My B-day was a couple weeks ago. Thirty something...
I asked to go running by myself in the morning. I came home from my run at 7 am to find 2-wait 3 boys icing a giant double batch cookie cake for me! So much for the run.
Too many candles later that night...
I'll take 'em while I can still get 'em!
Thanks Luke and Mase!The story I am about to post is from a dear friend of mine from a long time ago. Not telling how long ago, but quite a while. This story is from "The Batchelders" specifically Chris Batchelder. Chris, Steven, Annie, myself, and my brother all grew up on Georgetown in Bartlesville, OK. We have LOTS of stories, some that still have not met the statute of limitations. This story is about Chris' son Brady. Yes, I am still very proud to call Oklahoma my home state. By the way, Brady's father once thought it was a good idea when he was babysitting his baby sister Annie to put her on his shoulders while roller-skating. Yeah, she broke her arm. Anyways...here goes.
So, 9:30 on Tuesday night, Brady decides he wants a corndog. Why he is still up at 9:30 and hungry is a topic for another email. After some debating, we agree to cook him his corndog...he goes running gleefully out to the garage freezer, opens the door and WHAM! gets hit in the head, blade-first, with a four-inch scraping blade (usually used to scrape old wallpaper off walls) that had been sitting on top of the freezer.
He has about a one-inch gash across his forehead that pretty much goes all the way to the skull. There is blood everywhere. Chris, who had made it to the doorway just in time to see the whole thing happen in slow motion, grabs the kid, grabs a towel, reminds me to stay calm whilst screaming for Emily (not Abbey mind you, because we all know why), Emily. Incredibly, she doesn't wake.
I am tossing shoes, grabbing keys, manage to find one of the four phones that are missing from their chargers and call Gallen and yell into the phone that he needs to come over because there's been and accident. He arrives in record time.
We leave oblivious, sleeping girls in his care and head out to the emergency room by 9:50. Now, this is Stillwater, Oklahoma mind you....
We arrive to discover there are no less than 30 people in the ER waiting for treatment...on a Tuesday. Since our child is hemorraging, we naturally expect to go to the front of the line. However, we are quickly informed that ours is not the worst injured child in the waiting room, as there is another boy there (Brady's age) from Ripley who has been attacked in the face by a dog.
Oddly, this poor mauled boy is ALSO waiting because some idiot college kid got injured in a flag football game and separated his shoulder (sorry Robyn, but really there are two bleeding children in the waiting room). Meanwhile, flag football guy's entire team are all there to help comfort each other and over-inflate the drama.
We, on our own, without being given so much as a piece of gauze or a paper towel, manage to get Brady cleaned up. He's wrapped in a blanket with no pants or shoes on. (BTW, dog-bite kid is in diaper only and soaking wet.) And we start distracting him with "name that shape" and "name that color."
It is about this time, 10:30, that we start to notice some of the other folks in addition to dog-bite kid that have found their way to the ER:
1. Pregnant teen, age 15 (and that's pushing it), and her mullet-haired mother, both reeking of smoke.
2. Unwed mother, at least twice MY size, with newborn, cussing out "baby daddy," who I call Jack Sprat because he is half my size, because they have "done been waiting" since 9:30 to see the "effin doctor."
3. Strung-out Native American man in wheelchair, long black mullet, also reeks of "funny" smoke. Staff call him him by his first name, Prentiss, as if they are familiar. He is wheeled back and forth many different times but only moans in response.
4. Bi-racial, lesbian couple within unknown ailment. They are sitting next to us (also reek of smoke), and it takes me awhile to figure out the one isn't a dude because it had shaved it's head and was wearing a baggy hooded sweatshirt.
5. I'll be generous and call them "common law" husband (also sporting mullet) and wife who enter ER and explain to nurse "we ain't got no 'lectrics, so we use oil lamps, and when I done blown one out it took all her breath away." To which she responded, as she is filling out her OWN paper work, "yeah, I can't breathe. I aint breathing." These folks were dismissed fairly quickly.
6. Old man with no teeth, also smokey, gumming a bag of Funyons. His son(?), with teeth plus multiple piercings and tatts, "funny" smoke. Another man, missing teeth, mullet (of course), badly in need of a belt.
7. Middle-aged lady with pink hair (I swear, I can't make this stuff up), seemingly healthy and quite friendly. Reeks of smoke...and "funny" smoke.
8. Pop Warner football player, still in full pads, with broken nose...and his father, in full coaching gear.
9. At least three other elderly couples, who are called back before us, looking completely healthy, but I'm not going to judge because maybe there were having heart attacks or something.
So just for the record, that's four mullets in one ER...but, we can talk about that later.
Finally, at 11:30 we are called to CHECK-IN, and told by the triage nurse yes, Brady definitely needs stitches, but there is still no room for us, as they have a DIFFERENT flag football injury in the back that is about to clear out. And hopefully we will get that room.
Only we don't.
One of the mullets goes instead, followed by dog-bite kid...which I am actually OK with, since I'm thinking he needs a shot before the rabbies actually sets in.
During this time it hits us that the irony is...we don't even HAVE any wallpaper that would ever need to be scraped.
At 12:10, we are shown to our room, where the only staff member who seems eager to wait on us is the admin in charge of getting our co-pay and insurance card. (Tip: Always take your insurance card to the ER. I have learned this willl cut your total wait time in half.)
Sure enough, instead of waiting two more hours for a doctor, it is only 45 minutes, during which time dog-bite kid next door is either getting multiple stitches or is giving birth to a real live alien judging by the screams.
Brady, by this time, has forgotten about his head wound and really wants to jump on the hospital bed and play with the little TV clicker thing that makes the "ding" noise for the nurse. Still, Dr. Olsen (who looks about ready to take a scalpel to his own jugular) makes it to our room and informs us that glue won't do and that our kid needs stitches too and that he'll go get the orderlies.
Two of the strongest guys I've seen and one poor girl nurse enter and proceed to wrap Brady like a human burrito into a sheet. All three hold him down while Dr. Olsen tries to stick the "deadening" needle in the precise spot that will numb the area. This is harder than it seems as human burritos are harder to manhandle than regular burritos.
Brady screams "mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama."
"Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama."
Four very precise stitches and a bandage the size of Canada. The orderlies are actually sweating they are so worn out. Me too, since they have me down under the towel covering Brady's head, trying to get him to look at me and calm down. At one point I send Chris into a fit of laughter by telling my child: "Brady, he's not an Amish quilter, OK? He's going as fast as he can!" Of course this doesn't work...some strange guy is sewing a wire into his head!
"Mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, mama, OK I ready go home."
Anyway we're done.
Nurse: Wow, he's strong.
Me: Yeah, we know.
Nurse: No, I mean he's *really* strong.
Me: You aren't the first medical professional to tell us that.
Nurse: Well, he's *unusually* strong.
Me: Thank you. We're very proud.
Brady is fully calmed downed now, and into full-on flirt mode. Dad is carrying him out of the ER and he gives everybody a wave. He is blowing kisses to the nurses like a celebrity. He yells at the doctor "Later GUY!"
We are home by 1:30, asleep by 1:40.
And this morning he's totally fine.
There are several morals to this this story. I could go the serious route and talk about how God must have been really watching over us and how lucky we are that Brady didn't lose an eye intead of just have cut his forehead open. Or I could warn to stay away from the Stillwater ER if you are in immediate need of medical help. Or I could make a serious case AGAINST a publically funded healthcare system. But, I think I will just go with the generic "keep your children away from sharp objects" moral and be thankful that I don't wear a mullet and and that I still have all my teeth...and that I always carry my insurance card.
Angie
