We sat in A & E for an hour or three.
My daughter had returned from her residential trip with bruised knees where she'd stumbled over on some steps. It was the last day, and she’d got to her feet, reassured staff she was fine, and not mentioned any pain or problems.
It wasn’t until she got in the shower that night, and I saw the angry black and purple circles on her kneecaps, that I realised she might be hurting.
“They’re a bit sore,” she told me, that high pain threshhold thing explaining the seemingly impossibly understatement.
I gave her some painkillers, and she seemed OK, but a few days later, she started walking very stiffly.
“My back hurts,” she told me. The back that she had an operation on in May to remove metalwork from an earlier spinal fusion.
I starting mulling it over. When her stiffness seemed to increase, I mulled some more, and tried to reassure myself that she was probably just sore from walking gingerly, overcompensating for her bruised knees. And then on Sunday, when she was struggling to get out of bed, and after I’d mulled enough to turn my blood into a spicy festive wine, I took her along to A & E.
The doctor was satisfied that everything was OK. He gave us a prescription for stronger painkillers, and we returned home. I sneaked in the sneaky bag I’d sneakily stashed in the boot of my car earlier. I nipped upstairs and sneakily unpacked the spare clothes, nightthings, and toothbrushes I’d taken in case something had been really wrong and we’d had to stay in. By the way, I’m crap at being sneaky - my daughter clocked my attempts at subterfuge and I had to explain my workings. Several times.
So half term is turning out to be a restful one for my girl, who’s kind of enjoying her invalid status a little too much. She’s spent most of it sitting on the sofa in a nest of pillows, leafing through TV Choice magazine and catching up with Corrie and Eastenders.
But I’ve left a phone message for her consultant from the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital at Stanmore though, to see if we can bring her check-up appointment forward. Because, well, you know...mulling.
Oh, and the song is not going to be Mull of Kintyre, you know. I just won’t do it.
Song is Low - To Our Knees