Spoon of Doom...

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So the day was skipping along nicely.  

Friends Keith and Mairi popped in for brunch and a lovely catch up.  David got a pile of stuff into the loft.  We admired the new plants in the garden.  I got some more Christmas shopping done.  I managed to find the time to read this week's lesson on the flower photography course (but didn't manage to take any photos) and we looked forward to some venison steaks for dinner with a nice glass of red wine.  Just to give Alan his dinner (so pleased he's eating his potatoes again) then we can enjoy ours.

Potatoes and roast beef was his dinner choice.  Off to a good start then five minutes in, this happens.  Alan decides the spoon is just as delicious as his potatoes and bites the end off and swallows it with a mouthful of dinner.  Oh dear.  Not to worry, it will just pass through.  Oh wait.  He's had an ileostomy.  How will that pass through his stoma?  Oh.  

Phone call to NHS 24.  Nurse called back.  She reassured us that his stomach acid would deal with it and it would pass without problem.  Phew. Then she followed that up with "but keep an eye on him for signs of blockage, pain, high temperature and general feeling unwell."  Oh.

At 10.30pm he was dancing in his sitting room to Abba and laughing his head off, not a care in the world.  We, on the other hand, put the corkscrew away, the lovely bottle of red back in the wine fridge and enjoyed the venison with a glass of water.