This was me the other day, sitting with Mini Diva for over an hour on our first visit to the Minor Injuries Unit. The MIU is for things where it's too much for the doctor to handle, but not enough to justify a trip to the A&E department.I had been sitting on the patio with a contemplative cup of tea. The object of contemplation was whether I maybe actually ought to get dressed at some point today. My first inkling that there was a problem was Destructo Boy's piercing shrieks. My second was Mini Diva's scrails (= combination of scream and wail) joining in to create a deafening Panic Duet.
I dropped my cup and cigarette and shuffled as fast as I could (not dressed, see, and I can't run in my slippers as they fall off) to the sidewalk to quell the sources of the caterwauling.
On first glance, things didn't look too bad - two children, both with arms and legs attached; two kids' bikes, both in one piece; no cars in the road having screeched to a halt with one of my kids as the buffer stop; nobody else in sight.
Then I saw the blood - lots of it - and understood immediately why Destructo Boy was in meltdown: he freaks out at the sight of even something like this:
At least I know he's not a vampire. A quick check confirmed that although he was the one producing the most volume of noise, he was not the bleeder. That was Mini Diva, who, having crashed her bike, was pouring blood from the side of her head.
I hustled her home to the bathroom, leaving a trail that these two
would have had no trouble following. I sent Destructo Boy to get our neighbor Su, as a distraction for him so he would stop screaming; she came over and not only did a great job of diverting him, she mopped up the floor while I mopped up Mini Diva.
Once the torrent was under control, I could see that she had a small but deep gash that would definitely need a stitch or two. So I dumped Destructo Boy with another lovely neighbor, and begged a lift to the MIU with yet another lovely neighbor.
The nurses were lovely, and technology has moved on: Mini Diva is glued up rather than stitched up. Apart from a headache, cured by chocolate, fizzy pop, Calpol and sleeping in Mommy's bed, the only after effect is filthy hair that she is not allowed to wash for 5 days.
A small price to pay for such an excellent topic for the ''what I did in my holidays'' speech.
