I Got The Call

All parents have something about parenting that scares them half to death. For some it is physical: car seat safety or abduction. For others it is social emotional, wanting to create the perfect environment so their child grows up health, happy and ready to assimilate into the social structure of our wacky world.

For me - it's medical. Regardless of my forehood label: "I parent after a loss" (I swear it sometimes feel like I wear one) - I think this would have been my fear. Add in a fair amount of medical intervention / action with my rainbow baby in her first few years of life and my fear of the medical (read: her dying too) is fairly consistent.


Now, don't get me wrong. I am not an overeactor! I'm not - I swear. I have worked very hard to show calm with body and my words so as not to induce her anxiety to kick in any worse that typically does. "Oooooh - You got a scrape. Eh- not a biggie...let's clean it off."


And- just to show that I play fair with this approach. I can even meet some "owies" with humor. I mean, I did run for the camera as I was waiting for our neighbor to come help me pull apart the freakishly hard slats The Comedian got her hand stuck in. "Smile" I said as her hand swelled. (fun fact: coconut wood is HARD AND HEAVY!)



But - the fact is if Oh God - what happened? runs through your mind every time the phone rings then eventually, you are bound to get "the call". Mine came this morning as I was finishing my Turbo Jam workout.
Ringing phone...
Oh God

Check the caller id...register shows from the friend's house
Oh Holy God

Breathing heavily I answered, "Hello?"

She had been sledding. It was an accident. Her cheek met a shovel.


Her panic attack didn't happen until the doc tried to numb the area. Her whole body shook even as he stitched, regardless of the fact that she couldn't feel a thing. As I held her shaking hand, my calm (for I had done very well!) started to fade. It began from the inside out. I felt sick to my stomach as she screamed for me. I was a foot away from her face, talking - singing, but completely unable to help her.

***
My mind travelled. She was one. The birthday party was a great success, I thought as I packed our bag for the hospital. The next day I watched through the narrow window as her dad held her. She screamed hysterically as they lowered the mask to her face. I am supposed to be in there. I am supposed to be comforting my child. Oh God - why is this happening? Why can't I help her? And then - she went limp, a rag doll of a body in her father's arms. The surgery took hours, and I held that baby as she came back to life - a myrid of emotions consuming me.
***

The miracle is that at 6 years old, today was our first blood emergency, first stiches. I'm not sure either of us could have handled it sooner. I am quite proud of both of us.

"I think every girl who was so very brave for her stiches totally deserves a special treat, don't you?" I said. And she grinned, as well as half a numb face would allow, as we both bit into our BIG peanut butter cup.