Heyy,
Alas stepping onto the scales last week, a mere pound away from losing my first stone and 1.5lbs from seeing a new stone-zone I was silently disappointed. Can hardly remember the last time I was in the 17-Stone range?! Nevertheless, I had a good week, eating out three times and snacking most of Saturday night so can hardly be surprised. Unfortunately, the Saturday to follow was all about sore heads, and not the good kind!
My Nephew, or should I say, future Nephew (at least for the next few months) had a big birthday this weekend and as the birthday boy wanted to do Ice Skating, Mr Warehouse and I joined his brother and his young family and a few friends on the ice at our local ice hockey stadium to shred it in our blades.
Now when the kids asked me if I had skated before, I didn't exactly lie to them, maybe just bent the truth. Honestly, I had only been skating a handful of times, and I mean a handful. I think the last time was with Mr Workaholic and his family in Hemel Hempstead, and even then I needed one of those kiddie penguin things. Nevertheless, I was older now, more mature and Dancing on Ice was a thing. So whilst I acknowledged I would not be doing a Disney On Ice recreation of pirouette's and jumps, I was hoping I may be able to do without Percy Penguin this time.
Donning my skates, I was anxious as I watched on as each person carefully stepped onto the slippery ice. one by one they all skated off, gliding over the frozen water like fucking pro's. I was envious, to say the least as I knew, stepping out and sliding along a little I was not going to be as graceful. In fact, it took only a few tugs along the side of the rink before I lost my balance. Down I went. The only problem being is that despite my weight loss so far, all of me came crashing down. The first thing to make contact? My head. With the corner of the rink itself. Smacking my head heavy off the corner of the entrance I was dazed a little but knew I had to get up, for fear of embarrassment if nothing else.
Suffice to say, Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard. But, with my British stiff upper lip I (attempted) to keep calm and carry on. Slowly but surely my aching legs and arms pulled me around the rink, three times in fact, although not without my fair share of slipping, sliding and splitting (literally doing the splits like an X-Rated version of fecking Bambi). Yes, I fell over, but so did others, although I don't think that they were approached by two very concerned 14-year-olds asking if I needed help getting up like some geriatric old fart. After falling over several times and being overtaken by several children younger than myself I found a polar bear (not a real one) and continued to go round a couple more times with him aiding and supporting me. I had no shame. None whatsoever. I was Darcey Bussell. No-one could stop me. Apart from the ice. The ice stopped me a few times.
"I thought these things were meant to stabilise you and stop you from slipping over?!" I exclaimed in my head as I headed towards Mr Warehouse and Co. on the other side of the Ice Rink. Needing a rest I stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything. It's hard to relax any sort of leg muscle when your feet are strapped in tighter than a fat man on a rollercoaster and your only contact with the ground was a thin shiny metal blade.
Sitting down, exhausted, Mr Warehouse made a comment about how I didn't look well. Truthfully I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right.
"How hard did you hit your head?" Mr Warehouse said jokingly as he went to reach up to my head. And there it was searing hot pain spread across my skull. OWWW! Mr Warehouse face changed as it went from jovial fun on the ice to a serious and scared fiance. Reaching up to feel my head I could see why he was concerned. A huge lump had arisen. At the size of an orange, I knew that I had done some damage. I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason. I felt like I had been drinking for weeks and stopped, all of a sudden on some sort of come-down. I felt weird. This was weird. This wasn't right and I am not OK.
I decided that as much as I wanted to I couldn't risk going back out on the ice, plus some little fuck had stolen my polar bear so probably for the best. I took off my skates as did everyone else and headed back to the car, a dull ache starting to set in. Everything hurt. Every step I took was going straight to my inflamed head. After a quiet car journey and a stop off at some shops for a drink and some painkillers, we headed (excuse the pun) back to my future In-Laws for cake and presents. I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday.
After an hour or so I obviously wasn't looking right so Mr Warehouse made our excuses and left. After a little telly, I hit the pillow for an early night and struggled to wake the next morning, still with sore head and body littered with bruises. I was aching and I was tired but with a risk of concussion, Mr Warehouse refused to let me sleep any longer and instead we headed out to meet my Dad and his wife for tea and cake. That afternoon though I got my wish as I lazed on the couch most the afternoon snoozing in between pokes from my fiance just to make sure I was alive still. Even the weekly traditional roast dinner didn't sort me out and still even today at my desk colleagues referred to me as looking peaky and "not well". I spoke to HR who advised to go home, to which I replied that if I was paid to be off with sickness then I would, but I have a mortgage and can't afford time off.
As I looked online at the NHS Website and their advice on Minor Head Injuries and Concussion, I knew that things are not good when on day two you still have symptoms. Now to be fair, it does state that if you have been knocked out but have now woken up, been vomiting or have been drinking alcohol then I should go to Accident and Emergency, but I haven't so it's OK right? The Website continues to states that it's normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks.
NHS guidelines go on to say that to bring down any swelling holding an ice pack (or a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel) to the injury regularly for short periods in the first few days is helpful. Resting up and avoid stress is also advisable and to take paracetamol or ibuprofen to relieve pain or a headache but not aspirin as it could cause the injury to bleed. And whilst I have been at work today, it is probably not a good thing as further advise states that patients suffering from minor head injuries should not go back to work or school until feeling better and should not drive until fully recovered.
At the moment I still feel sick and having to concentrate today at work was hard. The screens didn't help and where I was normally focused and on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. I will have to wait and see how I feel tomorrow, but if I am not getting paid then I won't have much choice, concussion or not.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Accident and Emergency. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Accident and Emergency. Show all posts
Monday, 9 March 2020
Monday, 1 July 2019
Swollen and Sun Burnt!
Ola,
Hearing Mr Warehouse tinkering around in the background of the holiday apartment I knew it was still dark outside. It was the day we returned to the UK and as sad as we were after burning severely on Tuesday and hobbling round Gibraltar on our day excursion my Fiance and I was certainly going to be glad of our home comforts and a few friendly faces.
Getting up and shuffling to the bathroom, face, legs and back stinging from the waves of hot and cold, I braced myself for my morning pee. That was up until that point relaxing. Until Mr Warehouse broke the morning silence with not a 'Good morning my sweetness' or 'Wakey Wakey my little Paella princess'. No, I was confronted by an awful shriek.
"You probably shouldn't but you should look in the mirror" Mr Warehouse said, cautiously looking at my face. I was sun burnt I got it. I suppose he thought it would be funny for me to see my red Larry lobster face and how bad I had it, especially since Mr Warehouse's sunburn had come up in blisters and breaking skin around his ankles.
But as I got up from my seat on the Spanish "throne" I was met by my own gasp of horror. My face was so swollen I could barely see out of my right eye. I tried to open it, try and try as I might it was swollen shut. My whole face had swelled to nearly three times what it normally was for a fat cow like me. Panicked I went to Mr Warehouse, now pottering in the kitchenette, packing things into the suitcase as and when he found them.
Bursting into tears I crumbled into his arms as I thought about how I would get home.
"They're not going to let me through passport control!" I wailed, Mr Warehouse consoling me with his big lovable embrace. "I look like Elephant man"
Pulling myself together and calming down I did what I could, took a pill (Paracetamol) and smothered myself in aftersun and Aloe Vera before packing my things up and sorting shit out. We left the apartment in good time to get to the bus stop, but with only a few moments to spare, parking our trip to the 'Farmacia' and I had to settle with a wet muslin cloth and sunglasses to hid my hideous appearance from the locals.
"I'll be lynched like a beastly mountain leper" I whimpered to Mr Warehouse as we boarded the bus to the airport.
Arriving at security it was a long line and very busy. Our flight wasn't until midday and already the airport looked rammed to the point of breaking with families, kids and adults with copious amounts of luggage, bags and cases. My face was throbbing and tight from being so inflamed so after getting through to the other side out first port of call was the Pharmacy or somewhere that would sell aftersun, Ibuprofen or anything containing any Aloe or Vera. Nadda. Two Pharmacies and both were before security. Suffering we boarded the plane, nearly an hour late. Landing nearly an hour and thirty minutes late into Luton all I wanted to do was go home. Catching a cab in rush hour over to my Grandparents house we avoided most of the school traffic and after a brief pop in to say hello we headed home, arriving just before dinner time and spending an hour or so with Momma Warehouse, thanking her once again for looking after our pups who we missed dearly before heading to bed, face still swollen.
The following morning I woke to something much worse. I now could not see out of my right eye at all. My face, still swollen, was worse from my left eyebrow across my forehead and around my eye, all over my cheek and was even impeding my speech now. I was terrified. This was serious. Calling through to the village doctors was about as much help as propping my eye open with a razor blade. I called our emergency number in the UK, the NHS 111 service. NHS 111 can help if you have an urgent medical problem and you’re not sure what to do and is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After my assessment I was, along with Mr Warehouse and his severely burnt legs and ankles, were told to report to the Accident and Emergency.
After waiting for an hour we were seen by a Triage nurse who not only briefly assessed us and looked over our complaints with little empathy but then went on to berate us entirely, telling us off and scolding my Fiance and I for not wearing sunscreen, branding us almost stupid and idiotic, as if we didn't need telling.
"You're both fair. Your should have been wearing sun cream" She laid into us. Yeah because spending several hours in A&E, wearing sunglasses the whole time and with a face the size of North Africa yeah really how I would choose to spend the morning following a holiday in the sunshine. Leaving in tears it was several more hours before we saw a doctor. I was seen first and after an assessment on my skin, facial swelling and eyesight I was sent away and told that the tightness and swell should subside in five-seven days! I return to work in three! Mr Warehouse was the same diagnosis and told to carry on taking a cocktail of Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and the odd Antihistamine to take down the swelling and carry on with the moisturising with Aloe Vera and aftersun.
It has now been nearly a week since the sunburn and I would say I have nearly fully recovered and my face is still swollen and very much so in the morning when I first wake up, but is getting better, as it Mr Warehouse's legs and ankles. Safe to say that might b our last holiday for a while ...
Hearing Mr Warehouse tinkering around in the background of the holiday apartment I knew it was still dark outside. It was the day we returned to the UK and as sad as we were after burning severely on Tuesday and hobbling round Gibraltar on our day excursion my Fiance and I was certainly going to be glad of our home comforts and a few friendly faces.
Getting up and shuffling to the bathroom, face, legs and back stinging from the waves of hot and cold, I braced myself for my morning pee. That was up until that point relaxing. Until Mr Warehouse broke the morning silence with not a 'Good morning my sweetness' or 'Wakey Wakey my little Paella princess'. No, I was confronted by an awful shriek.
"You probably shouldn't but you should look in the mirror" Mr Warehouse said, cautiously looking at my face. I was sun burnt I got it. I suppose he thought it would be funny for me to see my red Larry lobster face and how bad I had it, especially since Mr Warehouse's sunburn had come up in blisters and breaking skin around his ankles.
But as I got up from my seat on the Spanish "throne" I was met by my own gasp of horror. My face was so swollen I could barely see out of my right eye. I tried to open it, try and try as I might it was swollen shut. My whole face had swelled to nearly three times what it normally was for a fat cow like me. Panicked I went to Mr Warehouse, now pottering in the kitchenette, packing things into the suitcase as and when he found them.
Bursting into tears I crumbled into his arms as I thought about how I would get home.
"They're not going to let me through passport control!" I wailed, Mr Warehouse consoling me with his big lovable embrace. "I look like Elephant man"
Pulling myself together and calming down I did what I could, took a pill (Paracetamol) and smothered myself in aftersun and Aloe Vera before packing my things up and sorting shit out. We left the apartment in good time to get to the bus stop, but with only a few moments to spare, parking our trip to the 'Farmacia' and I had to settle with a wet muslin cloth and sunglasses to hid my hideous appearance from the locals.
"I'll be lynched like a beastly mountain leper" I whimpered to Mr Warehouse as we boarded the bus to the airport.
Arriving at security it was a long line and very busy. Our flight wasn't until midday and already the airport looked rammed to the point of breaking with families, kids and adults with copious amounts of luggage, bags and cases. My face was throbbing and tight from being so inflamed so after getting through to the other side out first port of call was the Pharmacy or somewhere that would sell aftersun, Ibuprofen or anything containing any Aloe or Vera. Nadda. Two Pharmacies and both were before security. Suffering we boarded the plane, nearly an hour late. Landing nearly an hour and thirty minutes late into Luton all I wanted to do was go home. Catching a cab in rush hour over to my Grandparents house we avoided most of the school traffic and after a brief pop in to say hello we headed home, arriving just before dinner time and spending an hour or so with Momma Warehouse, thanking her once again for looking after our pups who we missed dearly before heading to bed, face still swollen.
The following morning I woke to something much worse. I now could not see out of my right eye at all. My face, still swollen, was worse from my left eyebrow across my forehead and around my eye, all over my cheek and was even impeding my speech now. I was terrified. This was serious. Calling through to the village doctors was about as much help as propping my eye open with a razor blade. I called our emergency number in the UK, the NHS 111 service. NHS 111 can help if you have an urgent medical problem and you’re not sure what to do and is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After my assessment I was, along with Mr Warehouse and his severely burnt legs and ankles, were told to report to the Accident and Emergency.
After waiting for an hour we were seen by a Triage nurse who not only briefly assessed us and looked over our complaints with little empathy but then went on to berate us entirely, telling us off and scolding my Fiance and I for not wearing sunscreen, branding us almost stupid and idiotic, as if we didn't need telling.
"You're both fair. Your should have been wearing sun cream" She laid into us. Yeah because spending several hours in A&E, wearing sunglasses the whole time and with a face the size of North Africa yeah really how I would choose to spend the morning following a holiday in the sunshine. Leaving in tears it was several more hours before we saw a doctor. I was seen first and after an assessment on my skin, facial swelling and eyesight I was sent away and told that the tightness and swell should subside in five-seven days! I return to work in three! Mr Warehouse was the same diagnosis and told to carry on taking a cocktail of Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and the odd Antihistamine to take down the swelling and carry on with the moisturising with Aloe Vera and aftersun.
It has now been nearly a week since the sunburn and I would say I have nearly fully recovered and my face is still swollen and very much so in the morning when I first wake up, but is getting better, as it Mr Warehouse's legs and ankles. Safe to say that might b our last holiday for a while ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 26 November 2018
Do Not Look Back, You're Not Going That Way ...
Heyy,
Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it.
Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident.
Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help.
"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.
Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK.
Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me.
After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon.
Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive.
A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it.
Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident.
Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help.
"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.
Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK.
Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me.
After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon.
Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive.
A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK.
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