Surgical saga, part 3

For about a month and a half, whilst I was busy down in Bristol impersonating sleeping beauty, I sadly missed a couple of landmark events. These included Christmas, New Year and also – and this is the one that pains me more than anything – the memorial service for my dear grandmother, Gug. Having explained last time how close we were as grandmother and son, this was an utter travesty, and something that will unfortunately haunt me for life; I am reluctantly having to accept. It’s nothing short of heartbreaking that Gug’s funeral was collateral damage from events surrounding my accident; I missed it due to being, well, in a coma! I guess I have only myself to blame for going up on that roof in the first place…

Don’t climb on roofs kids!

I just wanted to spare a thought for my dear parents, who, as parents, came about as close to rock bottom as is humanly possible. Picture this, if your imagination is powerful enough to allow you to do so; you are my parents – still lying in bed as the day is still young – when you receive a knock on the door. “Who on earth is here at this time” you ask, “what could they possibly want now” your confusion continues, until my father rouses himself and heads downstairs. He is then subjected by something that no parent deserves to go through, which is two police ladies from the Northamptonshire constabulary, asking if his son is called Thomas. My father, having done his proverbial time with the law, knew instantly that it is never good news when they send two police officers rather than just the one. When he apprehensively confirms that he does indeed have a son called Tom, he is then informed that his son has had a major accident in Bristol and was at that time fighting for his life in Southmead hospital. My poor parents are then ‘blue-lighted’ (driven at breakneck speed to the tune the car’s sirens) down to Bristol – which I have recently discovered only happens if they don’t think you’re going to make it – where they find a roundly distraught Ben. As I explained last time, having been woken up on the roof by a police officer, they then took Ben to Southmead hospital where I was temporarily residing but then, not being a direct relation of mine, wouldn’t tell him anything about my condition…God damn red tape! Just put yourself in Ben’s shoes for a second there and you get an idea of how agonising that must have been…

I also know now, from what I know that my parents had to endure in the first few days and weeks, that there is no greater pain for a parent than what they went through. Let us also spare a thought for my siblings. At this point my siblings were all over the place; in a variety of different scenarios in which to receive the news. My brother Fred was working in Surrey, whilst Ed, who’s also at Bristol University, was mid-way through the second year of his Spanish and Politics degree (shout out to the language crew!). My sister, Bella – a.k.a Bubz – was in her last year at school and was pulled out of a lesson by a teacher who relayed the news… not the nicest manner in which to receive the news is it? As if school wasn’t bad enough already!

All things considered and thinking back to where I we all were this time last year, I couldn’t be more excited for Christmas…

Merry christmas to one and all!!

Published by luckiestmanalive1

Internationally-minded English journalist.

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