Holidays and hospital

Ah holidays and hospitals. Not exactly the combination dreams are made of. Well, not mine anyway. But it's the combination my week's been made of. The NABM household relocated to my parents' home on the north coast for a holiday last week. It started out well. On Thursday night it was all wine, slow roasted pork belly, nibbles, Mum's iPad, a foxtel remote and plenty of fun.

My sister arrived on Friday with her husband and my two adorable nieces. Just before her, a very good friend from Brisvegas also descended on the house with her husband, their master 2 and her beautiful belly filled with two (two!) babies. It was manic in the way a house filled with small people is. Luckily the adult to child ratio was in sanity's favour.

On Saturday the madness continued. My friend and I snuck away to seek refuge at the hairdresser where they kindly allowed us to face one another to catch up on a few months of life as they snipped and shaped our locks. We then relocated to the nail salon where the debrief continued. Party preparations were underway that afternoon for an evening of festivities. The engagement and upcoming wedding of a very good friend was the happy occasion.

One of the defining qualities of the extended clan of family friends we enjoy here is a commitment to celebrating certain rituals. One of those rituals is to throw open the doors and let the champagne flow to welcome new friends and their families into our lives when they become engaged to a native north coaster. I agree with the mother of the soon-to-be-groom who put it eloquently; the significance of such rituals cannot be underestimated.

We approached the event with characteristic enthusiasm, purpose and direction*. It was fabulous fun and it's possible the night ended with Mr G and I debating which one of us was adding the most value to the party to determine which one of us should head to bed first to be in sprightly form for Miss I. True to stubborn form, neither of us budged. The next morning Mr G gallantly got up and let me sleep for a few extra hours. Anyway. Sunday was great fun and all was well until the early hours of Monday morning.

It was 3am. Miss I was awake and running a fever. Mr G was groaning in pain. I ran upstairs to find the children's panadol I'd spotted in the fridge. I looked high and low but could not locate anything resembling paracetamol. I ran back downstairs to confirm the sighting of such medication with Mr G. He agreed it had been in there in the morning along with some Nurofen. I had another scout but it was no good. It then clicked that the medication belonged to my highly organised sister. My sister, who had driven back to her house earlier that day, and naturally taken her girls' meds with her.

Great. I had just failed parenting 101. I believe it's the first time we've travelled that we haven't packed panadol. Naturally it's also the first time we've been away that Miss I has woken at 3am with a temperature and we've needed it. Killer combination that. Several phone calls later I discovered there was no 24-hour chemist nearby and my only hope was the hospital. After a bit of haggling the emergency department said they would dispense a single dose of children's paracetamol without having to admit her first.

I jumped in the car, ran into the hospital, thanked the nurses and raced back home to administer the liquid gold. She fell back asleep and woke the next morning with no visible signs of damage. Phew. Sadly Mr G was still groaning. He was in pain, felt unwell and didn't want food. This is most unlike him. To add to the fun I woke with a sore throat and the fuzzy head that usually signals the start of a cold.

He battled through the day, moving from room to room, seeking relief from his temperature and discomfort. I took him for his word when he insisted he didn't need to see a doctor. That was until Dad arrived home from work and was visibly shocked by his appearance. A friend who is a doctor came around to assess the wounded. He figured another night's rest would probably sort him out. Sadly it didn't.

So this morning I dropped Miss I to a truly lovely friend of my Mum's (who had flown to Sydney for work) and took Mr G to hospital. My second visit in as many days. They gave him fluids, pain killers and diagnosed a nasty case of gastro. He is recovering now and will hopefully bounce back soon.

A selfish person might begrudge this intrusion whilst on holidays. They might think it's unfair and undue that their scheduled free time is hindered by the universe's ulterior plans. And, look, those thoughts may have fleetingly crossed my mind. But you know what else did? You can't wait for a holiday to enjoy yourself or go off duty. Because things don't always go as you hope. Thank goodness I lapped up the fun on Friday, relished my hair appointment and the chance to sit with my friend, enjoyed the champagne on Saturday night and chatted to another good friend for hours on Sunday. Because if it weren't for all of that, I might well be begrudgingly administering the care today.

When have your holidays not gone to plan?

*The origins of approaching tasks with "purpose and direction" is another well worn ritual. A particularly disastrous bushwalk on our annual Easter camping holiday. A post for another day.