I have had a day.
A helluva day.
And it all started out so well too.
Toot's spent the night at Nana's after her return from holiday. I had a lovely long lie in. OK, it was only until 8.00am, but I'll take what I can get.
I spent a very pleasant (free) hour on the phone with my mum chittering about my impending SAHM membership.
Then of course the not so pleasant things like cleaning and ironing and what not. All the things which have really fallen by the wayside the last week or so.
11.00am and mum's on the phone.
Toot's was playing with my brother and he was holding her hands and spinning her around. When he put her back on the floor again, she carried right on spinning and twisted her elbow and immediately the entire house exploded due to the incredibly loud screaming coming from the very small child now crying her eyes, clutching her arm in the middle of the room.
Mum put her in the car, came straight to my house and we all headed off for a day in the A&E room, our very first (and I wouldn't bet last) day in the A&E room. Of course, I had an entire bag packed full of toys and drinks and sweets and chocolate. All the really lovely stuff you feed your kids in vast quantities when thy aren't well, or you're feeling guilty about something. I figured we would probably be there for the better part of the day, what with it being a Sunday and all.
I checked her in at the reception and turned to look at mum, carrying toots. Her bum had barely grazed the seat when the triage nurse called us into her office. She cooed over her lovely hair and her pretty smile and gave her some ibuprofen for the obvious pain she was in and then straight away went to get the consultant to have a look and provide a referral. As far as I'm aware the normal course of action is triage, three hour wait, consultant, but hey I'm not complaining.
The consultant took a look, scribbled on a sheet of paper and sent us straight over to the x-ray department, where again my little queue jumper daughter was taken first.
It was awful. The single worst experience in my life. She screamed the place down. She told me it was sore. She told me she didn't like me anymore, that she wanted her nana instead. My heart literally broke in two watching this little quivering, red in the face, pile of curly hair. By this time her entire face was completely covered in tears and boogers and she was FURIOUS that the one thing I hadn't thought to bring was a tissue. Not that she would have let me near her with it anyway.
Four x-rays later and we were handed another scribbled on sheet of paper and sent back to the triage nurse who ushered us into the waiting consultant's office, again ahead of a line of people who were now starting to get a slightly murderous look in their eye.
The consultant explained that her arm wasn't in fact broken as feared and that she merely had a pulled elbow. Very common apparently. And that he'd just pop it back in again.
Quick look around, nope, no sign of anything to knock the kid out with. Considering I'd just endured hell in the x-ray department just trying to get her to move her arm away from her body, I could tell this was not going to go well.
The doctor started to explain all the ins and outs, only half of which I heard. He said that most of the time the elbow pops back in again and in ten minutes it'll be like nothing had ever happened and she'd be right as rain. But. Very occasionally the arm doesn't go back in, in which case toots would have to wear a cast for a week and return five days later for another go.
Have I mentioned I've had a run of bad luck lately.
The consultant wheeled his little stool over, I covered her eyes. My mum burst into tears. Of course, I was already crying like a recently dumped 12 year. The consultant grabbed her arm, she screamed like a banshee, he let go and said "well that should do it".
I swear I've heard plumbers say the exact same thing and they were wrong. I was dubious. To say the least.
We were sent back to the waiting room, both me and my mum in desperate need of an extreme makeover and toots strangely relaxed looking.
We sat down and she starting pointing and shouting about all the really cool vending machines in the waiting room.
Still it didn't register with us two dimwits that this meant her arm was fine. We sat on.
She was waving at people and playing with a dolly I had brought from home.
Still the penny didn't drop.
Fifteen minutes later the consultant reappears and pronounces her to perfectly fine now, we can go home.
A full ten minutes later, having watched her like a hawk, convinced her elbow was just going to fall back out again we went home.
So she's fine, in bed sleeping in fact. She hasn't mentioned it all day either.
It turns out all in told we were only a the hospital for a little under two hours.
So why did it feel like a lifetime?
And why am I still knackered?