Our kitchen was the first room through the back door of our house, and I ran in out of the back yard, whipped open the screen door, and prepared to make my way through the house along a course I had navigated many times. The difference on that day, however, is that my father had called someone to come and fix our oil stove (we're talking 1962 here), and the repairman had left his toolbox across the floor of the kitchen, not expecting a five-year-old to come bounding through. Obviously, he hadn't met me yet. But his toolbox was about to. I tripped over the tool box at full speed, and landed on it in a way that opened up quite a gash in my little knee, and I was bleeding profusely. My father was beside himself. Although he would chastise me for running into the house, he would later admit - while we were at Sick Bay at C.F.B Shearwater, just across from where we lived (he was still a Navy Chief at the time) and as I was getting the first stitches of my young life - that he should have known to move the repairman's toolbox out of the way, because of my habit of bounding into the house.
Let's move ahead to May 15, 2008.
I have had a toothache - no, an aching face - for about three days. Because of our schedules, Janne and I are very limited for time for anything other than very well pre-planned events in our schedule. Even then, the time lines are very tight. Janne's out the door to work at 8:45am to her job 5 minutes away. I, on the other hand, am the 'morning parent'. I get the twins up, feed them, change them, get them their bottles, dressed for daycare, and then I'm off to work. The whole process can take about an hour and a half to two hours, and normally somewhere in there, there's time for me to make myself some coffee.
So, the schedule gets 'bumped up' on this day to make room for a drive to my dentist in Burlington, 40 minutes down the highway, for an appointment to remedy this ache in my face before I head into work. I realize the appointment will still make me an hour late for work, and that I've got four days worth of music to program and edit, as well as voicetrack one show for our oldies station, plus do my live afternoon drive show for our country station - but the ache in my face must be stopped sooner rather than later.
It's a beautiful day in Southern Ontario. Sunshine, a little below average as far as temperature for the Ides of May, mind you - but still pretty darn pleasant, so the added importance of getting the kids slathered with sunscreen is added to the list of things to do before tromping out the door. It's Liam's turn, and things are going well. He has enjoyed the experience of being covered with SPF SnowWhite, but then I approach him with his shirt for the day, and he goes bananas. Definitely not his choice for apparel, which seems odd, because he's usually not fussy about what he's wearing. Actually, Janne had done me a favour, and laid clothes out for the twins, in an effort to save me some time, and as you'll see in his pic below - the shirt looks great on him - but today, he was not into stripes, or something. So, I struggled - but succeeded - in getting it on him, and then did what I do every single morning at the change table, after changing either of them out of their pyjamas and into clean Pampers and play clothes.
I say, "Don't move, okay? I'm going to get your shoes." And I get them.
They sit waiting, legs dangling over, until I return.
But on this day, Liam - who (I'm guessing) is still miffed at me for forcing him to wear the stripey shirt - tried to get down off the change table on his own...and I freaked...because he fell hard to the floor before I could get back to him.
After about a solid minute of me freaking out at him, his head cradled in my hands, while shouting completely stupid things, like, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT? DON'T EVER, EVER DO THAT, LIAM! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" - I realized this poor little boy was in shock from what he had done, his face soaking wet with tears - and he quite possibly could be badly hurt. This reaction was then followed by, "Where are you hurt? Show me where you're hurt! Let me look at you!" and my prompting him to move different parts of his body to make sure they would move. Having broken a few bones over the years, and separated the same shoulder twice (in general, I've beaten myself up pretty well), I was familiar with what to do and what not to do when looking for injury. But this is my two-and-very-close-to-a-half year old pride and joy looking up at me, looking woozy, out of it, and confused. His eyes were half-closed, and my heart was aching.
Twin sister Morgan, at this point, is now in full nursing mode. She was saying, "Liam okay, Daddy. Liam okay. Liam fine, Daddy. Liam not hurt", over and over again, as she was obviously also in shock over what she had just witnessed, and was feeling the need to fill the space with words of encouragement and stabilty.
Amazing child.
At this point, my heart is breaking even more, because I am realizing that I have to drop off the one person I don't want out of my sight until I know he's okay. I'm going to drop him at daycare with Lianne, and call Janne, pull her out of work to take Liam to Emerg, and go to what is now my very inconvenient dentist appointment to get something done about this damned aching in my face before heading to my mounds of work.
...and now I'm envying my late Father, who, on that day back in 1962, was on vacation, and had the luxury of taking his son, who was bleeding like a stuck pig, to get stitched up. I wanted the world to stop, so I could tend to my boy. He was whimpering, and completely out of energy, and favouring his right arm, just above his wrist. ...and I knew what that was! He had obviously used his hand to try to break his fall, and sprained his wrist (or worse). I've done that at least twenty times! ...so I carried him into the kitchen to grab one of the ice packs from the freezer (did I mention my hip replacement?) that were in there from my days of severe arthritis (and post-op) pain, and laid it on his forearm, and asked him if that felt better, to which he responded in a weak - but positive - manner. We were on to something here. I didn't want to leave the pack on for too long, though, since the skin of a two-year-old is thinner and more sensitive than an elephant hide like mine ...so I limited his exposure, got his and Morgan's coats on, and got them into the car.
Liam was silent the entire way, obviously still in shock and exhausted from the trauma. Morgan was trying to keep the mood up, suggesting music selections, and then describing the animals which would have been on screen during the music playing on the Baby Einstein CD, had we been watching the DVD at that moment. (They usually both do that, but Liam was just plain out of it, and I was trying my best to console him, while silently trying to console myself.)
Lianne, being the Goddess of Daycare that she is, took Liam from my arms as I entered, and held him, and he just slumped into her, still drained, while I explained the nightmare of the morning.
I called Janne.
Cut to 3pm. I'm into hour #2 of my show, and have hardly made a dent in my music editing. I can't concentrate on anything. I just want to be wherever Liam is, and comfort him. I...can't...focus.
Janne calls. She has now been at Emerg since before 11am. As has Liam, who now has a splint on his right wrist, with hairline fractures in wrist bones which will need to be set in a cast next Tuesday. (As suggested by my friend Jody, I'm going to try to get the folks at the Fracture Clinic to give him the coolest cast known to mankind.)
Liam looked at the iconic smiling figure Lianne had drawn on his splint,and exclaimed, "Happy Mouth!"
Wait. Let me step back a bit. Earlier, in the middle of this long wait, Lianne took a wagon, and loaded up Morgan and the only other child in her charge for the afternoon (she usually has more, but thankfully not this day), and walked over to the hospital to see how things were going, and to bring Liam some toys.
Janne cried. That's our Lianne. We couldn't ask for more.
Making sure Morgan gets equal time while Liam's injured won't be a problem.She'll keep us in line.
Here, she's observing Liam's splint.
It just might be the one thing she doesn't try to take from him.
When I got home from work about 7:30pm, I was happy to see Liam was playing in his usual style. He stopped trying to wrestle a blanket from Morgan for a moment, and came to me, rested his head on my chest, and clung to me, his one good arm around me, with a peaceful smile on his face - as if he knew he needed to comfort his guilt-ridden Daddy. Thankfully, he's only two-and-a-half (in 15 days), and he won't remember this event - until he reads about it here. (Everything I've written here is really for Liam and Morgan to eventually read...but don't be offended by that, because I'm glad you're reading it, too.)
...but I'll never forget this day.
Putting on a brave face.I'm so sorry about your arm, Liam. I love you so much, buddy.
Get better soon.
