Around two years ago, when we were living in the old house, J came in from the garden crying and crawling on his knees.
I tried to get him to stand up, but he couldn't bear weight on his left foot, and wanted to sit down.
I panicked and thought he's broken his ankle or toe, but on closer inspection I realised he had a nail stuck into the sole of his foot.
Where this nail had come from I don't know, but it was sods law that he was jumping off of the climbing equipment, directly onto this stray piece of metal danger.
I could see the outer part of his skin around the nail head was already pussing up with green gunk and knew I had to get him seen to.
So we took him to our local NHS 'Walk in centre' on the advice of my GP surgery.
We waited for over an hour in their waiting room.
His foot was turning red from, what we later learnt, the infection.
We finally saw a triage nurse who said he would need to be seen at the main hospital.
Great! Wasted our time on that then.
Up at the A&E department, we waited an hour to see a triage nurse, before waiting a further three hours to be seen by a doctor.
J had behaved perfectly, sitting in his wheelchair and not making much fuss, considering he had a nail embedded in the sole of his foot.
When we finally were called through to see the doctor, I reminded them that he had learning difficulties and would not co-operate and did not understand what they were saying.
I was told by the first nurse that she was very good with children and he would be fine with her.
J screamed when she tried to lift his foot up to see.
So she knelt on the floor to have a look.
J screamed and would not keep his foot still for her.
She muttered something and disappeared back behind the curtain.
Ten minutes later another nurse appeared, and she too was very good with children, apparently.
When I explained about J, I was again met with not much acknowledgement of what I was saying, and felt as if they knew better and I was being over the top.
J screamed at her attempts to look at his foot.
She scurried off.
A paed doctor appeared, blustering in with the curtain swishing with her presence, and she declared J would need an x ray. Ha! If he won't keep still for a simple exam, how will he keep still for this? "Oh don't be silly, they are very good in children's x ray, and know what they are doing".
Well, in x ray we started off with a nurse, an x ray technician and a helper.
We tried him getting on to the trolley. Scream.
We tried him sitting in a chair. Scream.
We then tried him in his wheelchair, moving all the equipment around, bending and contorting it to reach him. Scream.
A further two nurses were called in to help.
I was given a lead apron to wear so I too could help.
Scream, scream scream.
J had turned beetroot and was sweating.
I was sweating and was trying to balance myself crouching down and holding his knees, whilst the lead apron dragged me with the gravity towards collapse.
After 45 minutes, I had proved that Sure deodorant does not work for 24 hours. It may work for the lovely svelte girlie who is rock climbing and jumping over things, but for this mum, stuck in an x ray room, with a screaming 6 year old, it let me down.
So, we were sent back to the department.
We sat for a further thirty minutes before anyone dared appear.
We were being moved to a side room. One that had walls and a door. Not sure that was going to keep the noise away from all the other patients.
The paed doctor appeared again, and was "very disappointed" that we had failed getting her the x rays. I explained, yet again about J. For a paed doctor she was not very in touch.
I asked about him being sedated for an examination. As they still hadn't gotten a look at his foot.
Paed doctor looks at me as if I have asked her to hack his foot off with a rusty blade and be done with it. "Oh no no no. I don't like giving sedation unless it's really needed".
Perhaps if I were to start screaming too, she would have considered it.
So, we were now stuck in this side room. Bare white walls. A strip light running down the middle of the ceiling. A solitary wall sticker of Winnie the Pooh pigging out on a jar of 'hunny' peeling at the edges.
J was calming down and lying on the bed.
I was sitting on a hard plastic flimsy chair wishing I could make this better for him and escape this place.
Suddenly a very tall and imposing male doctor appeared. He was authoritative but listened to me.
He took in what I was saying and muttered to his fellow companion he needed X to be called down now to help.
He administered some drug up J's nose.
This drug would either calm him down enough to feel spaced out and allow them to examine him, or it would make him hyper. Wow what a great drug! Sleepy or hyper and no-one would know how it affected him until it had been sprayed up his nostrils.
J did not become passive. But neither did he become hyper.
Then, a further 20 minutes later, tall doctor, his companion, (this is a bit like Dr Who, but not the lovely Mr Eccleston alas) and X ( a nurse from the paed ward upstairs) came in, held him down on the bed, looked at his foot, produced some metal instruments, and 'clang' I heard the sound of the nail being dropped into a metal kidney shaped dish.
His foot was cleaned and bandaged and he was given a tetanus shot along with some antibiotics.
It was all over. We could go home. Hurrah!
In total we had spent nine hours at the hospital.
It was dark when we left to go home.
As soon as we walked in the door, the nasal drug had decided to work its hyper wonders and J became manic. He behaved as if he had been fed sugar coated happy pills. But, at least he could bear weight on his foot, albeit limping, but not crawling along like before.
I did feel that if we had been listened to and the staff had an understanding of learning difficulties we would not have been treated the way we were, with added stress being applied because they knew better than me.
And I know this is a common occurrence for many other parents and their special children.
