In the three plus years of being parents, we’ve been pretty lucky. Band-aids, kisses, and the occasional liquid candy (aka Children’s Tylenol) have been our remedies. And now, I’m mentally enumerating the things I would have done to take my child’s place today in the hospital’s emergency room, where her left leg was put in a full-leg cast. I should start a new reality show: things you would do to protect your children from harm. My list included amputation. Full-body casts. Of course, my mind has been in the bad place for most of the day.
I had to watch as Laurel crumpled to the ground in the hospital as she tried to walk to me so that the doctor could figure out what was wrong. I held her legs down in numerous uncomfortable positions while they x-rayed her. I positioned her leg so that the orthopedic doctor could put the cast on. And tonight, I supported her when she tried to stand up with a full-leg cast and ended up crying and frustrated in my arms.
And I swear, I would give so much to take her place. My heart is just broken.
She fell about five feet off a platform at the playground today. She was up there playing; I went around the other side to show Kelsey how to use the “speaker” to talk to Laurel on the top. Then I heard a thump. Followed by Laurel, crying. I look, and there she is, lying on her back on the ground. A million things raced through my mind, the first one being, “Oh, she’s fine.” And she was, mostly. I made her get up by herself and walk two steps to me to rule out spinal/back trouble or broken legs. She did, crying pretty hard. Once she got to me, I put her in the sling and walked around with her until she stopped crying. I checked for swelling or bruising, and I found none. We left, and both girls ate a snack in the truck. We went to the YMCA to play somewhere safer (the padded kids’ gym), and I put Laurel down to play. But she woudn’t support her weight, her legs trembling, and she began crying the “pain” cry. We headed right to the hospital. Allen met us there soon after.
Six hours later, we left with two very tired children, one in a purple cast that goes half-way up her thigh. Jeff came over and cooked us a wonderful dinner, and–thank all the gods–he brought beer.
I know how lucky we are. I know this won’t be my only trip to the hospital. I’m thinking of all my friends who are parents tonight and voicing a small prayer to the universe: keep giving us the strength to smile, to wipe away the tears, to say “it’s OK” even when it’s not.
Now I am going to try to forgive myself so I can look Laurel in the eye without guilt. Goodnight.