In the very early days SA had to be fed, when he could bear to eat. He would stoically bear this frustration on one condition, that I was the one to feed him. Those trips to the hospital for every meal time started to get a bit annoying as the weeks wore on but we still got our kicks. SA loved it when I played “Here comes the aeroplane” and “open wide for the choo choo!” The best game was where I would look as if I was going to deliver a forkful and then take it away at the last second leaving SA open-mouthed and disappointed. Oh how we laughed.
In the first few weeks following the accident we were stuck in Gran Canaria, waiting for SA to be well enough to be taken back to the UK. The whole family was present and visited SA in the hospital at the time of day when I was spending time shouting at the insurance company and trying to convince the kids that we were still on holiday even though the hotel, destination and group had altered somewhat. SA’s father gladly took on the role of feeder at lunchtime, but it drove SA absolutely bonkers. The thing about my father-in-law is that he likes to get a job done and he likes to get it done quickly and with enthusiasm. SA’s appetite following surgery, a bout of pneumonia and well, the small matter of breaking his neck, was impaired somewhat. Spoonfuls needed to be small, administered gently, slowly and with precision. ‘Gentle’, ‘Slow’ and ‘Precision’ are not words you would immediately associate with my father in law.
SA – “I love him but I can’t bear it any more, you’ll have to do it. That yoghurt was gone in 30 seconds and I’m wearing most of it”.
WW – “Ha ha, ok honey, I understand. I’ll try and be here tomorrow lunchtime then. Otherwise ok? Oh wait, I think you may have some yoghurt in your eyebrow.”