Random thoughts from a random mind

I don't suffer from randomness… I, obviously, quite enjoy it!!

My grandson, the Drama Queen.

on May 31, 2012

I haven’t posted for a while and, to be honest, I haven’t had a lot to say that was worthy of a quick read. The only thing that’s happened recently, (Gosh, I sound boring!) was the day I spent with my grandson, who is 10 years old. He has such a brilliant sense of humour, sometimes it’s hard to believe how old he actually is.

Unfortunately, though,  he was rushed into hospital last Friday night after suffering a bad asthma attack. However, after good care from the doctors and nurses, he was allowed to go home the next day. Whilst we were waiting on the ward for him to have his final checks from the doctor he entertained us with his wit although, ‘I wasn’t trying to be funny,’ he says.

The Dr came over to him and asked him a few questions about the frequency of his attacks and what normally triggers them. He told him that when he did running and playing football, he became wheezy. “The trouble is, I want to be the next Usain Bolt and my asthma stops me,”  he’d said.

To which the Dr had replied, “Once we get your medication sorted out, there’s no reason why you can’t be 2nd to him.’

Ahem, I didn’t say I wanted be second to him, I want to beat him!’ he’d retorted in his matter of fact way.

My grandson wants to beat him.

The doctor just shook his head and smiled to himself.

Whilst the Dr examined him he was very fidgety and found it hard to concentrate because he was attached to a pulse oximeter, a peg on his finger which estimated the level of oxygen in his blood. The monitor constantly showed the wavy lines that you see on heart rate monitors and a number. In his case the number had to reach 93% before the doctor would allow him to go home. He had become annoyed with the peg as it was making his finger hot so he took it off while the Dr listened to his chest with a stethoscope.

As he glanced around he noticed the machine and screamed out, “I’m dying!”

The Dr calmly replied, We are all dying from the moment we are born.”

I must admit, I had thought that the Dr could’ve been a bit more sensitive and put  it across in a different way so as not to worry him.

Again he said, I’m flat lining on the machine and that means you are dying, I know because I’ve seen it on the telly.”

After a few seconds the Dr had to point out that the machine was showing a flat line because he had disconnected his finger from the peg. My grandson wasn’t too convinced and still complained that he was dying so the Dr reconnected him. Once he saw the familiar wavy line and the number he was reassured.

He then told the doctor about the dog eating his homework that day and how his teacher would tell him off, to which the Dr had replied, ‘Not that old excuse.’

My grandson turned to his dad and said, ‘See, even the Dr doesn’t believe me. I’ve used that excuse a few times now and my teacher won’t believe it, except this time it’s true.’

The doctor looked at him and said, ” I have never met a 10 year old like you before. You certainly have a sense of humour.’

His dad looked at me and back to the Dr and said, “To be fair, he’s just like my mum.”

What a cheek!