I got the call around two o’clock in the afternoon; the call that sent my stomach crashing to the ground, only to sail up into my throat full of butterflies.
Paris had an accident at school and I’m taking him to the Emergency Room!
Slowly bits and pieces of information began to stream in –
Paris was running ~ Paris wasn’t looking where he was going ~ Paris was being a typical boy ~ Paris ran into a steel gate ~ The gate was fine ~ Paris has a third eye (minus the eye ball) ~ Stitches!
At four o’clock, I got word that Paris was going to be all right and they were heading home. I shut the computer down, closed my office door and headed home, stopping at the store long enough to pick up some Popsicles to help with the owee.
When I walked in the door, there were no tears or drama, in fact, it was quiet. Paris was in bed; fast asleep. Seemed like a great time for a glass of wine ~ I was stressed you know. As we made dinner, I was regaled with snippets from the afternoon’s adventures in HMO healthcare. It seems that Paris was excited about the possibility of getting stitches. In fact, he was bouncing off the walls…”stitches are cool!” When the Doctor sauntered in the story changed somewhat because, like me, Paris absolutely can’t stand needles. He tightly held T’s hand, while a little tear coursed down his cheek, only looking up to ask if it was done. With the needle out of sight, a huge sigh of relief was breathed and, with Paris’ forehead sufficiently numbed, the good Doctor proceeded to stitch up the gash.
By the time Paris woke up from his nap, I was ready to hear his side of the story and he, well, he was only too happy to tell it. As your typical boy, he made it all sound so cool (well, except when he cried because the Doctor gave him a shot – that was “sad”). In fact, the only thing that really got him riled up was that he couldn’t go back to school after the big event. He wanted to show off his new stitches. As I was leaving for work the next morning, I actually had an argument with him about wearing the bandage over the stitches. Why?
Howz anyone gonna see my stitches boy? (“boy” is the favorite word of the moment.)
As I got in the car, I got to thinking that as a human being, I still act an awful lot like a little boy. In my exuberance for life, I sometimes don’t pay attention. I sometimes manage to run into steel gates while charging full steam ahead (and looking backwards to boot). I sometimes manage to hurt myself pretty good. Sometimes, in this life, I’ve even had to head to the Emergency Room. Thankfully, I’ve always had the hands of family or friends to hold as I got the obligatory shot and stitches. It’s nice to know that there are people out there who love me…no matter that I’ve been acting a little childish. They’ll hold my hand and tell me it’s all right. I’ll shed a tear ~ just for a minute. Then I’ll be ready to show off my stitches. They are cool you know. Those stitches will eventually be removed and maybe they’ll leave a scar. And we all know that scars are nothing more than an excuse to re-live a moment in time ~ a moment that brought a little pain, but was really a lot of fun.
Like any boy, Paris is all excitement when it comes to his stitches. Perhaps that’s the way we all should be when it comes to the cuts and nicks that life throws at us (and some that we throw at ourselves). Proud to show them off! For me, the most important reason to show off my scars is because they showed I tangled with something strong as steel…but survived! Heck…
Playground, here I come!