I was upstairs while the kids watched a movie after lunch. I heard a scream and an hysterical Amana running up the steps. Amana hysterical isn't so much out of the ordinary, but there was an edge to her voice that had me running for the stairs before she found me. "Harrison!" she screamed at me in a panic. I asked what happened. She looked at me with horror and gestured a circle in front of her face with her hand as she screamed out, "He has blood all over his face!" Okay, even this isn't so out of the ordinary at our house. Harrison trips over the air and bumps his nose or mouth all the time. I hate it, but I've sort of gotten used to it.
Anyway, all this took just a few seconds. By the time I reached the stairs, Harrison had already crawled up to meet me, screaming, and yes, with blood all over his face. As I rushed him to the sink, a vague thought flew through my mind: "I understand the blood from the nose down, but why is there blood on his forehead?" I grabbed a wet rag and began wiping his poor face. And then I saw the reason for the blood on his forehead: a horizontal, 2 centimeter GAPING WOUND right at his hair line! There was no question in my mind that he needed stitches.
I asked Amana what happened. She said she didn't see. I asked Anlynn what happened. She was stone serious, her eyes wide as she answered, "Harrison was jumping on the couch and jumped to the table." Of course he did...that is just so him! He's a daredevil, and not always a very graceful one.
It's funny what runs through your mind when you're suddenly in an emergency situation. Probably because I have a friend doing foster care and have recently been talking about how and why kids get removed from their homes, I started having ridiculous thoughts. I knew Harrison needed to get to the doctor as soon as possible, but as I looked around, I saw we couldn't just rush into the doctor as we were! Amana was wearing a ball gown...yes, a real prom dress that my grandma had taken in and shortened for dress up clothes. None of the kids had socks or shoes on yet. Harrison had a dirty diaper-which I stopped to change as the girls put on acceptable clothing. It was sunny, but cold, so I was trying to find all the coats. I had shorts on and I needed to change into pants, because surely they'll take my kids away if I show up in SHORTS! Like I said, ridiculous.
I debated about whether or not I should call Lige. Being in Kearney, I knew he wasn't going to to get home before I took Harrison, but I was seconds away from a breakdown. I blindly dialed his number. I'm not sure if the phone even rang. The first thing my husband heard was, "GET YOUR SHOES ON NOW SO WE CAN GET TO THE HOSPITAL!" apparently in a voice that he didn't recognize as his wife's! I finally told him about Harrison, in a more quiet voice. He asked if he should come home. I debated for what felt like forever, going back and forth...I really wanted him to come, but didn't want to waste his time knowing he wouldn't probably get there in time anyway. Finally I told him to come. Just knowing he was on his way kept me from becoming uselessly hysterical.
So I threw the kids in the car and took off toward the clinic. I raced in and told them I thought he needed stiches and I wasn't sure where to take him. I didn't even have to sit in the waiting room or fill out insurance stuff-great perks of a small town clinic. I was holding myself and the kids together. I felt bad that the girls were scared and had to be there. Thankfully they sat on the floor with books, and didn't have watch. As I held Harrison, the nurse scrubbed his wound with a s
oapy sponge. I was just inches from his head. I looked down at his wound It was huge and deep and gaping. And cleaning it just made it that much more visible. I started crying.
oapy sponge. I was just inches from his head. I looked down at his wound It was huge and deep and gaping. And cleaning it just made it that much more visible. I started crying.
The doctor came in, and within 4 seconds declared to the nurse that this was too deep to glue; it would definitely need stitches. We had to wrap him like a burrito and hold him down. They covered his head and face with fabric that had a hole in it desinged for these types of injuries. Three stitches later and we were done. We all made it.
As I walked the kids back to the car, Lige pulled up. He wore a smug, proud grin. He asked Harrison what happened. Harrison pointed to his head, SMILED, and said, "Head." The two of them had a moment...I was sick! Still smiling, Lige just looked at me and said, "it won't be the last!" Great. Every mother's dream come true!
1 comment:
i feel for you dusty. it sounds like you handled it very well. it is funny what you think of first in situations like that, isn't it?
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