Boo-Boo

Working moms know that when their day-care’s caller ID shows up on the spy phone at work, it’s generally not good thing. When I see their number, in a flash a multitude of scenarios stream through my panicked brain, trying to prepare myself for the bad news to come: Which child? Fever? Throwing up? Other end? Rash? Fall? Bump? Bruise? Bleeding? Broken? Hitting? Biting? Hit? Bitten? Used the F word?

I don’t know how much mental preparedness I really achieve before I pick up the phone in those few seconds, but I do at the very least reach a generous level of clarity that my day is about to suck. When I saw my husband’s number across my phone on Wednesday afternoon, I was decidedly UNPREPARED for the FYI he had to share.

My mom in law (who picks up the kids each day, brings them home to our house, and feeds them dinner) had called him to break the news that Dominic had taken a little spill at home and cut his upper lip. He suggested that I call her and assess the degree of the situation. A prompt dial home confirmed that he was still bleeding and possibly in need of stitches.

After a quick chat to my boss that I had to bail, I was packed up and out the door; quietly pleading into the twilight that the injury would not warrant an ER visit. When I got home I saw my poor boy, nose swollen and crusted with blood, and a gash above his lip, still bleeding:

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to Sturdy we go…

I love that we have a general hospital so close to home. For the more dramatic child afflictions we have also become well acquainted with the Children’s Hospital in the city, but for stitches, the local ER would serve us well. It’s the waiting that I dread the most. A trip to the ER generally means you can kiss away the next four hours of your life. There’s also something about sitting with my children in a waiting room during flu season that leaves me rather unsettled. Every cough and sneeze fills me with dread. I glare and feel the urge to scold them; what are you people thinking coming out in public like this? But then, oh…right.

Much to my relief, Sturdy has a quick care unit and Dominic’s current ailment qualified. In record time he was wrapped in papoose, head held steady by a nurse, stuck with a needle, stitched up and ready to go (his constant wailing may have been proper incentive for them to get us the hell out of there). We were back in the car and headed home in a mind blowing 1.5 hours! Exhaustion evident in his eyes, I could sense his relief when I carried him into our home. As I held him close to settle him down before bed, he looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and a pout that could melt even the coldest of hearts.