Somewhere in the limbo between sleep and awake he heard a loud, thump. The feeling that something was wrong brought him to fully awake. His wife was already out of bed, screaming, “he fell, he fell out of the bunk bed”. He looked to his side of the double bed. There his son laid on the floor, the concrete floor with only a thin, so thin, carpet. The silence sent shivers down his spine.
As his wife now rounded the bed and reached their eight year old son he could hear the boy’s first sobbing.A stone fell from his heart, alive, he was alive. Gently they started to examine him to see if there was any blood. Even if the fall was a two metre drop to the floor he missed the sharp edge of the bedside table, hair short. Now the boy was crying more and louder. A call to the resort emergency service, where no-one spoke anything but the local language.
Taxi to the local emergency room. Two stressed out parents trying to explain what had happened, to hospital staff that didn’t understand. Finally after several hours a nurse came that spoke some English and could translate. As the first pale morning light reached through the windows he was carrying his little boy through long corridors to the MRI machine. Three days in hospital instead of a fun weekend at the famous resort. It took some years before the family dared to go abroad for a holiday again.
True Story, ha de gött!