I am thirty years old. I have been to the emergency room twice in my life (once for a none-of-your-business, and the other for a seized back).
My husband is thirty years old and has graced it twice in his life (once for a broken nose and once in Japan for severe hives).
My two-year old is two...and she has been admitted twice. Once for every year. This had better not be a trend.
Friday morning we awoke to another snowy and cold day. I was running to and fro, trying to get the home presentable for the flooring company to come and visit at 11:00. Cries and coughs filled the house as I tried to find time to shower, nurse, and clean up, stopping only momentarily to eat a bowl of guilt for breakfast. When the flooring man arrived right on time we looked as presentable as was possible. I was happy that I had remembered to snap my bra back in place following nursing, and before opening the door.
Later, while laughing over the fact that the flooring man had mistaken our self-stick linoleum squares for real tile, Lily fell at my feet and let out a loud cry. Used to her overly dramatic falls (this kid has more klutz than anyone I’ve yet to meet), I rolled my eyes at our guest and looked down to see blood dripping off of my child’s chin.
There is something that happens to a normally sane woman when she sees serious blood coming out of her child.
If I had fallen and seen that amount of blood coming out of me I probably would have gone to the bathroom to inspect it, decided what to do next, and then called someone to take me to the doctor. Then I would have grabbed a clean cloth and used it to keep the blood at bay, all while baking a blueberry pie, doing the dishes, and feeding the children as if nothing happened.
But it wasn’t me, it was my child. And I think the best two words that describe the situation is panic and panic (and don’t let Lily know that I’m panicking).
I immediately and awkwardly scooped Lily up into my arms and raced down the hall to put Sawyer into the crib while I attended to her and assessed the situation. While rushing Sawyer to his crib with Lily in a football hold I couldn’t help but think “Shoot! We can’t afford a trip to the ER!” Then I thought, “Dang it! Keith has the car.”
After putting Sawyer in his crib I leaned down to see what had happened and I could see that blood was coming out of her mouth and from her chin, but it took me a minute to see the wide gaping rip under her jaw with white something or others falling out of it. I thought her jaw had broken and suddenly our flooring guy saw mother bear come roaring out.
“You. Washcloth in the hall closet. Get it wet. Now.”
“Yes ma’m.”
“You. Get me the phone. Now.”
“Yes ma’m.”
“You. Get the baby and put him in his carseat. Now.” (me making phone calls while pressing washcloth to Lily’s chin.)
“Yes ma’m.” (his eyes went wide here but somehow he got Sawyer from his crib and into the carseat where he handed him over to me to buckle).
“You. Blanket in the bottom drawer in baby’s room.” (I was getting Lily ready along with a snack for the hospital. She had quit crying and was staring up at the ceiling not saying a word and looked a little pale.)
“Yes ma’m.”
“Put the baby in the back of the car facing the back. I’ll buckle him in.”
“Yes ma’m.”
And with that I *gulp* (please don’t call CPS), drove our new/used car unregistered illegally to the ER to get my child some help while she bled in the backseat.
Lily is fine. They were able to glue her chin together once they got the bleeding stopped (I think she bit her tongue or something which explains the bleeding in the mouth, no teeth lost). She sat there calmly eating an apple with a huge bandaid on her chin and watching cartoons while waiting for the doctor. Her jaw wasn’t broken.
Poor guy. I called him later and he told me he was impressed I at least appeared calm on the surface as I was taking care of business. I still don’t know his name. Sorry sir, but thanks for helping bossy mommy out.
And if you ever need help in an emergency, I could give you the name of our local flooring company . . .
