Bang on the Head

I was going to write a Blog provisionally titled "Three Outfits in One Day", which was going to be a lovely little ditty about going the market, the beach and having old friends round.  But the latest incident has to take precedence.

Poor little Rufus banged his sweet little head on our marble fireplace last night.  Amongst the high jinx of bedtime stories he rolled off the sofa-bed, right on to the sharp edge.  Much drama and bleeding ensued, and luckily The Grandparents were around to help out with the other children as well.  We waited a dramatic one and a half hours for the ambulance.  They checked him over and then we ended up driving Rufus to Box Hill Hospital at 10:30pm ourselves as they didn't have a child seat in the ambulance.  They did, however, switch on the red and blue flashing lights especially for Rufus - otherwise the bang on the head would have been all for nothing!

Not much seemed to be happening at the Hospital when we got there.  The nurse checked Rufus over, cleaned up the wound, and gave him a completely over-the-top head bandage which we were all very much chuffed with.  How jealous Henry would be!  This was real life. After years of playing doctors  - Rufus was actually in the midst of the action.

We were eventually seen by a nice English lady doctor at 3am.  She glued the wound together, and brave little Rufus only cried right at the end.  So sore, so tired and very much over it.  "I want to go home." he said very quietly and sadly.  No one wants to be in a stinky old hospital 5 minutes longer than necessary, let alone 5 hours in the middle of the night.  He is at the moment, sleeping peacefully, holding lifeline blanket, with a massive bandage wrapped around his head.

The funny thing was the nurses and doctors kept asking Rufus what had happend. 1. To check that he actually remembered the incident and thus was not suffering concussion and 2.  To check that his parents didn't whack him soundly on the way to bed.  They were getting nothing out of him, just a blank stare, wide-eyed bewilderment at the staff.  As soon as they were gone he would rattle on to me non-stop talking, then they would come back and ask the same question "Rufus? Can you tell me what happened tonight?" Nothing. Zip.  Much sucking of fingers and clutching of blanket.  Once I saw his lips move in mumur, but he thought the better of it.  I think he thought it was the naughty children police checking if he was behaving at bedtime.

Eventually an old lady came in with a similiar head injury and bandage.  "What happened to her?" asked Rufus.  "I don't know" I replied, "But I'm guessing she wasn't doing a backwards roll off the sofa-bed".