She put the sticker on to the long pink strip. I held my arm out, without thinking.
"I see you know the drill," as she placed the bracelet bearing my son's name on my arm. "Welcome back, Miss Hammond," she said with a sigh.
We were back in the emergency room, this time with a gash in his face where Ethan met the wrong end of a rather large stick. Come to think of it, is there really a right side of a stick? It was a complicated story involving a slide and boys being boys. Some said I jinxed myself earlier in the day when I yelled out the front door, "KNOCK IT OFF I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE ER TODAY!!!"
I don't believe in jinxing but I do believe that you either have an ER child or you don't. This child of mine? He's practically a regular. So much so that the same doctor was on call that was on the last time he got stitches for the knife incident when he cut his pinky while making this elaborate pulley system with a box, a dog leash and a hook on the wall. When she walked into the exam room, he was jumping up and down on the bed because he had sent a paper airplane through the "uprights" represented by the bendy light that hangs from the ceiling.
"I see how you end up here. Could you please sit down on the bed?" He looked at her, heaved a big sigh and sat down on the bed. With amazing technique and what can only be described as an Easter miracle, the doctor gave him 9 stitches which only resulted in minimal crying. With that, he bound up and was asking for his popsicle. You know, the result of a bad day at the emergency room.
In the old days we would have dwelt on what could have been: punctured eyes or ears or something equally horrific. Now we just take it all in stride: thankful that the emergencies are little and that everyone is only slightly worse for the wear at the end of the day. But I'll have to admit that raising this boy is a full-time and rather tiring job without time off. Zzzzz.