Note: This blog was written at the start of the summer, and is part of the long list of blogs that I never got around to posting. My daughter DID NOT get hurt again... I promise!
As parents, we anticipate the possibility of certain events
as our children grow up. I would say “look forward to” but that would imply
that we are happily anticipating the event. We look forward to birthdays, first
time on roller skates, and first time at the circus. We do not, however, look
forward to the first ER visit.
And then it happens…
We were playing on the deck and my daughter informed me that
she had to pee. I responded with a pleasant “off you go…”and she went inside to
respond to nature’s call. This is not new, by the way. My daughter has been
taking care of nature’s call on her own for a little while now and only really
needs help when she’s wearing a long dress. (I tuck it up better than she does
and she gets annoyed when it falls into the potty… go figure) Then we heard the
thud, followed by the wailing scream. I don’t run fast by nature, but I FLEW
into that house.
My first sighting of her on the tile floor, wailing, next to
a pool of blood stopped my heart. For a second I was immobilized. Then I forced
myself to breathe and took care of my daughter. I picked her up, located the
source of blood. The inch long laceration that resembled a circle and was wide
open did not help me relax, but once again, I forced myself to breathe and move
along.
I was of no use to my daughter in the throes of a panic
attack.
My parents, who were visiting, assisted. They were a great
help. My dad called our pediatrician
while my mom watched my son. Then they helped watch my daughter while I dealt
with a few quick logistics for getting us out of the house prepared for a
possibly extended ER visit.
And off to the ER we went.
My dad drove and I sat in the back with my daughter, holding
a bloody ice pack on her head. The location of the cut made my daughter have to
hold her head forward. As she was a little pale, I didn’t want her to fall
asleep. No small task, considering both my kids were already tired before the
event started. Sigh.
That said, the ER was wonderful. You know, in the way that
the NICU was wonderful. Highly useful in an unfortunate reality. We got moved
instantly to the pediatric waiting room and the wait there was less than
noteworthy. The kid with breathing problems got taken before us, which is the
way it’s supposed to be. Every time.
To say that my daughter did a great job would grossly
understate my amazement at her behavior during this entire event. Once the
initial screaming reaction to the fall ceased (a screaming I was grateful for,
by the way, as it meant she hadn’t lost consciousness) she barely cried. She
cooperated and let me do everything I needed to do. In the ER, she snuggled in
my arms and quietly took comfort without significant sound. When the doctors
worked on her head, she didn’t move an inch and complied with every request
immediately. They almost passed out, which was a pleasant injection of humor to
the moment.
And ironically, I didn’t freak out either. This shocks me,
by the way. Astounds me on a level I cannot justify. I’m not a calm person by
nature and I have this terrible habit of freezing in the moment of stress
impact. It’s annoying to me as well. But I held it together and my little girl
was able to as well.
What did I learn? Give myself more credit that I can handle
what’s given to me. Oh, and ALWAYS have my purse and some ice packs ready. J
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