Friday, April 29, 2011

A stitch or nine

The Friday before Easter, S and I were cleaning dishes in the kitchen sink, when a terrific wail came from the preschool room. I waited to see if it was A's dramatic nature or true pain. When M started screaming, I took off running. I passed M, crying, on the stairs. He looked like he had seen a ghost. I found A kneeling with her back to me. When she turned around, blood was streaming from a huge gash on her forehead, covering her shirt, skirt, face, hair. It was as gruesome as this scene from Carrie. I grabbed the phone, ran to the bathroom for a wet washcloth and dialed R as I pressed on the wound.

He was 1 hour and 20 minutes away.

It was dinner time and the Salad was hungry.

I knew A needed stitches.

I called Aunt Jen and asked her to meet me at the hospital.

I regrouped and started barking orders to M and S. M was paralyzed with fear and hysterical, begging me not to take A to the hospital. Every time he screamed, A screamed harder. I finally told him he had to go downstairs until he was calm so I could focus my attention on A. S calmed herself down by taking a few deep breaths and asked me what she could do. She ran and got a new shirt for her sister, she packed up cheese sticks and fruit bars for "hospital" snacks. She got everyone's drinks and jackets by the front door. She gathered up books for the waiting room. M had finally stopped sobbing and came to see how he could help. He got me a fresh rag and band aid. I am so thankful for helpful kids. You know, once they stop hyperventilating.

A had stopped crying by the time we got to the car. My sister met us in the ER parking lot and took the other 2 for dinner. A cuddled and snacked and charmed the heck outta every person she came into contact with.

Stranger: "Oh no! How did you hurt your head?"
A: "I was playing horsie and galloped into the desk."
Stranger: "Aaaaawwwww!"

She didn't shed a tear when the doctor cleaned the cut with numbing cream or gave her six shots of Novocaine or 9 stitches. She told them a joke as the sewed her forehead.

A: "How do you make a tissue dance?"
Doctor: "I don't know. How?"
A: "Put a little boogie in it."
That's my girl.

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