Scars and Bruises

Last month oldest son had a freak tennis accident. He was running for the ball when he collided with the tennis net post and cut his leg badly. His doubles partner continued playing and even went on to win the point while oldest son was on the floor. Alas although they were ahead in the match, a set and a break up, they then had to forfeit due to the injury.

The first I heard was a phone call from the tennis coach.

“Your son has cut his leg and needs to go to A&E to get it stitched.”

Fortunately the nearest hospital is only a few hundred yards along the road from the tennis club but I never realised just how dangerous tennis was before.

“You can see the bone.” I was informed by my son when I arrived shortly after. I didn’t want to look.

We waited and waited and eventually we were seen by a young doctor, a very young looking doctor – isn’t that when you know you are getting old?

Anyway because this young medic was also a keen sportsman he erred on the side of caution and decided not to stitch up the wound straight away but get a plastics consultant to look at it to assess if there was any tendon damage.

And so we waited for another two days before finally oldest son was operated on under general anaesthetic. Fortunately there was no tendon damage but it’s always better to be safe than sorry and he has a tale to tell.

“You’ll have a great scar,” I told him, “and when you get a girlfriend she’ll love it!”

He looked at me with all the distain of a teenage boy to his mother, as if I was mad.

“I’d rather not have a scar at all.”

Yes wouldn’t we all! 

No scars, no bruises, no visible marks to show the life we have lived.

Andrew had his appendix out when he was six or maybe it was eight, all I know is he was a very young child and he had been very poorly with it. And so he was left with thin scar on his abdomen which completely fascinated me as someone who’d never had an operation. 

As we lay in bed sometimes I would run my finger along it, just because as his wife I could, I wouldn’t recommend you go up to anyone in the street and do it.

I was amazed at how he’d been stitched back together and that although he had “nearly died” (his words but apparently true as his appendix was twisted almost bursting or whatever the medical terminology is) here he was all mended. Sometimes I even thought he was saved just for me so we could be together – melodramatic I know but I have some crazy thoughts that run around my head!

Now of course it is me who wears a scar, an invisible one that runs across my heart, cracked and broken, patched up but not totally mended, it never will be.

We all have scars and bruises, that’s what makes us human. It is those blemishes and marks that tell our story, show what we have lived through. 

Our scars show our vulnerability and they can be strangely attractive.

One day I have no doubt oldest son will find a girl who will trace the line below his knee and be captivated by his story of bravery and how he got his “war wound” – seven stitches in total. 

OK so there will probably be a lot of laughter to go with it because let’s face it running into a tennis net post is essentially a stupid thing to do, especially when you are already winning the match and the point isn’t crucial.

But it shows the character of my son, his determination and drive to do the best he can.

My own scars show I have the ability to love deeply.

One of my favourite songs this year has been Bruises by Train and Ashley Monroe, I know all the words and sing along in the car at the top of my voice, complete with American accent.

I would love to fix it all for you

I would love to fix you too

Please don’t fix a thing whatever you do.

These bruises make for better conversation…

You’re not alone in how you’ve been

Everybody loses

We all got bruises

Of course the most important scars in the whole wide world are the one’s Jesus has on his hands and feet from being nailed to the cross. I’ve read somewhere that these scars will always remain, even in Heaven, when we have new bodies and everything is made whole.

While our bruises fade away Jesus’s scars act as a reminder of what he went through for us – now you can believe that or not but I for one can’t wait to see those particular scars for real, perhaps even touch and marvel at the immense love they show…

Too much drama and frustration…

There are loads of things we take for granted.

Hot water, heating at the flick of a switch, the simplicity of cooking a pan of pasta.

On Monday evening my carbon monoxide alarm went off.

There was a minor blip last week when it was beeping annoyingly but quietly. It was an old unit so I somewhat distrusted its reading. Besides when I fiddled around with it the noise stopped. To be on the safe side I left the back door open for a while and turned off the boiler.

Content there was no real danger we went to bed.

BUT I did resolve to buy a new detector.

Typically I ended up buying two – well a double pack was cheaper! A friend fitted them by my two gas appliances – boiler and Aga (yes I know that makes me posh, at least in the circles I mix in.)

The unseasonably warm weather of last week has suddenly disappeared leaving a chill in the air and Monday night thankfully the heating kicked in.

Twenty minutes later there was beeping – a very loud BEEPING – a proper alarm.

Now the boiler is out the back in a little utility area next to the downstairs loo and there is a big heavy door separating it from the rest of the house. I have to tell you all the facts.

Once more I opened the back door to get the fresh air flowing and flicked the boiler off again. The utility was pretty steamy; it gets like that when it is a misty day which is probably the real problem!

Anyway the noise stopped so youngest son and I want back to our particularly HARD jigsaw puzzle we’d foolishly started.

Then for no reason the alarm started up AGAIN. LOUD AND VERY NOISY.

The only thing to do was ring and report a gas leak. This now fell into the “serious problem” category. 

Carbon monoxide the silent killer – youngest son was doing impressions of choking to death and collapsing on the dining room floor.

“We’ll have someone with you within 2 hours. Just stay away from the appliance and maybe get some ventilation.”

Rewind a few years back when this happened before. We were told to evacuate the house, open all the doors and windows and not switch on anything electrical.

I remember sitting on the doorstep in a panic, Andrew was typically away. He told me when he rang just how stupid I was – remember he worked in the gas industry, out in the middle of the North Sea. To him domestic gas supply was such a miniscule amount it wouldn’t cause any major problems.

Maybe that is why this time I kept so calm and didn’t call for re-enforcements until I absolutely had to. Oh I’d been on the phone to friends to keep them informed; it’s too scary when nobody at all knows what’s happening to you.

Well the man turned up – eventually, he did have to ring to ask where the house was. Next time I’m having a house with a number! I had to go and wait at the top of the drive for him.

My job is just to “make it safe” he announced. All he needed was a cape and to be wearing his underpants on the outside of his trousers!

“Make it safe” I already knew from experience meant “turn the gas off”, although he did something else, fiddled about a bit, but he didn’t even have a carbon monoxide detector to check the readings. Then he asked me stupid questions about what kind of noise the alarm was making and which lights were flashing implying I may have called him out unnecessarily.

The noise had been driving me mad so I had taken out the battery before he arrived and of course when we replaced it there was no alarm.

By this time having taken in the implications of having no gas, no heating, no Aga, no hot water, I was getting a bit frazzled. So I told him I didn’t like being treated like I was blonde, the alarm was the alarm, not the noise to replace the battery, it was brand new.

I resent being treated like an idiot, a silly little girl, “making safe” means “turning off” don’t dress it up to sound heroic and talk to me like I at least have an ounce of common sense.

Yes I had my grumpy head on – can’t I blame it on carbon monoxide fumes?

Anyway he left me with a bit of paperwork having to call another branch of the gas chain the next day – is this the results of privatisation? That one man can turn off your gas but you need another to check things out and re-establish supply.

So the next day I called British Gas, who I have a service contract with and they said they would send someone out.

“Can we make it an afternoon appointment?” I was taking youngest son and friends to the cinema and it was all arranged. Obviously you can mess about with my own schedule as much as you like – it is my lot in life – but when it impinges on the kids that’s another matter.

I was booked in for after 1 but before 6.

So we traipsed back from the cinema, forgoing the second part of the trip, lunch at Burger King, in plenty of time for the engineer to call.

Only he, or she (we have a fantastic female British Gas engineer around here) hadn’t arrived by 4 so I decided to chase it.

I was told the engineer was on their way but if no one calls by six to ring back.

Which I did, then a supervisor rang me back to say someone would be here tomorrow – which is now today, between 8 and 10.

It’s now twenty to nine and I have to pick oldest son up in twenty minutes from his school trip.

Once more I am stuck, caught out, balancing the house and the family. Running round like a headless chicken and that’s only to keep warm.

As I said at the beginning we take a lot for granted, assuming things will work at the flick of a switch and if not thinking we have a right to have someone here now to fix it.

Why has it taken me so long to discover that actually unpleasant things happen every day to ordinary people? The really good stuff happens to very few. 

I don’t EXPECT the good stuff now.

I am officially a pessimist but at the same time thankful I at least have a working kettle! 

And very thankful that oldest son is safely on his way home.

Off to pick him up now and if the gas man calls...well he will just have to wait!