Dear Ed

I'm going to 'borrow' the format a friend of mine uses ocassionally on her blog. It's extremely long, but then I'm extremely traumatized:

Dear Eddie,

You recently turned 3 and it felt for me like an adult changing into the next age demographic category. How could three years have passed and you became this little person, sure of his opinions, sure of his place in our family and in our world. But today you really blew my mind. Today was as yet probably the hardest day I've had as a mom, worse than the chicken pox, which I 'shared' with you when you were just 7 months old, worse than anything I can think of. Today, as I realized that Cookie was calling for help something took over in me. I became a robot of sorts, going through what seemed like the right thing to do, not completely in myself.

I could hear Cookie yelling, 'noooo Eddie' and I just figured you were running towards the street or something and she was trying to stop you (not insignificant, but we don't exactly live on the freeway). Then, when I peeked out the front door, just to make sure everything was okay and I saw Cookie struggling up the driveway, trying to half carry you and with Josie on the other arm, I just ran.

I don't remember the first words out of Cookie's mouth, but all I could say to you was that you'd be okay. I was really trying to tell myself that I too would be okay. It wasn't a major gash, but it was the worst thing I'd seen happen to you--ever --and I could think of nothing than to repeat that you'd be okay over and over as if it would make you stop crying and that everything would be okay. I remember Cookie telling me that I needed to take you to the doctor and me wondering only briefly if she meant the ER or just your pediatrician. I remember my own mother rushing me to the doc-in-a-box (remember those?) when I was bitten by a dog at age 5.

Should I change out of my grubby sweats I'd been wearing around the house? It wasn't like blood was shooting out of your head, but I wanted to get someone to see you immediately. First I told Coookie to come and bring Josie, better to be there with someone else. The clearer thinking Cookie reminded me that we'd be there a while. I was hopeful as we left the garage (apparently with the door to the house wide open), that it would be a quick ER visit. All I could hear was you sobbing and I wondered if I should just hold you until you stopped crying, but then I worried about how long it would be before you stopped crying. Should I get us lunch or snacks?

I was a bit spastic at the hospital. They were doing construction and I pulled in the pay lot, then exited immediately deciding that it would cost a lot and was about the furtherest parking lot available. When I got to the free lot, I must have pulled in and out of 4 or 5 spots, whipping you around in your carseat as I tried to find one I felt comfortable parking in (they were so narrow). It felt like an emergency because you were hurt and crying, but it wasn't the kind of call the ambulance hurt.

I had called daddy on the way, telling him it wasn't that bad, but bad enough we needed to be seen. I purposefully hadn't called anyone else--no need to send them into panic mode until I knew something and no need to listen to my cell phone ring in the ER, but not be able to answer it as there is no cell phone coverage in the ER.

What amazed me, after you stopped crying was how calm and just like normal, happy, easy Eddie you were. Never mind I was freaking out when they gave a mask to the person checking in before us, saying that 'in case' she was diagnosed with TB. And then after being there 2 hours, when they took us out of our first 10x10 'holding' room where I was channel flipping to keep you from seeing soap operas, probably driving the other 3 patients crazy, the nurse says to us, as we walked back to the ER, sorry you were in there so long, you shouldn't have been with all those 'sick' people. Great.

We got a chair in the hall, because the ER was so slammed. I was trying to tell you what to expect without freaking out. That the Doctor would talk to you and want you to answer. You were pretty traumatized, as you didn't want to talk about it with even me. I wonder what your first time running down the driveway or riding your tricycle will be like for you after losing control of your trike on the driveway and careening into the corner of the garage when you shouldn't have been on the driveway to begin with.

We sat a while longer and I cringed everytime I saw someone cough a sick person cough, wondering what we'd go home with. Then I saw a very pregnant nurse and started to feel better. The doctor came and tried to clean your wound. While we had been waiting you would only let me dab at the drops of blood that started to roll down your forehead and sometimes brush your hair out of your face and away from the cut. The doctor didn't have to get very far in cleaning your wound before she said it would need stitches (she thought between 6 and 8).

She said we could try having a gel applied to the cut that would numb it only if left in place for 30 min. If that didn't work, they'd use a needle to numb the area. I am happy to report you left the gel in place. I was kind of going crazy by this point as everyone who saw us had something to say, or an 'ohhhhhh' poor baby voice. That, and all this talk about your 'boo-boo'.

They got us a room where they could do the stiches and the doctor asked me if I thought I'd be able to hold your head still while she stitched you up. I can only imagine the look on my face and I felt the color leave my face as I hesitated. Would it be better for me to be the one holding him, or would I pass out? Thankfully she made the decision for me that I didn't seem like I could do that (I had told her that the wrong parent was at the ER).

It turned out to be a wise decision as they wrapped you in a straight jacket like a burrito (which you thought was funny)--right up to when they drapped a large square paper with a circle in the middle over your face. Then you lost it. Your face turned brick red and you cried so much you had pools of tears. Finally the Doctor removed the paper and you did a little better. Previously the nurse was saying you were doing a great job and that he hadn't needed to hold your head yet. By by this point, I was trying to hold your hand, but my own palms were sweating, so it was probably good you were wrapped in sheets. I just wanted to let your legs or something out. I really think the worst part was seeing you all wrapped like that and you saying that you were done, that you didn't want to be there any longer.

I kept asking you if anything hurt and the doctor kep telling me you were feeling nothing. She stopped this little exchange after I told her for my c-sections I had been concerned about wether I'd feel something. I could tolerate you being upset because you were restrained, but not because you were in pain. I tried EVERY distractionary tactic I could think of and finally when she was almost done, I started counting, with the assurance that when I got to 10 in both Spanish and English, she would be done. Not wanting to rush her, I counted about as slowly as I possibly could.

Both the Doctor and nurse said you had done super well. I always wonder if people are just blowing smoke when they compliment you, but then I realize when things don't go well with a child, it's more of a 'well, see you later kind of thing'. She really was effusive of how well you did. And I managed to watch her do the stitches without passing out, so mom did well too.

Now, to wake you every 3 hours. At least Daddy is home, so we can switch off waking up.

One other thing that is so cute, I hope I remember it always. I had promised you balloons and ice cream. So we went to the grocery store that has free balloons and went to the pay counter to ask what colors they had. The clerk must have laid out 10 different colors and you picked just 4 that you wanted. I wanted to make sure that was all you wanted and it was. You had decided in the ER exactly what color balloons you wanted and I told you that you could have them as long as they were available. They even had a $10 Thomas the Tank Engine balloon, but you were focused, saying you didn't want that balloon. That blew my mind. I basically would have bought you just about any balloons in that store and you just wanted those four. The clerk was astounded. She was asking how long ago you'd turned 3 and said I did a good job as a parent. I could only tell her that you had a great personality.

I feel like a credit card commercial, but for less than $4 you were happy with your purchases. Course another grocery store clerk had a story about his 4 year old hitting the glass coffee table, but by this point, I was tired of talking to people about it. I just wanted to get back to our normal day.

What a day. The normal four-hour ER visit...