Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Having boys, I knew, was going to be an adventure. Especially having boys so close together which meant conspiracy. Thankfully, while they are best friends, they are also night and day. One is a scientist and the other an artist. One explains the questions of the universe based on his observations and the other is writing songs and drawing intricate pictures of life around him. Yet they can both wield a sword with grace and skill. Still, they get into trouble like no one else. Ty, the artist, will sometimes be the voice of reason for my Garon who lives on the edge. Garon hasn't learned to listen to him, but I think after the weekend from h*** Garon just might.
It was Saturday the 6th, Greg and I were lying lazily in our room, checking email, watching cable, listening to the sound of our children through the house while waiting for Greg's family to arrive from Utah. It was the annual Boden trip to Dinkey and they were all on their way. They were only an hour or two out when the screaming came in through the hallway from the garage. I grabbed Greg...go check it out! Greg shook his head-they are just fighting, nothing is wrong. Oh no, I assured him in a panic, there is trouble! Ty was shrieking and Garon was ushering him into the bathroom. "It's alright Dad," Garon tells Greg, "I'm taking care of it." Greg pushes past Garon into the bathroom to find the blood and my poor little Ty looking at a split open finger. "Yvette, we have to go to the ER." When I heard that I jumped and started screaming. All who know me know this: I DO NOT handle blood, injuries, or ERs, especially when it comes to my babies. I cannot look, I cannot be calm, I am not the one in charge--ever. I simply panic and shut down. I grab Garon's shoulders, "What happened? What did you do?" Garon starts crying...muttering something about a shovel and Ty being in the way. I am crying, Garon is crying, and Ty is wrapped in a towel in Greg's arms ready to go to the ER. I drive, which wasn't smart, as I flew down Temperance 70 mph...making the lights I saw turning green up ahead of the light I was sitting at. Ty stopped crying and Greg was trying to keep him from looking at the injury. I screamed the whole way...the whole way. I didn't know if Ty's finger was dangling, if his finger was going to ever be the same. We pull into the ER and got in pretty quickly considering the nature of our visit. My mom came, brother and his wife, and we all sat with Ty while waiting for the final word. Ty called Garon from the ER to console him since Garon hadn't stopped crying. Ty said, "Why are YOU crying? I'm not even crying! And next time, Garon, don't use the shovel." Final result was 4 stitches and a recommendation to visit the plastic surgeon at CHCC. Monday we made an appt for Tuesday, got right in at 9 AM...and had an appointment for surgery that afternoon at 1 PM to repair the very damaged tendon in his middle right finger. After all, as my brother so nicely said, Ty was going to need that middle finger to work eventually. Garon is terribly embarrassed about the whole incident. Why was he stabbing boxes in the side yard with a full sized shovel while Ty crawled around the boxes? How did the one not see the other? Garon, so afraid of punishment, tried cleaning and bandaging it alone...Greg said it was split like a fleshy gouge in his hand, not a clean cut at all. Well, you can imagine--I never did see it! Ty still hasn't used any pain medication and hasn't shed a tear over it. Even when the ER dr. stabbed 5 needles into the wound to anesthisize it for stitching, Ty shook in Greg's arms with pain but refused to cry out of embarrassment. Ty is my little artist, and thankfully it wasn't his art hand. He'll be fine...my sensitive and delicate babe who came through like a champ. Me, on the other hand? I don't know if I'll survive these boys.