At the beginning of this week, my nine year old grandson fell off his bike. He had a lovely bruise on his side and tear streaked cheeks. A common occurrence when there are children about. However, it led to a not so common week for the family.
It quickly became apparent that all was not well with him, that the injury sustained was far worse than a bruise. At midnight on Tuesday night, he was wheeled into surgery to have part of his bowel removed. There followed several tense and horrid days, the likes of which I hope never to go through again. Faces were pinched with worry, sleep was lost, exhaustion was a by-product.
Thankfully, the little chap is on course to make a full recovery, although it will take some time. We are all breathing more easily now.
His parents, of course, spent all the time they could at his bedside. They do, however, have other children, and there were times when they had to be elsewhere. On those occasions, Grandma came forward and sat in their seat, making sure the little fellow had all he needed and was never left alone. I played cards and battleships, helped with paintings and puzzles, built lego houses and made music.
And when he slept, I read. My Kobo was the thing that saved me from going mad in those times. Being able to escape to the worlds created by authors such as Courtney Milan, Mary Waibel and Helena Fairfax kept the fears and the tears and the what-ifs at bay.
Although it was amusing to receive an email from Amazon suggesting a book I might like to buy, and then seeing said book was “The Bankrupt Viscount”, by yours truly.
I pity those who do not read. They don’t know what they are missing. And they have nothing to ward off their fears in life’s darkest moments.