Missed it by that much

"Hello, this is the Bakery Dept., Homemaker Man speaking How can I help you?

"Well Homemaker Man in the bakery we've got a big fucking problem."

"What happened?"

"Your son just stepped on a rake and it went clean through his foot."

"Call an ambulance."

"Ok. You think I should call an ambulance? Ok."

"Wait. Tell me happened and be specific."

He was running full speed and he stepped on a three-pronged claw like gardening hand tool. It didn't quite go all the way through. It stopped near the top of his foot and pushed at the skin like a "finger trying to push through pizza dough" as my wife described it later. She pulled it out, got him in the house, and called me. I had the car. Two store boss types were walking towards me chatting when it happened, so I explained myself in a tense burst and then started running. I did the Superman thing where as I ran I unbuttoned my baker's jacket by pulling it off my chest. 

I threw it in a big laundry bin, ran to my locker and got rid of my hat, managed to punch out, and ran out of the store and to my car. On my way by, one workmate yelled "good luck!" Like a "My wife's having a baby!" scene. 

I rushed into the Subaru and left. Then rush hour traffic in Cambridge. I swore some and leaned my elbow against my window and held my forehead some, and then I had a chance and figured out a way to get fucking home. Only lost about 10 minutes or so.

He was laying with his foot up watching Wild Kratts when I arrived. We talked to him about the hospital. He wasn't going anywhere until the Wild Kratts episode resolved itself. His mood was pretty decent as long as no one went anywhere near his foot. The bottom of his foot had a purple and black and bloody hole in it. The top was red and bruised. The whole thing was swollen to the size of a largish yukon gold potato. He cried as I carried him to the car and the blood pulsed through the damaged tissue. 

We (Me, wife, both kids. The Peanut did not want to stay home. She was worried about him. Plus she hates to miss anything.) drove to a local hospital and hit the emergency room. They saw him pretty quickly. Gave him x-rays. Then we waited for a bit. Then they had him back to the triage unit. A nurse looked at him and put a numbing salve on a gauze pad and placed it on his foot. We waited again. He stayed in better spirits then you would think due to the Ring Pop. We had a couple in the house and my wife's nimble mind thought to bring them. A giant red jewel of corn syrup and toddler mood enhancers. Every time someone got close to the wound though he started freaking. Ring Pop or not. By the time we started to get his foot into the soaking solution he was screaming like Bridget Von Hammersmark when she gets tortured in the bullet wound.

 

                                                
                                                            The offending instrument

He got himself calmed down a little, we got the foot soaked --speaking of torture. I had to tip the green plastic wash bin and hold his leg just so so it didn't scrape the bottom. Poor kid.--and then the PA came in. I wish I could remember what anyone said or did during the evening. I remember a little of what my wife and I talked about, but not much. She had to take him to the bathroom and he screeched the whole time all the way through triage, in to the bathroom and on to the toilet. Where someone walked in on them as she was undoing his pants. Awkward. How does one hear the sound of a small child crying in the bathroom and his mother comforting him and think "Yep, this is a good time to piss."

The PA told us there didn't seem to be any damage to the bones and had him wiggle his toes--another human rights atrocity according to him--and pronounced him free of tendon damage. 

We went to look at the Xray. Did you know that at three years the bones in a toddler's feet are still floating around in there unconnected? Much like the thoughts in their heads. It was a lucky thing, as it probably allowed him to avoid any bone damage. The xray caused him to freak right out again. I guess seeing the inside of your punctured foot can remind you that it hurts. 

This happened Monday night. We've been changing the dressing and giving antibiotics and cooing nice words and hugging and lugging him everywhere. We even broke out the ole stroller for a trip to the zoo on thursday. Whenever someone experiences some physical trauma in our family, we celebrate. The zoo was great. There were dinosaurs. 

He got looked at by his pediatrician. It was apparently the puncture wound of the week because suddenly there were 2 more medical professionals and a med student in the room, looking at his foot, and going "Mmmm oh yeah, he punctured it. That's a pretty deep one. It is, it is. I think I see a lantern fish," etc. 

Friday, he started scampering on the thing again. I found out he could do it because he bit his sister and then ran like hell. Skittered under the dining room table, ace bandage flapping. That's his preferred hiding place. They recover so fast. By the end of the day we were considering injuring his other foot just to slow him down. And that's the story of our first childhood injury trip to the Emergency Room, starring the Pumpkin man. I'm sure there'll be a sequel.