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Parent dramas
Apr. 1st, 2014 09:03 amThere I am at 6.20 pm last night, bumbling along half asleep on autopilot, headed for the train home. Phone rings. In possibly the noisiest city environment at that time, I try to find out who's calling me. I suspect it's a call centre that has discovered my number.
It's George. Friend of Mum's. She's had a fall. All I can get after that is the hospital's name and 'fractured femur.' I think it's femur. Only after I got home could I end panic stations, when I was able to have a clear conversation with George and his wife Vicki, who'd been with Mum when she had a pratfall and hauled her off to hospital over her protests that she's sure it's not that bad.
Now she's got to have a hip replacement. "You mean the one that hasn't already been replaced?" I asked for clarity. "Right, now they'll balance up," George assured me. So she's headed for surgery today and then it'll be weeks of fun, judging from last time.
It's George. Friend of Mum's. She's had a fall. All I can get after that is the hospital's name and 'fractured femur.' I think it's femur. Only after I got home could I end panic stations, when I was able to have a clear conversation with George and his wife Vicki, who'd been with Mum when she had a pratfall and hauled her off to hospital over her protests that she's sure it's not that bad.
Now she's got to have a hip replacement. "You mean the one that hasn't already been replaced?" I asked for clarity. "Right, now they'll balance up," George assured me. So she's headed for surgery today and then it'll be weeks of fun, judging from last time.