I hate this city...and I think it hates me back...

Yesterday was not a good day. Heck, today is not a good day either. Depends on what perspective I'm looking at I guess. Michael got stabbed last night. Some kid grabbed his phone and he decided in his alcohol driven stupor that it was a good idea to chase after the hoodie. He got the kid by the shirt, the kid threatened to stab him and he thought that was that. When he got back to our flat he was telling me what happened and as he took off his top shirt there was blood everywhere. I can't explain what kind of panic set it, or what freak out actually means until you're there. I remained calm on the outside but my insides turned into jelly. It's like wanting to scream and knowing that it won't do you any good. The wound didn't look too deep but it was just weeping. By the time we realized that he'd been stabbed we were done calling the police and reported the theft. We called the cab to go hospital but by the time the cab came the paramedics were already here. There were a couple of police officers taking statements and it was all so surreal. The things that popped into my head were...

1. The flat is a mess what must they think?
2. Oh my god I have underwear lying around.
3. Why didn't I wash the dishes before going to bed?
4. They must think we're chavs.
5. If they see my husband's weed we're doomed.
6. They must think I'm a refugee from China.
7. I want to cry but I don't want to seem like a blubbering idiot.

It's true...when you're in a stressful situation you end up thinking about the zaniest things. Case in point...who the hell cares if you're underwear is on display when you're husband's trying to explain to the police how he got mugged and stabbed in the process? I just can't get that image of my underwear hanging on display for all the paramedics to see.

After all that hoo ha the paramedic guy took us for a ride to the hospital. My husband then decided it was a good time for a little chit chat. *Honey? Have you ever been on the inside of an ambulance?* *Are the ambulances in the Philippines as complete as this?* Now, I know he was just trying to calm me down but it was just not the time to engage me mindless banter. Breathe deep...relax...calm down.

We got to the hospital and waited...and waited...and waited... I finally found a Filipina nurse and talked to her about Mike. She was kind enough to call one of the doctors who were too busy to spare a few minutes. She poked and prodded the wound and told us that it didn't seem like it was anything to worry about. And then we waited again. You know that feeling where you want to freak out just to get someone's attention but you know it won't really do you any good? The thought of grabbing one of the nurses and holding them hostage until my husband was seen was just running around in my head. After 1 hour this bitch doctor comes in and promptly says to us... *You just cost the council 500 pounds to take you to the hospital in an ambulance. You should've taken a cab if you felt fit enough to do so.* Right. Bedside manner...zero. We had a cab...the paramedic said they'll take us to the hospital instead. What do I do? Be a hero and say no we can manage? She poked my husband for a bit and left to do something more important. After 15 minutes she came back and said everything was ok. I asked her how to stop the bleeding and she rolled her eyes. *It's just a small wound. Just put plaster on it. OH ALL RIGHT I'LL GIVE YOU SOME PLASTER* Great...don't sound too concerned now. After all it's just your job. Damn bitch doctor.

We took a cab home, but not before Michael puked his guts out. I was starting to feel panic again by this point. Why was he vomiting? Was it because of the alcohol or something else? He got up at the middle of the night and puked some more. Graphic details not included.

Today there were 2 detectives who came to the house. They called in advance to tell us they were in the area and would be stopping by. That's more like it, call before you actually come so I can sort out my underwear.