Sunday was a lovely day. Worship together as a family, lunch and fellowship with friends and then some quiet time reading aloud to the kids.
Mark was tucking children into bed while I was nursing Valor (1), when Nick (5) started to cry. Then Mark said, “Kimberly” in the tone of voice that makes my adrenaline start to race.
It was a head wound and they’re notorious for bleeding, so I relaxed just a little, maybe it wouldn’t require a trip to the ER at 7:30 Sunday night.
It is times like these that I’m thankful that we now live close to a children’s hospital.
When Kaitlin was 6 she fell and hit her head on a wooden fence post.
Mark’s perspective is interesting. Just a minute after talking with me on the phone and knowing we were all home, he pulled into the driveway to see that our van was gone and the front door of the house was wide open. As he got out of the car he noticed a trail of blood which he followed down the driveway, through the garage and into the house. It’s hard to imagine what thoughts were going through his head, but our neighbor, who was sitting with the other kids, soon set him straight.
Kaitlin was brave, but the process of getting those stitches in her forehead was painful. They didn’t use any pain killer because they never did get the bleeding under control until it was stitched up, (which was about 15 minutes after we walked in. We’ve never had such fast service.)
When Sadie got her stitches at age 3, they numbed the area by giving her multiple shots of pain killer all in and around the wound. I remember her lying there, still and quiet as can be with big tears running down her cheeks as she repeated, “Mommy, they’re hurting me.” Even one of the nurses was crying.
Which is why I’m thankful for easy access to a children’s hospital where they use a numbing cream and don’t say the word “stitches”. (They use the term “string Band-Aids”.)
So as we sat in the ER waiting room, Mark and I chatted while Nicholas was transfixed by “The Lion King” playing on the television. In the course of our conversation I said the word, “stitches” and suddenly Nick looked at me, all ears.
“String Bandaids, I mean, string Bandaids”, I corrected myself.
“Oh”, he replied calmly as he turned back to the movie, “I thought you said stitches.”
When we got back to the room, Nick didn’t flinch as they cleaned out his cut and then put 10 stitches into his head.
He was a champ, not crying or complaining at all.
As we drove home, Mark and I were complimenting him on how brave he had been when he calmly said,
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to have stitches because if I had to have stitches then I might have cried.”
For the curious, you may see a picture of Nick’s boo boo here. It’s a doozy and several of the medical personnel mentioned that it was the worst they’d seen in a long time. For perspective, it’s 2 1/2 inches long.
For those of you with weak stomachs, you’re welcome.
Here’s the kicker, Nick was kneeling and leaning out of a standard height bed to get a blanket, lost his balance and fell hitting his head on a low table on the way down (by the time we returned home, the kids had moved that table far away from the bed ).
I’m always amazed at God’s blessing of protection!