Children are a worry

I remember my dad saying to me years ago something like “... you always worry about your children, doesn't matter how old they are...”. I probably instantly forgot what he said as I was young, unmarried, not a father and my dad had a distinct tendency to rabbit on and on and on usually getting more cranky as he pontificated.
Step back for a sec...
I realise now how like my father I've become although I've got more hair [when I let it grow] and am much taller... I can't say I'm overly chuffed how much the son is like the father. He could be irascible at times and easily wound up - a real little wog. I'm fortunate that I've got my mum's influences although between me and my brother I'm more like the woggy part of the family - firey at times and also easily wound up. I think I'm a different type of dad than he was although it wasn't because he didn't try to be the best father he could. I moved to Australia and it proved to be a great move. I live much more affluently than he could really imagine so my kids have had so much more materially than my brother and I did – that's progress, to quote Midnight Oil. Conversely my kids are more materialistic than I was although no fault to them and they are sufficiently cerebrally developed to know they didn't get everything they asked for and the reason why they didn't. They have also worked to get what they've given themselves.
Back to the topic... at work Wednesday and a call from The Little Worker.. son in Emergency with severe head pain.. oh bum... not the call I wanted.
Finished work early and went home.
Waiting, waiting..
A call.. “he's going in for a CT scan..”
Waiting, waiting...
“ he's had the scan and no obvious signs of bleeding but they're waiting for a radiographer to interpret the pictures...”.
Waiting, waiting..
feed the dog.. OK Midge, here's your dinner.
Waiting, waiting...
“Doesn't look like a bleed.. but they're going to do a lumbar puncture to check CSF for signs of bleeding or infection...”...
Decided to play The Good Samaritan... For The Little Worker a frozen Weight Watcher meal, an apple, serviettes, disposable cutlery... pack a bag for the patient... clean undies, T-shirts, warm top, toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant.. that should do.
Say goodbye to the dog with a warning to behave herself while I was out. Midge wags her tail - of course she understands. Head off to TCH..
Find a park near Emergency – amazing. Acute care is buzzing and noisy, lots of conversations, machines that go 'ping'. Son is zonked after lumbar puncture, morphine and fentanyl.
Nosocomial temporality does it exist? - Discuss
Of course it does.
"The results will be through in 45 minutes...", "I'll be five minutes"...
Hospital time is a non-imaginary state where seconds, minutes and hours morph into hours, days and eons.
We hang about on uncomfortable seats while doctors and nurses bustle past. I develop a hatred for the woman opposite, across the room about 20m away. She's obviously not bloody sick but apparently she's been complaining that she is and about the time it's taken for her to be examined by the medical staff... bloody hypochondriacs...
A couple of hours before any results from CSF sample... After midnight a doctor does an extensive neurological assessment of son.. lots of fine motor skills assessments and some hitting of reflex points with a rubber donger.
Current thinking is viral meningitis based on lack of evidence of haemorrhaging on CT scans, no blood in CSF and slightly elevated lymphocyte count in CSF.
Relief...
Time for me to go home.
The Little Worker bravely stays on with The Girlfriend who is almost asleep on her feet. I get home about 01:15 and into bed... bliss! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz