November 29, 2005
WARNING: this post includes talk of severed body parts (well, not completely severed, but close enough)
Because Whiffleboy asked:
People are always asking me how I stay in shape; I like to say, ‘You’ve not spent much time with my kids, have you?’ We are constantly one good thunk away from the emergency room, particularly with Henry, who is, uh, energetic AND has an INCREDIBLY high pain tolerance (seriously, it makes me nervous. Someday he’s going to break a bone and not realize it until its too late, whatever that means). We have a very nice after-hours triage line at Children’s Hospital, where you can talk to a nurse at, say, three am when your child has croup (done that!) or at six pm when he slams head first into a door frame (done THAT!) or on a Sunday when he informs you that he has cut his finger on what may or may not have been a rusty nail (you all remember that, yes?). I’ve called the help line so many times that two of the nurses REMEMBER me and will ask how the last call turned out. It’s embarassing.
But somehow (touch wood) we’ve only been to the ER once. Well, okay, we’ve TECHNICALLY had two ER-type emergencies, but the first time, when Henry fell and hit his head on the diving board of a friend’s pool and had to have stitches, we didn’t actually GO to the ER, since our host was a doctor; we just zipped out to his office and voila! Stiches in the back of my three-year-old’s head.
But the ER–right. A year ago March, one early early morning, I was trying to make coffee; the clock on the microwave said 6:14. Wade and the boys were in the family room; the boys wanted him to read to them and were bringing him books. I could hear them jockying for position (’My book first! MY BOOK FIRST!’) and then there was a thunk, and Henry started screaming. Wade said, in that exaggeratedly calm voice adults use when ALL HELL HAS BROKEN LOOSE but they are trying not to scare the children, ‘I think you should come look at this.’ And I though, jesus, all I want is some COFFEE.
Wade was on the hardwood floor holding Henry, who was bleeding EVERYWHERE. It was like a horror movie. A lovely Ikea sidetable had fallen over and sliced the tip off his big toe. I don’t mean scraped the surface of the skin–I mean SLICED THE TIP OFF HIS TOE (the hunk of skin was still stuck to the underside of the table). I said, in my Overly Calm Adult Voice, ‘Okay, I think we should go to the emergency room.’ Wade said, ‘Yes, I think so too. I need to get dressed.’ I said, ‘That’s a good idea.’ Meanwhile, Henry is SCREAMING and Charlie is peeking out from behind a chair.
Henry, who doesn’t seem to understand that Mommy doesn’t do well with blood, is INSISTING that I hold him, so I plunk him in my lap and try to look at the ceiling as much as possible. Wade calls his parents (because I’m not taking Charlie with me to the ER, no way) and when my father-in-law answers the phone, he says, ‘We’re taking Henry to the emergency room and we’re bringing Charlie to your house.’ And he hangs up. We load everyone in the car; Henry is still bleeding and is alternating between yelling, ‘MOMMY! I’M SCARED!’ and howling, ‘WHY DID CHARLIE KNOCK THE TABLE OVER ON MY FOOT?’ Wade asks me, ‘Do you want to drive?’
‘No,’ I tell him. ‘I do NOT want to drive.’
We pull into my in-laws’ driveway and fling Charlie at them. He’s still in his pyjamas and hasn’t had a clean diaper. ‘We’ll call you!’ Wade yells and we peel out.
At the hospital, I try to talk Henry into letting Daddy take him in to the ER, as he is STILL bleeding, but he sobs ‘No, I want MOMMY! YOU take me in! Please, Mommy!’ The waiting room is completely deserted and there is no one at the desk. Finally the receptionist appears, summoned I’m sure by Henry’s wails, and says, ‘Can I help you?’
Henry yells, ‘Charlie knocked a table over on my foot and I’m SCARED!’
The receptionist says, ‘Go right through that door.’ I realize later that not only is Henry bleeding and crying, but I am also covered in blood. I’m sure that expedited things. At the least, it seemed to have startled the receptionist a little.
The thing about the ER is this: if you go on a Saturday night, it’s busy. Gunshots, stabbings, sick kids, you name it. (At least that’s what it was like the night we took my grandmother.) Go on a Wednesday morning, and you’ve got the whole place to yourself. Two nurses cleaned Henry’s foot up, another took our insurance information, and a fourth (god bless her) brought me coffee. Henry was fascinated by the cleaning and examining and bandaging part of the experience; he stopped crying and asked all sorts of questions about what the nurse was doing, and told everyone who asked that Charlie had knocked a table over on his toe. To distract him, Wade told him about the time that he (Wade) broke his brother’s leg. They were playing Skateboard Joust, which involved knocking each other off the skateboards (duh). My brother-in-law still swears that Wade ruined his NCAA basketball career, although I think some of the blame needs to go to the doctor who misdiagnosed the broken leg until it really WAS too late and they had to re-break it, which is a very bad thing. ‘Was Uncle Wes mad at you?’ Henry asked. ‘Sure,’ Wade told him, ‘but it was an accident.’ Henry stared at him. ‘Is Uncle Wes STILL mad at you?’ ‘No,’ Wade said, ‘that was a long time ago.’
Henry thought about this. ‘Well, I’m still mad at Charlie, but when we grow up, I won’t be.’
The doctor came to look at his foot and told us he wanted it X rayed, although he didn’t think it was broken, and he asked AGAIN what had happened. ‘My brother knocked a table over on it,’ Henry said, ‘and I’m mad at him. But Daddy broke Uncle Wes’s leg, and he’s not mad any more, so I won’t be mad at Charlie forever. It was an accident.’ The doctor just laughed.
There were no broken bones, and nothing to stitch up (since the table had CUT THE TIP OF HIS TOE COMPLETELY OFF) so they bandaged him up and sent us home with a prescription for some Vicodan. We loaded him up with that and he was like a drunk fraternity pledge. He kept patting me on the face and saying, ‘I LUUUUUVE you Mommy. I luuuuvve you.’ It was pretty funny.
And for DAYS afterwards, every time he thought of it, he would say, ‘Charlie, I’m mad at you for knocking the table over on my toe, but when we grow up I won’t be mad any more.’ But the best part? Wade swears, to this day, that it was HENRY who bumped the table and sent it crashing over. On to his own foot. Silly boy.
Posted by Susan @ 1:00 pm • Uncategorized
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November 29th, 2005 at 2:21 pm, Candace Says:
I’m cringing. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.
I once slammed a door on my brother’s finger, which cut off the tip of the finger.
I’m pretty sure he’s not still mad at me.
November 29th, 2005 at 2:36 pm, Felicity Says:
uhm, does this mean that the grown-up conversation about opting-out is over?
What have I done…I shut the car door on my sister’s finger and when she told me to open the door, I opened the OTHER car door. Not the one that was closed on her finger.
Mostly I damage myself, like the time I threw a coat over my head in a vain attempt to scare my 9 yrs-older brother & his pals, and walked directly into the corner of the big wooden thing housing the record player. Remember those? Ha, I still have the scar.
November 29th, 2005 at 2:45 pm, Kristen Says:
The worst thing that’s happened so far is that my oldest son pulled a shelf with a crystal vase right onto his forehead when he was 20 months old. Lots of blood, screaming, and tears…a big scar for months and months afterward. His little brother was only 4 weeks old and in a bouncy seat, so he couldn’t blame him then. But now, anytime I hear a crash and yell out, “what just happened?”, my oldest responds, “it was Quinn, not me!” So, the blame game must go with the older brother territory.
November 29th, 2005 at 3:10 pm, Nothing But Bonfires Says:
When I was 12 or so, my sister (who was about 3) ran into a table that had her dinner on it (apparently she was so excited about eating whatever it was that she had to RACE towards it) and she started screaming. When I looked up, she had a fork in her forehead.
I totally remember the Adult Calm Voice; it’s hilarious when the words uttered are “Oh! Susie has a fork in her forehead! I think we should probably go to the hospital. Would you please call Daddy?”
November 29th, 2005 at 3:25 pm, Susan Says:
Fork in her forehead is classic, Holly.
And I’ll bet the Adult Calm Voice is EVEN BETTER with a British accent, yes?
November 29th, 2005 at 3:35 pm, Susie Says:
Oh My God the forked forehead story almost made me wet my pants.
My brother’s best friend kicked my two front teeth out when we were sledding one day. My brother was so scared of getting in trouble he spent HOURS in the snow looking for my teeth. He only returned with a piece of snow with blood on it.
I know it hurt like a mother but the story I get forever is sooo worth it. They were my baby teeth and I was in first grade so I had no front teeth for QUITE a while.
November 29th, 2005 at 4:22 pm, adria Says:
That was hilarious! Tell Henry, thanks for the good laugh. I needed it, I just returned from the mall.
November 29th, 2005 at 6:29 pm, the ockers Says:
hilarious SUSAN. go Henry GO GO GO…
November 29th, 2005 at 7:10 pm, ieatcrayonz Says:
Heh heh. When I stop laughing, I’m going to go sit in the corner from getting such a kick out of your misfortune - not that you had to go through it, just because it was so.damn.funny.
November 29th, 2005 at 7:20 pm, kyra Says:
oh my god! what a romp! i don’t know if i even OWN that super calm adult voice. i’m all OH MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! HE’S GOING TO DIE! at every possible catastrophe, long before they materialize. i love the way Henry sums up the whole thing to the doctor, complete with his dad’s story, and i love love love that drunken love talk. so funny!
November 29th, 2005 at 8:16 pm, Mary P. Says:
“Fork in the forehead”…oh my, oh my, I can hardly type, I’m shaking with laughter so…
What did I do? My younger sister was incredibly accident prone. I bet my poor mother had her to the emergency room every couple of months. Once, when I was seven and she was six, I somehow managed to shut my sister’s NOSE in the car door. Her nose! She was stuck, screaming inside the car as I hopped up and down outside, in my panic suddenly incapable of opening the damned door.
God knows how I managed to snag her nose - it was just a little snub button of a thing, and very prone to nosebleeds - which it was then doing, copiously.
To this day I remember how utterly astonished I was not to, in any way, shape, or form, be blamed for it. My mother’s reaction?
After ensuring it wasn’t broken, (mum’s a nurse) she only sighed and said “Is there anything that girl won’t stick her nose into?”
November 29th, 2005 at 8:17 pm, the ockers Says:
oh and November is pretty much over so how did you do with the NaNoWriMo project?
November 29th, 2005 at 9:08 pm, Susan Says:
Shh, Clare, don’t bring it up. I keep hoping no one will remember . . .
I didn’t finish. But Mary P did! And Mary Tsao did, too! And Kyra is about to! So everyone go congratulate them! Hooray!
November 30th, 2005 at 12:44 am, Jenorama Says:
My oldest had to be given percocet for pain once and he was the same lovey dovey way. Just hilarious. It’s all just a good story now, isn’t it?
November 30th, 2005 at 1:54 am, the ockers Says:
Oh, don’t worry about not finishing the NaNoWriMo project this year. Susan, you have had SO much going on this Nov, what with the Meds and all… & there’s always next year…
November 30th, 2005 at 7:46 am, Misfit Hausfrau Says:
WOW!!!! what great stories. I did nothing like that, nor did anything like this happen to me. My husband, however, is another story. He broke everything from his leg to both arms, to his jaw and much, much more. His arm was broken by a kid who pitched at a game. The DAY he got his cast off, he was heading to another baseball game when his MOTHER shut the car door on all 4 of his fingers on the arm that just had the cast removed. The DAY his hand recovered, he broke his JAW! Another time he broke his arm but his Dad said he was OK, just being a whiny baby. It wasn’t until the school nurse saw him trying to throw a basketball that they discovered it was broken–4 days later.
November 30th, 2005 at 8:19 am, Kara Says:
just when i was thinking i had nothing to post…
check my site later today for the bloody cape buffalo family and their excellent adventures of maiming (sp?) and dislocation, plus our trip to the star wars exhibit at the museum of science and 10 reasons why sci-fi geeks should adopt better hygiene habits.
November 30th, 2005 at 10:58 am, Susan Says:
Kara, PLEASE tell me that’s all ONE story (about the maiming and the dislocating and the Star Wars and the hygiene). PLEASE.
November 30th, 2005 at 4:25 pm, Susan Says:
Awwe, poor Henry got his toe circumcised! Now that was an awesome story. Kids are so funny… I was wrestling with my dad when I was 4 and we got a little too rough and I ended up breaking my arm (TOTAL accident, my dad felt SO bad). But? When I got to the ER the first thing out of my mouth was “MY DADDY BROKE MY ARM!”
We spent more time talking to social workers than doctors that night.
December 1st, 2005 at 7:55 pm, Laura Says:
I was referred to your blog, and had to share my “Calm Adult Voice” story. I got to use it a year ago when my then 7 year old did a cartwheel with a plastic pole in her mouth and gave herself a partial tonsillectomy. You heard it right. The pole was longer than her arms. And no, the surgeon didn’t give us a discount for her having done half of the job herself.
The best part was probably the angiogram to see if she had hit her carotid artery. She didn’t. And every person we tell this to does the classic horror response - hand over mouth, eyes wide in shock. Particularly those in the medical profession.
When I asked her why she did this, she told me it was because she wanted to get to the other plastic stick, and she didn’t have any pockets for the first one. And this was AFTER I told her to stop jumping off of things with the plastic stick.
I think the very best part was the booklet of cards from her class, which started with one child’s commentary: Dear S. - That really wasn’t a good idea. Apparently the teachers used my child’s accident as a warning to others. Sniff - I’m so proud. Maybe I won’t talk to them about violating her HIPPA rights…
December 1st, 2005 at 8:07 pm, Susan Says:
OH. MY. GOD. Laura, I was, indeed, making the Face of Shock as I read. And now I really need a stiff drink.
God bless your sweet mommy heart. And thanks for sharing!
December 2nd, 2005 at 11:14 pm, Laura Says:
You know, the cartwheel story is just the tip of the iceberg. There is the xeroxing of the naked butt story, the shaving off of the eyebrows story, the cutting off part of the fingertip with the lawn shears story, the bouncing the head off of the ice rink story, etc., etc., etc. And they are only 10 and 8. And people wonder why I am medicated. Thanks for letting me share!
December 5th, 2005 at 3:40 pm, Whiffleboy Says:
Damn, Susan, I’m kind of sorry I asked now.
December 5th, 2005 at 10:19 pm, Susan Says:
You’re welcome, Whiffleboy. Any time.
June 10th, 2006 at 1:58 am, Happy0303 Says:
I have a very weak stomach for things like that. If my kids ever hurt themselves, I think I may faint.
Thank you for sharing this post with the carnival!