Saturday Night at the Emergency Room

Fate is funny, and my wife takes trips at our risk; generally, we get sick, change schools and I rearrange the house during one of my spouse's fairly infrequent trips for work or play. This weekend, as we have a fairly stable school situation, our health has held (knock wood), and I've been too dedicated to writing and painting to rearrange furniture, something had to give.

It should have been our older son who was involved in the injury that sent our youngest to the emergency room exactly three weeks before his fourth birthday--but it was a completely accidental head injury while rough housing with his sister that did it. There was no real danger; it was a deep cut to the forehead requiring three stitches, but it is good to know that in an emergency I can muster the calm and command to get us to the emergency room quickly, while compressing a head wound, and have not a sharp word to say to anyone.

The worst part was the self-blame by his sister (who is the best sister a kid could have, and is not to blame), and the fierce anxiety that doctor's offices create in our wounded three year old--I should have just asked them to give him a shot of valium when we walked in, and saved the necessity of four people holding him down, wrapped in a sheet, to get his cut cleaned, numbed and stitched.

But when it was over, it was over, and he left happily, with a smile, glad to be going home and sure he was all fixed up. He fell asleep in my arms at home while we finished watching The Pacifier (which is what we were doing during the accident) and awoke late this morning happy, refreshed, and eager to talk about his red cell, his fixed owie and the stuffed West Highland Terrier I got him on the way home from the hospital, where we had spent three hours getting three stitches. His sister got a Westie too, she suffered equally, even without stitches.

My wife should really never leave home. But there are many more trips to come. Stay tuned.