On Monday, Baby J burned his hand on the grill whilst I was merrily toasting Raisin Bread as a mid-morning snack for us. It was horrible. It happened in an instant. I was standing right next to him when it happened, just about to scoop him up and shoo him out of the (Open Plan With No Place For Safety Gates) Kitchen. Suddenly he screamed. There was a smell of burning and second later I am calling a cab (quickest mode of transport in the city) to Subiaco for treatment at the local children's Emergency Room.
I had the forethought to pick up Panadol and a box of crackers before the trek down our Riduculously Long Driveway. I also picked up an Ice Pole for him to hold (it's far more appealing to a one year old than a bag of frozen peas) as he fought me for the duration of the "calling the cab phonecall", tooth and nail to yank his arm away from the cold water I insisted on holding his littel fingers under.
Needless to say, there was a wait at the ER, but really, it was totally bearable and frankly, the calmest couple of hours of the day and it gave L Junior chance to munch his way through some of the crackers I had brought. The Panadol kicked in and then all I had to worry about was Other People's Children crying and screaming. Oh, and:
- the fact that whilst we have private medical insurance, we haven't gotten around to aranging Medicare so the cleric was looking at me like an idiot*;
- the fact that I had been neglectful enough to stand next to my one year old son IN THE KITCHEN** and allow for him to be injured;
- the fact that I had no idea how long this hospital trip was likely to take and the Older Boys required collecting from school so as not to add to the case for Social Services***
- and also the fact that the whole incident meant that I was starting to breath shallowly and felt dizzy, with the shock of it all.
Baby J, however is oblivious to all of this and is merrily playing with his big brother in the play area of the waiting room. Nerves of Steel that one.
The day was zipped up nicely by the treatment being some white cream and a bandage until tomorrow when the blisters would be de-roofed (which sounds positively horrible). Queue mad rush for a taxi to deposit me somewhere near OBs' school to collect them a half an hour late (dont' worry, mum, if you are reading this, I called to appologise in advance and they kept them "in the office" with some colouring pencils).
Himself arrives at the School ten minutes after I do to a frosty reception from me; I mean, how dare he take the car****on a day when I was likely to do something so ridiculously stupid. Baby J waves his new white boxing glove around in delight as he sees The Parent Who Would NEVER Let Him Burn Himself On The Grill. Himself is all smiles and placating hugs for me. I am spiky, cold Ms Guilty Knickers as I have finally absorbed the horrors of the day.
Fast Forward to the next morning and I have deposited the three OBs at School and Kindy. It's 8.50am and Baby J and I are driving around and around the one way system that circumnavigates the Hospital of yesterday to attend his 9am Deroofing appointment. The are no buggering parking Spots within miles. I call the Burns department and speak to a Doctor who is lovely and thanks me for bothering to call to say I will be late. Half an Hour later and I am forced to call her again. Still no Parking. She is untroubled, I am mortified. Two and a half hours later, we find an unlikley spot on the most Major of all of the roads that we had been driving along. I call the department. She would be happy to still see Baby J. I am astounded, this is nothing like England where my appointment would have been auctioned to willing bidders at the slightest sniff of me being late.
We are in and out within ten minutes. Job Done.
We find a Coffee Shop on said Major Road and as we duck under the sheltered outdoor seating area, we are just in time to witness the most torrential rain I have ever seen in Australia to date. It was wonderful. After the crap couple of days we had experienced, it was so lovely to sit and watch the big fat droplets of rain drench the pavements, people and cars. Baby J whooped and giggled and I joined in, ignoring the snoots in the (quite posh as it turned out) Coffee Shop. We spent the next hour or so, letting the day run away from us, spilling couscous and coffee down my lap and watching everyone running for cover from the downpour, it was quite magical. Time well spent. The previous traumas were washed away. There was suddenly a familiar odour and at first I thought it was the newly wet pavements, the way that London smells when it is wet. No. It was Baby J. Time to leave for the dry comforts of home. So we did.
* which of course I am, but that's not her look-out
** seriously what was I thinking?
*** I am being trite, incase that need to be pointed out
**** we are waiting for his brand spanky new one to arrive
3 comments:
oh dear i hope he's ok now, what a brave boy!
london really does stink when it's wet doesn't it.. but i just love the rain- i love the sound and the smell of it (when not in london)- in fact as silly as it sounds, i think God is in the rain.
beautiful writing as ever femme. (and i'm ok, thank you for you concern). x
Been there done that. Spent many an hour in casualty with ill or injured children. Now I sound like the bad parent!
With all the love you have, you cannot wrap them in cotton wool 24/7. Bad things just sometimes happen. Be glad it was not worse. You sound like a fantastic mum, they are lucky to have someone who cares.
Been there. Done that. Will do that again.
Heart goes out to you!
Post a Comment