I'm Still Your Momma....

We had a little excitement around here this past weekend.....

Not "Yippee, how fun!" kind of excitement.  But, the "Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!" kind. 

Ed and I had spent a cool and rainy Saturday just being lazy.  We watched a couple of DVD's and basically laid around all day!  I know....how decadent....totally blissful, actually.  Late in the afternoon, the sun came out and we were just about to start getting ready to go out to dinner and dancing with some friends, when my cell phone rang.  It was my youngest son, Sam....and I could tell immediately from his voice that something was wrong.

"Mom, what are you doing?" 

"Just about to get in the shower to get ready to go out.  What's up?"

"Ben is bleeding!"

"WHAT?!?!?"

"Mom, he hit his head with the weights and he's bleeding BAD!"

"WHAT?!?!?!?"

"Mom, can you come quick?  It's a lot of blood!!!"

"We're on the way out the door right now, Sam!"

Well, we weren't exactly on the way out the door.....I had to get out of my jammies.  I grabbed the first old ratty sweat shirt I found in the closet and slipped back on the capri pants and flip flops I had worn the previous day (when it was much warmer, I might add), grabbed my makeup bag (guilty....), and then we were out the door. 

Thank God they only live about 5 minutes away.  When we arrived at their apartment, Ed charged on ahead and was first up the stairs and into the apartment.  Ben was standing at the sink in his bathroom with a towel pressed against his forehead, alert (always a good sign) and blood covering his hands, forearms and t-shirt. When Ed took the towel away, it was obvious he had a pretty deep gash just above his eyebrow and needed stitches....but, he seemed to have the bleeding under control.

I went into "Panicked Mommy" mode.  Ed stayed cool as a cucumber.  Sam was trying to clean the blood off the weight bench and carpet in the living room. 

We took Ben first to a walk-in clinic across the street from the hospital, but because there was already swelling and it was on his face, they wouldn't treat him.  The nurse came out to the waiting room while he was still filling out paperwork, took a look at it and said it might require a plastic surgeon.  So, they sent us across the street to the Emergency Room at the hospital.....where we sat for the next couple of hours and waited.....and waited.  (Now, I am going to admit it.....I grabbed my makeup bag and put on some powder, blush and mascara because I felt just awful sitting there looking like I had just crawled out of bed.  Unfortunately, I didn't even have a brush, so there wasn't much that could be done about the hair....)

When the triage nurse finally called Ben back, he actually said that it would be fine if I wanted to go with him!  Hallelujah, my "man-baby" wanted me to go with him!!! 

Long story made short - once the doctor took a look at it and determined that Ben didn't ever pass out or suffer any signs of a head injury, they decided to just stitch it up.  Simple enough!!!  I stayed with Ben the entire time and the mood got a lot lighter as the evening wore on.  When he learned he would be getting his first stitches (yes, in his lifetime), he thought that was kinda cool.

"You know, Mom, chicks think scars are cool."  Oh-kay......

The nurse put some ointment on to start the numbing process......and Ben posed for pictures, which he quickly had me post to Facebook on my Blackberry.

He held really still while the doctor stuck a needle in the wound to finish deadening the area.  In face, he didn't even realize when she started stitching him up. 

It took six stitches to close the wound and while she was stitching, the doctor and Ben came up with an elaborate story for him to share of how he got the gash....something about how he was coming to the rescue of a young lady who was being pestered by a jerk.  The punchline when asked how it ended up?  "You shoulda seen the other guy when I got finished with him!"   (I guess this sounds more exciting than "I hit myself in the head with the frame of my weight bench when it popped loose.".....)

 

When it was all said and done, he signed his own discharge papers and took care of his own co-pay.....this part felt a little odd to me since I automatically reached for my checkbook when the guy from the business office came in to wrap things up.  

As for me, I am just so thankful that it wasn't any worse.  If that metal frame had caught him in the eye or across the mouth......well, I shudder to think what could have happened to that handsome face! 

And I am so thankful that we live so close and were able to get there quickly.....and that he allowed me to be with him throughout the ordeal.  

I know Ben is grown now - he's 21 years old, has a good job and his own health insurance - but, he will always be my "little boy" and I will always be his "momma".  

Until we meet again....

Jane