The Dreaded Call

With my husband away, I have had a simple routine in place with everything finely (ish) tuned (or precariously balanced) to run smoothly. I have been praying everything stays that way and nothing goes wrong that throws my routine.  That means every time I get a call from one of the children’s schools my anxiety levels go through the roof.  Usually its to do with topping up dinner money or a reminder of some sort.  But yesterday I got a call at work to come and pick up Little Man as he had hurt his foot playing football.

I panicked a little and tried to work out if I should take the bus to his school, take my heavy laptop with me and log on from home or get someone to pick him up for me.  In the end, thankfully my dad picked him up and took him home.

I left work early hoping it was just a twisted ankle and called 111 to check what I should do.  They advised we should go to emergency.  At this point, I didn’t really want to go because it didn’t look too serious and I knew a trip to A&E would be hours long.  I thought it was better not to take a chance and ended up taking him, dad-in-law in tow as he wanted to help out.

As predicted we ended up spending about five hours sitting around waiting to be seen and finally got an x-ray, only to find that it wasn’t a sprain but a fracture.  Poor kid ended up needing a cast and crutches and will be off school for now.

My dad was awesome and picked us from the hospital and has offered to pick and drop him to and from school when he is ready to go back.  He is bored at home already, after one day.  I am due to take him to fracture clinic for kids in a week, on the same day as my dad-in-law’s hearing test helpfully, I might as make the most of my leave from work.