bug. The scary thing is on Saturday night I had a dream that Mag died – my instinct was screaming at me to get him seen to. Sunday morning Roy left very early to get a flight to Scotland – so leaving me alone with 4 children including one with a suspected tummy bug. I wanted to lie in but could not settle for worrying about Mag.
So I got up early that morning to check on him and discovered a very ill Mag. He just looked awful and his tummy was hard. Long story short I got the three kids farmed out to the neighbours …and we went off to the local hospital (all before 9am!).
I ‘knew’ by then what was wrong. The doctor examined him and looked at me, I said “is it what I think it is?” He nodded and gave us a referral letter for the Ulster Hospital.
He was getting iller (if there is a word) by the minute and they couldn’t even give him any pain relief. In the end he got onto the surgical ward and eventually after 20 million consent forms etc he got into theatre. He was so ill by then they had to slide him on the bed with one of those roller blanket things like they have on the TV. I stayed with him until he was unconscious from the anaesthetic. Mag had a hole in his appendix, the operation took two hours. He was very lucky boy another few hours and he would have been dead.