Well, what an exciting weekend it's been for our raving reporter. Here's a (mercifully) brief update:

Saturday - I spend most of the day attending to my sister, who has unexplained abdominal pain of the complete fucking agony variety. This is put down to IBS and the stress caused by an unstable parent, who accused my sister of plotting against her with ex-husband the day before. Ultimately, the person I end up feeling most sorry for is myself, as I have a slight hangover, which, although never reached the complete fucking agony stage, hovers around the generally unpleasant level for most of the day.

The self-pitying is pushed up a notch by the fact that my boyfriend and I have managed to last 2 whole years, to the very day, and we were planning an evening of indulgence. However, we end up taking my sister to casualty, and the best we could manage was sharing a bag of Maltesers. We were finally relieved of duties at 1am, when my sister's boyfriend came to take over the watch, but by then all we wanted was a cup of tea that didn't taste exactly like the plastic cup that contained it.

Sunday - started at 5.30am, when I receive a call to tell me that my sister is being kept in with suspected appendicitis. Sleep after this is impossible, so I get up and do something useful. I watch the telly.

Made it up to the hospital by 10 and spend the next four hours reassuring her that having your appendix removed is an experience akin with plucking your eyebrows. Funnily enough, she doesn't seem entirely convinced, but then the nurse comes in to tell her that they don't think it's her appendix anyway, but doesn't offer an alternative explanation. This means she can now spend the rest of they day dreaming up all the new and horrible disorders she might have.

I am so relieved when my dad and brother turn up to take over that I almost (almost) offer to give the woman in the next cubicle the bed bath she's been demanding all morning.

At 10pm, sister is discharged, still undiagnosed, and told to come back the next day for a scan. We end the day watching Alan Partridge and discussing how easy it would be to get my dad sectioned. This is the most fun part of the entire weekend.

Monday - My dad has been talking about the parking situation in Brighton since he arrived. When we gave up and went to bed, I suspect he phoned a local radio station to continue his monologue. Anyway, he's busy nipping out every two hours to move the car to a new spot, and paying three pounds for the priviledge! Never mind, he won't have to worry about this sort of thing when he's been sectioned.

My sister finally gets a call to say she has an appointment at 5pm. She makes it home by 10, having been sent to the wrong department, lost on the system and told all the wrong things by all the wrong doctors. She begins to suspect that the cleaner made the initial diagnosis. They still don't know what's wrong with her, but they hope antibiotics will make the pain, and her, go away.