WELCOME
SMALL THOUGHTS AT PEDIATRIC EMERGENCY
Posted 09.25.09 by annajohnson
Well, I guess it had to happen. We finally went to emergency. Four years on earth and not even a scratch and then I had to go and get all acrobatic and twist Cello’s foot in a forward roll and then ponder the eternal question; sprain or fracture? After seven hours in emergency we got the eternal answer: maybe both! And now Cello is stumping around with a plaster splint and loving what he calls his peg leg.
He hates the hospital. He yells at anyone who touches him “No doctoring!”, and, a bit like airports, I feel the same powerful phobia. In Sydney, Australia there are two main pediatric hospitals, servicing a massive metropolitan sprawl but the one we attended (Randwick) was clean, upbeat and professional. And somewhere between 3pm and midnight I bonded with a father of three whose toddler had burnt hands and a mother of three who little muppet had a deeply split lip. Sharing chocolate, crayons and gossip, we were in a room called “FAST TRACK WAITING” for about four hours. It was cool. We argued about voluntary vascectomy for married fathers (very fashionable in Sydney it seems) and the right for parents of three to have annual sex holidays with their spouses. Well, I was dead against the first and right onto the second and yet felt strangely unqualified on all fronts.
One child. To parents of three that is a lifelong holiday! And I was so impressed with their beatific resilient attitudes. Then of course the penny dropped. “This is rare -if stressed- one on one time with my daughter” said Mummy of three. “This is respite from the sound of my boys fighting” said Dad of three. And I just sat there feeling a bit decadent and odd. Mummy of three had a ten month old baby to go home to sometime much later that night. Her husband bounced in with pajamas and blankets and hugs all round. Then he went home to warm up some formula. I was keenly aware that our kids were not badly injured and the time we were sacrificing (stretching into the night) may have been literally saving lives. Next door in ambulatory care there were severe traumas, badly broken legs and small infants struggling to breathe. The intensity of that collective pain was at odds with the bright collages of elephants and butterflies on the walls and the medical staff, rushing and exhausted, were so lovely with each child. Our doctor took off his stethoscope and put it round Cello’s neck saying “You be the doctor!” and the X-ray machinist was super patient as Cello proceeded to have a fit that equalled the destruction of seven hotel rooms by Sid Vicious. To convince him the X-ray machine was not going to eat his foot we watched a 12 year old boy with a severely broken fibia brave the machine. His mother gave Cello a hug. Her heart was that big. These small kindnesses mean everything in the suspended reality of trying to fix up your kid and I tried to imagine the raw vulnerability (and occasional rage) of mothers and families whose children have chronic conditions, repeated surgeries or intensive care. We got off with a half splint cast and a stop at the deli for a strawberry lollipop. When I look at my son asleep tonight he looks like a bandaged teddy bear and I feel an enormous gratitude for the power of young bodies to heal and for the strange lessons in love I encounter every day. To raise a child you can’t wrap them in cotton wool. But it’s nice to know there are helping hands and collective wisdom for them when they fall.
Till next time, KEEPING IT YUMMY.
XXX ANNA
P.S. My next blog is in honor of Lisa Babli a very special yummy mummy now expecting twins. I will be interviewing some twin mothers on the pregnancy, birthing and mothering experience of twins. Reader comments and stories are warmly welcomed.