We had a little situation last week. A scary, heart-pounding (definitely not
mundane) situation. Our oldest child was a trauma patient. In the midst of all of this, though, I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.
He happened to be skateboarding with his friends, made a reckless decision, and hurt himself pretty badly.
My in-laws had the unfortunate experience to be at our house after he returned home (I picked him up from the side of the road in our neighborhood). Josh was Alzheimer-esque. He kept repeating the same things over and over. He literally had no idea what had happened, not remembering why he was hurt, who he'd been with, or even anything from earlier in the day.
Once Rob raced home from work, we took him directly to the hospital. While Rob was parking our vehicle, I had Josh seated in the waiting room so I could register him as a patient. He was sitting in the corner asking the same unintelligible questions from other patients. I literally had two people approach me to warn me that something was wrong with him. As a side-note, there was a man who was waiting for care because his wife tried to bite his lips off. By all appearances, he was a rough character - but you know what? He was concerned about my kid. Even though he looked like a gang-banger, he came up to me and told me that my son was not right.
Anyway, back to the story. Josh was [almost] immediately made a trauma patient. He was fitted with a collar and wheeled into the trauma bay. We were taken to the patient room, assigned a patient advocate and were left waiting to see what was wrong with our son. We felt helpless and the "what if's" were running rampant.
A school father was the trauma surgeon helping him and one of the nurses was a family friend. We felt like he was in good hands, but it was scary. We were sitting in the room where people wait for the worst kind of news about their loved ones - the ones that never go home.
The short explanation is that Josh is remarkably fine. He suffered a serious concussion (thank the Lord for his helmet, it cracked but it saved him) and a fractured wrist, but he'll be fine. His major source of pain is the road rash on his back, but it's healing quickly. His CT showed no brain bleeding or swelling and we're so grateful.
He spent the night on the peds floor and was well cared for.
And, on to the warm and fuzzies. This was probably one of the scariest situations we've even been through and I can honestly say that we felt divine intervention throughout. It truly felt like the Lord had gone before us in the whole situation: with the timing, the health care professionals on duty, and the experience we've had afterward.
Our son is loved. We are loved. We are blessed. Josh has had an outpouring of care from friends and family. Our living room was full of boys on Friday afternoon. His friends wanted to be with him - to check on him and just hang out. We had seven boys in our little house and it was great. He had a special friend stop by on Friday night just to drop off Doritos and say she was glad he was okay. His whole bus signed a get-well card for him and our neighbors mailed a DQ giftcard. Rob's
brother-husbands brought their coffee date to the pediatric floor, bringing my husband coffee, breakfast and their presence.
From the gang-banger to the physicians, nurses, and our friends and family - we feel a sense of community.
The Lord truly blessed us in this experience and it's something we won't soon forget.
The good news is that Josh has made his one reckless decision as a teenager and now we can relax, take a deep breath, and rest easy for the rest of the teenage years. Right. Seriously, though, we are praying for increased wisdom in his life. He's a great kid and we're thankful for his life.
