Walking out of work on Friday afternoon I told a co-worker that I was looking forward to a quiet weekend with nothing other than yoga and church on the agenda. Famous last words. Upon my return home Maria was putting on her bike helmet and demanding we go play outside. I said okay and that I needed to get changed, and then we would go outside to play. I went into our bedroom to change my clothes and Grant followed behind. I inspected the drywall work being done in our closet and Grant climbed up on our bed. I turned and walked into the hall and at the same time told Grant to get off our bed before he fell. He started toward the edge of the bed and reached for my lamp. Sensing trouble, I moved toward him to take him off the bed. As I stepped toward him, he lost his footing and tumbled, took the lamp with him and landed on the floor with his head partially under the bed. I saw and heard the light bulb break and got to him within seconds and saw the gash near his eye. He’s crying; I’m shaking and calling for Jeremy for help. Blood starts flowing and I’m still trying to get a good look at him, while he’s trying to bury his bloody face into my shirt. We made it into the bathroom and I grabbed the saline and gauze from the closet. (Thankfully, we’re fully stocked on first aid supplies after Jeremy stabbed himself with a stick several years ago and ended up with a nickel sized hole in his leg.) Grant was bleeding from two spots and I managed to get them cleaned up and bandaged and was relieved that it seemed like nothing was actually in his eye. He had a gaping wound right next to his eye and I told Jeremy he was going to need stitches.

Grant calmed down, I got changed out of my bloody clothes and he and I left. Maria stood in the door crying and Jeremy worked to get the glass and blood cleaned up. Grant and I arrived at the ER closest to our house a few minutes later. I debated taking him to the immediate care center, but after telling me that I had a virus, only to have my appendix and hemorrhaging ovarian cyst removed later the same day, I didn’t really have a lot of faith in them. The triage desk saw us right away and we got registered. About 30 minutes later we saw the nurse who asked us the same questions as the triage desk and then the doctor came in and I recounted the story for a third time. The doctor examined Grant and agreed he’d need some stitches. Grant’s cut was numbed up and then the fun began. Up until this point, he was happily playing in the exam room; he had no idea that he was about to be restrained and sewn up. One nurse held his hands and draped herself on top of him and the other held his head. He started sobbing and looked at me with pleading eyes and tears rolled. He managed to get one of his hands out and reached out to me. I held his hand and tried to comfort him as best as I could.

The doctor gave his six stitches then gave Grant a break while he examined his work. He determined that Grant needed two more stitches so again Grant was restrained. This time his cries broke into screams. He was done! No more of this torture, please. Soon enough, we were done and got our discharge instructions. Grant got a sucker and some stickers and happily walked out holding my hand. We arrived home a little over two hours after we left. Maria was pumped to have me home; Grant got some dinner and we soon got everyone settled to bed. I checked on him several hours later and he was resting on the same side of his face as his injury; I guess it wasn’t bothering him. For that I was glad. He woke up Saturday morning like nothing ever happened.

I sincerely hope that we can go awhile without any more ER visits. I’ve had about all the excitement I can take.


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