I don't know how I got around not documenting about when you got staples (!!!) put in your scalp, but here it is. You were jumping around the house as usual, and you decided to climb onto your Dad's recliner in my lap. Somehow you lost your balance and fell backwards onto one of your Matchbox firetrucks. You fell so hard, you snapped off a corner of the plastic piece. Not only that, you also sliced into your head, causing an inch long laceration that I knew immediately upon seeing it, would need closing up. I put you on the counter, put some pressure on it to stop the bleeding, and explained what happened to you. You were plenty scared, but we moved swiftly, got you ready, called Gigi, got Mary ready, and Gigi arrived in time to help us load into the Jeep. Off we went to the Emergency Room. You were very brave, with your package of mixed veggies held to your head. We called your dad and he met us at the doors. You were very verbal in telling the nurses what happened. Once they irrigated it out, people around us saw why I brought you in. They decided to use staples instead of sutures, and ooh boy. Those were about a hundred times worse than the actual injury. They tried to numb it up using a topical anesthetic, but that, from how you reacted, didn't do squat in relieving the pain of having them put in. I held you chest to chest, and they proceeded to staple the wound closed. You howled and screamed. My heart wrenched knowing you were in pain. I hated having to have this done to you. Once they were done, you did okay, but you were still certain that the "click click" was awful. Quick pick up of Chick Fil A for lunch, and we headed home to let you sleep the anxiety off.
Onto more recent events...
I seriously hope that this is no indicator of how things are going to go as you grow up. We were at our local Taco Bell for dinner, and while I love Taco Bell as much as the next person, they have ramps inside their older restaurants. I hate ramps. I hate that you, and every other child, love ramps so much. You go full out. Running up. Running down. Running running running. It's a recipe for disaster.
After dinner, Gigi took you to the bathroom to get washed up and potty before we went home. You came running out, and no sooner did you leave her hand behind that you hit the front of your head into the handicap railing extending about a foot or so out from the wall before the ramp, knocking your feet right up and out from underneath you, and slamming the back of your head in the floor. You screamed immediately. You were consolable and answering questions. We got ice for the goose egg, and packed you up to go home. You were fine. Your pupils looked good, you were talking, answering questions, telling stories, singing, all normal behavior.
Sometime around 4:30 you crawled into bed with us for the night. I was too tired to escort you back, and after my previous experience, when you come crawling in, it's usually because something's wrong. So we all nodded back off to sleep together. After I got up at 6 to feed Mary, you woke up at 6:30 throwing up. I took you to the bathroom and back to your bed to sleep a bit longer. You were groggy, but I thought it was because you were sleepy still. At 7:00, your dad and I were packing everything up to take him to work, and the minute I stood you up, you vomited again. I was a smidge worried at that point. After dropping off Daddy, I immediately took you to the pediatrician to get checked out. After another vomit episode they took you back right away. They looked at you all over, checked every part of your head, asked questions, you answered... you were just off. Slow. Quiet. Sad. Not my boy. I felt awful that you felt so poorly. They put us on the list for Crucial Care, and off we went to get a CT scan to make sure that it was nothing more than a mild concussion. After picking up Daddy, more vomit, we made it. A long wait, and some questions, an anti nausea medication, and more looking at you later, we got you in the room with the big machine. "I'm going to be verwy bwave" you said. And you were. It still scared you, and took about seven minutes to convince you that it was going to be okay. Daddy kept sticking his head in the middle of the machine and you'd laugh at him. Finally it was time to get you in there, and you clutched Bear, laid super still, and let them work on you. Daddy played "Dr. Worm" on his phone and sang to you while they worked hard at getting the images they needed quickly so we could let you up. You did great! You laid super still, and they only had to do one re-take.
More waiting, more waiting and more waiting, we were finally sent home with the diagnosis for mild concussion, and some paperwork. You were feeling more yourself, but were so exhausted that we all crashed out for four hours when we got home. You woke up hungry and ready to play! Stressful day, but I'm praising God you seem alright. We'll see come morning. I love you, Bug. You SCARE MOMMY, but I love you :-)
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