I’ve just spent 4 hours at Mona Vale Hospital and all we got was a lousy bandage:
a letter to our GP and a dead syringe I snaffled from his Panadol:
The reason for this delightful evening, when the one I had planned involved lying on the lounge wwatching the cricket, going to bed by 9pm (because of two consecutive nights of being woken THREE times by different offspring or relatives) and basically preparing myself for Jasper’s first session at daycare tomorrow was obviously not good enough was because:
– we spent today with our friends the Doodles because we haven’t caught up properly since Christmas and we can go and hang at their house for 8 hours without having to be a show home family
– all the boys played soccer as this weekend is prime soccer enrolment time (note the cheerleading uniform on injured child who, when asked if he wanted to play this season said no, he wanted to watch, he wanted to stand on the side and cheer “go waa-waa, go waa-waa” (what he calls Felix)) and Oscar got hit in the hand by the ball
– Oscar had a swollen finger which at first I was worried was broken, but because he could move it through the joints and recovered and was using it in play etc I figured it was badly bruised
– but naturally, when we got home, within minutes of the boys charging upstairs, Mum was charging down saying – “so he cracked his finger then” and really, if the maternal guilt of discovering days later your child does have a broken bone when you basically told them to get over it isn’t bad enough, being proven wrong by your mother is enough to send you to the local sub-standard public hospital.
So, four hours, four x-rays and a gagillion “no mores”, “no now”, “I wa iblok”, “I wa iblok now” a very hungry (because by GOD if he needed to have it set I wasn’t sleeping at the FRIGGIN hospital with him waiting until he had an empty stomach for them to operate), anxious and tired boy was finally taken home.
This is the boy who was actually USING the finger before we went to the hospital but now is so rigid through the entire arm it’s like legoman has possessed him. And the bandage, is meant to be on for 4-5 days.
If it lasts until school tomorrow it will be miraculous. This is, afterall, the child who can’t stand having a good happy STICKER on his hand, the child to whom a bandaid might as well be a signifier of leprosy. He can hardly WALK with a bandage on his HAND.
In other news…:
Chef’s parents have gone away on another SAD/SKI* tour which means they’ll miss Oscar’s birthday in two weeks. So they gave him part of his present today – a homemade Batman costume (with batwings and weird psychedelic Bat motif)
how much is my heart hurting tonight?
* SAD/SKI = See Australia and Die/Spend Kids Inheritance