I headed out to the festival yesterday, brimming with good humour and sunshine, and tripped down to the main stage to meet my parents. I missed dad at first, I hadn't seen him in a while and he shaved his 'tache while he was on holidays. (In all my 26 years I've seen him baldyfaced just the once, when I was about 10 and he shaved it for charity. I think we all made strange, mam included, so it was back 3 days later). Gave him a hug, asked where mam was. He pointed to the ambulance parked behind him.
And sure enough there she was, waving out through one of the little windows.
She'd been fine, dancing to Kila and generally having a ball until she got a pain in her chest and started having difficulty breathing. Luckily there were medics on hand, they took her to the ambulance, checked her out and then decided to whisk her off to St. Michael's to make doubly sure that she was okay. Dad accompanied her to the hospital, my brother and I had an anxiety laden pint while we waited for word of her blood results.
I'm horribly, irrationally superstitious. I knew she'd be fine, but a little voice in my head kept whispering "these things happen in threes, you know". Two friends of mine lost their fathers this summer and though I know better, I sat there making smalltalk and sinking into a panic that I was going to lose my mam.
Turned out she's been shifting furniture at home the day before, with little regard for her bad back or for the abundance of willing bodies nearby who would happily lend a hand. She'd pulled a muscle in her chest, so she's fine.
She nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, though.
And sure enough there she was, waving out through one of the little windows.
She'd been fine, dancing to Kila and generally having a ball until she got a pain in her chest and started having difficulty breathing. Luckily there were medics on hand, they took her to the ambulance, checked her out and then decided to whisk her off to St. Michael's to make doubly sure that she was okay. Dad accompanied her to the hospital, my brother and I had an anxiety laden pint while we waited for word of her blood results.
I'm horribly, irrationally superstitious. I knew she'd be fine, but a little voice in my head kept whispering "these things happen in threes, you know". Two friends of mine lost their fathers this summer and though I know better, I sat there making smalltalk and sinking into a panic that I was going to lose my mam.
Turned out she's been shifting furniture at home the day before, with little regard for her bad back or for the abundance of willing bodies nearby who would happily lend a hand. She'd pulled a muscle in her chest, so she's fine.
She nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, though.
