The wait began

 So the ambulance crew arrived and were led through to our lounge and attended to my brother, and confirmed he was very lucky and was definitely alive. Thank goodness. Ipso facto, so was I, for a while longer. (Probably) It was possible I would be alive for a few hours or so. My father wouldn’t be home till at least 5pm. Unless of course, on hearing the news he would finish early and catch the first bus home.

Did I mention we lived at the end stop of the trolley bus for the valley area. Right at the turnaround, which was always fun on early frosty mornings; of which in Dunedin there were many. As the blue sparks flared from the connecting bus poles on the electric powered overhead lines. Often the bus poles would dislodge from the lines as the trolley bus would manoeuvre the turnaround. The poles would clatter around at the back of the bus and the bus would come to a stop. The driver dismounting from the bus and going to the rear to pull out the cable and reset the power poles on the lines before starting off again.

So, even if my father left work straight away, it would still be twenty five minutes minimum before I would hear him arrive home. Unless he took a taxi home. No, my father wouldn’t do that. He occasionally arranged a taxi if he was going out for a special social evening, but I don’t recall him ever rushing home from work, for any family disaster. He had probably got used to them.

At least in my head I thought I would now remain alive until my father returned home and had heard the story from the others. No doubt my version would be heard last. But that was a good thing. It meant a few extra minutes of life. Not that I would be doing much in those few extra precious moments, as no doubt once my brother was out of the house I would be sent to my room to wait for my father’s imminent return.

My brother’s initial treatment had been completed quickly, efficiently and without too much fuss by the ambulance crew. It was more the panic of those around the ambulance crew that slowed things down, created the noise and the stress. My brother, now moved to a stretcher, was then transported out of the house and off to the hospital for a date with a needle and thread. A very sharp needle and a very, very, long thread. I recall it was about 48 stitches later they managed to hold the cut together.

(continued tomorrow)