Here ‘s the thing I am most grateful for this week: that the garbage man doesn’t come to collect on a Wednesday night.
Rightly you might be wondering what is the significance of this designation trash day and how does it relate to the rather odd announcement above. Well, settle in and allow me explain this tale of trash & treasure…
Fate would have it that a few days I did something quite out of character, and in a fit of spontaneous spring cleaning madness (even if it was in fact winter), I began to do a bit of de cluttering. This included the contents of the fridge. Because (and it could well be just me) there are always unidentified items lurking in its midst that, while not reeking of rot, have been sorely overlooked in terms of the expiry date.
Spying a silver chemist bag tucked away behind my row of sauces, I nonchalantly tossed it over my shoulder and into the bin. I guiltily assumed I’d left Harrison’s June dose of antibiotics lingering unnoticed instead of tossing them 6 weeks before.
And so, I didn’t bother to give that bag another thought until the early hours of Thursday morning, when a distinct sound woke me from my slumber…
If you are a parent of a child who suffers at the hands of croup, then you will understand the icy fist of fear that clenches your heart when you hear that first, oh so distinctive barking seal cough. Nothing can wrench you from a deep sleep or rip you from the warmth of your cosy bed on a cool winter’s night like the sound of your son struggling to breathe. The first time it happened I’m certain I lost ten years off my life…
And thus a dreaded realisation dawned on me in the pale fridge light at 1am Thursday morn, while my son wheezed away in his bed; what I presumed to be an unused portion of antibiotics was actually the unused steroid prescription required right now to reopen my son’s airways!
In the interests of avoiding more middle of the night mad dashes to hospital for the steroid medicine, we were filled a prescription for these midnight emergencies. That was back in March. I hadn’t thought about it since.
The oversight struck with such force for a minute I was paralysed with inaction and fear. Then I sprang to life, remembering that all was not quite lost, as long as I could locate the missing medicine. Throwing on the lights and lunging for the kitchen bin, I began my mad rifle through but soon realised my next error. It had already been emptied the day before and was nicely decomposing with the rest of the week’s trash in the outdoor wheelie bin.
Oh, the horror.
Feeling a bit frantic this point as the weight of this bungle hit me between the eyes, I rushed to wake the husband. Needless to say he was less than impressed. In a few short hours he needed to be leaving for work, and instead of getting some much needed sleep, here was I confessing the crazy error in judgement I’d just realised I’d made.
Asking him to stand guard at the front door, I ran to retrieve the offending rubbish. Neighbourhood Watch seemed to have shut up shop early for the night as thankfully there appeared to be no rustling of curtains or peeping out at the strange woman doing a moonlight PJ’s run to wheelie bin, to recover the required refuse. A small victory.
The husband, bleary eyed and bemused, watched over me as I donned my faithful washing up gloves and trawled through the decaying miscellany, including such delights as discarded dinner leftovers and nasty smelling night nappies, as I desperately searched for the medicinal treasure.
And amid the greasy cobwebbed concoction of waste, there it gleamed: the silver chemist bag. Inside it, glistening like the Holy freakin’ grail of all things medicinal, was the prescription medication.
So my boy got his much needed dose and commenced regular breathing patterns.
I got a much needed new set of washing up gloves. And the lesson that I shall never bother with spring cleaning the fridge ever again.