Sporting accidents and life lessons
Regular readers will know that over the years I've charted the progress of my twin sons on here with stories of them setting fire to the chimney, wrecking a fire extinguisher at a toddler group, drawing crude pictures in the sand on the beach, and more recently their stepfather (currently going by the moniker Bicycle Repairman) has gleefully recounted Nugget #1's prowess in farting competitions.
Sadly this story is also about Nugget #1 and a sporting injury. Those of a delicate disposition may wish to look away now....

Nugget #1 is a talented sportsman - I strongly suspect that he was swapped at birth as I have no sporting abilities. At primary school he was put onto the Gifted and Talented register for sport (praying that it's the only register he ends up on...). I was very proud and have always encouraged him to try new sports. He and his brother have played rugby for our local team since they were five years old running around the tiny pitch all chasing the ball like a sugar-high flock of seagulls.
By the time they had reached the heady hights of Year Six - the final year of primary school - Nugget #1 played in various teams for the school and of course practised during break times with his class mates.

One Friday lunchtime an ad hoc game of football was taking place in the school field as usual. By all accounts Nugget #1 was set to score the winning goal but was fouled by a large boy who I shall call Fat Bob (his name was actually George, but Fat Bob sounds better). Nugget #1 hit the ground and Fat Bob stuck the boot in; aiming for the small but important family jewels, but actually making contact with his pasta filled belly. According to the teachers Nugget didn't get up but curled up on the ground and cried. When they finally moved him inside he was pale, tearful and in a great deal of pain. They telephoned me and as luck would have it I was at home that afternoon. I dashed up the school, bundled him into the car and was set to drive to A&E. "But Mum, I need to go to the loo!"

Okay, a quick detour home and then to A&E.

We got home, he limped upstairs looking sorry for himself. Five minutes later he hadn't come back downstairs. "Are you okay?" I called. The only reply was a whimper....oh dear. Finally he emerged, "Are you okay?" I asked again.
"My bottom is bleeding"
Good god! He's got internal bleeding! He's ruptured his spleen! He's perforated his bowel! It's lupus!!
"Quick! In the car NOW!"

Five minutes later we were parked up outside A&E some ten miles away. I took him in and explained briefly to the receptionist that he'd been injured in a football match, now had rectal bleeding, and I'd left the car in the drop off zone. No problem, they ushered us straight into the Important Bit with all the beeping machines, medical staff running about calling out for things 'stat', and an unmistakeable aroma of vomit, urine and NHS cuts.

Nugget was lying on an examination bed, curtain drawn around, nurses came and took blood, palpated his stomach, asked about the accident, and generally did nursing things. He looked wan, fragile, and all of his eleven years. Eventually a young female doctor appeared, she repeated most of the nurses' questions and examination, and then looked over at me with concern in her face. "I'll need to get the consultant to have a look at him. I think he needs to have an internal examination done."
I nodded, dumbly. She left to find the consultant.

Nugget looked up at me and asked what an internal examination was....
"Erm...well. Er. The doctor needs to check that everything in your tummy is okay...and, erm...the best way to do that is...by, erm...putting their finger gently..erm...into your bum."
"WHAT?!"
"It's okay! They need to make sure that you're not bleeding internally. They need to make sure you're going to be fine. It won't hurt."


I'm a parent. We lie.

A few minutes passed and the news sunk in. "Will it be the lady doctor?"
"I don't know"
A mixture of emotions crossed Nugget's face; anxiety, repulsion, embarrassment, fear. However, nothing had prepared him for the shock when the curtain was drawn back to reveal the consultant. Although I was sitting down I don't think I was far off in my estimation that he was about 6'5", skin the colour of polished ebony, and an accent which placed him somewhere from Central Africa. He introduced himself to us both and calmly explained that he needed to carry out this internal examination. Nugget looked at me in terror - he didn't understand the consultant's accent, so I explained it all again to him and reassurred him I'd be there holding his hands.

The consultant told him to lay on his side and draw his knees upto his chest. I told him to hold my hands tightly and keep looking at me.

"Gloves please"
The nurse handed the consultant a large pair of rubber examination gloves which he pulled on over the longest fingers I've ever seen.
"Jelly please"
The nurse squeezed KY jelly onto his long gloved fingers. I attempted to keep my face neutral.
"Okay Nugget, this is going to be a little uncomfortable, but it'll be over quickly. Just relax."
I repeated it all in a soothing voice.

Then I waited. Nugget waited.
Nugget looked perplexed.
Nugget looked apprehensive.
Nugget looked horrified.
Nugget's eyes came out on stalks.
Nugget's mouth opened in a silent scream.
Nugget's hands clamped on mine.

And then it was over.

The consultant looked up at me, "It's all okay. Once we get the blood test results back, if they're clear you can go home. No lasting damage."

An hour later we were in the car driving home. Nugget looked stoicly out of the window and said tersely, "That African doctor had bloody long fingers"

We try not to talk about it anymore.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:23, 14 replies)

This
gets's a click from me, as my unborn son is known as Nugget.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:28, closed)

Does this mean I'm not allowed to mention it when I visit?

( girlinthehole, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:29, closed)

If you do mention it he'll look at me in horror and then probably repeat that he thinks all my friends are 'mincers'
Gotta love teenagers :)
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:31, closed)

fantastic!
not so much the content, more the construction of the prose. and all that bollocks.

thank you for sharing what was obviously quite a traumatic moment in your son's life in such a hilarious manner...i trust his recovery was smooth
(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:39, closed)

You should start calling him Freddie...

(The Luggage is haunted..., Fri 20 Apr 2012, 14:47, closed)

Brilliant
As someone who's had to have one of these procedures I can confirm that all these doctors have, indeed, got long fingers.

And you never, ever forget.
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 16:03, closed)

Beautifully
written as ever. Click!
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 18:13, closed)

so this "Nugget" character is racist and (judging from all the faecal-related stories about him) shits himself a lot.

You must be so proud.
(MayorBoris, Sun 22 Apr 2012, 20:41, closed)

It's racist to not understand someone's accent?
What a narrow minded little world you live in.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 22 Apr 2012, 21:29, closed)

Ah-ha! so he does shit himself a lot then?

Edit: also, lighten up a bit.
(MayorBoris, Mon 23 Apr 2012, 6:57, closed)

Oh god yes, he shits himself a lot. :)

( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 23 Apr 2012, 10:03, closed)

Ha ha, maybe see a doctor (or shrink) about it then?
Also, yes, narrow-minded, for me racism is a straight-cut black and white issue.
(MayorBoris, Mon 23 Apr 2012, 19:13, closed)

You're assuming that we're white....

( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 24 Apr 2012, 11:21, closed)

This is ace
If it was my mother, though, she'd never stop reminding me of it. And everyone else who knew me.
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Sun 22 Apr 2012, 20:47, closed)