We’re teachers and we’re caravanners, so we get to go away a lot, lucky us, including long summer trips normally down to Devon and Cornwall. Last week, we were nearing the end of a trip and it occurred to me there had been no medical dramas which is unusual for us, and I very nearly posted it on Facebook, “Look at us – we’ve been away over a fortnight and not been to A and E!” then thought better of it. So when the very next day we did require an A and E trip, no one could say my social media post had jinxed it. (Just a dog bite, and everyone was fine, and when the following day Facebook reminded me it was a year since another son had been at the same A and E with a dog bite, it wasn’t too soon to laugh.) The previous year’s summer holidays had also involved worms which was a bit of a hassle because a campsite in a pandemic so the laundry room and bathroom are closed is not the best set up for hot washing everything and monitoring poo, so that year definitely won. Although a further past holiday lowlight worthy of mention is the trip where the boy in the top level of the triple bunks had a bad vomiting bug and there was a cascade of sick down onto the lower two bunks. I could go on…
One spring, my husband and I were having the annual “How many hours should Sarah work next academic year?” chat, accompanied with the maths that makes me cry (my pay, minus the cost of childcare, equals less than you might think) and generally followed by the more than slightly stressful hunt for suitable childcare (we’re quite picky). And I threw into the equation, “And then there’s the medical appointments and dealing with ailments – that’s like another part time job.” I wasn’t even joking.
One son has gut issues. We had appointments with a dietician, multiple visits to GPs, and then ramped up to monthly appointments at Addenbrooks hospital. Another son had a bad leg, which (after I ignored it for months and told him not to whinge, he was fine) it turned out required physio appointments also monthly and at Addenbrooks. There was a short period of synchronised overlap where we might have two visits in a week. At one point the physio said, “Try these exercises at home, and if these don’t work, we could bring him in for daily work in our gym over the summer.” Daily visits?! I was like, “Right, boy, we are going to do these exercises SO religiously, because we CANNOT be taking you to hospital every day!” (He did them, and we didn’t have to, and his leg is much better now – hooray! Which is why we should all listen to physios and do our exercises.)
On top of this, all three of them were prone to a breathing-related drama, especially son number three, who had five emergency hospital visits in his first year, and then there was of course all the usual children’s ailments: hand, foot, and mouth a few times; chicken pox; general sickness; etc etc. I’ve posted previously about my experiences with bodily fluids if this list isn't yucky enough ( https://sarahhadfi.wixsite.com/website/post/on-the-yuckiness-of-little-children ). Add to this the HOURS spent waiting for prescriptions in the pharmacy of doom, jiggling a bored toddler on my lap. And the fact that I normally had at least two boys at each appointment, or some complicated arrangement whereby someone else had to be on standby to pick up the eldest if we didn’t get back in time. For some of it we had one car which my husband took to work, so I did hospital visits by bike, dragging the boys along behind me in the trailer, down subways and over bridges. It’s funny how it all becomes a blur.
But one early hospital visit which stands out is the Star Wars one. I thought I had prepared well for the trip. We had read hospital-related books in advance and watched some “Get well soon” episodes on Cbeebies. Our sainted childminder had generously offered to accompany us so she could look after the baby. I’d packed sticker books and drinks and snacks and lunch boxes. But we had not thought to prepare for Storm Troopers.
Apparently some kind souls dress up to visit children’s wards and clinics to cheer up the patients. But I think perhaps the Storm Trooper costumes were ill-advised. My children were not the only ones who were terrified. But the band of Troopers did not take the hint and go - they lingered around, talking to people, whilst my boys reached near hysteria and I had to ask a nurse if there wasn’t somewhere we could wait where we couldn’t have to look at them. I resorted to giving them lunch at, like, 11am, to give them something new to focus on.
It’s kind of ironic that everyone is so into Star Wars now.
Waiting in a hospital waiting room is of course also a chance to see children who have far greater challenges than our own, and to be thankful for the relative health and lack of barriers we enjoy. We were and are the fortunate ones: my boys’ conditions, whilst chronic and time-consuming, were generally not life-threatening. Our visits (aside from the Storm Troopers, the long waits, and the general hassle of getting there) were not traumatic – the boys generally have positive associations: the staff are lovely, you might get to miss school, Mum packs especially good snacks, and nothing too frightening happens apart from very occasional blood tests. I’m really pleased that when we’ve needed more serious visits to hospital, like a scary rush to A and E, there is no associated fear of being there. In fact, one son has told me he wants to have a bad leg like the other son, because he wants to do the fun swimming pool thing (hydrotherapy).
Waiting in a hospital waiting room is also of course a chance to be thankful for the NHS and free access to healthcare. It really is amazing that we can see doctors and have X-rays and be given free equipment and medication and everything else and not worry whatsoever about the cost of it. One son is prone to reminding medical staff about his sticker for being brave. I’m quite partial to a sticker myself.
Things have been different this last year, of course. Appointments have been on video call which has worked out pretty well for us. And we’ve all made rainbows and clapped for carers and marvelled at what the medical staff have put themselves through.
But I am mostly thankful for improved health and for fewer visits. I’ve not been to Addenbrooks since Christmas 2019 and I am not missing our time there one little bit. And I am very much hoping that posting this blog won't coincide with another panicked visit - there's two weeks of summer left to go!
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