Let me begin with a different story:
Just over 25 years ago, I had a beautiful three-month-old daughter. William and I also had a 17 month old and were both taken 18 credits at the time. It was crazy, and I really don't remember a lot of that semester. But this I remember, crystal clear.
It was Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on my bed, finally giving up on studying because neither little girl seemed to think it was important. I figured we'd play, it was more fun anyway. So I grabbed Deborah's nose and said, "nose!" She laughed and we did it to Mary. "Hands!" "Ears!" "Eyes!" (point gently, don't grab!) So much fun with my littles. And then we did "Toes!" "Deborah's toes, Mary's toes!" And Mary screamed in pain. What??
She'd been really fussy for a couple days, more in the little carrier I wore her in during class than lying down. But whatever. Babies do that, right? But I had bailed on class the day before because instead of sleeping all day, she had fussed and cried and I couldn't stay in the room and disturb lectures.
I whipped off her little sock, and was horrified. There, wrapped so incredibly tightly around three of her tiny toes was a hair. It was cutting into the skin, carving into her flesh. I ran next door to my neighbor who had her RN. She took one look at them and told me I had to take her in, it was much too severe for her to do anything.
When I got to the doctor's, they assembled a team and I held my tiny child while they worked meticulously to remove every piece of the hair that had embedded itself into her. Held her as she screamed because they didn't dare use any anesthesia as that would cause even more swelling and more damage.
I came home and called my mom (isn't that what we all do?) and cried. She told me something similar had happened to one of my sisters as an infant, and asked what Mary was doing. Sleeping soundly. She told me Mary had already forgotten, but I never would. And I haven't.
So what does that have to do with last Sunday? Well....
We were almost ready for church. You know that big scurry right at the end, trying to get out of the door? I was finishing getting Aaron ready. Just a couple more things, and I realized I needed something from his dresser. It's only about six feet away. He's not (very) mobile. He was a long ways from the edge. I'd grab it quick, like I've done a million times! And I did. But he was faster.
I still don't know how he did it. And my husband and boys aren't sure if they heard my scream or the thud first.
But somehow, my little man ended up on the floor, disconnecting his vent circuit on the way down, but thankfully not pulling his trach out.
I was sick, absolutely sick, and shaking, and in shock! Shouts of "What happened? Is everything okay?" "NO! It's not!!"
I bent over Aaron and he seemed stunned, not moving. I started trying to assess him, he moved. Good. We got him back up in his bed, his eyes so big and round. His little lower lip quivered, and I was trying hard not to cry.
And then he laughed. He laughed!!
Oh boy.... I watched him so close, so very close for the rest of the day, and the next few days, too. He was fine, except one thing.
You know how my mom told me Mary had already forgotten? Um, he hasn't.
And apparently, he thought the whole thing was an awesome adventure, a thrilling adrenaline rush. He's been trying to do it again and again since that moment. This kid....
Man, I sure love him, but he's going to be the death of me.
July has been a busy month, and I really need to update everything, but I'm also trying to process it all. Stuff for a future post, okay?