You know, I'm beginning to wonder if Sir Talks-A-Lot is jinxed or something.
Yesterday we went to the park again. I took the boys' friends this time because they stay at home while their mom is at work and I figured they would like to have something to do. I know. I'm just thoughtful like that. (the oldest one is old enough to be home alone, by the way.)
The boys played in the water and sprinklers and started playing a game of hide and seek. Of course, the fun didn't last long as I started hearing MAMA being called and looked up to see 3 boys looking panicked and one out of eye view.
As most people know, I'm not one of those panicky moms and when one of my boys comes to me crying, my first words are, "Are you bleeding or dying?"
Well I trotted (yeah, kinda like a horse) over to where they were and saw Sir Talks-A-Lot coming up the stairs with a stream of blood coming from his know.
No need to ask that question.
Still, I never panic, and since he is really not screaming, I take a quick glance and tell him to come and sit down where I was sitting.
Well, it was HOT and I had been sitting in the shade and there was NO way I was gonna break a sweat trying to examine a cut knee. Get your butt over here out of the sun.
Okay, I had to ask WHY were the boys running on these brick steps anyway? They were suppose to be on the playground where there is mulch for them to fall on and get splinters, not on the brick stairs of the Amphetheatre, but hey, that's what boys do.
So I take a look at the gash in the boy's knee and it is pretty obvious that we were gonna be on our way to the emergency room. The gash was open.... meaty..... bloody.
The very word stitches brought on the the waterworks. You see, until this point, he wasn't really crying. I think it was having his friends around, concerned, but telling him to take it like a man that kept him from all out bawlin' on the steps. Either that, or it really didn't hurt as bad as it looked like it should have, but my 7 year old was strong! He held back his tears and "took it like a man", until that is, I mentioned those stitches.
Okay, please don't take this as me trying to insult anyone at all, but here's the rest of the story.
When we were finally called back, we were put into a room with another patient. He was also getting stitches. They were just finishing up. He was a very friendly man, with a beautiful African accent. Or at least it was beautiful at first. By the time they came back with this man's discharge papers I just about knew his life history. From how he fell, to where he was born, to he job as a vet and why i should use the post veterinary service, to the death of his mother-in-law, her age and why she always lied about what year she was born in. By the time that guy left I didn't wanna her that accent anymore!
So the medics that had sewn him up came over to have a look at the boy's gash and said that the doctor was gonna come in and have a look at it and they'd get him stitched up.
There was that word again and Sir-Talks-A-Lot was scared all over again.
After a short wait, the doctor walks in. And here's where I hope I don't offend anybody. But the first thing I noticed was the the doctor was really short. probably about 4ft tall. Then I couldn't help but notice that he was, well, deformed. I mean, his arms were long and he looked a little strange. He reached to shake my hand and, well, he didn't have any thumbs.
Okay, I'm not one to make anyone feel uncomfortable, so I kept my smile and my charm and kept rolling, but I could NOT help but think I KNOW THIS GUY IS NOT GONNA PUT IN MY SON'S STITCHES! HOW!!!
Stupid, I know, but the mind thinks what it wants to.
So when the medic walked in, I was sure that the doc was just to coach him through the stitches.
Nope! Doc put his gloves on his 4 fingers, tucked in the thumb of the glove in and went to work.
While he worked. I never woulda known that there was anything missing because he worked smoothly and confidently just how any doctor should. And I have to say, he was one of the best doctor's I have seen in all my years of going on post. He made Sir Talk-A-Lot calm and comfortable and took away all the fears he had going in.
When he finished up and left the room, Sir-Talks-A-Lot turned and looked at me and said, "Mama? The doctor didn't have any thumbs."
I was very gracious that he waited until after the procedure to talk about out because many children would have blurted something crazy out right upon seeing it. And who knows WHAT would have come out!
Anywho, today he's outside playing, runnin' around like nothing ever happened.
Kids sure do bounce back.
Everyone who called and checked on him all said the same thing.
IT'S ALWAYS HIM.
He's my ER magnet. The one who always gets hurt, the one I am always nursing. The one who is SURE to put his mom in the loony bin!