This I Know...

I am NOT the one you want around in an emergency! Sad but true. They say that when necessary your instinct will kick in--that you'll know what to do--but, um, I'm thinking that it was possibly an oversight when that instinct was being passed out because I don't think I got it.

Case in point:

Miss M had a bit of mishap (or should I say mis-step?) this past week. While we were at G's soccer practice, she and her little friends were over playing on the nearby play structure. Of course the other moms and I continually glanced over to make sure that we could spot our babes who were happily climbing, sliding, and running wild. But then, in the middle of a conversation with the moms, I saw another mom running toward us across the grass with none other than my little girl in her arms. My little girl who was wailing, obviously in pain. And right then and there, my heart was in my throat. Even before the mom had a chance to tell me that M had fallen from the top, hit her head on a steel ladder rung, flipped over, and landed face first on the decking at the bottom. I scooped her into my arms, headed toward my friends, and immediately asked what to do. Obviously that instinct forgot to show up! Instead I was in panic mode. I knew it wasn't just a typical fall--I wasn't going to be able to wipe away M's tears, kiss her on her sweet little head, and send her on her merry way. For one, she wouldn't really open her eyes! So you'd think I would just know to put her in the car and head straight to the emergency room, right? Wrong. Not me, the indecisive one. But fortunately I have great friends who acted as my common sense that evening. They called my husband, assured me that I definitely SHOULD call the on-call pediatrician (duh!), and promised to take care of G as we loaded up and headed to the ER (as recommended by the doc).

Still, even after we got to the ER, I questioned whether or not we should really be there. Maybe she was fine. Maybe I was being one of those hyper-sensitive moms who turns a scraped knee into a major laceration! On the other hand though, I kept convincing myself that she WAS limp, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

So thank God the ER doc knew exactly what I needed right from the start. He knew that I needed his permission to be there. So he gave it to me and told me that I DID need to be there with my girl. That it WAS serious and he SHOULD take a look at her. Okay. Phew.

Take a look at Sweet Miss:

The doc couldn't believe the imprint left by the pattern of the decking/platform, and initially he thought that she'd definitely need a c/t scan. But then after he woke her up, got her to respond, and checked her eyes, ears, etc... he said the words that were music to my ears--"If it was MY 4 year-old grandson, I wouldn't do a scan." Alrighty then. No scan. But he was also quite quick to say that if she started to vomit, then we should definitely bring her back.

So we had literally just signed the check-out papers and turned around to walk out the doors when the vomit came. All over Dave and the waiting room floor. Ick. So back in we went, a scan was ordered, and we waited. In the end (even though it was heart wrenching to watch my baby lie there on that table, strapped down with her tiny little head smooshed in between sponge-like wedges to keep it still) she was FINE. The scan showed nothing, and after examining the pictures, the doctor was comfortable enough to say that she didn't even have a concussion--the vomit was probably just due to the stress of the situation. (And some of that stress was probably thanks, in part, to the DRUNK CRIMINAL who was in the room next door SCREAMING like his arm was being cut off--really they were putting a BAND-AID on his knee. Seriously. But that's a whole other story to tell!)

And Grayson? Well don't get me wrong, he loves his sister more than anything, but in his mind he got a pretty sweet deal out of it all--a sleepover at his buddy's house on a SCHOOL NIGHT no less! Check out Sarri's pictures here to see one happy boy...who, thank goodness, had no idea what his poor sister was going through! Thanks again, Auntie Sarri!