We’ve all asked this question. How fast can I go down the freeway? How fast can I go through the grocery store? How fast can I go and get all of my work completed? I bet you probably ask yourself this question more often than you think!
My son asks himself this question while on his bike. I don’t blame him for asking this question, I understand the thrill! Many years ago, we were camping with my Amy’s family. It’s a big group and we always have fun, and we took Mr. T’s bike. Well, my Amy’s brother Mitch came back and was laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his face. Apparently, the gravel hill leading to the lake looked good to Mr. T and he pointed his bike at it, gathered steam and yelled “Geronimo!!” and hit the hill. Did you catch on to the fact that I mentioned gravel? Shortly after yelling “Geronimo!!” and taking off, his bike hit the gravel and head over heels he went and tumbled down the hill. He wasn’t hurt too badly and we have a great story that gets relieved pretty often!
Mr. T asked himself this question Wednesday afternoon, at the top of the street which has a nice, gentle incline. Or decline, depending on which part of the street you are standing. Or riding your bike.
Naturally, this would be the night that T said he didn’t need his phone, so I’m sitting on the couch, working actually cause I’ve been busy doing other things for the family, and there is an insistent knock at the door. Before I could get there they were knocking again. I answered “Are you Kate?” “yes” “Your son is hurt, about five blocks over, his foot is really hurt and he’s bleeding a lot.” “Can I follow you there?” So, I jump in the car and follow her… in my comfy clothes cause I don’t expect to leave the house and sans a bra. I squeal to a stop a few feet from where he is sitting on the curb, bloody and beaten.
She helps me get him in the car, he can barely walk and his face is all but covered in blood, his shirt is ripped and stained. I gather his glasses, his iPod and ear buds, making sure we have everything. Then I look at his bike. His bike won’t fit in my car. He is covered in blood. Apparently the Good Samaritan senses my dilemma and she asks if she can store his bike for me, she’ll put it in her back yard. I get her name and number (failed to give mine to her) and thanked her and took off.
I got T home and cleaned up. Well, I got him stripped down and started to clean him before I went back and grabbed a pain pill for him! Then I started cleaning him up. The water in the sink was pretty dark by the time I was done. He has a gash right next to his eye, road rash down his arm, punctured palms, massively skinned up knee, scratches to both legs and an ankle that is swelling up. He hobbles to the couch and I’m like “Don’t sit down yet! Let me get a blanket under you!” You know, blood is hard to clean up! We get an ice pack for the ankle and for the knee. Thanks to Facebook I’m reminded that Erica gave me steri strips for Christmas – does she know me or what? And I pulled out the car kit that she made me and got the steri strips out and taped up the gash by his eye. I was waffling on the stitches. I wasn’t sure if it was bleeding a lot because it was a head wound and those bleed a lot, or if it really was deep enough to need stitches. And, I was waiting to watch the ankle more, see if it was broke or strained or just swollen. We finally decided that an ER visit wasn’t necessary, we’d wait and go to the doc in the morning.
Yeah, I totally forgot that you can’t stitch up a wound after the fact. Tee-totally-forgot.
The next morning, T decided he wanted to see the trainer at school before he’d let me take him to the doctor’s office. Okay. Works for me, the doc’s office doesn’t open for another hour anyway, so it can’t hurt anything. They confirmed that his ankle wasn’t broken or strained. He can’t wrestle until the knee heals and he can’t lift weights until his hands heal. And, yeah, the eye could have used stitches. But, since it was too late, just to continue using the steri strips. Sigh. I should have taken him in. But, then again, it worked out okay, the strips do work. And, it seems harsh, but hey, I don’t have an ER bill. I don’t even have a doctor’s visit bill!
He is doing better, healing right up and doing a great job of taking care of his injuries. I’m so proud of him!
And now, for your viewing pleasure… Pictures! (Uh, I probably need some sort of disclaimer… so, uh, if you are squeamish, don’t scroll down!) (Now that I’ve given you that warning, it dawns on me that if I don’t put another picture up above, these will show in the reader screen.)
After (I took these yesterday):