sifting through accidents.

when you have children, accidents happen, sometimes the CHILDREN are THE accident, something i always refer to as a 'happy surprise'. Quite a lot of woman have those, or at least one in my case.

When you have four children, and one with a few allergies, a accident with one, means your eye is not always on the allergic child. That's when the risk of a allergic reaction rises.

one such accident happened a few years ago, when my children were young, cute , happy, and certainly more rewarding than my current now much older children.
Who are all now driven by hormones, hate , and the bitter gall of the mess the 'old people' ( yes, thats me) have made of the plant.
I dont get any brownie points for mentioning the use of terry cloth nappies for two of them, mainly because i still use them for mopping the kitchen floor. It didnt go down at all well when I waved one of them under his girlfriends nose, explaining that he loved wearing them.
I suppose it did spoil his current image of a more tidy guitar playing Russell Brand.

anyway, my 2 and bit daughter took a few lego bricks with her to the bathroom, and sat , face pink and chubby legs swinging, while playing with them.

I happend to walk past , to see her eyes widen, and wittness the large bulge in her throat as she swallowed.
Of course, being a calm mother i did the first thing that came to my head, ran down stairs ( like a headless chicken) and found the bucket of bricks and held up each one in front of her,( hands shaking) to find out which one she has now lodged in her tummy.
'is it this one darling'?

'no mummy.'


'this one'?

'no'.

'no?, ermm this one'? ( am panicked, now getting bigger bricks out box)

'no'

'its diss one mummy, diss one, is 'ellow, like my t-shirt'.

you,ate. a .lego, because...'?

'is like my t-shirt mummy'

'well,.... of course you did, i totally understand,......

sweetheart dont you think this co-ordination thing is going a step to far'?,



Of course next step was to take my panic to someone else to deal with, someone with a nice crisp clean white coat, and badge, with 'doctor' on.

theres a always slight panic about taking all four kids in a hospital waiting room, and you run through a list of someone you could dump them onto.

But there isnt going to be a long list when you have a child with food alleriges.
Anyone who looks after them needs pre-training beforehand.
you have no idea how long you are going to be, and allergic child will need feeding, and thats difficult, if not impossible, if you are not in our allergy world.

So you drag them into the car, go back inside for allergic sons forgotten meds, while daughter crys for her lego, and the others try and make a dash for freedom as the hosptial emergency room has been visited far too frequently lately.

The hospital car park is another stress point, a space hard to find near the hospital, and you have to pay for the privilage of using it. A brief fumble under the seats and the bottom of your hand bag and you find enough coins to stay for a short while.

of course its raining, and you dont have any coats for the kids, but you get in to the heaving accident and emergency room, dripping wet, and look around at the selection of the great damp , steaming, unwashed, the bleeding and half dead, or half drunk, and its going to be a long wait.

A few hours and you give up all pretence of being a caring devoted mother, having spent have the previous night up with two kids, one had a nightmare , and one who doesnt seem to enjoy sleep. So i am crumpled, worn out in the corner, with the bags under my eyes like two used tea bags.

The older boys are trying to distroy the coffee machine, and I would get up and stop them, but I spent half an hour trying to get any kind of fluid out of it, and then another half hour trying to get my money back. So it deserved some sort of kicking.

we are huddled away from the vending machine filled with rather nasty snacks , and of course that machine is working very well. everyone is eating nut filled chocolates, and other high salt snacks.
Other son has found a hole in the seat of his chair and is pulling out the foam, and the youngest is following another little girl around the room with a dislocated shoulder.
Time passes, am promised that doctor will look at my baby soon.
While we wait , the little girl with the shoulder/arm problem, leans heavily on a chair, there is a loud click, and weary parents scoop her up and go home.

finally the doc arrives, worn out , and grey with tiredness, and is of course, impossibly young , and he has dribbled his last meal down his grey dirty coat.

I try to listen to what the doctor is saying and keep one eye on the four kids running around the bed, and in and out of the garish clown curtains.
which are there I presume, to make the doctors appear more friendly, as the clowns are of the steven king varity, and promise to fill any adult slumber with horror,let alone a small child.

The doctor calmly instructs me one what I should do, which is something I really dont want to hear.
now if i had more energy, i would of told this doctor the real truth, that he could shove his helpful advice were the sun doesnt shine, and ask him what mother of four has the time and energy to sift through her daughters bowel movements for two weeks? what about when she goes twice a day? or if I feed her sweetcorn?
what kind of advice is that?


but the kids are hungry , bored and need a good wash,(hospitals are germy)and i need coffee and chocolate if i am to keep going, so we leave, drive home, and carry on.