Recursive Words

While getting on with my work early this afternoon, the community midwife arrived at our door to measure, weigh, and inspect my granddaughter. It would appear there is a lot of paperwork involved in bringing a person officially into existence, and making sure they are happy and healthy.

I caught bits and pieces of the conversation, that involved lots of the words “normal”, and “good”.

And then I heard the term “A & E”.

Suddenly whatever I was working on left my head, and my stomach fell away. I don’t remember what was on the radio, but I wasn’t hearing it any more – I was hearing every word being uttered in the next room.

I wasn’t in the room, but I could guess the reaction – given the sudden turn towards “Don’t worry – I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. It’s probably nothing. I’ve checked everything I can, and everything looks fine. I just think we need to make sure”.

The funny thing? She then carried on with her checks, and asked to take my daughter’s blood pressure.

I wonder if it broke the measuring device?

Minutes later my other half arrived home, having dropped everything. An hour after that, the emergency room physician in our closest major hospital did a “top to bottom” examination, looked up, smiled, and said “You have a perfectly healthy baby”. He then paused, and added “but she has a bit of a blocked nose”.

The relief was palpable.

I guess we should be grateful that the wheels of the national health service turned so rapidly. After a lifetime’s experience waiting in A & E after minor accidents or mystery illnesses for hour upon hour, today we discovered that when a newborn baby arrives on their doorstep, all the cogs turn at once.

Given the amount of flack the national health service often receives – from an entirely predictable demographic – I thought it worth calling out how amazing they were today. Yes, they scared the life out of us, but they also stepped up to the plate without hesitation.

This evening the house is quiet once more.

A wonderful quiet.

Quiet except for the gentle music I’m filling the junk room with. A playlist called “Winding Down”. I might have poured a glass of red wine for myself and my other half too.

Breathe.

Remember to breathe.