As I sat in the train this morning, fast asleep as usual, I had a couple of texts on my phone. Of course, being the incredibly considerate commuter that I am, I have my phone muted whenever I’m on the train (ignoring the couple of isolated times that I have talked about before and for which I still suffer mortification) so I didn’t realise they were there until I reached my destination.
The first was from Mirinda to say that her dad had been upgraded to business class on the first leg of his flight (Sydney to Singapore). This is quite ironic because this trip he was testing the comfort level of travelling premium economy. Still, the luxury of business class was soon replaced with premium economy for the final leg to London.
He wasn’t that keen on premium economy but, as I said, he was moving backwards through comfort zones, going from business to premium. For me it was the other way around.
I’ve never sampled the joys of a flying bed, having to put up with a cramped and narrow seat, squeezed in with the hundreds of people in cattle class. For me, premium economy was as luxurious as a husky being let into the house.
The other text was a little more serious. Dad, in an effort to set a new distance record, tried long jumping across the living room from a recliner rocker. He was on two fouls by the time of his third attempt. He clearly didn’t give himself enough forward momentum, falling harmlessly back into the chair.
His third and final effort saw him flying across the room, landing with a thud, his head almost touching the television on the other side of the room. It was not a good landing.
Mum tried to help him up but he insisted on staying where he was until the discomfort subsided. After a few hours, mum decided she needed to call an ambulance.
Dad had a fractured hip. This was diagnosed by the ambulance woman as soon as she saw the angle of his foot.
They then proceeded to, very carefully, strap him onto one of those stretchers the rescue helicopter people use. Mum was fascinated. She’d seen it happen on the TV often enough but, she said, it’s quite incredible watching it for real (Dad has not been available for comment on this amazing procedure).
The ambulance whisked him off to Nambour hospital where they gave him some blissfully tasty morphine and promised to operate as soon as they could.
I should add that mum didn’t text all of that…I Skyped her as soon as she woke up tonight. I mean ‘tonight’ our time as it was morning over there.
She is keeping me informed as to dad’s progress. For reasons which annoy me in ways too numerous to mention, I have had to keep this post ‘silent’ meaning it will not appear in my Facebook feed. The last thing dad needs is some sort of strange noises being forced into his ears.
That sounds so good when you write it like that I feel like I am in a book.
love mum x