Emergency rooms and boys. Boys and emergency rooms. We managed to keep these two magnetic forces apart for exactly 2,280 days since the XY chromosome first made its debut in our parental lives. However, our accident-free record reset itself yesterday.
About 10:20 yesterday morning the school called. It's never good to see the school's name on Caller ID during school hours is it? The principal let me know in a very calm voice that Preston had fallen on the playground and hit his head. I mention her calm demeanor because it was in clear contrast to the scene in her office as I could hear Preston belting out in the background. I let her know I was on my way.
When I arrived, Preston was hunched over on a tiny preschool chair refusing the cold pack the secretary was diligently trying to apply to the back of his head. He looked genuinely relieved to see me and turned up the volume on his sobbing to make sure I knew he was hurt. I loaded him up and we were on our way. We made it about a quarter mile before Preston got a panicked look on his face and threw both hands over his mouth.
I veered spastically off the road and opened the door just in time for Preston to let me know his head injury might be more than just a bump. I flipped an immediate u-turn and sped a few blocks to his pediatrician's office. After unloading McKay and carrying both boys through the blizzard into the office, the triage nurse told me that they would not see Preston and he needed to go to the emergency room. Really? You won't even look at him? Really? And I just agree and walk out the door? I must have been stunned into compliance. (I didn't get heated about this exchange until I thought about it at the end of the day. The nurse didn't even look at Preston. What if he was really, really hurt? Am I truly the best mode of transport to Primary's at that point? Is there NOTHING the 7 doctors that work there are just a tincy bit more qualified than me to assess and treat? Seriously people. Come on.)
After heading back to the school to check Ty out early, back home to grab McKay's supplies, and then to Grandma's house to drop the whole jumbled mess on the lawn, we made it to the hospital. Another THREE HOURS in the waiting room sitting in front of a vending machine with a four year old that last ate half an Eggo more than seven hours ago trying to explain why he cannot eat any M&Ms before he sees the doctor, they finally called his name.
One diagnosis: mild concussion, one dose of Tylenol for his headache, and one red popsicle later all was right with the world.
So there you have it. Our first "emergency". Truth be known, I cannot remember the last time my busy boy let me hold him in my lap for hours on end. I cannot remember the last time when it was just him and me for more than a few minutes at a time. I'm sorry it took a brain-rattling bump to get there, but I've learned to unwrap the gifts regardless of when and where they arrive.