Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1812

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1812
by Angharad

Copyright © 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
Napoleons_retreat_from_moscow.jpg

Picture courtesy of wikipedia: Napoleon's retreat from Moscow by Adolph Northen

“Whoo-hoo,” a yell filled my ears, thrusting me into wakefulness whether I wanted it or not. In the background the radio muttered away and in front of me Simon, clad only in his underpants was doing his version of a highland fling.

“What’s going on?” I glanced at the clock, it was just after seven.

“Andy Murray, he’s won the US Open.”

“And?” I asked angrily.

“He’s the first Brit to win a grand slam tournament for 76 years.”

“So?” I said throwing myself back onto my pillow although I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again.

“The first Brit to win a grand slam for 76 years.”

“What about Anne Jones and Virginia Wade?”

“What about them?” he asked.

“They won Wombledon.”

“Yeah, but they’re women.”

“Oh, I see, women don’t count,” I said loudly and immediately wished I said it quieter.

“Not in the men’s matches, no.”

“But you didn’t stipulate men’s matches did you? You said the first Brit.”

“On are we?” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you know that’s not possible.”

“I know that on average about once a month, you get incredibly crabby just like my pain in the arse sister.”

“I’m not crabby,” I had to pause to get my breath, “I’m merely pointing out a terminological inexactitude.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong, buster.” I threw a pillow at him which caused me then to have a coughing fit. It did save me from having one thrown back at me, but I think I’d have taken the pillow every time given the choice.

“You all right?” he said walking round to my side of the bed.

I sat there trying to get my breath, he handed me the inhaler and I took a couple of puffs. It helped, the steroid opening the bronchioles to their maximum enabled me to get a decent breath of air.

“I think you need to see the doctor again.”

“I’m all right, as long as I don’t need to shout or talk too much.”

“Go and see him!” Simon commanded.

“Bugger off,” Was my response, “I’m seeing the consultant in a couple of days.”

“So you’re going to put up with this continuing breathlessness are you?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Have you tried the girls healing you?”

“It doesn’t work on me, does it?”

“Have you tried it?”

“It won’t work.”

“Have you tried it?”

“No, but I’ve had the girls stand very close to me.”

“But they weren’t trying to heal you?”

“No–they don’t have to, it works by itself.”

“It might with you, but not with them.” Before I could say anything else he called Trish into our bedroom. She came skipping into the room. “See if you can heal your mother’s chest,” Simon said to her.

“Okay, mornin’, Mummy.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” I croaked and coughed.

She climbed onto the bed and put her arms around me and kissed me.

“I feel better already.” I said then blew it all by coughing again.

“Hush,” she barked and put her one hand on my back and the other she moved across my chest. “Here, I think,” she said and placed a cold hand on my skin which made me jump.

“Is it working?” asked an anxious Simon.

“No, her hands were cold,” I said, and started laughing which resulted in coughing. Trish shoved her hands on me again and this time her right hand became very warm, in fact uncomfortably so.

“Jeez, your hand is burning.” I said, but she clamped it to my chest while Simon in the background started singing, ‘Your little hand is burning–nah–it’s got to be frozen.’

I could feel the sweat starting to roll off me, but still Trish held her hand to me.

“It’s okay now, darling,” I said to her.

“Not yet–I’m doing this not you, Mummy. You wait until I say so.” I sat still and felt very hot.

I looked at the clock, but it was only ten past seven–goodness time seemed to have stopped, or maybe just the clock. Finally she pulled away. “That should feel better, Mummy, there was a small bleed but I’ve sealed that off and started re-granulation of the damaged tissue, you should feel better in a couple of minutes.”

“What did you say?” I asked her.

She stopped and turned around, “I dunno, what did I say?” She’d been in a trancelike state.

“Never mind darling, get yourself washed and dressed and get the others, up will you?”

She dashed out of the room and yelled at her sisters.

“Feel any better?”

I wiped my forehead and nodded, “The pain has gone, and I feel able to breathe a little easier.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t think of that earlier?”

“I did, but it didn’t seem to work for me. Phew, I feel exhausted.” I lay back down.

“Okay, you stay and rest. I’ll ask Tom to take the girls to school, he’ll be happy because Murray won.”

I felt myself drifting off to sleep and when I awoke a couple of hours later I was alone. The clock read nine fifteen. I took a deep breath and for the first time in a couple of weeks, I felt no pain. I struggled out of bed and into the bathroom, my chest seemed okay for the moment, and definitely better than it had been. I crept into the shower and emerged some twelve minutes later feeling much better and cleaner.

I went downstairs where Stella and Jacquie were talking, “How long is she going to be like this?” asked Jacquie.

“I have no idea–you should have seen her when she was stabbed originally. She very nearly died.” Stella was speaking from her first hand experience–she was there when it happened.

“Why did he stab her? I presume it was a man?”

“Yes, he had a thing about women cyclists. He’d assaulted several, but he kept the worst till last and stabbed her as she rode past.”

“How did they catch him?”

“Simon nearly beat him to death. He slashed at Si, who picked up his bike and tried to shove it down the bloke’s throat, broke his jaw amongst other things.”

“Wow, a bike sandwich.”

I walked in on them. “Am I too late for breakfast?” I said blithely.

“Hi, Cathy, I was just telling Jac how you got stabbed.”

“Yeah–I think I’ll go to talk with David about some food,” I said and walked on.

“Tea?” asked David as I walked into the kitchen.

“Please.”

“What would modom like to eat this morning?”

“Any toast, Monsieur le chef?”

“Eh oui, madame, assois-toi, s’il vous plait.”

“Merci, monsieur.” I said as he drew out a chair for me, just about exhausting any French I’d learned in school–no linguist me.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3ZMpv9CnZk&feature=fvst



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