The one thing no one tells you (actually the 812th thing, but whatever) about being a parent is that there is nothing worse than seeing your child hurt. Mentally hurt, yes, that sucks, but physically…it puts all the little things into perspective quite quickly. I have seen my kids in the hospital more times than I care to think about; as a result I don’t sleep very much. It would be one thing if they were always at fault, but sometimes accidents happen. Like the other day, when my eldest was swimming and another boy jumped onto his back and neck in the swimming pool. Either the force of it or his swimming goggles pushing up his face led to a full-scale nose bleed; he emerged from the pool gushing with blood. He’d had his head down, swimming to the ladder, and the kid didn’t see him or didn’t look. He complained about neck pain, at which point the lifeguards, not taking any chances, called an ambulance and immobilized him.
At this point I’m humming along in my car, buying some groceries, la la la, unaware that sometime between the morning drop off and now, my phone’s mute button has been hit. I didn’t even know where it was, that’s how much I use it. So….anyway. A frantic text from my back up Mom alerted me to the problem, at which point I drove very quickly to the pool.
The ambulance arrived about the time I did, and they strapped him down to one of those boards, full neck and head brace, the whole deal. I did what I usually do in the case of an emergency.
I pretend to be a calm and capable woman.
“Wow, bad luck, eh buddy?” I joke with him and he smiles. I am dying inside, looking at the dried blood on his face, thinking about all the things that could possibly be wrong inside his vertebra. I know others who have broken their necks. This is a possible thing, this is a real thing.
“These guys are the best, you’re going to be totally fine.”
I don’t know this for sure, in fact, my life is actually flashing in front of me, and I am so scared by the sight of him that I think I might pee right there on the pool floor, like a beaten and fearful dog.
“I will be right behind the ambulance, I’ll be right at the hospital when you go in.”
Actually, I was a bit later, because I started to shake uncontrollably, at which point the Rec centre people asked if I needed a ride instead. I explained that I just needed a good cry and then I would be able to drive. I can be a good actress when my kids need me but there is no hiding from myself. So I sat in the car and sobbed, because I didn’t know if he was ok or not, and couldn’t just tell myself everything would be fine. This is the kid who got stung by a scorpion in North Van, for chrissake. How would I know if this will be fine? I don’t. I can’t tell myself its ok. But I try, and tell myself to drive now, to not hit anyone on the way, which I also know can and does happen.
At the hospital we are seen to quickly, a sure sign that something could be bad, as usually you wait so long you could go actually out for dinner, watch a movie, come back and then be called. We play “I spy” in the waiting room, our usual game at the doctors. It is difficult for him because he can’t move his head. I say things that are just out of his vision just to annoy him, and pretend that I don’t know he can’t see them. He laughs but is annoyed, so I play fair.
The doctor comes and takes a look. There is no smiling and I sort of resent that we aren’t pretending at least just a little, but also am glad because it means we are all taking things very seriously. The doctor checks him over. I am intermittently on the phone to my husband, calmly pretending that I am ok, that everything is going well, because that is what he needs to continue with his day and that is what my son needs to overhear. The doctor examines him.
He is fine. Totally fine, with a bit of neck and back soreness. My son says… take a picture, like the one I have of his sister in the hospital looking sad. I do. I instantly regret it. I don’t want to ever see this picture again, in my head or in a print. And yet, there will be no erasure, not ever, of this image. This is the real thing they never tell you about being a parent, because the scariness of it will make some people rethink having kids, and rightly so. Your heart can be ripped in half, and then put back together again just like that, and the world will still rotate slightly ajar on its axis. You will make dinner, go to bed early because of exhaustion, and no one can ever give you the promise that it won’t happen again. But all sorrows pale into nothing, because tomorrow he will bound out of bed as if today is just any other, which thankfully it is.
I went out with my friends, we celebrated life, we had a few drinks. It was just what I needed, in lieu of what I really need (which all parents need): a guarantee that nothing terrible will happen to our children, an impossible ask.
Somehow, we just have to get on with it anyway.