Too much has happened that I haven't posted about. So much that I'm not even going to attempt to put it all in one post. Welcome to the Catching Up series. I know it'll be at least a few parts long and could potentially be an on-going thing here at Oh Boys, since I seem to be getting fewer and fewer chances to sit down and write. Mainly because of all the craziness that's been plaguing us lately.
Let's go back a couple weeks to the first Saturday of October. Down here in NorCal, the weather is still set to 'Summer', for some awful reason, but we decided to be good parents (for the first time in, like, FOREVER) and take the kids to the park. Jay was driving so we didn't go to the park I take the kids to; we went to a park I never take the kids. We only ever go there with Jay. It's on a busy street and it's just bigger and therefore more dangerous, in my Mom-mind.
It's got tennis courts, a soccer field and two playgrounds, one for littles and one for the bigger kids. Paxton never plays on the little one; he always heads straight to the big kid park. It's never been an issue before because he's always been a bigger kid and is physically advanced, thanks to having a big brother to take example from. He heads up and shouts for Jay and me to watch him as he runs back and forth on the 'catwalk' then gets set to go down the twisty slide. It's not the spiral that goes around; it just kinda snakes left then right and pops the kid off at the bottom.
Somehow, he ended up sideways, facing me at the bottom and instead of just landing flat on his ass, he tips off on his side and lands RIGHT ON HIS HEAD. I watched it happen in slow-fucking-motion. I ran over, scooped him up and walked around trying to soothe him. He was screaming bloody murder; not just an 'I'm-scared-and-hurt-and-oh-shit-that-sucked' kind of cry but and 'HOLY-FUCKING-SHIT-I-THINKING-I'M-DYING' kind of cry.
And that's when I realized his head was sticky.
Blood. Is. Everywhere. All over his head. All over his face. All over my face, my neck. All over my shirt.
Now, it's MY turn to freak out.
'We gotta go, Jay. We gotta go NOW!' 'There's blood. Jay, HE'S BLEEDING!' 'OHMYGOD, JAY! HIS HEAD!'
I literally ran with him to the car and for the first time ever, was completely THRILLED that Jay never locks my damned Jeep. I had no idea why he wasn't right behind me but he was there by the time I got Paxton buckled in. Phoenix was next to Paxton, convinced his baby brother was going to die. I tried to reassure him that Paxton was not in fact dying, that his brains were not actually falling out of his head and that the doctors would make him all better, while shrieking at Jay to GET US TO THE HOSPITAL.
It wasn't even ten minutes from the time of the fall til we were in the lobby of the E.R., filling out paperwork. I was shaking, choking down sobs, trying to hold my shit together and NOT be that mom. I hurriedly filled out the admittance form and got his pulse/ox reading. Then we waited. It was maybe a half and hour until we got called into triage. The nurse and a doctor checked him out, gave us some gauze and said we would definitely need stitches. Then they sent us back out to the waiting room and Jay shows me what Paxton landed on: a patch of jagged rocks. At the bottom of the slide, there's NO bark dust, just these awesome, flesh splitting rocks. Great.
We knew we were in for a long wait so Jay ran to Safeway down the street and grabbed some snacks and soda so we could settle in. Paxton was falling asleep and if you've ever had anything to do with a good bump in the head, you know falling asleep is bad, so he got a Mt Dew. Phoenix got a root beer. It seemed like a great idea at the time but after two or three hours of waiting for a room to clear out & stitches to be administered, having two kids all hopped up on sugar and caffeine in an E.R. waiting room was just ridiculous so Jay took Phoenix home.
Paxton's coming off his high now; he wants Daddy, he wants to go home. He fights and screams and throws a massive fit. It's now something like 3 or 4 o'clock; he hasn't had a nap, he hasn't had real food since breakfast and I was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion so I let him melt down. He was so worn out, he just fell asleep and I wanted to too. Instead, I used some of the last bit of battery power left in my phone and sent another text to Jay's mom to let her know we were still waiting for stitches. Next thing I know, she's there, in the waiting room. AWESOME. I don't have to worry my phone is going to die, leaving us stranded at the hospital.
She' must be some kind of wonderful too because almost as soon as she got there, the doctor who checked him in triage called his name to check his BP and let us know she was working hard to get him a room. They had to wait for approval of his sedative too, since they were going to be giving him ketamine. I didn't know why that sounded familiar until we got into the back.
Ketamine is what doctors call the street drug, Special K. It causes hallucinations and shit and apparently, kids love the stuff. I was never one for hallucinogens so I have no experience with it, personally and the doctor warned me that Paxton might "look funny". No shit; the kid is frying balls to Spongebob. Man, it was the craziest thing to watch too. His little eyeballs got big as saucers and floated all over the place. He started drooling but soon enough, the stitches were in and the ketamine was starting to wear off. I was warned not to stimulate him too much while he was coming out of his trip because overstimulation can cause "an emergence reaction" which is why they don't give this shit to grown folk. It's much easier to restain a toddler who's having a bad trip than an adult.
I could tell he was definitely freaked out by something; he kept crying and couldn't really be comforted. He eventually came out of it and a nurse brought us graham crackers and apple juice while discharge papers were drawn up.
He got a Civil War bandage; I got a stack of paperwork and we went to go find Grandma Mindy. It was dark by now; Grandma Mindy was waiting outside and we finally made it home around seven.
An entire day at the hospital, five stitches and a freaky trip on Special K, all because we wanted to be good parents who take their kids to the park. I think we'll just stick to being shitty parents who never leave the house. Much safer that way, if you ask me. Much safer...