Stop the Drama Train, I Wanna Get Off

I didn’t feel the need to report this week’s numerous pediatrician visits and doctor dramas with my dad. ¬†Neither funny, nor farmy.

But a kid’s first official ER visit? That’s newsworthy.

I really thought that Cayden would be our first victim. He’s the eldest and the most active — heck, he’s been jetting down a zip-line at summer camp, for pete’s sake. He was a shoe-in for x-rays or lacerations.

But the long-shot finished first; Brynn gets the prize.

Not only did she clock in the first ER visit, she earned extra points for mimicking an injury much like one that I suffered in the early 1970s: Brynn and I will both sport a scar, smack between our eyes.

Today while I was at work, Brynn apparently fell on top of a door jam and gashed open her forehead. It was a deep wound… when I saw her, it looked like a gruesome third eye.

Poor lighting, but you get the gist of it….

In the emergency room I called my mother, who’d traveled down a similar road in 1974 when I — at age 3 — brained myself at daycare, and gashed open my forehead. Today she not only consoled me, she offered valuable advice:

Do not defer to the ER doctor; demand to see a plastic surgeon.

Within 45 minutes, ER discharged us and we drove to a plastic surgeon’s clinic; he repaired the wound internally, then sutured the open skin. It constituted 10 minutes of torture, but Baby Brynn was patched up.

Bruised and battered but repaired. 

When we arrived home, I thought we were free of drama, but as I unloaded Brynn and Hadley, and met Martin, who emerged from his office, there was no sign of Cayden. Martin had retrieved him from camp at 3:30, but hadn’t seen him in 2 hours.

We searched everywhere for him — I screamed his name as my hysteria level rose. Just as I mulled over the worst scenarios and planned to call the cops, I found him. He was asleep in the barn, curled up on the church pew along the wall, atop of a pile of horse blankets. He’s a hard sleeper and with the drone of the stall fans, he hadn’t heard my screams.

As I shook him awake, I lectured him about talking to strangers, leaving the house, and sleeping on church pews. Then I herded the kids into the house.

And I poured myself a big glass of wine.