No. 3 has been complaining of a sore leg since yesterday. We should have taken him seriously but seeing as how the leg in question has been dragged behind him, Quasimodo fashion, for the evening we thought he was taking the piss. Still thought he was taking the piss up until 12.30 today when we realised those tears (yup, the ones lepping off his face) and the chattering teeth were for real.
Oh dear.
Rang Temple Street and they said 'He's old enough to know his own pain levels, bring him in". 'Bollox' thought I. Himself was all set to bring him in but I felt guilty for saying if he, No.3, didn't stop with the limping we'd just take the leg off below the knee .. . yeaaaaah, so I brought him in. Took a while to get into town but traffic is always mental on a Saturday isn't it?
Checked in to the hospital and was helping Hop-a-long into a seat when I noted that the lady that looked like Ms.A.B. was, indeed, Ms. A.B. Her daughter had hurt her foot doing a cross country run. They'd just been seen by the Triage Nurse and were told there was up to a four hour wait.
WTF????
I had wedding cakes to deliver at six o'clock. I remembered Ger's advice and started to B.R.E.A.T.H.E and was just starting to come back to being able to see when Ms.A.B. put the fecking boot in and said 'You do know there is a big water charge march today, don't you, and that there are rolling road blocks/' Er, no. No I bloody did not.
I rang Himself and said "you need to go to Bernies and you need to bring the cake toppers and the ribbon and the ... cake toppers". Then I rang Bernie and said 'No. 3 is in hospital are the cakes ready Darren is coming to get you and then we're going to swap and then you and me are going to deliver the cakes and is that alright with you?" Love Bernie, with all my heart, as she simply said 'alright so'. I bet she secretly despairs when I ring her.
Then I waited. For two hours. Got to have a proper catch up with Ms.A.B. and told both her and her, probably too young, daughter that the Bone Surgeon was a very fine thing. A very fine thing who was seven feet tall, tanned, gorgeous arms and cowboy booted. Beep!! Text Message 'We're outside'.
They arrived in and myself and Himself swapped over. I gave him No. 3 and he gave me Bernie. Then. It. All. Ground. To. A. Frustratingly. Slow. STOP.
No matter which way we turned (and I'd been given amazing 'avoid the protesters' instructions by my friendly neighbourhood Garda, G) we were stuck. It took two hours to get from Temple Street to Dame Lane. Two hours!!!! At one point we were stuck in the middle of the protesters and they were screaming "What do we want (shouldn't that be 'what do we NOT want?)? Water charges!!! When do we, not, want them? NOW!!!" Meself and Bernie are in the car screaming "We want the car to fucking move!!!!!!" As we drove past Dublin Castle, for the second time, I had this sudden shiver . . . I'd never told Himself about the cake stands. We had no cake stands for the cakes. Four cakes and no stands. Did I mention we had no stands???
Got to Odessa and found out they don't do cake stands. Lovely chap working on the desk but no one really knew what was what when it came to us. We left two cakes at the top of three flights of stairs and staggered back down and out into the world to find cake stands. Was like the mentallist treasure hunt ever. Cackle, we both ended up in Dunnes where we bought a teacup and saucer, a hurricane lamp and two pretty bowls. All of which made delightful cake stands (receipt in back pocket as all are being returned tomorrow. . maybe not the cup as it's a mug size cup and very pretty).
Back into the car and 35 minutes later we were back at the hospital. I was swapped for Himself and no. 2 and Bernie was, finally, allowed to go home.
So. No.3. He has soft tissue damage and has been given crutches. He walks like god knows what. All hips and arse and big movement. Keep telling him to walk properly or he'll injure himself but . . .it doesn't matter as we're back in Temple Street next week anyway.
Big Sigh.
p.s. Ms.A.B's daughter? Broken bone in foot, ouch.
p.p.s. It got so bad at one point I was on to Ger three times in then minutes so she could tell me it would be 'fine and to breathe'.
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