first stitches

It was around 11:00am on Tuesday.

Charlie was dressed and I was thinking about jumping in the shower so we could go run our errands for the day.

I had just said to him, “well bud, are you going to want to eat soon, or shall I shower so we can bust out some errands before your next meal?”

The phone rang.

The caller id was Eddie’s daycare which made me immediately say, “oh no,” right out loud.

Because, as Renae said to me later, she does not call to just chat when she has my child.

I figured it was one of two things: either A) he had gotten sick and needed to go home or B) someone had gotten sick and she was letting me know.

I completely wrong.

“Hi, Kate? This is Renae.  There’s been a little accident.”

This is when my throat goes dry, my feet start sweating, and I begin to lean heavily on the counter.

“Uh oh,” I say, trying to keep it light thinking that will lessen whatever she is about to tell me.

“Well, Ed fell and hit his head playing in the sandbox.  He hit it on the trampoline pole.  It’s quite a gash and I am pretty sure he will need stitches.”

I start picturing my baby boy crying with blood spurting out of his head.

My stomach turns.

I don’t really remember the rest of our conversation other than telling her I would be there immediately.

After hanging up the phone, instead of springing into action, I just sort of made a bunch of false starts toward Charlie and the bathroom and the bedroom…I basically froze up with confusion.

This is exhibit one of my feeling like a Mom Fail in the face of an emergency.

So I called Cortney and asked him to please meet me at the ER because I was feeling…scattered…and, if I am honest, scared.

He agreed, I threw on jeans and a shirt and tossed a flower into my unwashed, schizophrenic hair (which worsened the hair, I later realized, rather than helped it), and grabbed the baby (in his car seat), and flew out the door like a mad woman.

I raged at slow not crazy with worry drivers while simultaneously praying that there was no concussion or other damage.

I flew into Renae’s driveway, threw it in park, checked to make sure Charlie was sleeping, and flew to the house.

In the front door, through the house, out to the deck.

There on the ground, sat Renae, (totally calm, I might add), with my baby’s head in her lap.  She was holding a cold washcloth over his gash while talking with all the little girls she had that day.

Eddie was oddly quiet.  He had blood on his shorts and on his shirt.  His big blue eyes just kept moving from face to face as people talked.  Blinking.  Blinking.

His bestie, Brooke, was telling him how she got stitches in the same spot and the doctor gave her a sticky foot toy and it was awesome.

Eddie just looked at her, then to me.  Blink.

Renae explained what happened with all the daycare girls joining in to point out the pole that smacked my baby in the face.

Eddie started to reach for me and said he wanted to go home.

My heart broke.

After getting some gauze on the wound, I picked him up and we headed for the ER where Cort was already waiting for us.

the patient

Eddie immediately clung to his daddy.

Thank goodness I thought to grab pipey and Lamby because he needed his comfort things at that moment.

I had called Eddie’s doc’s office on our way to the ER to give them the heads up, and they contacted the ER to let them know we were on our way, so triage went quickly and we were in an exam room seconds after getting there.

And this is the joy of living in a small town: we were darn close to being the only ones there.  There was NO ONE waiting outside of exam rooms.

We arrived just after 11:30am and were waiting for the nurses to come flush it out and stitch it up by noon.

It was then they came in and told us the options for cleaning it and what we could expect.  They also put Eddie in a tiny little gown.

I had been pretty good about holding it together up until then.

I had been talking with Eddie and feeding Charlie and everything seemed Ok.

Then I saw my baby in a gown and was acutely aware that in moments he was going to be restrained and scared.

I thought I was going to pass out.

I think Charlie must have known because he chose this time to be sick of being held.  He wanted down.  To stretch, to squirm, to be a free-range baby.

And so he started fussing.

Cort encouraged me to take Charlie, get Eddie a treat, and meet them back at home.

Enter exhibit two of my feeling like a Mom Fail.

I took Cort’s advice, and after I got us both in the car, I sat and cried.

The adrenaline leaked out my eyes in the form of an ugly cry.

My first born.  Hurt.  Scared.  Needing to be “repaired” as they told me in the ER.

And I couldn’t even hold it together.

I let myself beat myself up for about 3 seconds.  Then I had to move on.  Charlie was sick of being confined.  I wanted to get Eddie a treat.

It was time to go.

As I was pulling out of Starbucks with a cake pop for the brave patient, I got a text: “All done. Waiting to be discharged, then home.”

They pulled into the driveway about 2 minutes after I did.

Cort brought all the paperwork to me, and took Eddie to his room to change out of the bloody clothes and get in bed for a nap, despite Eddie’s protests that he “did NOT have a big morning!”

Today, our little guy is doing just fine.

What they say about it almost being harder on the momma than on the kid?

Isn’t so far off.

 

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