I went to the fracture clinic on Friday (2nd Sept) morning to find out if I could fly with my newly acquired broken ankle. The Doctor’s response was, at the time, baffling. I understand more now what he meant by “You can fly, but whether you would want to is a different thing”.

Why wouldn’t I want to? There were 6 adults to help me and Joni through the airport and to the sunshine. Apparently its not as simple as that.

We had booked really early flights from Luton airport, so we stayed in the Premier Inn at the airport the night before. Just getting to Luton was pretty stressful, it was hot and there was traffic. We got there, checked in and all was ok. We had dinner and went to bed quite early. Joni was already being a bit weird and wouldn’t settle. I soon realised why – apparently their Good Night Sleep Promise or whatever it is doesn’t extend to babies. the travel cot was without a mattress (everyone knows that the ‘mattress’ that they come with is about a centimetre thick and about as comfortable as putting a baby to bed on the bathroom floor. So after waking up at 11pm, 12pm and 1am I brought her into bed with me (well, Chris passed her to me). She slept for another hour, taking up the whole bed, and then was awake and apparently all about play time. Thanks Premier Inn, you idiots.

Anyway, we had to be up at 4.30 to go to the airport. For those of you who don’t know me well you may not be aware that I like control. Really like control, if I am not in control of the situation I am in I, at best, get upset and cry and – more than likely – can be quite nasty. It’s a horrible personality trait that I am not proud of. Being wheeled around an airport is not a situation that I liked to be in. I had no idea what was going on with Joni and just didn’t want to have a stupid broken ankle. Then the staff at the woefully inadequate airline – Monarch – were rude and obstructive. They treated me like I was stupid or mental. And let me tell you, there is no dignity in being driven round an airport in the back of a van, which eventually lifts you into the plane. On board, the man in front of me kept stamping on my foot, we were delayed for ages but Joni was angelic and beautiful and wonderful. Phew.

The other end (in Mallorca) was even worse. I had to be accompanied by a spanish woman with a monobrow who ejected me from my wheelchair at least a mile away from the hire cars. Whilst we were waiting for the men to arrange the cars Joni decided to announce that she had a cold in her own, special and unique way. With vast amounts of projectile vomit. We are not used to vomit, she has – in total – vomited 5 times ever, all catastrophic, all vast. So, covered (completely) in regurgitated milk I was loaded onto a luggage trolley (yes) and wheeled to the car.

The villa and my family were wonderful. What I saw of Majorca was wonderful. The 30 mosquito bites, hobbling around and pulling a muscle in my chest were not wonderful. But all in all, we were incredibly spoilt and looked after by everyone, Chris was heroic in his execution of his taking care of wife and baby duties.

The journey back had the same levels of indignity, with an added explosive poo in both airports, at pretty inconvenient moments. Joni got through 4 outfits that day.

Overall it was relaxing, lovely and i’m very grateful to my Mum for taking us away and my whole family for being so generous with their time, money, care and love. But hard with a broken ankle, a baby out of routine and a Mummy not in control. Here are some photos:

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