Have you ever had a week where, if anything can upset your apple cart, it does?
It started for me on Saturday. My husband had agreed to go to Ikea. I know it doesn’t sound like much of treat but I love the place. He finished work (he works 1 in 4 Saturdays) and we had decided we would have lunch out as a treat and then the piece de resistance would be the trip to my favourite store. We called into Lidl to purchase a couple of items. Just as we disinfected ourselves and our basket, his phone rang. He answered and passed it more or less straight away to me with the words, “It’s Jayne (our daughter), she’s crying. I could hardly understand what she was saying and had to wait for the sobs to fade to have any idea what was wrong. Apparently, she was at Brentford station on her way to the football match when she fell down the station steps. She was in a great deal of pain and couldn’t stand up. The odd passenger tried to help; various advice was given. One lady was first aid trained and told her husband not to lift her up but to keep the offending foot outstretched. This meant her sitting on the cold concrete while her husband called paramedics to assist. They were told neither an ambulance nor paramedics would attend as it wasn’t life threatening. Our son-in-law’s uncle had met them at the station to drive them to the match. He didn’t want to waste his ticket for the game so he had left believing they would get the help they needed.
Finally, it was decided we would forgo lunch out and drive to Wembley Ikea. We grabbed a couple of pork pies and a drink and headed to Wembley instead of Reading. It took quite some time to reach Wembley because of the streams of traffic but we got to Ikea and parked. I had been in conversation at odd times with our daughter and assured her we would rescue her. Meanwhile she had managed to be helped to a seat and sounded much calmer, although still in pain. We rushed round the store which I did not enjoy. The volume of people made me feel panicky. My face mask was adding to my discomfort along with my right knee which has been very painful so all in all not a pleasurable time.
We had agreed we would pick them up and drive them to our local hospital only to be told that the uncle had already collected them and was heading there. To say I wasn’t pleased would be an understatement but, on reflection, I was grateful to the uncle for going back to help.
The afternoon continued into night and Jayne was still at the hospital. She was able to use her mobile to give us an update on how things were progressing. Jayne had now been in pain for at least eight hours. Despite her asking on several occasions when would she be seen by some one, she was told there was a nine hour wait! Her ankle was extremely swollen and the shoe that had supported the foot had decided to hold on to it thus causing pain to be removed. Finally, she was given gas and air to remove the shoe, taken to x-ray and given codeine. The overall time she had spent there was now eight hours. She wasn’t asked if she needed pain relief or if she needed a drink and her husband had been sent away so was unable to sit with her. I asked Jayne if the A&E department was full, she said, “No. Only a few people in there.”
I, for one, appreciate our NHS and its doctors and nurses and support them, but the whole attention to her needs has left me disappointed. Maybe it’s because she is my daughter that I feel this way. I realise they are overworked and underpaid but Jayne reported to me that the nurses on duty were very abrupt and gave an impression of, “So, you have hurt your foot – get over it!”
Oh well, all’s well that ends well, so they say and we were able to collect her at three am resting on a bench holding her crutches! It’s been mum to the rescue this week, waiting on her either at our house or hers. You could say that’s what mums are for.