If I had made a list of ways I wanted to spend my Sunday, driving Jack to the hospital wouldn't have been high on it. In fact, it probably wouldn't have made the list at all. (He fell over playing football and sprained his wrist. He's fine.)
Jack sent me a text, which I didn't notice until almost an hour after he sent it, asking if I had any wrist braces or bandages at my house. I told him no, but that I could get some. And then I sent another message saying, Also why do you ask? What's happened? The reply I got just said that it was a long story and that he'd explain when he got back.
It wasn't a long story. He fell over and hurt his wrist.
He eventually got back about a million years later and had stopped at Waitrose for some tubing stuff to support his wrist, and then he explained what had happened.
I said, "Does it hurt?" which was, admittedly, a stupid question.
And Jack said, "Well, if I keep it perfectly still, it's only a dull pain. When I move it, it's excruciating."
"How did you manage to drive back?"
"Do you think we ought to go and get your wrist looked at then?"
"That would probably be best."
So I drove Jack to the hospital. Anticipating a lengthy wait, I took my Kindle with me. Jack didn't have the same forethought. The wait time for minor injuries simply said 'over two hours', which unnerved me.
"That could mean anything," I said. "That could mean two hours, or it could mean, like, 5 hours. We could die here, Jack. We'll never see the sun again."
I am nothing if not dramatic.
Luckily, it seemed to have been a relatively quiet day, as after waiting exactly two hours, Jack's name was called, and he was back out again with a wrist brace and a pamphlet on hand injuries twenty minutes later. I didn't even get to finish my book.
He asked the doctor who saw him about driving, and was told: "If you try driving and it doesn't hurt, then by all means, carry on."
And Jack said, "Yeah, I tried earlier and it was excruciating."
So the doctor said, "I probably wouldn't, then."
In all seriousness though, I really love the NHS. I know it's not perfect, but it's so nice to be able to go and see someone and get medical advice and treatment and not be charged for it.
Anyway, this morning I watched Jack struggle to put his t-shirt on, and said, "Do you want any help?"
To which he replied solemnly, "This is my life now, Em. I've got to get used to it."
Because Jack is also nothing if not dramatic.
Song of the Day: Deserve This by Circa Waves (Oh why do I deserve this/ I was never good on purpose)