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lyricalechoesSometimes all it takes is a phone call to change your world.
It had been a busy morning. My husband works out of our home periodically so he was working at the computer in our bedroom while I ran the two oldest kids to school. Then I drove back, dressed my youngest and drove her to Mother’s Day Out.
Everyone was dressed and fed and delivered to where they needed to go. I remember telling my husband, “I think I’ll finally eat breakfast. Do you want anything?” when the phone rang.
I grabbed for it, as he was home to work, not to be disturbed by every telemarketer who thought our number looked like one from people who buy products from faceless voices on the phone.
“Hello, this is Maria,” I said into the receiver.
“Maria. This is M. C. Elementary school. Your son, James, has hurt his head. Please come to school immediately.”
I hung up, running for my keys as I explained to my husband what they said. “They said to come ... maybe he fell off a swing?” I said, grabbing one of James’ t-shirts out of a laundry basket as we ran for the door.
“He’s probably fine. Head wounds bleed a lot you know. They probably just want us to take him home and clean him off.” I kept saying, as my husband kept mentioning scary possibilities.
It was nothing, right? They didn’t say he was dying or anything. He was going to be OK. I had to believe he was going to be OK. Schools just have to call so you know what is happening, right?
I insisted my husband drive at the speed limit and obey the traffic lights. They didn’t say to hurry. They just said to come.
He would be fine. I just knew it. He had to be fine.
And I believed that sincerely until …until I saw the ambulance parked in front of the school.
“He could still be OK, right?” I turned to ask my husband, who had jumped out of the car and was running in. I’d been calm until then but I entered with tears streaming down my face. What could have happened? Why hadn’t they told me on the phone what happened?
The principal met us at the door and said, “Come this way.” We followed. There were so many adults standing in the hall. She opened the door and there he sat on the floor. Crying. He seemed so confused. His face was bloody and his front teeth were broken off in pieces. But he was sitting. Breathing. Alive.
I ran over and grabbed him to me. “It’s OK,” I said, “It’s OK. I’m here and you’re going to be fine.” I didn’t know what had happened but now that I saw he was alive and awake and still breathing here on my earth, I felt I could say that. He was my son after all and we were together now. Together, he was going to be fine as long as I had anything to do with it.
“Ma’m, we need to take him out,” the paramedic motioned to me and I helped my son onto their stretcher.
“I’m so tired, my mouth hurts” he moaned. “It’s ok. We’re going and the doctor will make you better,” I assured him.
There were so many adults standing around. I spotted one I knew and said, “Um, Sara’s here, could you, I don’t know how long we will be gone, can Sara…?”
“I can’t take her,” Casey told me, “But Mrs. Johnson can.”
I didn’t know Mrs. Johnson from Adam but Casey seemed to think it was a good idea so I said, “OK, um, I have my cell phone, I’ll try to call the school as soon as we know how long.”
And I followed them out.
The paramedics said only one of us could ride in the ambulance so I jumped in. “Drive careful,” I told my husband. “He’s safe now.”
In the ambulance, I answered what I could but I still wasn’t really sure what had happened. I told them that school had said he hurt his head. I guess he fell?
James said, “I woke up and I was looking at the floor.”
Between us, we still didn’t know what had happened but I gave them the basic information like his age, his full name and our insurance information.
The ride was long. My son alternated between saying, “My mouth hurts,” “my head feels funny,” and “I’m so tired.”
I wanted to be with him. I wanted to sit back there and touch his hand and watch him breathe. But I had to ride in front so I finally decided to call his grandparents just so they knew. I had regained my composure once I saw him but lost it again on the phone.
“I don’t know what happened, Mom, but I’m with him and we’ll call you when we find out, OK? We’re almost there.”
When we arrived at the hospital, I was out as soon as the engine stopped. I just wanted to see him, all of him again. We walked in together.
“Why am I here, Mom? I just want to sleep.”
“Shh, shh, just lay back, you can sleep here.”
“But I’m cold. I … what’s going on? Am I going to miss recess?” he said, fretfully. I grow tired of my kids’ complaining but this sounded like bells of celebration to me. Surely he was ok if he were complaining.
“They just want to make sure you are OK, is all.” I explained.
Finally my husband got there. My son was breathing so nothing moved quickly, as the ER doctors attended to more urgent cases. My husband left to eat and pick up some clothes in case James ended up spending the night.
“Do you want anything?” my husband said.
“To eat? No, I’m really not hungry. I’ll get something later.” I replied. James seemed drowsy and kept falling in and out of a light sleep. He didn’t want to talk much but somehow, all I wanted to watch him breathe. He was here, alive and safe. How often did I get to just look at my first baby?
The hours passed. The nurses drew blood and inserted an IV. Finally James was taken down to be tested, then it was back to our room.
Thankfully, I did remember to ask for a phone book and call my youngest daughter’s MDO so that a friend could take her home. My friend, Cathy, said she would call the school and talk to Mrs. Johnson so both of my daughters could be together. That made sense to me. I hated adding two kids to her household for several hours but Cathy was gracious about it.
Finally, my son was admitted for the night. He had had an MRI today but the doctors wanted to do an EEG, EKG, and CAT scan the next day.
My husband returned, bringing his mom. My son was delighted to see his grandma. When a nurse came in and said he could finally order supper, it seemed his joy was complete. He happily contemplated all the junk food options on the children’s hospital menu and, for once, I didn’t really care. I try to be so careful to try to get him to try healthier options but today it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I was just glad to know he felt up to eating, with his poor swollen little mouth.
My mother-in-law urged me to go eat. I didn’t want to leave but she finally forced me out the door.
When I smelled the food in the hospital cafeteria, I felt weak. Man! I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
My cheeseburger couldn’t have tasted better if it was served on fine china at a Presidential dinner. Hunger finally called my name now that it seemed my son was safe. Surely, safe in bed and under his grandma’s watchful eye, nothing worse could happen today.
Life seemed much more precarious than it did last week.
Back in James’ room, I let him pick out a TV show while my husband left to pick up our girls. They were anxious to see their brother. I’m not that found of the inane antics of a spongy character named Bob but I enjoyed every moment of that silly show as I watched my son chortle with glee. Maybe sometimes laughing matters more than intelligent plot lines or clever dialogue.
My girls arrived, concerned and a little shaken. They said they enjoyed Ms. Cathy’s house but “we’re tired, we want to go home.” Rarely do my daughters’ admit weariness but I think what they craved more than bed was the routine of normal life.
After some discussion, I decided to leave my husband on duty, to watch over my son as he slept. It was hard to leave but like normal, as a mom of more than one child, I often feel split between meeting the different needs of each of my children.
We arrived home and I plunged right in with stories, baths and bed. Only after they were dreaming, did I remember the paper I still needed to email in for my Greek Mythology class.
Hastily, I brought up the file, scanning it over. I was so tired! I ran grammar and spell check and scribbled off a conclusion, hoping it made sense. I logged into my college email to send it and discovered an email from my education teacher. I uploaded my Myth paper and read her email. She couldn’t read the assignment I had sent in yesterday and it was due tonight.
I looked at the assignment again and changed the format. I sent it again with a note that, “If this doesn’t work, I will have to look at it again tomorrow.” I included a rather short explanation of my day and headed to my own bed.
Tomorrow was coming and I’d had a jarring lesson of, “Who knows what tomorrow brings.” Whatever was coming, I would probably need to be well-rested.
I woke up in the night. My first thoughts were of my son and then I thought, “Did I remember to write a conclusion to my Myth paper?” I wasn’t sure. I thought about getting up but, looking at the clock, realized it was after midnight anyways.
“If I didn’t, I’ll just have a bad grade, I guess” I mused, turning over to sleep again. That morning, I had fretted and worried about my GPA before the phone rang. And suddenly, tonight, it didn’t seem to matter so much after all.
````````````````````````````````````````
End Note: The next day, tests were clear. However, the doctors told us it usually takes 5 EEGs before any seizure activity will show up on tests. The doctors decided, based on the account of his teacher, that James suffered a seizure that November morning.
The doctors tell me that the most likely time another seizure will occur is the 6 months after the first seizure. We are now four months into that six months and, so far, so good. If he can go 5 years seizure-free, his risk drops to the same probability of seizure as the general population.
Blessings abound. The doctors tell us it is wonderful that he fell forward instead of back, since dental work is available. If he had fallen backwards, there could have been irreparable damage.
Our son is still ours. And little by little, my heart is learning not to panic as much each time I hear the phone ring.
It had been a busy morning. My husband works out of our home periodically so he was working at the computer in our bedroom while I ran the two oldest kids to school. Then I drove back, dressed my youngest and drove her to Mother’s Day Out.
Everyone was dressed and fed and delivered to where they needed to go. I remember telling my husband, “I think I’ll finally eat breakfast. Do you want anything?” when the phone rang.
I grabbed for it, as he was home to work, not to be disturbed by every telemarketer who thought our number looked like one from people who buy products from faceless voices on the phone.
“Hello, this is Maria,” I said into the receiver.
“Maria. This is M. C. Elementary school. Your son, James, has hurt his head. Please come to school immediately.”
I hung up, running for my keys as I explained to my husband what they said. “They said to come ... maybe he fell off a swing?” I said, grabbing one of James’ t-shirts out of a laundry basket as we ran for the door.
“He’s probably fine. Head wounds bleed a lot you know. They probably just want us to take him home and clean him off.” I kept saying, as my husband kept mentioning scary possibilities.
It was nothing, right? They didn’t say he was dying or anything. He was going to be OK. I had to believe he was going to be OK. Schools just have to call so you know what is happening, right?
I insisted my husband drive at the speed limit and obey the traffic lights. They didn’t say to hurry. They just said to come.
He would be fine. I just knew it. He had to be fine.
And I believed that sincerely until …until I saw the ambulance parked in front of the school.
“He could still be OK, right?” I turned to ask my husband, who had jumped out of the car and was running in. I’d been calm until then but I entered with tears streaming down my face. What could have happened? Why hadn’t they told me on the phone what happened?
The principal met us at the door and said, “Come this way.” We followed. There were so many adults standing in the hall. She opened the door and there he sat on the floor. Crying. He seemed so confused. His face was bloody and his front teeth were broken off in pieces. But he was sitting. Breathing. Alive.
I ran over and grabbed him to me. “It’s OK,” I said, “It’s OK. I’m here and you’re going to be fine.” I didn’t know what had happened but now that I saw he was alive and awake and still breathing here on my earth, I felt I could say that. He was my son after all and we were together now. Together, he was going to be fine as long as I had anything to do with it.
“Ma’m, we need to take him out,” the paramedic motioned to me and I helped my son onto their stretcher.
“I’m so tired, my mouth hurts” he moaned. “It’s ok. We’re going and the doctor will make you better,” I assured him.
There were so many adults standing around. I spotted one I knew and said, “Um, Sara’s here, could you, I don’t know how long we will be gone, can Sara…?”
“I can’t take her,” Casey told me, “But Mrs. Johnson can.”
I didn’t know Mrs. Johnson from Adam but Casey seemed to think it was a good idea so I said, “OK, um, I have my cell phone, I’ll try to call the school as soon as we know how long.”
And I followed them out.
The paramedics said only one of us could ride in the ambulance so I jumped in. “Drive careful,” I told my husband. “He’s safe now.”
In the ambulance, I answered what I could but I still wasn’t really sure what had happened. I told them that school had said he hurt his head. I guess he fell?
James said, “I woke up and I was looking at the floor.”
Between us, we still didn’t know what had happened but I gave them the basic information like his age, his full name and our insurance information.
The ride was long. My son alternated between saying, “My mouth hurts,” “my head feels funny,” and “I’m so tired.”
I wanted to be with him. I wanted to sit back there and touch his hand and watch him breathe. But I had to ride in front so I finally decided to call his grandparents just so they knew. I had regained my composure once I saw him but lost it again on the phone.
“I don’t know what happened, Mom, but I’m with him and we’ll call you when we find out, OK? We’re almost there.”
When we arrived at the hospital, I was out as soon as the engine stopped. I just wanted to see him, all of him again. We walked in together.
“Why am I here, Mom? I just want to sleep.”
“Shh, shh, just lay back, you can sleep here.”
“But I’m cold. I … what’s going on? Am I going to miss recess?” he said, fretfully. I grow tired of my kids’ complaining but this sounded like bells of celebration to me. Surely he was ok if he were complaining.
“They just want to make sure you are OK, is all.” I explained.
Finally my husband got there. My son was breathing so nothing moved quickly, as the ER doctors attended to more urgent cases. My husband left to eat and pick up some clothes in case James ended up spending the night.
“Do you want anything?” my husband said.
“To eat? No, I’m really not hungry. I’ll get something later.” I replied. James seemed drowsy and kept falling in and out of a light sleep. He didn’t want to talk much but somehow, all I wanted to watch him breathe. He was here, alive and safe. How often did I get to just look at my first baby?
The hours passed. The nurses drew blood and inserted an IV. Finally James was taken down to be tested, then it was back to our room.
Thankfully, I did remember to ask for a phone book and call my youngest daughter’s MDO so that a friend could take her home. My friend, Cathy, said she would call the school and talk to Mrs. Johnson so both of my daughters could be together. That made sense to me. I hated adding two kids to her household for several hours but Cathy was gracious about it.
Finally, my son was admitted for the night. He had had an MRI today but the doctors wanted to do an EEG, EKG, and CAT scan the next day.
My husband returned, bringing his mom. My son was delighted to see his grandma. When a nurse came in and said he could finally order supper, it seemed his joy was complete. He happily contemplated all the junk food options on the children’s hospital menu and, for once, I didn’t really care. I try to be so careful to try to get him to try healthier options but today it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I was just glad to know he felt up to eating, with his poor swollen little mouth.
My mother-in-law urged me to go eat. I didn’t want to leave but she finally forced me out the door.
When I smelled the food in the hospital cafeteria, I felt weak. Man! I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
My cheeseburger couldn’t have tasted better if it was served on fine china at a Presidential dinner. Hunger finally called my name now that it seemed my son was safe. Surely, safe in bed and under his grandma’s watchful eye, nothing worse could happen today.
Life seemed much more precarious than it did last week.
Back in James’ room, I let him pick out a TV show while my husband left to pick up our girls. They were anxious to see their brother. I’m not that found of the inane antics of a spongy character named Bob but I enjoyed every moment of that silly show as I watched my son chortle with glee. Maybe sometimes laughing matters more than intelligent plot lines or clever dialogue.
My girls arrived, concerned and a little shaken. They said they enjoyed Ms. Cathy’s house but “we’re tired, we want to go home.” Rarely do my daughters’ admit weariness but I think what they craved more than bed was the routine of normal life.
After some discussion, I decided to leave my husband on duty, to watch over my son as he slept. It was hard to leave but like normal, as a mom of more than one child, I often feel split between meeting the different needs of each of my children.
We arrived home and I plunged right in with stories, baths and bed. Only after they were dreaming, did I remember the paper I still needed to email in for my Greek Mythology class.
Hastily, I brought up the file, scanning it over. I was so tired! I ran grammar and spell check and scribbled off a conclusion, hoping it made sense. I logged into my college email to send it and discovered an email from my education teacher. I uploaded my Myth paper and read her email. She couldn’t read the assignment I had sent in yesterday and it was due tonight.
I looked at the assignment again and changed the format. I sent it again with a note that, “If this doesn’t work, I will have to look at it again tomorrow.” I included a rather short explanation of my day and headed to my own bed.
Tomorrow was coming and I’d had a jarring lesson of, “Who knows what tomorrow brings.” Whatever was coming, I would probably need to be well-rested.
I woke up in the night. My first thoughts were of my son and then I thought, “Did I remember to write a conclusion to my Myth paper?” I wasn’t sure. I thought about getting up but, looking at the clock, realized it was after midnight anyways.
“If I didn’t, I’ll just have a bad grade, I guess” I mused, turning over to sleep again. That morning, I had fretted and worried about my GPA before the phone rang. And suddenly, tonight, it didn’t seem to matter so much after all.
````````````````````````````````````````
End Note: The next day, tests were clear. However, the doctors told us it usually takes 5 EEGs before any seizure activity will show up on tests. The doctors decided, based on the account of his teacher, that James suffered a seizure that November morning.
The doctors tell me that the most likely time another seizure will occur is the 6 months after the first seizure. We are now four months into that six months and, so far, so good. If he can go 5 years seizure-free, his risk drops to the same probability of seizure as the general population.
Blessings abound. The doctors tell us it is wonderful that he fell forward instead of back, since dental work is available. If he had fallen backwards, there could have been irreparable damage.
Our son is still ours. And little by little, my heart is learning not to panic as much each time I hear the phone ring.
