A Duck with a Broken Wing.

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It is amazing how your life can change in a split second, don’t you think. You have a nice evening planned, a fabulous weekend to look forward to and then…. BANG.

Your plans are changed for you.

This is what happened to us on Thursday evening. We shoved the kids in the car, and we had one extra as we tend to do these days. We were off to Chatswood Chase to shop to try to make Mr Woog look less like a tradie and more like someone who actually works in an office, and to sample the delights of the local dumpling house. The dumpling house was the carrot that we dangled in front of the kids as a reward for their model like behaviour while clothes shopping.  No mean feat, as you can imagine.

We had been at the shopping centre for approximately 89 seconds when the incident occurred.

Horatio had raced into Herringbone, a store that sells fancy expensive mens clothing. I called out “Not there darling…” as we are clearly not millionaires. He about faced and came peeling out of the store at about 1000km per hour and took a left. It was then that he met hit fate in the way of an almighty fall. His feet are huge, bigger than mine and I wear a size 9, and I suspect that they might be to big for him to control at times. Whatever it was, he lay there on the ground in a reverse, horizontal, Jesus on the Cross type pose and let forth the most primal, guttural scream that I had ever heard before.

You know when your kids might be playing in another room, and you hear a thud, count to three and then hear the scream. This was like that, but ten times worse.

And it is moments like this that, as Mums, something takes over you and you will literally fight lions with your bare hands and tear new assholes to everything that moves, to get your kid to a hospital and get some sort of elephant tranquilizer into them to dull the pain.

A nervous looking security guard and shopping centre manager morphed up from the ground with a wheelchair. He started asking me what happened, and can I fill out some sort of a form. I told him politely to shove his form up his ass. I barked to Mr Woog to take the other kids to a mates place and to meet me at the hospital. Horatio was howling when I suggested his arm might be broken, because FOOTY SEASON was about to begin. And then I remembered about Coach Jim.

Coach Jim’s son came off a skateboard last week and is out for the season with a broken arm. Fuck.

And then my Mother Hysteria really came into play. We were on the street and the centre manager was doing his best to hail me a cab. Eventually one pulled over and I said dramatically “We need to go to emergency IMMEDIATELY!” And then he said…..

“NO.”

I will not go into what happened next, only to say it was not my finest public behaviour, but do not stand in the way of a “sick with worry” parent and expect the Miss Congenialty crown. It was when a large Lebanese man stepped off the pavement and issued a small but savage threat to the cabbie, that he unlocked the doors. Thank you scary stranger. Mr Woog was at the lights in the car, watching the whole thing go down. He said it looked very dramatic, and that is because IT FUCKING WAS!

But of course then, I had to sit in the taxi with the scared driver. I apologised a thousand times and he said that he understood, and sorry that he was reluctant but he was a bit frightened about the crying lady with the kid in the wheelchair. I said that I too, understood and I could see where he was coming from. And then we exchanged phone numbers and am going to laser tag together this weekend. But I made that last bit up.

We arrived at emergency and were quickly seen to. The nurse explained that things are quiet at 6pm, because the drunks had not started falling off bar stools or flinging themselves at cars yet. And for this, I am forever grateful. They stuck something up Horatio’s nose, a painkiller, and it turned him into a comedian instantly.  The x-ray was taken and even to my untrained eye, I could tell that we were not dealing with a sprain. On hearing the news, H released a fresh set of tears.

Ten weeks of no sport. And with a trip to Bali coming up in a fortnight, well it was all just too much for him.

Can I just pause here for a moment to sing the praise of nurses? If you are a nurse, I love you hard. The nurses were magnificent in caring for my little ducking. His operation was scheduled for the next day and went very well. He now has a cast on up to his armpit and has gone off to school with a grin and a texta, so everyone can sign it.

Coach Jim asked for photo evidence. I sent him a shot. He texted back with “That is not a break, this is a break…” and sent though a photo of his sons arm pre-op which I am choosing not to share with you as I am not sure how squeamish you are.

The Mighty Ducks have overcome adversity in the past, but I am just not sure how the season will go with the Coach and the Manager’s sons out with broken wings.

Watch this space….

Ever broken something?

Have you ever morphed into a warrior mum?