The drama of moving house

Categories: life

Tags: moving, injuries

Date: 05 April 2008 12:06:18

On Thursday I moved into my new flat. I went up to my new home town in a big van with all my stuff, with Chris to help and his Dad being wonderful and driving us all the way there and back :) The day itself went incredibly smoothly, we got from Bristol to Swansea on time, filled the van *completely* full, got to the estate agents on time, signed contracts, got keys, unloaded everything into the new flat, and were back home in Bristol in time for dinner. A *lot* of miles of driving, and a lot of carrying and lifting, but we did it.

This, however, was because we'd got the drama out of the way the day before.. Or more accurately I had. One of the advantages of Chris' year abroad last year is he bought furniture, which at the moment isn't being used. So the removals started Wednesday evening in Bristol as we loaded a double bed and a table and chairs (all in bits) into the van. Lastly came the mattress. Down two flights of stairs, round corners, almost there. Chris and his dad got the mattress to the last bend in the stairs with no problems. I'm standing at the bottom watching (there's only so many people you can fit on the stairs with a double mattress..). They manouver it round the last corner, and a picture frame goes with it, and comes tumbling down the stairs towards me. Slow motion like in films. Instinctive reaction is to catch it before it breaks. However, this is not so sensible when the frame disintegrates and you end up catching a fast moving pane of glass. With the edge of your finger.

Pause.

Its ok, I've got it. Relief.

Then lots of blood. Shock. Not so much pain. Interesting. Then more shock. Chris is trapped behind the mattress, his dad comes down the stairs leaving him holding it, and sticks my hand over the sink in the kitchen, trying to calm me down. Meanwhile Chris is upstairs yelling at brother to come and hold this NOW!! No not in a minute, now!!! On the advice of the neighbour who's a GP, we leave for A&E to get it stitched, leaving a note for mum and other brother 'Sarah's cut her hand badly, gone to A&E' (see blood on carpet!!!)

After a couple of hours sitting there holding my hand tightly and upright to stop the bleeding, a very nice young doctor puts a couple of stitches in it (with interesting reactions from me since I've never experienced a local anasthetic before..) and we go home. Good way to prepare for moving house.

But I got out of the lifting and carrying. Apparently its a rather extreme measure to go to. I don't think I'll be doing it again.