Dan Morris: 'Shouldering on' and a huge thank you to the NHS

Last week, myself and her mother had to take our little bundle of fun on a mad dash to hospital. 

I will skip to the end at this point and say that sproglet is now absolutely fine. However, at the time, nerves and emotions were a little high.

From start to finish, all those involved in little ‘un's latest A&E sojourn were completely exemplary. 

Nurses were caring and attentive, and the doctor that eventually signed her off was as reassuring as could be. 

It was a privilege to have my little girl so well taken care of, so, sincerely, thank you all, and all of those across the country who take on such an admirable line of work.

Dads love to be superheroes, but truth be told, when the chips are down, in high-pressure medical situations, those of us without scrubs or a white coat are largely just in the way. 

You folks are the ones who fix everything and help the rest of us sleep at night, so, again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you very much.

As far as two-and-a-half-year-olds go, Little Miss Morris actually hasn’t done too bad so far in the ‘poorly stakes’. 

Despite bringing the odd cough and cold home from nursery (as do all kids), she’s been generally as fit as a fiddle since she was born.

Her daddy however has had more than his fair share of trips to A&E, only these perhaps do perfectly constitute his ‘fair share’ as they were pretty much all his own stupid fault. 

Let us begin...

A skeletally-severed hand after a hurdling incident when I was 13 would seem harsh to blame entirely on me, yet you might have thought that that experience would have taught me to be more careful in the years to come. Not likely.

My greatest physical bane, and the reason for at least 90 per cent of my hospital trips as a young man, is a shoulder that has a nasty propensity for dislocation.

All others that have suffered this injury will know that once you pop, you just can’t stop, and that once that arm has been out of its socket, it will, sure as the day you were born, attempt to leap out again with minimal provocation.

I’d love to be able to tell you that the popping of my shoulder-dislocation cherry was the result of something marginally respectable like a rugby match. 

In truth, however, it was the result of me being a prat while on a lads’ holiday in Magaluf nearly 20 years ago.

Swimming pools mixed with lager are an incredibly bad idea, even more so when cross-blended with a 19-year-old ego. 

Suffice to say, my dive went the way of the pear, and my right shoulder paid a long-term price – though perhaps not one as high as my utter idiocy deserved.

Following this embarrassing episode, much more was unfortunately destined to come.

I believe the next time was the result of me picking up an ex-girlfriend’s suitcase. 

She won’t mind me saying that she never used to travel light, yet still, this was far from the most macho moment of my life.

In an attempt to revitalise my manliness, my third dislocation was the product of an ill-judged arm wrestling match, and the fourth was simply the result of a sneeze.

Touch wood, it’s been a while now, but as I’ve made my way through my thirties I have finally learned to take slightly better care of myself and generally be a bit less of a moron.

Again, it is worth saying that on each occasion hospital staff (who certainly had better things to do than mop up after my stupidity) were outstanding, with only one nurse ever failing to stifle a much-deserved snigger. 

“I bet you were arm wrestling a chick,” she laughed.

My father – something of a wise old sage these days – has often counselled me of the perils of old injuries and ill behaviour coming back to bite you as time goes on. 

Hard of both hearing and knee cartilage thanks largely to years as a biker, he has always warned me to proverbially bubble wrap myself a bit better, as when you think you’ve got away with an accident, chances are you haven’t.

But then again, to get to being an older statesman without a few war wounds to complain about seems a little dull.

Please remind me that I said that in 20 years’ time…