I Can't Blame the Westies for Everything…

But I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting on the couch buried beneath three adoring and adorable doggies and, except for rubbing Westie heads and tummies, not getting very much else done.  Mind you, on the upside I am totally de-stressed, to the point of being virtually horizontal a lot of the time.  Maybe it's the influence of the three little fluff balls or maybe it is the Spanish way of life slowly seeping into me and rendering me über-relaxed.  

I can't blame them for everything, but one little…...

two little…..

three little cuties, make it very hard to say no!

Unfortunately this leads me to forget some important things – lucky I write lists! 

For example, this morning, I had to go to the Centro de Salud (Health Centre) to give a blood sample.  Why?  Oh I have a lesser-known condition called Prolactinoma.  It affects me hardly at all now that I am older, but was the cause of some sadness when I wanted to have more children.  The tumour, which grows on your pituitary gland, causes your prolactin levels to rise affecting your ability to ovulate.  I did not ovulate or menstruate for twenty years after giving birth to Kate. That is one of the effects.  Another is that I have always maintained a goodly supply of milk.  Useful I suppose if there is anybody looking for a wet nurse and fun for playing fountains at bath-time.  Oddly I started to menstruate again about seven years ago. The effect that concerns me slightly now is the fact that if your tumour grows any bigger it can lead to blindness, as it sits dangerously close to the optic nerve.  So every year, well, now every year and a half, I have to go for a brain scan and blood test and general review of the tumour and my prolactin levels.  In the last three or four years my prolactin levels have gone up and down but the tumour has not grown.  However, irritatingly it is still there.  In my whole life I have only ever met one other person with this condition and nobody else I have spoken to has ever heard of it.

So, this morning, I had to go for a blood extraction.  I had with me my document from the department of endocrinology which I had carefully filed on my whiteboard with my appointment slip.  All good or so I thought, until I walked through the doors of the health centre.  I hate that health centre, it is the raspberry seed in my wisdom tooth, the burr in my pad, the fly in the ointment, my nemesis even, you name it, it gets on my nerves because I have yet to conquer it.  Something always goes wrong when I go there.  When you go initially to make your appointment there are three desks to get passed.  One is usually unmanned so the queue grows ever longer.  You take a number and wait your turn.  There may be one half-decent civil servant behind one of the desks who retains some part of him or her that is still human, but invariably when my number is called I get 'dragon lady' or 'irritable man'.  Immediately my tongue dries in my head, my hands start to sweat and shake and every word of Spanish flies out of my head.  This time it took me two trips just to make the appointment as I had neglected to bring my analysis form from the clinic in Malaga on my first trip.

This morning just as I entered the health centre I remembered my health card.  This little bit of magic that took me five years to acquire was sitting on my desk in the office with my passport and credit card and NIE number, all together in my passport folder.  They were waiting to book my flights to Ireland, but we are all hoping that the fares may drop a bit before pouncing.  So it was not in plain view on the kitchen counter or even in my handbag already, where it usually resides.  I thought of going back home, but that would have rendered me late for my appointment and I could not bear that option either, so I ploughed onward and queued to get my little blood vials and labels.  "Health card" the dragon lady barked at me. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed inwardly" "I'm sorry I forgot it at home.  It's with my passport and…" "Passport will do" she said.  "No, I don't have that either, sorry.  I can go home to collect it" I stammered, "I can be back in 15 minutes."  She glared at me and her colleague tapped into her computer.  "Where were you born?" The slightly kinder colleague asked.  "You were born in Ireland" I said, immediately kicking myself for a) forgetting a simple Spanish conjugation and b) telling an untruth.  I was born in England, but am an Irish citizen hence the confusion in my own head at times.  Anyway, sometimes it is just not worth explaining.

I know I left my Health Card here somewhere

So I left the health centre with my usual red face and bad humour.  Inside my head I was repeating all the things I had wanted to say in perfect Spanish.  Easy when you are not put under the pressure of an inquisition.  I was also down a goodly bit of blood, I thought the nurse had been a small bit liberal with his blood letting, so I was very thirsty as well.

I passed several likely bars on the way home, but decided to hurry on and get out of the glare of everybody who surely knew by now what an idiot I had been, yet again, in the health centre.  A cup of tea will be lovely when I get in, I thought.

When I got home I got the usual greeting from the three Westies.  Looki springing up on his hind legs in an attempt to lick my face.  Kerry weaving her way towards me and then past me to get a sneaky sniff of the outdoors through the iron gate at the front of the house, already carefully locked behind me. Candy creeping towards me with her little tongue out and her tail wagging madly as she curls her little body in and out of a sort of 'c' shape much like a fish struggling on a fishing line.  Only she is not struggling she is just overwhelmingly in love with me.

"Let's put the kettle on" I say to them.  Which I do and then adjourn to the living room while I wait for it to boil.  I sit on the couch and three furry doggies pile on top of me.  One to the left, another on the right, propped up on the cushions and the third, without any preamble,  just jumps straight into my lap.  My hands automatically cradle and stroke them and miraculously my tension and stress drift away.

Westies, great for destressing