Allow me to take a moment to divert from summer holiday memories and to rant about illness. Specifically children’s illness.
We can’t have a holiday, or even a month go by to be honest, without some kind of illness or related drama. Over the past seven years we have spent four nights in Halifax children’s hospital when we should have been on holiday, investigated mysterious bouts of urticaria and kidney function, experienced the trauma of our very little daughter having birth mark related operations, been to A&E following a trolley man meets head emergency, zoomed at speed on a beach buggy in Wales to check out a weird spikey crab in the bottom of foot thing, and that’s not even mentioning of course the illnesses (like having chicken pox on Christmas day), bouts of nits and regular bumps on the head and rest of the body.
It’s pretty normal I suppose and thankfully none of it the level that some people go through. And I really am grateful because I know in reality things could be a million times worse.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I want to scream “that’s enough”. Tonight was one of those nights.
As I listened to Tilly recount the story of the nurse successfully removing the tick’s leg that has been stuck in her ear since last Friday I carefully selected a specific flannel and towel each. Because it is important to avoid the transfer of yet more verrucas and possible shingles to the other child and the grown ups. It’s just lovely isn’t it?
I declare tonight that I have just about had enough.