This year the Black Friday was a damn real one, and not because I manage to buy all the Christmas presents and replace most of the appliances and pieces of furniture in the house for the cost of a penny. But let’s start from the beginning:
The week was supposed to see my transition from crazy mouse to lazy cow.
After weeks of feeling like a hampster frantically running on the wheel, I was eventually planning to take a step back, a big breath and enjoy some laziness while waiting to have the manuscript back from the editor. Blogging, catching up with posts on WP, eating chocolate while watching junk tv etc etc. This was basically what I had in mind and what I bloody deserved.
Unfortunately, my plans and my destiny don’t always agree.
The first book club meeting was anticipated of nearly a week, and I was ferociously behind. There could not be any lazy time. All my spare moment had to go to finish the book. A book that, In total honesty, and with massive disappointment as the author is one of my favourites, I didn’t even particularly enjoy. As they say: “not all doughnuts come out with a hole”! Anyway, by the day of the meeting, I read it through the end, I mentally prepared my review, and I proudly went for the coffee and the discussion. Lots of coffee and minimal discussion because only half of us had finished it and some didn’t even buy it yet!
That didn’t discourage me, and I kept repeating to myself that the week was still long, except it got shorter when I realised that it was Wednesday already and I also had the parents-teachers meeting scheduled.
Ok then, Thursday and Friday had to be the days of leisure and idleness.
Thursday morning the weather was horrible, but I didn’t care to get soaked on the beach with the dogs because I had all day to indulge myself. I could afford to waste my morning drying myself and my four legs troop and cleaning the house in the attempt to neutralise the wet dog odour.
Once again, my plans and reality were not synchronised:
“C.G., for God sake didn’t you have other shoes to wear just this morning?”,I said to daughter number two looking at going to school still in her canvas shoes.
“Nop mom”, she merely replied.
“What about your you leather Converse or your other shoes”, I went on, not giving up.
“They are small. I told you. Love you, bye”, and she was gone, while I was left sitting in my car feeling guilty and hoping the teachers wouldn’t notice that my darling child was still wearing her summer shoes in November.
Thank God at least she had a clean vest to wear: Freezing feet but warm belly…..better than nothing.
And so not even Thursday was a “feet up day “, but it was spent at the shopping centre shoe shopping.
At this point, all my hopes and expectations were on Friday. The day started in a promising way and was progressing well until a scream from the kitchen reached me in the studio. After that, it was pure mayhem: the dogs were barking and hauling, and the girls were screaming and crying.
I rushed in the room to find daughter number two screaming like a lunatic and daughter number one trying to explain what happened in between sobs. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying but soon what happened was quite obvious: daughter number two ‘s arm was covered in blood.
I am not a good liar, but I tried my best to look calm pretending I had everything under control, and without sounding presumptuous, I think I did well as the injured child calmed down. The other, instead, was not so easy to fool, and she was still crying and screaming. Or she was having a nervous breakdown, but frankly, I had no time for that. Of course, it was not an easy decision: save one daughter ‘s arm or the other’s nerves? I decided to start with the arm.
I cleaned the wound and saw the flesh was teared apart, and the inside tissues were visible. We had to go to the hospital and get stitches, no questions about it.
Once in the waiting room at the clinic, it brutally hits me that I was there with a severely injured child after a domestic accident: what if they reported me to social services?!
I panicked and carefully prepared myself to explain what happened, except the nurse wouldn’t even look at me and only spook to the child. Well, that is good I thought, in cases of neglected and abused kids, but this is not one of those cases. Even if I was busy writing and haven’t realised my daughter didn’t have winter shoes to wear, she is not neglected. Was I shouting it loud or only in my head? For a minute I didn’t even know it myself but then when the nurse eventually turned to me and smiled I knew: the nurse didn’t know the poor child was in summer shoes until the day before and she didn’t t think I was a lousy mother.
The doctor was busy with another patient, but it wouldn’t be long they told us and sent us back to the waiting room.
Not more than ten minutes later, we were with the doctor.
He was nice and most important he was speaking to both of us: the neglecting mother and the endangered child. He started to tell jokes and managed to get C.G totally at easy, but unfortunately that didn’t save him to be nearly kicked in the face while injecting the profoundly and devastating painful anaesthetic. In the end he asked some questions too, and I couldn’t keep it anymore:
” Do you have an obligation to report this kind of injuries?”. I asked in one breath.
“Yes”, he answered, and I started to die inside. My legs were abandoning me, and my stomach was twisted, “But only if we feel the child is in danger. That is not the case here as what you said, what she said and what I see match perfectly”, he added.
Pew, my legs went back supporting me, and my stomach could relax.
Once the whole procedure was done, twelve stitches later, daughter number one did find the courage to enter the room. Her nerves were much better, and her ability to speak was back to normal, even too much: “mom, this is the same room where you had your artery stitched up, and the leg remember?”, “Where we were with the nurse was instead of where you went for your ankle….”. She blabbed happily sipping an hot chocolate she got for free from the vending machine. “Yes honey, what a coincidence but why you don’t just shut up now,.All these domestic injuries don’t look good!”. That was all could think after seeing the challenging look the doc threw me.
” I am clumsy by nature and not good with knives”, I said blushing and he seemed convinced . Before to let us go the doc handed me a prescription for some antibiotic to prevent any possible infection.
“Doe sit have penicillin in it?”,I asked.
“Yes why?is the child allergic?”,he replayed.
“No, I am, and last time I gave them some I got a reaction only at the touch. but if I know, I use gloves”, I explained.
“Oh my”, he said, “You are a quite easy one to take down, are you? it just takes a knife and a spoon of penicillin!” , he said proudly laughing at his ultimate joke.
“Yes”, I said,” But don’t tell my husband”.