Roses

It’s been a nasty few days for me and mine. It started on Monday night when Ma and I were winding down after dinner with a bit of telly. We got the phone call that shattered the night into strange chaotic fragments and sent us into a frightening slow-motion tunnel as we struggled with the news and fumbled through the necessary chain of activity.

My wonderful Nanna, Ma’s ma, had been taken to hospital. She had been found confused and quite badly injured on the road in front of her home with her car smashed backwards into the house across from hers. Through a number of proceeding calls we managed to establish that she had sustained bad bruising and grazes to most parts of her body, a deep gash to the back of her head and several broken ribs. She was conscious but unable to recognise my uncle who had been called in straight away. An hour or so later it was revealed to us that the results of a brain scan showed severe haemorrhaging between her brain and skull and that the 87 year old would not survive the necessary operation.

With shaking hands and vision blurred by tears, we booked the next flight for Ma to fly over to Perth to be with her brother and sister and hopefully get there in time to say goodbye to her mother. By the time we managed to pack her case and make a list of arrangements for me to look after in her absence, it was nearing 2am, and we slept like lead until 5am when it was time to send Ma off.

I spent most of Tuesday in a state of semi shutdown, hovering around the phone, waiting for news and making calls to cancel Ma’s commitments, explaining the bad news to concerned friends, and trying to keep my mind off all the possible scenarios that could play out in the next few days.

It was just when the Professor arrived on the scene with a big bunch of roses in hand and a warm and comforting cuddle that the call came from Perth. Nanna had survived the night, stabilised and may not need the operation at all. Here it is, Thursday afternoon, and the old girl is struggling on, despite massive injuries and sceptical medical staff, complaining that she wants to go home and water the garden. Her doctors are astounded by her survival so far and the family remains cautiously optimistic that we’ll eventually be able to take her home.

This is no daily jolly for me. It’s a wonderful blessing that I got to talk to a groggy old woman on the phone again and send her my love and best wishes for recovery.