Post 251: A Christmas Day visit to A&E ruined my day.
I looked at my watch and there was plenty of time sure enough, but also a message notification from Big Sis:
“Just left home, be with you soon.”
With that I stood up and said to everyone,
“My sister’s on her way, we had better get a shift on.”
The fact that both our boys and their significant others and my Darling and I were happily chatting away in “Spoons” in the town center, and the three girls had just started the second bottle of Prosecco which was in the ice bucket keeping cool on this very cold day.
We grabbed the nearly new bottle and the girl’s scoffed the dregs in the glasses, then headed out into the biting wind and we all were driven home safely.
We got back into our warm home, found some room in the fridge and placed the bottle of fizz inside, and everyone grabbed a hot or cold drinks just as Big Sis arrived with her bags of wonder.
After a few hellos and hugs we all settled into the lounge using every available seat and spun some records while the “old fireplace” on Netflix blazed away on the huge TV.
Our youngest was finding presents under the well-packed tree for the unwrapping ceremony. There’s always a surprise at this point, and before Gerry Rafferty found his way down Baker Street — there sure was a big one today.
But first I should mention yesterday’s good bad news.
I had been stronger lately in terms of being a cry-baby and the tissue box had been getting dusty, but that ended with an email from the County Council about the Blue Badge application that went something like this:
“Dear Mr U,
Can you complete the application by making a payment using the link below…”
OMG!
It’s Christmas Eve and I have successfully got myself a Blue Badge.
Tears burst out of my eyes, the mobile screen blurred with torrents of salty water, and I didn’t know if I was happy or sad to be honest.
Happy that I can soon wield my licence to park in those big spaces close to wherever I’m going, and sad that I’ve now become a card-carrying old git.
It wasn’t until I paid the £10 that I settled down and got over myself, but then my Darling came into the room to tell me she was off to get even more food for the big day. When I told her the news about the Blue Badge, another deluge came rolling down my cheeks, momentarily stopping the shopping expedition and earning me a massive warm kiss and cuddle.
I was crying all day when I thought of it — the physical reminder that I have proof I’m officially ill and need to take more care.
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Well, back to the clock and the remains of the fabulous tune Baker Street.
I had received a present from my youngest, who was cheerily handing out the first few gifts. When I opened it, there was a beautiful slate clock inscribed with a beautiful personal note, and after thanking both G and G I disappeared to the kitchen to place it on the wall where its predecessor used to live.
This is where it got interesting.
After trying unsuccessfully a few times to hook the mechanism on the back of the slate onto the existing screw in the wall — quite high up, I might add — I decided to cut my losses. There was nothing else for it; I would have to get a chair. There were eight of them around the beautifully dressed table. Easy peasy.
I slid the nearest white chair towards me, spun it round, and pushed it up to the cabinet and worktop below the screw.
Earlier this morning and yesterday I had tested my weak legs and arms by standing on that same chair to hang cards on a string nailed up high, just under the coving. It’s been there for years, but my ability to climb chairs has diminished with the horrible chemo sessions.
So back to the kitchen.
I now had the height to hang the clock and get it safely away from harm.
I only wish that was true of me too.
I wriggled and strained, slipped the clock this way and that, and eventually gave up. The cute little mechanism had a hole for hanging but it was too small for the screw.
Damn and blast.
I decided I’d lost the battle and, still standing on the chair with my six-foot body stretched toward the ceiling, placed the clock carefully on the worktop below the old faithful screw.
I needed a smaller-headed screw. Then I’d succeed.
I stepped back.
My foot went down — but I couldn’t feel the floor.
Bang.
Crash.
The hardwood floor rushed up and first hit my bum on the right-hand side, then hit the top of my head, after my right elbow refused to help.
B’jesus. Ouch.
I immediately knew I was in a spot of bother — but the clock was okay.
No sooner had I squeaked for help, with no one but a dead turkey to witness my tragic fall in here. Then there was a rush of feet and voices from the lounge. They heard the painful bang crash! After a confusion of suggestions, Young G and Big Sis got me onto a chair and dug a little deeper into what had happened.
After transferring myself to the lounge and dozing for an hour with a hot water bottle on my right side lower back, I remembered some first Aid:
“If anyone on anticoagulation hits their head, they should get it checked immediately.”
I voiced this just-remembered first aid and Young G had already rung 111.
Before long I was handed the phone, answered the questions, and was told to wait for a doctor to call within the hour.
I was feeling okay apart from a bruised coccyx and a small bump on my head. No blood. Lucky as hell but a bit embarrassed.
Long story short: within an hour I was in A&E. After a CT scan of my head and an X-ray of my bum, I was released three hours later with a clean bill of health.
Wonderful.
We returned home, reheated Christmas lunch from G and I, and after eating the nut—roast roast, the long-awaited Christmas meringue was shared out, and everything returned to normal.
Poor Young G missed his dinner, having driven me there and back and stayed the whole time, all because of me. Blood fool me.
With a sizeable chunk of Christmas Day lost to my unbelievably lucky accident, it wasn’t long before some guests said their goodbyes.
A memorable Christmas Day, celebrated in some style — but with a heavy heart for Teddy, his widow, and children.
We now wait for the post-mortem before dates for the wake and funeral are released. We only hope it’s not the 31st December — Kev’s birthday.
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I hope you had a wonderfully uneventful Christmas Day, filled with laughter and love.
Good night all.
