He barely slept last night, his excitement was all consuming, morning seemed to take forever to arrive but when it did he bounded out of bed with all the energy of a Duracell bunny and was dressed, teeth brushed and hair combed by 7.22am.
Today was my son’s day.
After almost two years of being dragged to hospital appointments that were not his own, spending half terms in children wards visiting one of his sisters and knowing far more than a child should about Type 1 diabetes and Hip Dysplasia, Twin Boy had finally been referred and his hospital appointment was finally here.
He strode to school with the confidence of a man, stopping to tell anyone who crossed his path that he wasn’t going in this morning, he had a meeting with a chap in a white coat and a pretty nursing lady. He gleefully waved his twin sister farewell at the door and then leapt back into the car with a grin spreading across his face.
“Drive mummy, drive,” he said, hoping to see me put my foot down and drive like Nigel Mansell. I refused to exceed the speed limit and he grumbled pointing out that if my reckless driving had caused an accident at least we were going to the right place for a whiplash injury.
As we drove the ten miles to the hospital ward, he fidgeted, giggled, played with his small sister and only asked 396 times if we were nearly there yet.
Then we arrived, to the familiar NHS greying building, knowing my way around too well I stopped by the vending machine for a cup of tea and ushered my two children into the waiting room to play with blocks and coloured in colouring books.
The minutes on the clock ticked by until;
“Owen, is Owen here?” a friendly looking nurse popped her head around the door.
My son continued playing oblivious to the woman. BB bent down to her older brother and cupped her hand around his ear and bellowed “Owen” so loudly that the old lady next to me dropped her walking stick on the floor in shock.
He looked up at me confused and possibly dazed from the ringing of BB’s lungs in his ear.
The nurse repeated herself in a slightly louder tone,
“Are you Owen?” she said smiling at my boy.
“Pardon” yelled back my son.
“C’mon,” I said “pop those toys away and it is your turn.”
“The boy’s turn?” queried my son, “what boy, I am the only boy, is it my turn?”
The nurse and I snorted in unison, both of us trying to conceal the giggles that were threaterning to spill from our throats but still unable to do so with any degree of success.
Twin Boy, still slightly bewildered, popped the toys away and followed us in to the room.
It may come of no surprise to anyone to discover he failed the hearing test. It seems that after living in this highly engetic and moderately loud household for seven years his ears have done him a favour and his some of his hearing has buggered off.
We have lots of home remedys to try and bring it back. Twin Boy is delighted to have finally got a condition with a name : heavily congested glue ear.
And the best news?
He gets to go back in two months for more tests.
I never asked for less than healthy children, but it is lovely to see him so happy to not be 100%!
You could have told him he doesn’t have to share everything!
I tried Jax I tried!
Waits for the post in which you set light to the living room having gone economy class on Hopi ear candles.
They have been recommended!
aww glad the lil man had his moment of glory. So long as they are all bloody ok for our weekend away!!
god yes!
Ooo we had this with Scamp not long ago – whilst waiting for the next test we were told it might be worth trying an otovent from the chemists, some sort of balloon thingy – I couldn’t help but think of old skool Allo Allo ear trumpets!
LOL!
I love that boy. x
xxx
Your tales are always amusing! Hopefullyhe will be fine in time and at least he isn’t scared of hospitals!
He loves them!
Glad it was something that caused happiness rather than tears. Glue’s good for that! Our Austin still talks with glee about the time he ‘had his head glued back together’ after he smashed it open and I had to run to a&e….
Kids eh!
Oh bless. glad he is so thrilled.
My hearing test involves opening a packet of chocolate biscuits quietly in the kitchen. The one that comes running had no hearing problem. The one that didn’t had glue ear. Now sorted he comes a-sprinting at the first crinkle of a packet so all good. x
he is very! x
Oh no! (But oh yes???)
This reminds me a bit of my youngest. When she was two and three she had to have operations on her hand and we had to go back and forward to the surgeon with her bandaged wound for check ups (the first time we also had to go to A&E because she dipped her hand in yoghurt and ended up with an infection – but that’s another story).
Anyway, he’d just got the bandage off when the then 9yo was involved in yet another garden incident and had to be rushed to hospital because he’d crushed his finger. (They cleverly built it back up, you can only notice something odd at the nail.) We had to go back and forward to the hospital for a couple of months. The 6yo was SOOOO jealous that her brother now had his hand in a bandage. She tried to get the doc to give her one!