I was woken by Hubs (not deliberately I hasten to add) tossing and turning next to me.
We were two days from the BIG MOVE home and he was dreaming.
Except he wasn’t, he was awake and his stomach, which had been hurting for a few days, was really playing up, not to mention his back which had been in muscle spasm for days too. This was how his body was manifesting the stress and excitement of going home…a joyous occassion!
“Where are you going?” I asked as he pulled off his sleep shirt and prepared to get dressed, I knew he didn’t dress up to go to the loo in the middle of the night so I was ever so slightly concerned.
“To the emergency room,” he said matter of factly. My American husband had become quite a dab hand at the National Health System during our sojourn in London.
I didn’t attempt to deter him because he had been threatening a visit the hospital since Sunday, I wasn’t up to taking the risk that there may be something seriously wrong with him and talking him out of seeking professional medical attention.
I did point out though that,
“It’s 230 in the morning, would you like me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’ll walk, ” he said pulling on his jeans.
“Shall I walk with you?” I suggested. Visions of him collapsing along the High Street with no-one around to help him brought out the mother in me…or should I say, the wife?
“No, I’ll be okay, but thanks anyway,” he was packing his backpack with a book, his art pad and pencils.
“Call me when you get there then,” I said and listened for the latch to click on the front door.
I reckoned it would take him about 20 minutes to walk down the road and around the corner to The Beckenham Beacon Hospital so I grabbed the phone and put it on my beside table and tried to go back to sleep.
Thoughts of the nurses putting him on the bottom of the Triage scale because he had managed to walk, alone, to the emergency room, and images of him being whisked to the operating theatre with a bleeding ulcer thus stalling our impending return to America, or worse, the possibility that the night staff may laugh at him, kept me almost on alert as I drifted in a half sleep.
At about 330am I heard the key turn in the lock and there he was, my fearless hubs.
“Did they send you home?” I asked sleepily.
“No, they were closed!” Only the National Health Service would close their hospitals, however an ambulance would have known which one was open so no worries there.
“My back feel so much better though,” he said climbing back into bed.
“Next time you go, call ahead first!” I suggested and fell into a deep sleep.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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