A Faint Hope

26 08 2009

Yesterday I got a phone call from the school that every parent dreads. My child had fainted, banged her head, and an ambulance was on its way. I dashed to the school, praying the whole way. The paramedic arrived just after me. It was hard to find her in the classroom since she’d blended into the whiteboard, but at least she was sitting up and no blood was on the outside.

The paramedic ran tests on her blood pressure, heart beat, pulse rate and sugar levels.  All fine. The slight concern was that she’d banged her head so we really ought to get it checked at the hospital. The hospital clearly thought we were wasting their time, so we zipped off for a smoothie and a pastry (well, her blood sugar was on the low side).

So what had happened? The class had started a discussion about murder, and the teacher described, in graphic detail, a stabbing that had taken place. This caught the imagination of some who asked for more information, all while my girl had her hand in the air to ask them to stop. Her imagination was taking her to a different place. The teacher realised too late, and she crashed to the floor.

I blame her dad. He’s been in this exact scenario several times – like when I had my first scan for my first baby. There I was, bowled over with excitement watching this miracle inside of me. There he was, lying on the floor in the doorway, out for the count having bashed his head on the radiator on the way down. That was the end of him being a modern dad. He never attended another scan and I gave birth on my own while he was relegated to the corridor, like a 1960’s dad.

I hope my eleven year old outgrows it

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