Big fat rainbow vs big fat clot



Behold: Mummy has an owie. The nurse at our GP bandaged it today and was aghast I hadn’t gone to the hospital when I did it last night. I was like, dude, I wasn’t even going to come to the GP with it except I have this ankle issue. So much blood. SO PAINFUL. Mummy went a little woozy.

I’m feeling a little fragile tonight. Stuff with Felix, failed DIY projects, fights with family members, moving the house from one end of the house to the other. Then the ankle, the thumb and now the finger. And the tetanus shot.

The doctor is concerned about the ankle. It is ‘highly unusual’ for bruising with such an injury to go up the leg. I’m really hoping this doesn’t fall into the ‘highly unusual’ category that we were in when Oscar’s pregnancy went to hell in a handbasket. I have to have an ultrasound to check I don’t have a blood clot. I have to get it x-rayed to check I haven’t cracked/chipped the bone.

This was meant to happen this afternoon, but I was (FINALLY) meeting someone – M, a friend – who I met on Twitter, then discovered we were also connected through K and now have a total girl crush on. We were meeting on the other side of town.

I kind of TOTALLY forgot about getting back for the x-ray and scan. I had this weird thought in my head to keep an eye on the time but would then dismiss it because Chef was home and had it all in hand. Then, 15 minutes before I was meant to be there I remembered. WHOOPS.

Now I’m meant to be going tomorrow afternoon at 3.15 but K has a surprise trip to Sydney with my god-daughter in tow and I am their designated driver for the day. AND we’re hooking up with M in the morning.

Tomorrow is  like getting smacked in the head with a big fat rainbow for me and there’s no way I’m missing it or diluting it with stupid scans and the like.

Take that stupid body.






When I was at school I was profoundly accident prone. If someone was going to trip over, fall down stairs, fall up stairs, walk into a wall, slam a finger in a door or cut themselves I was your girl.

In the summer holidays heading into Year 4 I broke my arm roller-skating. This was the second time I’d broken my arm, the first being at around 2 1/2-3 when I was trying to climb up the rope ladder to our cubby house and my brother was coming down. My brother won that round.

In Year 7 I slipped over in the playground and put a metal stake through my foot, narrowly missing the tendon. If I’d done that then I could have called this blog Floppy Foot!

The day after getting off crutches I slipped off a chair I was running over (I know, I know, WHAT! We were 13 years old!) and gouged out part of my eyebrow. More stitches.

The following year (I think) I came off a motorbike in the paddock of a friend’s farm, showing off to the other girls who had also come to stay. Apart from damaging my hand (hitting a fence-post) and having some wicked friction burns on my legs (flying along the ground) I caught my lip on the barbed wire fence. More stitches.

It probably had a lot to do with mum getting my eyes checked in Year 9.

I am, by all accounts, a complete and utter klutz. That I never dropped one of our children when they were wee is evidence that miracles can happen.

So while some of my penchant for accidents has abated over the years, every now and then I like to relive the memories. Take this last week for instance:

Exhibit A – the ankle:

Yes, that is bruising all the way up my leg. I rolled my ankle Saturday a week ago. It still hurts like a bastard and the bruising is nothing if not spectacular. All the way down to my pinky, all around the ankle and all the way around my leg to half-way up my calf. Mum is convinced I have cracked or chipped a bone. Note to self: x-ray this week.


It’s disconcerting when the only part of my I can term ‘thin’ – my ankles – are not complying.


Exhibit B  – the thumb:

This is what your thumb looks like when about five Ikea Ivar shelves collapse onto it. From a height. Also? Hurts like a bastard.


Exhibit C – the left pointer:

This is what my left pointer finger looks like after it came off second best to a furi knife cutting up parsley (to be tossed with the Brussel Sprouts I was sautéing in some butter). Be grateful I’m not posting a pic of the pinky-finger-sized piece of flesh and nail I retrieved from the parsley. You always know you’ve done a right job when the blood comes pouring through the band-aids for hours after the event. Yup, hurts like a bastard.


So that’s three right?


Let us not talk of the pin-head-sized nick on Chef’s dodgy leg (just up and a little to the left of The Skin Graft) that this morning bled PROFUSELY – like SPURTING – which had me needing a good lie down and some fresh air. Although that could have been my shock as normally when I’m summoned to the bedroom by Chef it’s to marvel at his big huge bedshark NOT a bath sheet SOAKED in blood. Surprise!





The angst update and other stuff

Well, we met with Felix’s teacher last night. She is just lovely and of course, I’d fallen hook line and sinker for Felix’s penchant for melodrama. He is behind where he should be for his age in literacy (although how these things are determined still highly irritate me) but it’s not nearly as bad as Mum made out at the end of last year or Felix made out earlier in the week.
I came home, reassured him he was not doing easier work than anyone else in the class and that we just needed to practice some sheets and he’d be as good as gold. He seems to have picked up again, but I know that incident on Monday night will be relived many times over between now and when he does his HSC.

In other news, the complete dorkiness of the Sydney public was on display on Tuesday night when many of us flocked into the city to see two big liners in town, together, for the first time since WW2. It was living proof we as a people would turn up to the opening of an envelope, or even the opening of junk mail if there were fireworks.
Anyway, Chef and the boys came in – it took them almost two hours to make a 50 minute trip.
We went out to dinner. Only one plate got shattered on the floor. The big boys were the epitomy of great kids in a restaurant. They sat, they stayed seated, they weren’t too loud and we all talked to each other like, I don’t know, normal people? We had very good Italian food. Yum.
We wandered around in the sea of people wandering around looking at the QE2. The Queen Mary was berthed too far away for little people on little legs and a mother with a very.expanding.girth.
Then we went up onto the roof of my work and watched fireworks. Yey!
Good times.
I’d post the photos I took but I just can’t be bothered.
Current foods of craving:
Tonic water
Fizzy anything – I’ve even said to myself “gee I feel like a Coke”. I do not drink that black hideousness, so this has come as quite a shock.
Anything fried
the ham and cheese croissants from the French Patisserie near work – mind you, I’ve only indulged this once mind you as OH.MY.GOD the expansion program is already breathtaking, I don ‘t need to move it to alarming.
Fruit fruit and more fruit
Oscar is in hospital tomorrow for another round of botox in his legs. I say another round but he’s been very lucky. Normally CP kids need it every six months, his first dose has lasted him almost two years.
Anyway, we held off telling him as he gets very anxious about a) going b)having the mask on his face and c) the lack of understanding time means if we tell him too early all we get is him asking (hand over his mouth as the anaesthetic mask) “now?”
So when I told him tonight, it became pretty obvious to me that going to hospital for an almost-9-year-old is very different to a 7 year old. He actually said “yes” on the not going to school and punched.the.air. when I said he’d have to have the mask to put him to sleep.
Go figure.