Paging Dr. Welby

OK, so the boy is fine and I'm bouncing back, but yesterday was quite traumatic. For both of us.

Miles got his hand slammed in a door at school and needed 5 stitches. In his thumb. To resecure his gaping-open thumbnail.

(Everyone, all together now: "Eeewww!!")

Yes, it was gross.

Yes, it seemed VERY painful.

Yes, we had to wait for pain medication for what I believe to be FAR too long. (He is freaking 4 years old. He did not need to wait ONE HOUR before his first dose of painkiller.)

Yes, he cried. He held his ribs and tried not to breathe, it hurt so much.

He also told me, in a heartbreakingly soft voice, "I have a lot of hurt. It's real bad." And, in the car on the way to the clinic, he told me, "When we get there, tell them we need LOTS of ointment."

He demanded that the shots and the stitching STOP. He clearly told the doctor, "STOP that!" every time she pierced his skin. (Again, painkillers, schmain-killers: He could feel things! It must be an inexact science...) His face was flushed and he was strapped to a board, but he wasn't panicked. In fact, Miles sounded totally rational when he screamed, "STOP DOING THAT. RIGHT NOW! IT HURTS!" He looked at me and cried, "Mommy, do something!" (That'll take any Christian right back to Easter. My child only hurt his thumb. Think how God felt when His child was hurt unto death....) Then Miles decided he didn't need to be fixed after all. "I want up. UP! Let's go home now. Right now, Mommm-iee!"

I am leaving out details on the part before the strap-in board when he pulled a Hulk, broke free from three adults, swung his arm around the room and actually squirted blood...
Have mercy, and thank goodness Jeremy wasn't the parent on duty! (He has this thing about blood.)

Miles crashed just after the X-rays, before the nurse came to bathe the hand and dress the wound. His head had sweated so much during the procedure, and I had held it down and finger-combed hair away from tears so often, that his damp red mop slicked back and to one side. The hair reminded me of the way it first grew, in silky-fine lines, when he was tiny. I found him a blanket and fished his Silkie out of my purse. Even in medicated sleep, Miles' good hand rubbed the Silkie into a peak, then stuffed it into his mouth. And there was my baby, peacefully curled under the glare of institutional light, a dirty little blood-spattered angel, slumbering his way through one of life's smaller hurts.

It gets a lot worse than this daily mishap, I know. I'm grateful the damage was so minor. Really, this wasn't a bad "starter accident," to give me good experience in calming my child and navigating the medical profession. Still and all, we went through a lot yesterday, the boy and I. And I am proud of us. Both of us. And I am exhausted.