Yet Another Meme...

Ahhh Barbara... thanks for the meme! I looked back at the oldest photos I have on the computer, which are of Zack's first year! I forgot how little he used to be. :)

Here are The Rules:

The rules are as follows:

1. Open your first (oldest) photo folder in your computer library
2. Scroll to the 10th photo
3. Post the photo and the story behind it
4. Tag 5 or more people to continue the thread

So... my photo is one of Zack when he was about 2/3 months old. I had just had a visit from the younger of my older brothers, who'd dropped off a lot of baby things that he and his wife didn't need anymore (two boys are enough, right?! hehe).

One of the things was this play mat thingymaboab.

He enjoyed it sooo much! I remember being so excited that he was so happy and interested in it! :)



Look at that cute wee face!

You can tell it was taken by the camera on my phone can't you? ;) Still, it brings back memories and that's the best part of photography isn't it?

Sooo... now I get to tag people.Here we go!

Jenty from The Real Jenty and Jeanette Verster Photography.

Veronica from Sleepless Nights, (and Veronica Does Food... and Veronica Foale dot com!).

Jen from Autism, The King and Eye.

Josie from Sleep is for the Weak.

aaaand...

YOU!

Yes you.

I can see you reading this and wondering if you'll get tagged for it.

I want YOU to do it too! (if you haven't already, and if you have, link it for me in the comments!)

Have fun everyone!

:)

Scary day

I’m screaming.

My hand is holding my left knee and I’m trying to stop.

Trying to stop screaming so I stop scaring Zack.

I need him to tell D my knee’s come out.

He is Terrified.

Max is having a nap.

Zack is terrified.

He thinks his mummy must be dying or something.

He runs up the stairs where D’s already half dressed.

“It’s my knee, my knee’s popped out.”

D stays calm.

He asks me if he should call 999.

I tell him no, I just need to get it straight for it to go back into place.

Only one problem – I’m sitting on the chair at my desk.

I’m trapped.

And screaming.

Zack is as white as a ghost and I’m trying so hard to keep myself from scaring him more.

I tell D to call for an ambulance.

They take details and say I’m not high priority, but someone will be there as soon as they can.

That was at 12.35.

My knee stops spasming, with the kneecap stuck outside it’s socket.

I can breathe, for a little while at least.

I tell D to check on Zack. He must be petrified.

D gives him his headphones, plugs them into Zack’s DS and gets him cosied up in his bed, telling him not to worry, it’s happened before and Mummy will be fine once she’s been to the doctor’s.

The muscles start spasming again, I start screaming again.

I don’t want this.

The snow is so thick.

Ten inches fallen in one night.

How is anyone going to get out to me?

I call back at 13.15 – no one has come to help me yet.

My breathing is becoming laboured and I feel hot, clammy, sweaty.

I tell them I have asthma and can’t breathe.

I ask D for a draw of his fag.

I need something to take my mind off the pain.

Finally, at 13.40 the paramedics show up. Apparently they didn’t get called till 13.15.

I get gas and air.

I am minced.

Still, every time my knee spasms or they try to move me I’m screaming in pain.

They give me a shot of morphine.

(D tells me they missed first time and blood spurted out everywhere – I was in lala land by that point and don’t remember (apparently I told him my bag was in the oven – of course I meant kitchen!)).

They rearrange the entire living room to get me out from behind my desk and into a wheelchair.

D and one of the paramedics get out shovels and clear a path from my door to the back of the ambulance. Apparently some neighbours asked if they needed help.

I’m still inside, talking shite to the paramedic inside with me. His name is Powell. It’s his first name.

I’ve almost used up the first canister of gas and air.

He rushes out to the ambulance to get me more.

*****

Pull me onto the wheelchair.

I scream. Lots.

It hurts the whole way over to the ambulance, even though it’s only about 15 metres in distance from my living room to it.

D helps them by holding my leg while they get me into the ambulance.

As soon as my leg is laid out on the stretcher it pops back in.

Relief floods its way up my body. Thank GOD. I can just go back inside.

Not after all that morphine I’m told.

They need to take me in and keep an eye on me.

Stupid wonderful morphine.

The drive in is calm, beautiful wintery scenes the whole way.

I get into A&E and am able to get onto a bed.

I realise I’m still in my jammies and dressing gown. No bra, no make up, hair is manky.

Fuck.

I feel like I’m wasting their time and bed space, but then again, they don’t seem to be that busy.

I check twitter and facebook while I wait.

And wait.

Finally I get to see a doctor, tell him what happened, and what I usually do to get it back in myself.

He’s happy for me to go home once they’ve got a support bandage on my knee.

I wait again.

Finally a lovely nurse comes in and helps sort out bandaging up my knee.

I ask to get up to walk around.

Gingerly I put my weight on it.

It’s fine.

I ask if it’s ok for me to walk up and down the hallway for a bit, she says that’s fine, but be careful.

An hour and a £40 taxi ride later I’m home.

D looks surprised to see me walking into the kitchen. I tell him I need to keep it moving.

I go in to see Zack and show him the '”bandage” on my knee, and that we need to be careful with it.

“Can I ask you something Mummy?” he says.

“Can you not let your knee pop out again please? I don’t like it.”

I don’t like it either lil man, I’ll try.

All I’d done was sit down and knocked it ever so slightly at my desk.

That was the day after Boxing Day.

*****

I’m trying not to think about it, but some times it just creeps into my head.

I shudder at the thought of it.

What if I’d been holding Max at the time?

What if D hadn’t been there?

What if…

I don’t like what if’s…

Next week I’m going to ask my doctor if they can do something more permanent.

I want a pin in there or something. Something to stop it ever happening again.

It’s interfering in my life. I’m paranoid about it to the point there are lots of things I won’t do just in case it happens.

I can’t live my life like that.

Physiotherapy doesn’t work.

It just makes it hurt even more when it does pop out.

Next week will be the first step towards me seeing about getting surgery to finally have it fixed for good.

Wish me luck, I think I'm going to need it.

The Beginning of the End: Chapter 2

S was the stitches that kept us from completely ripping apart that day. She took me out of the pub, still not sure what had happened. Took me round the corner to the wee nook she’d just been smoking in. I could smell her not quite stale smoke still lingering there.

He... he... he cheated, with - C. How could they do this to me? My husband and my best friend. What had I done to deserve this? I looked at S through my tear-stained eyes. She was wide-eyed in disbelief. Even she couldn’t believe he’d done this to his wife. He was always the nice guy, never talked bad about anyone, never did anything to hurt anyone. How could he be so STUPID?

I felt like I’d been punched in the guts. Winded so badly I couldn’t quite catch a breath. How could he?? How could he do this to me? To us? To our boy?

I didn’t understand. There had been times when I was tempted, but I never actually DID anything. I wouldn't have been able to live with it, knowing that I’d betrayed him.

The worst part at the time was that it had happened almost a year ago, and everyone in his circle of friends seemed to know about it but me. Every single one of them, and not one had had the decency to tell me.

Not one.

The beginning of the end: Chapter 1

His eyes stared into his pint glass, empty, but full of anguish. He had to tell her. Either that or she was going to find out anyway. That’s what it had all been about after all, and she had no idea. She would never forgive him.

His voice broke as he spoke softly in the pub they’d sat in, telling her what he had tried to bury to that box in the depths of his mind for the last year.

Her face began to contort from the usual easy-going smile she had.

Disbelief.

Had she misheard him?

Anger. Hurt. Her heart... breaking.

Someone was shrieking “why? WHY?? How could you do this to me?”

He looked up to see it was her.

She’ll never forgive me, he thought. I’m going to lose her, lose my baby boy. Lose everything.

At that point her friend came back in from having her fag. She’d only been gone two minutes. Just two minutes and our lives had changed forever.

“Get me out of her” she said to S. She needed to get out of there. Tears streamed down her face as she gathered up her bag and coat to leave.

The sort of pain that makes you feel sick.

I'm lying on the floor screaming, holding my knee together. If I let go the knee cap will lock and I won't be able to get it back in on my own.

I need to calm down.

I need to stop screaming. Zack has just gone for his nap and I really can't let him wake up.

He is freaking out.

He helps me get to a sitting position.

I'm still holding that knee-cap half in place for dear life.

I need to calm down.

I need to relax my muscles so I can pop it back in.

I'm shaking from the shock, I feel like jelly.

He's called 999.

He didn't need to, it will be fine once it goes back in.

He'd never seen it happen before.

He never will again.

I manage to calm down after talking to the woman on the other side of the phone.

I explain to her that it happens very rarely from twisting the wrong way.

I was rushing to tidy up before my parents arrived.

I turned to my left to spin round and then I was on the floor.

The muscles are starting to stop spasming around my knee now.

I can feel the knee cap sitting at the cusp, it just needs a last little push to pop it back in.

I knock it back into place.

I say thank you for talking me through it, and apologise for wasting the emergency services' time.

He helps me up, and I manage to get onto the bed.

My leg feels like jelly. It will pop straight back out if I'm not *really* careful.

I send him out to the chemist to pick up a support.

I think how lucky I am that Zack slept straight through all this.

I try to get more comfortable on the bed, easing a pillow under my leg.

My heart is starting to slow now.

He arrives back with the support and helps me put it on.

I get up and gingerly step on it.

The support is good, it'll hold.

I send him up to his parents. The tickets have been booked, and he needed it. Besides, my parents will be there soon.

He doesn't want to go but I make him. If I don't he'll resent me, and I'll feel too guilty.

I hobble into the kitchen, checking to make sure I don't twist myself.

I get some painkillers and say kiss him goodbye, assuring him I'll be fine.

I go through to the living room and ease myself down onto the sofa.

Zack wakes up.

------------

This happened over 3 years ago, when Zack was only 9 months old. It hasn't happened since, but there have been times that it's been close. I dread it happening when I'm on my own. I don't want to scare my babies. What if I fell on one of them?

Mustn't think of that now. No point in worrying about something that might *not* happen again.

But if it's happened before... it will happen again.

It always does.