Last week’s column was a little self-indulgent as it was about losing a close member of our family, my dog.

But I received a fair bit of feedback from readers telling me that the column reminded them of their family pet, which I found quite rewarding.

It was a tough week but there was a lighter side to it — well sort of, anyway.

Not only did the family pet exit this world on Tuesday night, my other old mate, the wife, was booked to go to hospital the next morning, so my stress level was pretty high.

Looking back, the events highlighted just how different people really are.

Take Sheila for instance.

A couple of weeks ago she rang me at work and casually asked what I was doing during the second week of September, and when I answered “not much apart from footy” she then proceeded to tell me that she had to go to hospital for an operation.

Of course I slipped straight into panic mode. I was told firmly that it wasn’t serious, that she would be in hospital a few days and the reason she didn’t tell me earlier was to prevent me panicking.

Now, if the boot was on the other foot and it was me going to hospital, there would be fanfare.

Everyone would know about it and no matter what the surgery entailed, it would be serious – at least to me anyway.

But this wasn’t the case for the better half and she slipped into Selangor quietly and had me of the belief that the operation was routine and everything would return to normal when she came home.

Liar, liar pants on fire.

But hell arrived before that because at home, for me to look after, were a number of birds, fish and one heart-broken dog missing her partner.

I was also left two lists of daily chores, one of which was an explanation of how to do the other.

Now some of this was beyond me and I had to enlist help and Cheryl the “bird expert” came to my rescue, thank God.

I had a big few days, taking into account I had to also “work” and fit in a few visits to the hospital where my wife lay in the decaying health system — not!

Tucked up in bed, being waited on hand and foot with her most difficult task pushing the remote button, either to change the TV channel or summon service. Tough going, hey?

She was so comfortable in hospital and I was so stressed on my own that on one night she rang me she said: “You sound so busy, don’t bother coming up tonight.”

Sounded good until I pressed a bit further and found out that she had picked all her TV shows for the night and didn’t want to be interrupted.

So I went anyway.

When it came time for Sheila to come home, I was all excited – until given the “list”.

No driving for at least three weeks, no lifting – which translated to no grocery shopping – no vacuuming. It just went on and on.

Now vacuuming and driving, while minor inconveniences, are not a problem. Grocery shopping though is a whole other world of hurt.

I can’t be trusted to go by myself, apparently, so the other night I was supervised up and down every aisle (they do that “because they might see something they need”) and punctuated by being asked do I want this or that. I answered no to everything until we reached the aisle with the Panadol.

After an hour or so I felt like someone was driving nails into my forehead.

A week down the track Sheila is improving — health wise not attitude — and I might add I have the staff at Selangor and Dr Ted to thank for the queen-style treatment.

But I do have one complaint.

Since she has returned she has done a lot more tut-tutting and shaking of the head at my inept attempts to look after her, which merely highlights how spoilt she was in hospital.

Seriously though, thanks to the staff at Selangor.

I have made light of things but I do appreciate the way you cared for Sheila.

And maybe I can come up and get one of you to come shopping with me, because then, apparently, things will be right.