Rites of Passage: Trips to the ER

Parenthood is filled with lots of ups and downs. We baby proof our homes, intent to make sure that our kids don’t stick anything into outlets, get into dangerous cabinets, etc. Of course, if you have an active child like I do, it’s inevitable that you’ll have to go to the emergency room.

This year, we’ve had 3 ER visits for my eldest alone (though none for the younger one, thankfully). #1 was for a double ear infection that hit in the middle of the night. He was exhausted, in pain, and just wanted to go home. The second trip came after he was playing in the living room and slipped, hitting his head on the corner of an end table. He’d gotten a small cut on the back of his head (determined to be too small to need stitches), and I was on the lookout for anything that might indicate a more serious injury. He threw up. As it turned out, there was nothing wrong with him and the vomiting was unrelated to him hitting his head (but entirely related to his running around like a lunatic).

Last night was trip number 3. D was being his usual self, and started to spin around in the living room. I told him to stop spinning before he… WHAM! Just as I was about to say that he’d hurt himself, he spun into the entertainment center (made of wood) and wound up with a gash over his eyebrows. And blood everywhere. My father in law and I got the bleeding to stop, put a bandaid on it- but it was clear he’d need stitches. Which meant a trip to the ER. The only problem (and there will always be one) was that while I had plenty of people to watch the little one while I took D… The Husband had the car with him at work, and the only other car with carseats wasn’t at home either. So we waited a little bit for my mother in law to come home, and one of my very wonderful brother in laws took D and I to the ER.

D was a champ about it all. Because we’d sort of done a dry run for this with ER trip #2, he remembered that we went into the triage area first, and that we’d have to wait to be called back. So none of that was frightening. He just didn’t like having his bandage pulled off so that they could see his cut. And he really didn’t like being restrained for the numbing shot. Nor did he much like getting the stitches.

He’s bounced back pretty well. Only a minute after he got the stitches, he’d stopped crying and was asking about the camera he’d been playing with. And today, he hasn’t even mentioned bumping his head.

(I apologize for anyone I’d frightened with my Twitter or Facebook updates, but since I have enough close friends and family who use both services… it seemed easier than calling 20 people with updates all night long)

Originally published at Whitney Drake. You can comment here or there.