Not the sort of fireworks I experienced that New Year’s Eve
Friday 2nd January 2009
New Year’s Eve was planned for a while: we’d go for lunch and see what happened after that. Then Steve was really late home, so we had to run to the nearest pub and order ASAP before they stopped serving. I was annoyed about that, and he got annoyed that I chatted to Mel and her bf (because we’d seen them on the 27th, so what else could I possibly have left to say to them).
In the end we decided to go home. Things were ok at first – we were even trying to work out a way we could afford to stay here if we got married (I must have been drunk!). Then he had too much Special Brew and turned into the Incredibly Stupid Hulk. I went upstairs out of the way before he kicked off, and leaned against the bedroom door to stop him getting in. So he punched it. As you do. Well, no, as only he does.
Then I heard him crying. Went outside and he’d got his last knuckle halfway down his hand and the head of his metacarpal bone pressing up against the skin. Definitely fractured (broken) and possibly a dislocation or tendon injury as well.
Cue a taxi trip to A and E, five hours getting treated (because the Princess Royal Hospital A and E is rubbish – docs excellent, nurses crap), and a taxi ride home – punctuated by his need to chuck up half way. All at the bargain price of £30. Ironically, one of the things I’d been annoyed at lunchtime was that he’d moaned about getting a taxi home so we’d have time to eat!
So now he’s in pain and in a plaster. We have to go and get it checked today because the nurse didn’t know how to do it properly – I kid ye not. I could have done as much as she did myself, in a quarter of the time, and most miffed she was when I wanted her name to make a complaint. For she was the Sister in charge! She gave me some waffle about how it was New Year and busy. I stared towards the CCTV banks, showing acres of empty waiting room. She said they’d had an emergency in the ambulance. ‘Oh, that’ll be the ambulance whose drivers were gossiping with your nurses saying how quiet it was. I heard that, since we’ve been waiting for this plaster for four hours. 1st in the queue all that time. I believe Birmingham Accident Hospital took less time to deal with the aftermath of the pub bombings.’
I did wonder if there was some tragedy I’d missed – a mass sheep explosion, injuring multiple farmers or something – but there wasn’t. Just inertia and complacency and work expanding to fill the time allocated to it.
If there’s one thing I hate more than a drunken idiot, it’s incompetence. Maybe if Steve was a rubbish bricklayer I’d dump him!
Wednesday 2nd January 2019
There are two things that strike me when I read this.
The minor one is how much time I spend whingeing at the hospital. Yup, they were awful, especially that nurse. In the plaster room, I told her she was plastering him up wrongly – she plastered him in colles position. Like she’d take instruction from a tipsy goth. But that really should have been by-the-by compared to Steve’s behaviour.
The main thing that shocks me is that I remember this incident completely differently. I’m left wondering, did I downplay it in the blog? Or has the memory changed with endless re-telling?
I remember it as me running into the bedroom, and him following me. We continued to row, and I went to walk out. He shut the door from behind me and I turned to face him, but was stuck by the door because of his body – he was still holding the door shut with his left arm. He then stepped back and tried to punch me with his right arm, but he was totally out of it, so I moved and he hit the door instead.
So I went to check the door. The mark is on the outside of the door. Haha, it’s not that there’s a dirty mark I haven’t cleaned in 10 years, it’s a splintering in the wood. The other side is smooth.
So the blog was correct – he wasn’t aiming for me.
But downstairs, in the living room, is a similar mark that I have no memory of ever happening. I think somehow, over time, another incident happened where he did try to punch me, and hit the door instead, and I’ve somehow put the two together in my mind. The other mark is smaller, as it would be if he was aiming in front of the door and not at the door, and so he didn’t break any bones then.
Who knows maybe we will discover this incident, that I’ve mashed together with this New Year one, at a later date in the blog?
This possibly also explains why I didn’t seem too troubled by his behaviour here – for once he hadn’t actually hit me, only a door.
And as for getting home late – builders don’t work late on New Year’s Eve. He was out scoring, it’s obvious to me now. It wasn’t back then.