This ghastly occurrence, did (Would you believe?)
Unfold on that day we call All Hallows Eve…
I’d decided to knock up a mean “zombie stew”,
Which has all the same stuff in as chilli! Who knew? 😉
Now a good zombie stew contains beans, so of course
I cut open a tin and then crushed it – with force.
Which perhaps on reflection was frightfully dumb?
As the pinto bean can swiftly sliced through my thumb.
I glanced at my hand. Held it over the sink,
As I took a deep breath and a moment to think.
Blood began pouring precariously,
And a chunk of my thumb wasn’t where it should be.
As a fast flow of red stuff now circled the drain,
A barrage of thoughts also circled my brain.
Just what should a fiendishly wounded mum do?
Home alone with a preschooler, only we two?
There was nobody local. Not free anyway,
So I called “Daddy Pig” – just an hour away!?
I tried not to take it too personally;
He assumed that I’d crashed the car, obviously.
But then said in the words of my own Superman,
“Don’t panic Love. I’ll get there when I can.”
So with hope of immediate rescue now gone,
I picked back up the phone and I dialled 111.
The Boy, in the meantime was watching with glee,
‘Til he realised: “Hang on, this is not about ME!?”
And he suddenly felt just a smidgen left out,
So decided to show me how well he could SHOUT!!!
With pain kicking in I began to feel sick.
I now needed help and I needed it quick!
As I sought great advice from the nurse on the phone,
The Boy became STARVING, and started to moan.
His hunger was instant, and curiously
Needed urgently tending to. Apparently.
And so with his mum somewhat preoccupied,
He put forth his demands.
Which could NOT be denied.
“I want a Ice-wowwy!” He swiftly declared.
Whilst I whined at the help line and frantically glared.
…And so it continued.
Down those awkward tracks.
With The Boy sat there randomly calling out snacks.
Now thankfully Hubby arrived at great speed,
Having summoned assistance from some
noble steed a taxi.
He raced up the drive and burst in through the door.
(By this point I was shaky and sat on the floor.)
The Boy turned and glanced, not entirely relieved?
…His face from the biscuit tin slowly retrieved.
And away I was whisked to attend A&E,
With The Boy tagging on somewhat reluctantly…
I’m now back in one piece.
I survived the ordeal.
Having learned a few valuable lessons I feel:
Number one: When attempting to make zombie stew,
It is best not to add any small bits of you.
Number two: Actual blood is a touch O.T.T.
No Halloween points for authenticity.
Number three: Whether injured through cut, bump or fall,
My three-year old frankly is no use at all!
My needs shall be trumped by his need to be fed.
His disaster response is entirely cake-led.
He’s not good at first aid and won’t call 999.
But he’ll pass me a biscuit.