Monday night while bathing kids and getting dinner a stranger rang to tell me Col had had an accident while riding home and needed me to come pick him up. I knew immediately it must be baddish because Col has had accidents before and still managed to drag himself and bike home. "Is it bad?" I asked. "Uh yes" said stranger in clipped tones (a mental image of Alain De Botton only in cycling gear made itself available to me). Slipping effortlessly into the role of Panicky Wife I took down some confused coordinates for a bike path in Aranda, thanked the man and went to get the kids rugged up so we could go and find daddy all bruised and broken somewhere on a bikepath in the dark. Fortunately Col managed to collect himself and call me on his mobile before I had left the house and I convinced him to call an ambulance. Then worried he would fall unconscious again before calling I decided to call them myself. Yes, they assured me without any patronising or making me feel bad about being Panicky Wife, they were already on their way to find him. They also rang me back when they had him in the ambulance en route the hospital to assure me everything would be fine. They were so nice.
So now Col is home for two weeks, one arm in a sling the other in a cast that covers most of his hand. It never occurred to me before how helpless you would be in this situation. Add to that he has to sleep sitting up. Fortunately as a patient Col is not the whiny kind and so is getting the best out of his dodgy innattentive nurse (me).