I was up in the bathroom mid-morning yesterday when I suddenly heard #6 come in from the garage crying. That was followed by #2 saying, "[#6] just...."That was all I could make out. The next thing I knew, there was that tone of voice from the Warden: "JuLIE...." I don't know if you have that tone in your house, but it's kind of like the warning call. It's funny. I've really heard it very few times, but I think I understood the implications of it even the first time the tone was used. It means, "Something bad has happened. Come now!"
I quickly got myself downstairs. As I flew down the stairs, the situation was described to me in I'm-a-bit-stressed-here-but-trying-to-remain-calm terms. When I arrived to the kitchen, there was the Warden supporting #6 by the hindquarters. Strangest sight I've beheld in a very long time. #6 was standing on the kitchen table. The Warden's hand was applying the pressure needed to prevent further bleeding and to hold the wound together. The Warden wouldn't allow me to see the nature of the injury but simply said we needed to get to a doctor and get #6 sewn up. Ugh! I hate those words.
I gathered a towel, a number of pairs of shoes and socks, jackets, and my purse, and we headed out the door. #6 laid down on his stomach on the seat behind me. The Warden kept his hand on the wound. I'm so grateful for Saturday urgent care hours.
....SO many masked people in that waiting room. Ugh! Not a good place to be. I heard two small children coughing and could have made the diagnosis myself--R.S.V. Having been there and done that, I felt very sorry for those parents sitting with those little ones.
Needless to say, the vase broke under his weight.
When the Warden finally removed his hand, I finally saw what the "JuLIE" was for. Ugh! Poor kid! The wound was about an inch long or just a touch longer and was about as wide. It was gaping. I'm glad that, as I've experienced things as a mother, I've developed a stronger stomach.
The room we were in was a very familiar one. I had seen two other children sit on that very same chair/bed-type thing and have stitches put into their knees. I had heard the entire story of the Tale of Despereaux told me by #3 as her knee was repaired in that room.
So, today, #6's bum has been a big consideration in our home. We made sure he had the most comfortable seat at church today. Although one of our children, just after sitting down at church, leaned over to me and said, "#6 is the butt of so many family jokes," and "he just cracks me up."Oh, it never ends around here.
Just now #6 complained that it was itching. Good sign, right? Means it's healing. The prayers must be working.