Wounds

I was finishing a few work emails yesterday in my dining room/office, when I heard my 3 year old start crying and my 12 year old yell out for me.

“Dad! Come here now! Now! Dad!”

I knew from his tone something was wrong. As parents, we’ve joked with our kids about not coming to us unless something’s broken or there’s blood. This time there was blood. Lots of it.

I quickly ran into the den and found blood pouring out from a cut on my daughter’s forehead above her eyebrow. She’d stumbled and hit her head on the corner of our brick hearth. Me and four kids, one of which has a serious, profusely bleeding head, alone at home. Instant chaos.

Adrenalin took over. Hold my thumb over the cut to stop the bleeding. Send my twelve year old into the kitchen to get a clean washcloth. Press the washcloth against the cut. Calm the six and nine year old down with soothing words that I don’t feel. Tell them to get their shoes on and get in the car. Carry the three year old to the car (still pressing the washcloth against wound), hollar at the 12 year old to follow me, strap the three year old in, and show the 12 year old how to keep the wound from bleeding. Go back in the house. Put my shoes on. Grab my car keys and cell phone. Rush to the hospital ER.

You can probably imagine the rest of the night. All five of us huddled around my little girl, each wanting and wishing we could make her all better. I called my dad and he was great. He came and got the three non-bleeding kids and took them to dinner and home to spend the night. My three year old and I did the wait-to-get-seen-at-the-ER thing. Other then sitting for hours trying to keep her occupied, the only bad part was when she had to get a shot to numb the area around the cut. Four stitches and five hours later, we were on our way back home. Oh, and thanks to the guy who bought my daughter a coke. I wish I had gotten your name…

Even after six kids, I can’t get used to seeing one of them hurt. Last night, I held my daughter in my arms while she was crying. I would have done anything to take away her pain. If you’re reading this and a parent you know what I’m talking about. Nobody likes to see any kid hurt, but there’s something that makes it worse when it’s your child. There’s an unexplainable invisible attachment that causes you to intensely feel the things that they feel.

My daughter got up this morning all smiles. The memory of the ER visit was still fresh, but she was moving forward in her merry, princess sort of way, forgetting about the pain of the night before. I bathed her around mid morning and washed away the blood that had gotten in her hair.

I was down on my knees drying her hair and wrapping the towel around her body when she looked at me with those big blue eyes, her charming smile, and said in her happiest voice, “I love you daddy!” Three year old arms wrapped themselves around my neck. I had done a pretty good job so far of controlling my emotions throughout our little "adventure." Thank goodness no one was around at that moment to see me start crying.