First: e.r. visit and stitches

Monday night, I was woken up by RWF.  I was in a deep sleep and when I heard him say, "Heather," I bolted up in bed.  He calmly told me that Bode had fallen out of bed and needed stitches.  He said, "I have to take him to the e.r."

My breath became shallow and my face started cracking, preparing to cry.  My baby!  "Where is he?" I asked.

"Calm down. He's fine. He's in the kitchen."  RWF pulled on some jeans and continued to tell me what he thought had happened.

But I ran out to the kitchen and Bode wasn't there. I found him walking around the living room, looking dazed.  In addition to looking dazed, his face looked crooked.

I knelt down in front of him and hugged him. He collapsed into my embrace.  I pulled away from him to study his face.  He didn't say anything, he just looked at me while I studied his face. Above his eye, a gaping, diamond shaped wound.  I immediately felt sick to my stomach. At the same time, I couldn't help but peer into the wound and examine the perfect symmetry.

RWF walked out, phone and wallet in hand, ready to go.  I escorted Bode out to the garage, and put his Crocs on his feet.  I carried Bode to the car and buckled him into his car seat. "Where are we going?" he asked, confused. I couldn't answer.  I kissed him good-bye, and said a prayer that the e.r. visit would not be as horrible as I imagined.

"Oh," RWF whispered, "It looks pretty bad up there (in Bode's bedroom) but don't let it freak you out."

As soon as they pulled onto the street, I went upstairs.  I stripped the bloody sheets, pillows and mattress pad from his bed.  I walked downstairs and put them in the wash. I went back upstairs and cleaned and straightened Bode's room, because I didn't know what else to do. Afterwards, I sat and thought about Bode.  RWF called me a few times, letting me know that they were (still) waiting and Bode was acting fine. I asked him to take Bode to Dunkin' Donuts afterwards, because Bode would deserve a special treat (after what he was about to go through).  I sat, with the t.v. on but not watching. I was thinking about Bode. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt so guilty that this had happened to him.

They left around 11 p.m., and came home at 3:30 a.m.

As soon as the headlights hit our windows, I ran out to the car. I opened the doors to get to my boy.  I was surprised to see him still in a hospital gown and scrubs.  He had stitches.  Small consolation, other than just seeing him myself, was that he was clutching a chocolate-glazed donut in his little hands and munching on it.

RWF told me that the procedure was really hard, but the pediatrician told him that Bode was doing great.  (Later, RWF would confess to me that it was really hard on him, too, because Bode was screaming, "Help me, Daddy! Help me!" while they were doing the stitches. This only confirmed what my mind had played in my head while they were away, that my boy  and husband had endured an Oscar-worthy performance, a la "Kramer vs. Kramer."). And, I have to selfishly add right here, I am so thankful that RWF was here.  He could have easily been out of town (planned but canceled). I can't imagine what I would have done, or how I would have handled this by myself.

RWF showed me all the gifts that Bode scored, a brand-new teddy bear (that Bode has been strangely attached to at night), a real stethoscope, and a face mask (ha).  Of course, I didn't give a hoot about this stuff, and only wanted it burned, because it only serves as a reminder of a horrible incident.  But I also could not help but snatch RWF's iPhone and take this snap, either:

Bode didn't have the best night of sleep, as he was pretty amped by the experience (he  asked me to lie in bed next to him (unusual for him), and he kept asking me to "wipe it (the wound) away, Mommy").  He is doing better now.  I am still suffering from PTSD.  I can't believe that I slept through a big fall. I can't believe that I didn't hear Bode crying. I can't believe that I was sleeping peacefully in my bed while my sweet boy was crying and bleeding above me. I feel so guilty. And every time I close my eyes, I see the diamond-shaped wound gaping open before me. Before I fall asleep,  I worry about another fall.   It's hard to go to sleep at night, when every creak above me is a potential disaster. Is one of my children bleeding to death above, while I sleep blissfully unaware?

Thanks to everyone for your encouraging words. I do realize that this will probably be the first of many e.r. visits and stitches (well, hopefully not too many).  It's just hard for me, because it is Bode's first, and he wasn't being rambunctious. He was simply sleeping like the angel that he is.

And, it is not over.  Bode has an appointment with a plastic surgeon on Thursday. I'm sure that he'll be thrilled to have another stranger peering at his wound.  And then a few days after that, suture removal.  Wish us luck! (though I guess the worse is over) (I hope)

Happy Wednesday.

xo