The whole world stops when you get a text from your wife
that reads “911! 911!”
As I frantically dialed and envisioned major head trauma, the
phone rang and I was calmly informed by my wife that the ambulance had arrived
and my daughter had likely broken her arm in a fall at soccer skills camp. My
mother watched the boy and I raced off to the park breaking land speed limits
as my heart rate kept pace with the car. I told myself that she would be
alright and that her arm would be fine, but my confidence left the building when
I saw the ambulance in the parking lot
She was crying but stable in the ambulance with my wife. “Are
you OK? It’s going to be fine! I love you!” The EMT told me that her arm was probably
just sprained while his partner nodded no behind her. With my eyes, I punched
him in the head. “I’m scared mommy! Why do you have to ride up front?! I don’t
want the flashing lights!” The doors closed and I followed the ambulance but
quickly lost them in traffic. I was helpless and everything was beyond my
control. It was like being in the movie Taken, but we were in the suburbs, I
have no special set of skills, and I didn’t know how to help my daughter.
At the hospital, we waited for three hours through assessments,
pain killer, x-rays, and eventually the world’s worst question to ask parents
in a hospital. “Can we step outside to discuss (fill in the blank) your
daughter’s arm?” Note to doctors – This is a good idea to keep the patient at
ease, but not a good idea when you utter the phrase loudly in front of the
patient. Children pick up on things like words, phrases, and clauses.
The break was clear through the bone just above her elbow
and required pins to reconnect the bones. My scared 7 year old daughter had to
go in to surgery and was going to stay overnight. My wife began to cry. I would
no longer be helpless! I was going to do something! I began to get angry. I was
angry at the soccer coach, the doctor, and the world to put my daughter through
this situation. Becoming angry in situations beyond our control is a wonderful
inherited Bargiel trait like parental kryptonite and I needed a self-imposed
time-out before I caused permanent damage.
I told my wife that she couldn’t cry around Julia and she
quickly composed herself. (She was a rock through the entire ordeal and made
Julia’s experience that best it could be under the circumstances.) I offered to
pick up Julia’s things and race back to the hospital before surgery which was
scheduled for “When We Get to It” o’clock. I raced home, told my parents the
latest news, read the fastest chapter of Willy Wonka ever, put the boy to bed,
threw together Julia’s things, and raced back to the hospital. I missed the
surgeon but saw my daughter being wheeled into surgery. “I want my mommy! I
want to go to school tomorrow!” “Don’t you worry, she’ll be fine and she won’t
remember any of this.” Teary-eyed, my wife and I went to the family surgical
unit waiting room to look for the hearts that had fallen out of our chests and
broken on the floor.
.
Pacing and running to a small windowed door every time someone
passes is not an effective use of time, but it will scare the crap out of every
cleaning person in the building. The surgeon emerged and she told us that
everything would be OK and a bit of sunshine parted the clouds. The break was a
type she had seen only five times in twenty years, but Julia would be out of
pins in a week and out of a cast in 4 weeks. I thought that was quick and she
reminded me that I wasn’t a surgeon. As she left, she asked me if I played football
and what did I think about kids playing at eight years old. Her boys were very
interested in football. “As long as you
have coaches who stress fun, learning, and safety, you’ll be fine. It’s the
evil sport of soccer that takes our children away!” She smiled and backed away
slowly until she reached the door and was gone. I needed sleep or an adreline
shot.
Julia refused to wake up in recovery but was responsive and
1AM was just a bit past her bedtime. She was wheeled to pediatrics, we met the
night nurse, set up the bed for my wife, and began to go over the game plan for
the morning when we both heard a shaky voice. “Where am I? When do I go into surgery?!”
“You’re in a hospital bed and the surgery is all over, baby. You did great.” My
daughter, Julia, looked at her arm which was casted from shoulder to elbow and
announced in a steady voice, “That’s right, I was in surgery and I was very
brave.” And then she went back to sleep. Yes, you were very brave baby and I’m
so proud of you and don’t you ever, ever, ever do that again.
That would be a wonderful ending to the story but she woke
up a few minutes later and asked for Kermit, one of her many stuffed animals,
and when she found out that I had left him at home it was no longer important
that I remain by her bedside. I was shunned because I had broken the golden
rule of leaving no frog behind. As I headed home for four hours of sleep, I
reflected on my first major crisis as a dad. Julia was OK, I kept my stupidity
to a rare minimum, and my wife was still talking to me in a pleasant tone. It was a sweet victory and hopefully a
precursor of future battles, but I knew defeat was just around the corner if I
forgot her crocs or that damn frog in the morning.
.
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