Thursday, November 17, 2011

A Different Type of Dreaded Phone Call...

When my son was at his old daycare, I wrote this post about why I always answered their calls with dread.  He was cross-contaminated a lot there, and they usually called to tell me he had eaten something with gluten in it.

Today I received the type of phone call that my mom used get- my son had fallen down and hurt himself at daycare.  I was always getting hurt as a kid.  I have a scar on my head from running into the back of a pick-up truck (don't ask), another on my hand where I accidentally stabbed myself while cutting a rice krispie square (I'm serious), a broken toe from tobogganing, and on and on and on.  Let's just say I was accident prone.  I have the feeling my son might be like me...

When I picked up the phone at work this afternoon to hear the daycare on the other end, I knew something was wrong.  Since his food at the daycare is catered, and they've been fantastic about keeping his food separate, I knew he was either sick, or hurt. 

Turns out he was hurt. 

He had been running with two of his friends when he tripped, and landed chin first.  Thankfully he didn't put a tooth through his lip or bite through his tongue, but he did split his chin open enough that the daycare workers were afraid it might need stitches. 

Now I appreciate what my mother must have gone through every time she received one of these phone calls.  And believe me, she received them often. 

First, I go into fact-finding mode.  What happened?  When?  How?

Then, I go into practical, business-like mode.  Bag packed, check,  Purse, check. Quickest route to the daycare, check.

Once I'm actually in the car and on the road, I go into panicked mommy mode.  Images of huge gaping wounds flood my mind, accompanied by flashes of my son's tear-streaked face. 

Finally, I go into mommy mode when I actually arrive at the daycare and see my son, standing by the door with the daycare worker, his little girlfriend by his side.  This is the girl he talks about non-stop when he's at home.

Before I even get to him, his little friend (who is maybe 3?) steps in front of me to give me the rundown.  No full sentences, just random word like "running" and "fall down" and "boo boo".  All very helpful, only all I want to do is see my son and give him a big hug. 

When I finally gather him up in my arms and I see that his wound is not nearly as bad as I imagined, my muscles unclench and I can finally take a deep breath. 

His chin was definitely split open, but he wasn't crying, and he looked fine otherwise.  The doctor checked him for loose teeth and dislocated jaw, but decided he didn't need stitches.  He'll probably be bruised tomorrow and I'll be keeping an eye on him tonight, but thankfully the injury wasn't as bad as it could have been.

But now I know why my mom always told me she had earned every grey hair.  I know I earned a few today.


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  2. Thank goodness it wasn't worse, I'm happy that he's ok...and that you seem ok too. It's hard when our children get injured and we aren't around. I'm sure all the extra hugs and kisses made him feel better!