Another day, another hospital

It was hospital again today. Another hour commute, another twenty minutes spent queuing to get into the car park whilst frantically muttering..

“Shit, late, shit I’m late.”

Another hurtle up the stairs, a mad dash to reception, another rushed apology and another excuse about parking.  Followed swiftly by another reassurance not to worry that our consultant is running about four weeks behind schedule.

Another long wait in a room I think I know better than my own kitchen….

Today was Owens’ turn, in fact he is dominating at the moment; spending at least two days a month hanging out in the NHS corporate hospitality lounge.

His ears are still bad you see, he has progressed from a simple ear infection, to grommets, to hearing aids, and now to ear tears and holes.

Image courtsey of Shutterstock.

Basic meaning is: he is a deaf as a plank of wood.  The next few appointments will determine whether or not he needs major surgery to repair his internal ear canal. If he does we are looking at two whole weeks off school.

Two bloody weeks – just what every, single, working parent needs….

(And obviously I’d rather he didn’t need a major operation.)

So accustomed am I to his failing hearing that even I can’t listen to our TV unless it is on a minimum of 50 and I often say things twice just in case the person I’m speaking to didn’t hear….

I appreciate its annoying, but try living with a child with partial hearing…. It will drive you bonkers.

Owen loves our little days out to audiology. He gets to sit in the front of the car without having to wrestle his sister for the golden chair.  He gets to miss school and generally play mine craft and read books all day and generally harass the medical staff.

Me, I get to look around the waiting room and wonder how come I got three kids who seem to spend more than their fair share of time here.

Bring out the violin, let the pity party begin.

But actually today, owen gave me a bit of a different perspective.

“Mum” he said, in a voice too loud, “mum, do you like hospitals.”

I had to confess that I didn’t, for a whole host of reasons.

Paying for parking.
Crap tea.
Long hours waiting.
No wifi – anywhere.
Plus hospitals normally mean someone needs fixing.

“But mum,” continued my angelic sole child (they are all angelic when they are on their own).

“If Libby hadn’t been ill, if Molly wasn’t diabetic, if I didn’t have gunky ears – you would still work all the time and we wouldn’t see you as much.”

I know, put the violin away and bring out a hankie.

Kid has a point though.

Although perhaps the God who governs the weird and wonderful conditions that befall my trio could rest assured that with the seven appointments we already have booked this side of Christmas we don’t need anything new to befall us.

That would be just swell.