Taking a break after lugging a nine-year-old by piggyback to school.
During her stay with my parents, Little Miss Fluff took a tumble and ended up in the local Accident & Emergency department. Sent home with a bandaged foot and crutches, she has been varying between heroic battling onwards, and lying on the settee emitting loud sighs with pathetic, lost-kitten moans.
I have to say, if she’d been with me, I ‘d have taken a look at the foot, decided it looked ok and taken her home. I may have put a bandage on it myself, but I’d never have made the fatal mistake of making a fuss…
Poor little Fluff. When she was a very little girl she was very seriously ill and had to stay in the hospital without me (still breaks my heart thinking about it), and ever since has been rather anxious whenever she has an injury, which she is rather prone to, as a professional Household Furniture Gymnast.
One of the most often heard phrases in our house is “please don’t use the furniture to do gymnastics!”
Yesterday, while we were walking with Fluff and her crutches to get home from school, a mother tried to get past us with her son, who misjudged the space and caught his foot on Fluff’s crutch just when she had her weight on it. Of course she came crashing down. I don’t think the mother spoke English, but she didn’t say anything.
That’s not racist, is it? I was just thinking that if it was me, even if I didn’t speak the language, I’d be apologising profusely in my own language. Still, Eastern Europe is a very different place – maybe if you did that you’d get something you didn’t wish for in return? I’ve heard people are more friendly here. Who knows?
The boy just stood there with a stricken look on his face as I gently lifted Fluff to her feet. When he said sorry for the third time, I lifted my eyes, gave him a kind smile and told him it was ok. I then had to try to get three children home, one with Autism and the common sense of a hedgehog, one with suspected Asperger’s, plus one injured Fluff, whom I usually rely on as The Sensible One. As Fluff was genuinely crying and trembling at this point, and refusing to even try to walk using the crutches, I took her school bag and handed it to her brother, along with my umbrella, gave the crutches to her sister, and hefted Fluff onto my back.
She’s not a weighty lass by any means, but I’m not big myself.
So, she was doing the sighing, kitten-thing again this morning, and demanding, in Oscar-winningly pathetic tones, to be taken back to the doctor. This was eventually remedied by a phone call from Auntie Alice, my sister, the Paediatric Registrar. How lucky am I to have a Paediatric Registrar on the other end of the phone?!
Count your blessings, name them one by one, tra la laaa
But Fluff was still slow getting ready after a spot of lunch, and eventually, once we’d made it a few metres down the street, I gave the crutches and schoolbag to young Mr. Prince, (who finally starts school Monday – nearly seven weeks after he left his previous school – formal complaint is in progress) and heaved her onto my back again.
After valiantly managing to get her there, drop her off, sign her in and [try not to] hobble back home, here am I sitting, taking a breather, writing this blog post.
The moral of this story: never take your injured would-be Katherine Hepburn to A&E <sigh, tremble, sigh> and always have a Paediatric Registrar auntie on the other end of the phone 😉