With three boys one would think I’ve spent a lot of time in the emergency room. Fortunately that is not the case. Unfortunately, that is where I was Monday night with our oldest.
I had picked up M from track practice and we had just pulled in the driveway. He was getting his backpack and gym bag out of the backseat when he shut the door.
On his own hand.
That would explain the scream and sudden dance moves.
He managed to quickly regain his wits and open the door. However, the damage was done. The tip of the forefinger on his right hand was crushed and mangled. A mother knows when an injury necessitates a visit to the ER.
This one did.
After 6 1/2 hours we came home with a bandaged finger, pain pills, antibiotics and a wiser 16 year old. The doctor had to drill a hole in the fingernail to release and drain all the blood that had pooled up in his finger and caused it to swell to the size of a small sausage. Doc said there was no nerve or tendon damage. Thanks and praises. It will be a while though before he can strum his guitar. Besides being in pain, that was what bummed him out the most.
The biggest thing I’m thankful for is that I was not the one who slammed the door on his hand. This time. Like I did when he was two.
Nope. This time he did it all by himself. I guess there is an upside to them becoming more independent.
But I still found myself wishing I could take away his pain. Just like when he was two.