Whiplash, a Broken Ring and Sparkly Hearts

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I think we’ll set up a reality show at Chez Distressed Housewife, similar to The Osbournes, about all the mini disasters that have been happening lately.  It would make for great TV.

For example, nearly three weeks ago a taxi driver crashed into me whilst I was waiting at the traffic lights.  I was three cars back with my hand brake on, on my way to do some shopping with Zach in the back eating a meat pie, his Thursday treat.  The taxi ploughed into me with such force that it knocked off his number plate and caused his passenger (who must not have been wearing her seatbelt) to bang her head on the inside of the windscreen.

There were two slightly comedic moments in retrospect; one, as the impact happened, it knocked the pie out of Zach’s hands at which point he loudly wailed, ‘My piiiieee!’ as it arced through the air, hitting the back of my seat and falling on the floor.  Terrified that he had been injured, I hurried out of the car but was reassured because once the pie was reinstated into his hands he continued to tuck in as though nothing had happened.

The other one was standing in the middle of the road with the taxi driver conveniently holding his number plate aloft as I copied it down, now it was no longer attached to his front bumper.  I can laugh now but believe me, nothing about it was funny at the time.

I drove shakily to my husband’s garage (luckily there wasn’t any damage to our car apart from a slightly bent bumper) and as I sat drinking a brew with trembling hands, I realised that what I thought was pain caused by banging my head on the headrest was actually moving into my neck and the top of my back.  I was reluctant to go to hospital but thought I should get Zach checked for concussion at least, even though he seemed to be fine after his fallen pie trauma.

Once there, I expected everything to be routine but oh no, fate had a much more exciting installation in store: a suspected fractured vertebrae! At which point all hell broke loose; I was put into a neck brace and it took three people to lie me down on a bed to wait for an eight minute ambulance response team.  Once arrived, I was ‘log rolled’ (such a flattering term, like I was at best, unshapely and at worst, a turd) onto boards and restrained further in head blocks and strapped down as though they were about to tell me, ‘Ve haf vays off making you tock.’

Once x-rays confirmed I was OK to return home…things went even more to shit.

I’d been due to shop for wedding rings that evening as my other one fell apart (it turns out now due to mistakes made when it was being resized).  The following week I chose a new one, ordered it…and was informed it would take 6-8 weeks to arrive.  I’ve now found an alternative so I’ve cancelled the ring…but the money has still been taken, completely wiping out my account.  I’m now waiting for it to be refunded which will apparently take 3-5 working days; it took thirty seconds to take it out of my bank but will now take almost a week to pay it back.  Go figure.

Then, in addition to the claim I’m submitting for this accident, I have a claim currently with solicitors from an accident nearly three years ago when I was hit in the head in a swimming pool by a dive bar.  The council is willing to take me to court and I could be liable for costs if I lose, regardless of the fact that I suffered for six months as a result of an injury caused by the misuse of their equipment.  It gets better; now this claim for whiplash may be affected as the opposing solicitors might argue that I wouldn’t have been injured to the same extent if it wasn’t for the other injury I sustained…so I may lose out again.

We’ve had leaking pipes that flooded the kitchen; Zach cut his head open again by falling off the settee where he’d been climbing again; I put loads of effort into an application for a teaching job and didn’t even get an interview and then the icing on the cake, the piece de resistance: just this morning I’ve returned home to find that the decorated egg that Josh made for me at Cubs last night as a belated Mother’s Day/early Easter present has been scoffed by the dog.  All of it.  The only evidence she left was the three sparkly baubles that I assume were too chewy.  She did, however, eat the sparkly heart.  That’s going to be fun when she next has a poo.

Anyhoo, this week, I need to grab onto any little positive I can find so this is what I’ve managed to salvage:

1. Josh told me that even though I’m highly embarrassing, I’m still the best mum in the world and he couldn’t ask for better.
2. Zach has only called me ‘poohead’ and stuck out his tongue at me once so far today.
3. I’m currently charging my iPod so at least I’ll have music as I clean up everybody else’s crap.
4. We have no decent food and no money to do a shop so I’ve treated myself to a shop bought sandwich (I know, extravagant) and I managed to find a parking space right outside (a rare occurrence indeed).
5. Erm.  Ah. Err.  Nope, that’s it, can’t think of anything else…