Who wants to hear how much fun we had in the emergency room yesterday? OK, OK, I’ll tell you.
After school, we were diddling around doing nothing. I was probably reading blogs or something in the living room. The boys asked if they could take a bath. Good idea, I thought. Get them in the tub for an hour of splashing the bathroom soaking wet, but at least they will be occupied. Derek is in Utah for graduation, and he took Kiki, so it’s just me and the boys. I was happy to have them upstairs playing. They take baths all the time, and they both swim pretty well, even holding their breaths really well. Especially Calvin. Relax, this isn’t a drowning story.
Anyway, they had been in there about 10 minutes. They were fighting. They fight all the freaking time, so this was not cause for concern. Suddenly, the pitch of Zeeb’s wail became much higher, he started shrieking, “I’m sorry Calvin! I’m sorry! You’re gonna DIE! You’re Gonna DIE!!!!!” Calvin joined in the chorus. Now, there’s a considerable amount of shrieking that goes on in this house, but a mama knows when the shrieking just isn’t quite the same.
I ran upstairs to find Zeeb cowering in one end of the tub with his hands on his mouth and his eyes filled with terror, and Calvin completely drenched in blood, from the tip of his head, all the way down to where his skinny legs went in the water. The pink water. His face was covered, and I mean covered, with blood. He had his hands up on his head, but I couldn’t see what had happened.
In retrospect, I realize that I need to practice reacting calmly to scary situations, but all I could do was scream. While I was trying to find the wound and stop the bleeding, I yelled at Zeebie to get out and hand me a towel, I yelled at Calvin to tell me what happened, and too step out of the tub and lie down. I think my yelling confused them more, so they did everything in slow motion. I finally got Calvin to lie down on the floor, and took my hand off his head, and got the towel over the gash.
They had been fighting, and for whatever reason, Zeeb had picked up a jar that they usually play with (I actually don’t want a lecture about what a bad idea it is to have a jar as a bath toy. I’ve tried to remove it from the bathroom many times, but the kids always bring it back. It’s one of those jars that candles come in, or bath salts.) and he came down on Calvin’s head as hard as he could. He split the scalp right open, in a straight line about 1 1/2 inches long starting just behind the hairline.
I managed to get the boys into some underwear, and we drove to the emergency room. I always worry, when I go to the emergency room, that they will take one look at whatever I think is an emergency, and laugh in my face. This time, I got no such look. They gave us some warm blankets, cleaned it off right away, took us to a room, and left us for 3 hours. Apparently there were many emergencies yesterday. I wrapped Calvin up like he was in a cocoon, but Zeeb I wrapped like a little Tibetan monk, with the blanket wrapping around his body all the way, then up over his shoulder. He clasped his hands to his chest and walked around, his little barefoot, buzzed-head self looking so darn cute.
We sang songs, cuddled, complained, talked about stitches and staples, waited, waited, and waited. When the doctor finally did come, he reassured me that Calvin did indeed require stitches, and that I was right to bring him. Then he asked why he wasn’t wearing any clothes. I told him about the blood, and he deadpanned, “You were a little scared, were ya?” Only slightly did I get the idea that it would have been OK to dress my children before rushing off to the ER.
As he was sewing the running stitch and explaining to Calvin why it was a good stitch to use, Calvin said, “This is the second time I’ve ever gotten stitches.” ”
“Oh yeah?” said the doc. “When was the first?”
“I don’t really want to tell you, because it was on my private parts.”
The doctor had to turn away to giggle at that response.
When the nurse came in, he asked Zeeb if he was the guilty party. Zeeb looked right at him and quietly said yes. The he continued, “But I’m 4. I’m gonna be 5, too.” Zeeb’s birthday was Thursday, so think he thought the question was about his birthday party. (This same nurse said he recognized me, which is entirely possible, since I spent the night there once last November with Zeeb, who had whooping cough, and couldn’t breathe. He also told me I couldn’t possibly be 32. Hmmm, even when you know it’s pure flattery, why can you just not reject the compliment?)
When we finally left, I could hear a couple of the nurses snickering and saying they wished they had a camera. There’s nothing quite like seeing two skinny boys in just their underwear running around the hospital, especially when one of them has the words, “Man of Steel” written across those cheeks.
April 26, 2008 at 1:03 pm
I’m glad I get the part of chuckling bystander… this would have HORRIFIED me to be the mama in this scenario. Horr. I. Fied!
April 26, 2008 at 3:06 pm
That last line was just priceless. 🙂
Whenever I’ve had to take my kids to the ER, they’ve had to treat me for shock as well as my kids. Mom trauma is real, I tell ya.
April 26, 2008 at 4:16 pm
DANG! I was so excited to give you a talking to about the whole “jar in the bathtub” thing, then I read that we’re not allowed. 🙂
Wow. Adventures in Motherhood. This post is awesome. I was completely worried and was still laughing at the same time.
I’m so jealous that you can talk to your kids about something scary that might happen (i.e. stitches and staples) My kids would die. I hate it, cause I’m the kind of person who always wants to hear every worst case scenario so I feel prepared. Not my kids!
Glad you all made it through okay! Those punderants should say “BUNS of steel.” How funny.
April 26, 2008 at 4:41 pm
Bon, horrified was I. You shoulda heard my screaming. I was going deaf from my own self.
Jana, I know! I had to keep myself from looking at him so I wouldn’t faint. I fainted once watching a video of a knee surgery. One that was microscopic, and you couldn’t even tell what you were looking at.
Lisa, the I guess I should have also said that those unders had the actual Man of Steel on them. They were the Superman ones, with his face on the left cheek.
April 26, 2008 at 5:31 pm
Head wounds are the worst, they bleed so much it’s ridiculous!
April 26, 2008 at 6:57 pm
Because I know you wouldn’t be posting if it was life-threatening, I keep from laughing at Zeeb’s “You’re gonna DIE!” That said, a. I totally get it with the jar because I swear they gravitate toward whatever the most dangerous object in the room might be and b. I am so glad everyone is alright, more or less and c. my sympathies on the mothershock — Jim slid down our stairs on his back once while he held Eliza, and I’m afraid I was a rather shrieky person and not a very good wife at that moment.
April 26, 2008 at 7:14 pm
I was honestly afraid you were going to say he had fallen and knocked out teeth or something, which is my worst nightmare. Poor guy. What a trooper, though.
Goodness. I went and checked on DS for good measure. I’m all nervous and jittery now like something went wrong over here!
I am frequently chastised by friends who say I shouldn’t let DS run around in his undies all the time, but we’re home, not in public (although if this had happened to us we’d probably be in the ER naked in a towel b/c I’d be FREAKING. OUT.). Pretty soon, it’ll be a long time before he has this kind of freedom again, so what the heck. Clothes suck. :p
April 26, 2008 at 7:28 pm
You’d think that growing up with the brothers you have, you’d be a little better prepared for gore… I mean between the 3 of us we’ve probably had like 1,000 stitches (ok, so I’m exaggerating… it’s probably more like 500).
Honestly, I know I’m not prepared emotionally to deal with my own child even stubbing her toe, so I can only imagine how scary that was for you.
I’d like to thank you for the vivid description though, which my subconscious will certainly find useful when I’m sleeping.
April 27, 2008 at 12:07 am
I’m sorry, the “You’re gonna die” made me chuckle too, although I think at the time it would have made my blood run cold, just a bit.
I’m glad they are both o.k. Whew.
April 27, 2008 at 2:54 pm
Wow–what a trauma. I’m glad everybody lived to tell the tale. How is Calvin today?
April 27, 2008 at 3:15 pm
Azucar, yeah, they kept telling me how head wounds bleed so much more, even if it’s just a scratch. It’s so dang scary, though!
Elizasmom, mama bear will always win, even if you didn’t know you had a mama bear in you. It feels a little weird, a little out-of-body, doesn’t it?
Jill, clothes are totally overrated. I think kids don’t like them because they haven’t been sufficiently brainwashed into thinking they need clothes yet.
NungNung, only a few of those stitches were mine. Like 5. And we both know that at least 95% were the result of a cosmic imbalance overshadowing the existence of our dear younger brother. P.S. sorry about the visual.
Sue, I think I must have been chuckling, but in that same out-of-body way, thinking it’s funny but inappropriate to laugh.
Barbara, he is fine, back to his whining and complaining self.
April 27, 2008 at 3:58 pm
They do bleed ridiculously and it’s even worse when water or snow are involved (staples for #1 son after the Klondike derby when the kids busted up the snow cave with shovels while he was still in it).
So sorry–but that was an excellent story!
“Man of Steel.” I can’t stop laughting.
You were very brave!
April 27, 2008 at 7:41 pm
[…] Sarah’s adventures in the ER! […]
April 27, 2008 at 7:44 pm
You don’t need to be sorry for the visuals, I was serious when I said thank you. And regarding stitches, you seem to be forgetting my own significant contributions, not the least of which is that I literally am a man of steel.
April 28, 2008 at 12:18 pm
I’m so embarrassed. And I call myself an American! I had all these pictures of what a “man of steel” would look like(I kept thinking Strong Man–the overly muscular guys). So I’d like to apologize for my ignorance, or rather forgetfulness. Everyone knows that Superman is the “man of steel”!
April 28, 2008 at 3:45 pm
Sarah, I haven’t read your blog in ages. Glad this turned out well. And glad you can tell a mean story. Best, Helen
April 28, 2008 at 10:26 pm
P.S. Sarah, ok, it’s official – I’m lobbying my husband to move to Ohio ;>
April 29, 2008 at 12:53 pm
I know you weren’t thinking “I need to bring my camera with me to the ER…” but I would have loved to see your little boy wrapped up as a little Tibetan monk. 🙂
May 1, 2008 at 9:55 am
You did so well, Sarah! I used to freak out even over a bloody knee when my children were little.
You will get a reputation in your town though for a strange approach to clothing. You show up with nude children at the ER that you then turn into monks and cocoons. And I still giggle remembering the blog about your run to the supermarket through a snowstorm where you were all bundled up and wore goggles. How come that you never have a camera handy when it matters?!