911 lady my new best friend
We got a bunch of snow dumped on us the night before last. And while I am all for letting kids play in the snow, it just isn't feasuble when it is 20 degrees with strong, unforgiving winds. So we stayed inside all day yesterday.

Charlie and Lucy kept running in the house. I made them sit against the couch a couple times, a mild form of "redirection" I use to remind them to slow down. Moments after being allowed to get up, they are off and running again.

I am standing at the sink washing a dish when I see Charlie run right in front of me, trip over a large couch cusion on the floor, fly through the air, and land forehead first on the corner of the fireplace.

I drop the dish and run to him. He is already screaming. I pull him up and look at the hole in his head which has blood pouring from it.

I frantically run in a circle around our house looking for the fucking cordless phone, which is never on the cradle where it should be. And in my mind I think, "this is my fault because I am watching too many kids today... no wait, I only have 2 daycare kids today, 2 fewer than I normally have." And then, "I shouldn't have let them run in the house... no wait, I did tell them not to do that." And then, "I should have set up my indoor obstacle course so that they could burn energy safely."

After I complete my circle, I find the phone and dial 911. As the lady is asking me the routine questions, I can't hear a word she is saying because Charlie is screaming in my ear. But I just talked to her yesterday, so I know to give my address, the actual emergency, my phone number with area code first.

And I have a moment where I go blank and have no idea what my first aid class told me to do about bleeding or head injuries. And then I remember. So I grab a white kitchen towel and hold it firmly to his forehead. He is pushing it away and saying, "don't do that," and my gosh, his face is covered in blood and so are our hands.

I force the towel to his forehead even though it hurts him. Charlie holds his hand in front of his face and looks confused by all the blood. I shout some answers at 911 lady and vaguely hear her tell me that I am not answering the actual questions she is asking. I'm still not really sure what she said or I said. But then she said something about sending over the ambulance.

What next, I ask? I want Jerry here. I want the parents here. I want my neighbor here to comfort me. Who do I call first? Where are their numbers? Why haven't I programmed my speed dial yet? Should I just be tending to Charlie? Should he lie down? Should I distract him or talk to him?

I call my neighbor, the sweetest lady ever. I ask her to call our other neighbor, Lucy's dad. I call Jerry, say your son has a hole in his head, come home now. I hang up. Five minutes later, the bleeding has slowed down, and I call the other daycare parent.

After everyone has picked up their kids and the paramedics tell me he does not have a concussion - probably just needs a stitch or two, Jerry comes home. Neighbor takes Will to his house, and we are off to the hospital.

We wait an hour in the E.R. waiting room. Charlie plays happily with a band-aid on his head, and is talking up a storm.

Then we go into the doctor's office. They ask him if he would like to wear a Spiderman cape. He says yes. They put his arms back into what looks like a pillowcase, and I realize it is essentially a straightjacket. Then they cover him with a million blankets and say he gets to "be a burrito." We can only see his head.

They give me the rolling chair so that I can sit near his head and talk him through this procedure. I get to hold the washcloth over his eyes as they squirt water into his wound. He screams bloody murder. After all, water in the eyes is very painful.

Once the gel has numbed his head and he is all cleaned out, they start stitching. He just stares straight up at the ceiling, his face expressionless and me wanting to hug him. After the first stitch, he has had enough and starts to wimper. I try to sing him through it, but his wimpers turn to cries and then screams. Every now and then he calms down for a few seconds. I can tell he was trying to be strong. But the surgical tools and the thread which he can see out of the corner of his eye and the nurse's hands on his face holding him still and the straightjacket and everyone trying to distract him just get the best of him.

Three internal stitches and some external "stitch glue" later, he is fine. As if nothing happened. Before we walk out the hospital doors back into the snow, Jerry asks him if he wants his jacket on. "No," Charlie says, "I'm just pulling my pants out of my butt."

I try to talk to him today about how scared I was for him, in an effort to see if he wants to talk about his feelings, and he changes the subject. He is totally fine, and I am frazzled as all hell, waiting for the daycare kids to show up today.