Picture this. You are going to the Great Ocean Road, a spectacular driving holiday. A bucket list item for many. You are towing a camper trailer and have two small children. At the end of the first day of travelling, all the kids want to do is play on the playground. But you need supplies. Fresh bread, milk, etc. A pit-stop at the local supermarket should be quick and easy, yes?
Of course. Except for when your toddler falls over the front of your shopping trolley, onto his head, and passes out. Locals freeze. You scream while frantically blowing into his face, trying to get him to 'wake up'. This is what happened to us.
Ben runs around, asking locals where the hospital is, while Ashton rolls his eyes around, in and out of consciousness. Hearts are beating super speed. Bread and milk don't seem so important now.
Five minutes later, after trying to prop Ashton up in the baby seat while he 'dreams', we are running into the hospital with him in our arms. The running seems to awaken Ashton and before long he is trying to figure out what all the new toys are, pulling at hoses, trying to turn gadgets on - all while a nurse tries to get his stats. Phew. At least he is conscious and aware. I presume all is ok, and we will be sent home within a few minutes.
But no, 'luckily' for us, we get to spend five hours in the hospital with Ashton being monitored. Nurses check on him constantly, making sure he is stable and not suffering from any internal damage.
We had the huge kids room to ourselves and allowed to bring in fish and chips for tea. It's not where I want to be; I'm getting bored, but I want to make sure Ashton is okay. Finally, after final checks, the nurse discharges us. Yay. Not the playground the kids wanted to play in, but an adventure none the less.
Guess we didn't need supplies after all - not for dinner anyway.