Tuesday 15 November 2011

999! Or how you never stop worrying.

You get to a point in your life as a parent where you think you've seen your children successfully through their formative years, that they've survived all the little disasters that beset them during their childhood.

There was the time little LHG's Uncle Peter climbed the ladder leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. Our stairs were in the living room at the time. I saw him, his face a picture of total shock, tumbling down, gripping onto that ladder. He was none the worse for his adventure, but it was a heart-in-mouth moment. (Actually, Peter's heart-in-mouth moments would fill a blog on their own!)

Then there was the time Uncle Jack fell over in his classroom, catching the edge of his eyelid on the corner of a desk. He still has a little scar to mark the moment.

I can still vividly recall the day I got a phone call from the mother of Aunty C's friend, H. They'd been to the swimming pool and were now at casualty. C had slipped off the side of the pool, hitting her chin on the edge. That could have turned out really badly, but she got away with a few steristrips taped across the ensuing gash.

Mummy Giovanna spent most of her childhood with grazed knees and scuffed shins.

I could go on and on.

But just when I assume those days are behind me, I get a phone call from Giovanna, telling me she's fallen down the stairs with little LHG in her arms. Furthermore, Pa and I are twenty miles away in London and her partner, JW, is at work.

Panic, panic. 'What happened? Did you fall on top of him?'

'I slipped on the stair and ended up on my back and he was on top of me, but he might have bumped his head over my shoulder. I don't know. What shall I do?' she gasps. 'Should I go to hospital?'

'Are you okay?'

'Yes.'

I can hear LHG crying in the background.

'See if Aunty K's in,' I suggest, referring to Uncle Peter's partner, because she has a car.

Pa, overhearing the conversation interrupts. 'Tell her to call an ambulance. Better than messing around waiting in A & E.'

I pass this on. You can't take any chances with a baby. 'Ring us when you know what's happening.'

We're in a restaurant at the time, having lunch. I'm wondering whether to go home. Would it be overreaction? Oh why has this happened today when I'm not in the village? I feel tearful.

Fifteen minutes go by. I ring her. The paramedics have arrived and are checking them both over, out in the ambulance. They take them to hospital because they haven't the right equipment to check a baby(!). All is fine: they're just shaken up.

I still spend the rest of the day thinking how it could have been very different.

The fact is, you never stop worrying whether your children are safe, and when you become a grandparent, you get new little people to worry about.

Such is the life of a Nonna!