Casualty

What a day! Remember my broken mirror? Well the bad luck keeps on coming.

Yesterday Master Grumpy decided to spend the afternoon at the skate park with his friends, skateboarding. He assured me he’d be careful and would like to be collected in 7 hours... aah, some freedom, all I have to do is check in with him every half hour to make sure he’s ok and not mugging old ladies. So imagine my surprise when after just 3 hours he calls and asks to be collected as he’s hurt his wrist. Now, being the mother of 2 proper boys has meant that over the years you sort of learn when something is serious or not. You’d think. I assured him it was just a sprain and he’d be fine, pumped him with paracetamol and thought no more of it.

Until this morning when he woke earlier than usual complaining of pain in his hand, of course I assured him, once again, it would be fine, strapped it up and told him to get off to football and quit moaning. By the time he’d had his shower and I’d finished dressing him, I finally conceded that there may be a problem, so off we went to casualty. 

Here’s where the fun begins, it’s a bloggers dream! Let’s face it, you know you’re going to be in there for hours, three and a half to be precise, and you also know you’re going to be surrounded by misery and mayhem. Just to make it more interesting, today was the Great Eastern Run, so as well as all the usual bumps, lumps and bleeds, we had people trying to run a marathon after training by running to the shops for booze and ciggies for the last two weeks. It was lovely. We booked in and I immediately scanned the room for the worst injury, another teenager holding their arm, an old man hobbling, a boy with an egg protruding from his head, mmm, bit boring, no blood, apart from the large splatter on the ceiling, would love to know how that got there. At this point I thought that I might have to make up stories for tonight’s blog, apart from the two Polish chaps that seemed unable to peel their eyes from my chest that is, when a large black lady came and sat next to me. Thankfully, she chose to speak to the people on my left and we were spared, but what a story. She had a large dressing on her foot and when the other woman asked what she’d done, boy did she have a story! I think she may have exaggerated a little as I could see no evidence of blood but apparently she’d been using a very sharp knife to peel hard skin from her foot, when she’d slipped and gouged straight in to the flesh on her ankle! I nearly choked on my milky way! I actually did try and crane my neck for a better view but her foot was slightly obscured by her flowing skirt.

So sadly, the excitement I’d hoped for was pretty non-existent, the Polish men still stared at my boobs, the child who’d had her fingers slammed in the door by her mother still cried and Master Grumpy managed to wangle a McDonalds out of me for not realising he had a broken scaphoid in his hand and will be in plaster for the next two weeks. As I said, seven years bad luck? Bring it on, we’re ready!