Don’t panic, funny.

27 Jul

Last Friday I received a phone call from my Stepdad that went something along the lines of: “Hi Shan, don’t panic! Your Mum collapsed at work and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. The Doctors don’t know what’s wrong.” Don’t panic, funny.

I arrived at Mum’s bedside just in time to see her convulse uncontrollably, three times. Mum couldn’t answer questions and she was crying, and the nurses weren’t giving us any information. I was certain I was going to have to call my brothers and deliver the news that Mum had a stroke. It was intense times.

After running tests and giving Mum medication and fluids the Doctor eventually diagnosed Mum with exhaustion and dehydration. Phew, nothing serious. But not so great for Mum ‘cause now we’re all mad at her for not taking care of herself… Mum had 4 surgeries last year and isn’t supposed to be working but because she is insane she is back working 5 days a week, which means she is in constant pain and doesn’t sleep and gets crazy headaches. And, she’s also going through menopause. And, oh by the way, she’s ONLY 48 so is far too young to be falling apart like some old lady.

I want to kick her butt! But talking to Mum is like talking to… someone who is not listening. She’s one of those annoying battler types, totally selfless and convinced of her own invincibility, etc – and always worried about money. Grr! It’s all too much to think about – so instead I will do some bragging about our much adored nephew, Noah.


The whole family visited Mum on Saturday, mostly to lecture her. Around lunch time Mum (who is “Joma” to the grandbabies) was resting on her bed and Noah had a little lie down with her. After a couple of minutes he jumped up and said: “Quick Joma, sit up! We on a ‘paceship now!”

Mum: “I’d like to rest, mate.”

Noah: “C’mon! Help me solve dis mystery!”

Mum: “What mystery?”

Noah, whispering and pointing: “Those footprints.”

Mum: “What footprints?”

Noah: “Over dair!”

Noah runs out of the room but returns quickly: “Mystery solved Joma! Dem was Kangaroo footprints.”

And he has never even seen Tank Girl.

I love his 3 year old imagination, vocabulary and pronunciation. We’ve always said we hope we have one (2? 3?) just like him.

Here he is measuring our puppy with a tape measure (take note of my ridiculous mother who, the day after being in hospital, agreed to carry his tools and notebook wherever his heart desired).

Mum: “What does Bailey measure?”

Noah, with no hesitation: “50 long!”

So clever (so wrong).


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