So sorry about the delay yesterday. As we were rocking through our first day of Christmas break, I got a call from my friend who was hosting the eldest Blandings boy for a sleep-over. Apparently, her son and mine had found the only patch of snow left in Kansas City and decided to go sledding. Only, it was more ice than snow. It's a small park close to their home with stately architectural columns at the bottom of a small hill so it's known as Vernona Columns. People take their wedding pictures there. It's lovely. Unless you hit it with your head. Or you pull up to find an ambulance and a fire truck and a handful of EMTs strapping your son to a board and putting a collar around his neck. His nose was bleeding a bit and he was vomiting. Basically in and out of consciousness, he was moaning and crying, but not responding to verbal commands. Anne Lamott, in one of her books, said the majority of prayers are either, "Please, please, please." or "Thank you, thank you, thank you." So I started with "Please, please, please."
In the ambulance, the wonderful men who were helping us both kept asking him to open his eyes. But he wouldn't. So they'd press on his chest, which would make him cry out in pain, but open his eyes. I sat there wanting to tell them to stop and wanting to beg them to do it again so I could see that he was still in there. The staff at Children's Mercy Hospital is amazing, which I knew already. They have been steady and caring and direct the entire time we have been here. Through the scans and the evaluation. And the neurosurgeon. I truly hope I never need to talk to a neurosurgeon again unless it's at a cocktail party.
But he's fine. A concussion. A bone chip right over his right eye. No surgery. No bleeding. Nothing tragic. So the tears that would not stop coming last night were for all the things that did not happen. He's sore, but fine. A little grouchy today, but fine. He should definitely be home for Christmas. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."