We celebrated getting in by turning one of the decks up as high as it would go and making lots of pizzas and a few loaves of bread.
It’s also because, a couple of weeks ago, I took my wife into A&E because she was short of breath and, after a desperately apologetic bit of Friday night queue jumping (“Um… I’m sorry, but, err… would you mind awfully if I jumped the queue here? It’s just that, ah, my wife’s having trouble breathing”) and prompt action by a triage nurse, she crumpled.
I was whisked away to a small room with teamaking facilities where I could fret without getting in the way. Over the next hour or so the team of heroes in the resus ward kept her alive through cardiac and respiratory arrests. By the time they let me see her again, she was looking a good deal better and proceeded to bounce back with astonishing speed and was discharged just under a week after she was admitted. She’s much, much better now.
Something like that gives you pause.