My day did not actually start out all that badly. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I yelled at my kids to get ready for school, but that is par for the course. If anything, things were coming along quite nicely, thank you, Universe. But Universe, you didn't have to throw a spanner into the works. No really, you didn't.
I was rostered to take a pensioner out for some social support, and she wanted to mail a package. I mean literally mail a package; I'm aware 'mail a package' is slang for having a shit, but no, I had to drive her to the post office. We were pretty much at the end of the allocated time, and she was finalising her business at the counter, and I received a telephone call. It was my eleven-year-old's school, advising he had presented to the office and reported a seizure. If you're a regular follower of my self-indulgent blogging, you will be aware my younger child is epileptic. He has complex partial seizures, not full-blown, and his medication normally controls it perfectly. Fortunately, his paediatritian has anticipated a likely need in medication tweaking, and a few weeks ago wrote him a script for some additional dosage. But in any event, it's not fun to receive this news.
Unsurprisingly, I was feeling a little agitated as my client and I left the post office. I was parallel parked right out the front. Actually, when I moved my car into that space my client and I joked about the luck. I said, 'For once the Gods are smiling on us, instead of shitting all over us!' And as we descended the ramp of the post office (my client uses a mobility aid), some flog parked in front of my vehicle and backed up fast, hitting it. I said something somewhat un-ladylike. The driver then got out, and ran across the road. Look, I know sometimes you can clip a vehicle and not be aware; I've done this myself (I was blaring music in my car; heard and felt nothing). It was a few years ago, but when it was brought to my attention I had clipped another vehicle, I did the right thing straight away. But anyway, I was a bit distracted being worried about my kid, and all that jazz. So I got my client ensconced in my car, and stowed the mobility aid in the boot. A kindly man came over to me and said his father had seen the other driver hit my car, and asked was I okay. I said I was, but more concerned about my son in the school infirmary at that moment We walked alongside my car to inspect any damage, and then a huge semitrailer went roaring by and almost dragged me into its slipstream (seriously, Council, can the fucking bypass that's been in the 'works' for at least fifteen years that I know of get constructed already?). The man swept me into his arms and held me tight against his chest to save me. If this was a movie, we'd have looked into each other's eyes as Celine Dion music played (for this reason alone, I am glad it wasn't a movie). What actually happened is I looked around wildly and spluttered, 'Fuck me, that was close!'
The damage to my vehicle appears confined to a crack in the plastic covering of the number plate. My son has to have a blood test at 4.00pm, to comply with the eight hour requirements of acceptable time between his particular medication and blood taking. He will be a brave little soldier, if his stoicism last time he needed blood taken is any indicator.
Sigh.
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