Friday, bloody, Friday (or the day from Hell)

Where do I even begin? Well, for starters, if you've got a squeamish stomach, skip this one; if you're not into listening to drama, skip this one; if you're just not willing to listen to me whine and rant and rave, just skip this one and check back another day, like on one of the days where I post goofy pictures (like the peeps) or photos of slumbering, fuzzy kittens in the sun.

Warning: Today was a bad day.

Things were going 'swimmingly' up until about 11am. That's when my dear friend, who was watching the kidlets, calls me at work to let me know there's been an 'incident' with Peanut, but that she was ok. Whenever someone says there's been _______ "but such-and-such is OK" you know it is bad. What they're really hoping is that they can be responsible and let you know what happened, all the while silently praying 'Oh dear God, please don't let them freak out. Please don't let them freak out'. You know that prayer. The one you say when you're certain all of it (and then some) is going to 'hit the fan.' Yup. That one.

Well, after the phone call, it is pointless to say, I immediately left work, and headed out to get the Peanut and do damage control. En route I phoned the pediatrician's office, silently thanking God for the invention of cell phones and the affluence of my family to be able to afford one. The receptionist clicks onto the line: "Dr. K's office. Can you hold for a moment?" Uh, lemme think about this for a nanosecond: 'No, not really." And then I explained my situation. Thank goodness the receptionist was having a good day or had taken her happy pills or taken a huge hit of meth or whatever--she was so pleasant, and was willing and able to put up with my mild hysteria.

By the time I finished talking with the pediatrician's office I arrive at my friend's house: there's peanut, sitting on the couch with my friend's sweet husband, ice pack on her little head. She doesn't look any worse for the wear, but the truth is: My little monkey had been jumping on the bed (no, really) and she fell off and hit her head (we think it was on the foot board of the bed), mama (me) had already called the doctor and the doctor said: "tell me just exactly what she did to her head!". Poor little peanut had managed to get quite a gash on the back of the crown of her head, about one inch in length and I'm guessing 1/2 a centimeter (???) in depth--deep at any rate. It had mostly stopped bleeding by the time I got there, and amazingly enough she wasn't in any pain and wasn't complaining.

Whew!

My poor dear friend, on the other hand, was a wreck. She was so upset, and worried over Peanut getting hurt, and worried about how I'd react (normal reaction, I'd be the same way). I felt so bad for her because she was so upset she was in tears, and even though I wasn't (and still am not) mad at her, nor do I find she did anything wrong, I couldn't reassure her that I understood, and that it was just a freak kid accident--it could have just as easily happened at my home as at hers, or with any other kid. I do hope that she feels better tomorrow.

At any rate, I decided yes, Peanut did need stitches, so off my friend, my Peanut, and I went to: The Emergency Room. (duh, duh, duh). There we sat. And sat. And we sat some more. We sat, with a bleeding four-year-old child in the waiting room for the upwards of almost 2 hours before they took us back.

I guess the old saying is true: you could, technically, bleed to death while waiting to be called back into the emergency room. Huh. Who knew?

After a short visit with the E.R. doctor and a nurse, they decided we needed to suture up her head, as my friend and I figured, and that they were going to use staples.

What?

We went to the E.R. for the purpose of letting my girl be sedated a bit for her stitches because we didn't think she'd be able to handle it 'the old fashioned way' (given that on the 7th of this month it took 3 adults to restrain her for a single blood draw--that is a story unto itself). Well, the sage doctor decided we'd try the staples first, and if that didn't' work, then we'd do sedation. At this point in time I was like "whatever will work. Let's just get this over and done with." All the while, Peanut has been an excellent patient--no whining, crying, or acting up (that was her mother who was doing that!!).

So, there we were, in the E.R., Peanut on my lap, my legs wrapped about her waist, holding her in a 'bear hug' while the gentleman nurse (a fantastic human being, I might add) held her head steady and the doctor stapled her scalp shut.

Ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk, and one final ca-chunk.

And it was done. Nearly 3 1/2 hours after we arrived, and $100 lighter in the wallet later, the girl was sutured up and we were on our way.

And to think, we could have had the same results, at the Pediatrician's office, and been in and out in less than 30 minutes. GARG!

Then, back home again. Peanut was feeling frisky and fine (the child was doing somersaults on the couch (getting blood everywhere-eew!) and had to be told to calm down and relax, so her sutures wouldn't be disturbed), and mommy's blood pressure was through the roof. Not the way I'd wanted to spend the afternoon.

At least my little girl was 'good as new' and feeling fine. That was the most important thing.

After both children were fed, and the boy put to bed, I headed out to run the last of the birthday errands I had left. Originally, I'd planned to do all of the errands and 'to-dos' this afternoon, but the trip to the E.R. disrupted that train of thinking, so it had to wait until after dinner.

I wound up taking care of all of my errands, with a little insult added at the gas pumps ($20 for 5.45gal. of gasoline! ***#$@@@$*$*$* insert expletive), only to walk back into the house, ready to frost the cupcakes for Peanut's party tomorrow, to discover my darling husband had only bought one can of chocolate frosting--to decorate 54 cupcakes in 'rainbow' colors. So much for being prepared the day before the party.

Needless to say, my evening ended on a truly aggravating note. But, the silver lining to this cloud is that the Peanut is OK, she's feeling good, she's going to be five, and has five staples in her head, someday this is going to make a great story to retell; and, hopefully my little monkey has learned her lesson: 'no more monkey jumping on the bed!'