February 2003. It was Thursday, 12:00 noon. I told my five-year old son Ryland to pick up his toys on the floor as I was going to vacuum in my workstation (where he was playing) after we have lunch. In the meantime, I told him that I would just be in the laundry room in the basement to put a load of clothes in the washer. I told him to go in the kitchen after he was done cleaning up his toys and wait for me there. I was almost done loading the washer when I heard a cry. For a second, I thought it was Ryland who was crying, and then the next second I thought it was coming from my sister's house next door. I often hear her children's cries from our house anyway. When I was coming up the stairs, I realized that it was Ryland who was crying.
I entered the living room and there he was crying so loudly with his head facing down the sofa. I knew he was hurt. He must have fallen or bumped into something. I came to him and saw a big spot of blood on the seat of the sofa. I lifted his body and there was blood all over the upper right side of his head. I started to panic. I didn't know what to do first. I laid Ryland on his back. Then I immediately went to grab the box of Kleenex on the kitchen table and at the same time afraid to leave him for just a second. But I know that I have to put pressure on his wound to prevent him from bleeding profusely. By this time, I didn't know yet how big the wound was. When I started to wipe the blood, I saw the cut over his right eye, just below his eyebrow. It was big, about ¾ of an inch. More panic. Then Ryland said "Mommy I can't see." (I realized later that the blood was gushing to his eye and clouded his vision.) More panic. I sat him up. I tried to ask him what happened. I wanted to talk to him so he wouldn't get unconscious. All he could tell me was that he fell on the stairs. I took a quick glance at the stairs but I didn't see any trail of blood. There was blood only on the sofa and the spot on the area rug where he was standing.
I grabbed the phone and called next door. My brother-in-law Francis, who is a nurse, answered the phone. Good thing that he was home that day. I couldn't remember now how I was able to talk with all the panic that I was feeling then. He must have understood me that Ryland was really hurt. He said that he was coming right away. But it seemed like forever waiting for him. Then I dialed 911. I tried to explain to them what happened while Ryland was screaming in the background. They said that they would send an ambulance and advised me to "put a clean cloth over his wound, apply pressure, and don't give him anything to eat or drink until a doctor sees him." Francis came while I was still on the phone. He cleaned the area around Ryland's wound, while my poor child kept on screaming. He then put a band-aid on his wound. He told me that Ryland would need stitches. The ambulance had not arrived yet after about 10 minutes or so. Francis suggested that he would give us a ride to the hospital. He had already started his car (He had the engine running before he came to my house, that was what took him "forever"). I called 911 again and cancelled the ambulance. Ryland was calmer now. I pulled the cover out of the sofa and covered the spot of blood. I thought that Ryland was terrified to see that much blood. I was, too. I put his winter jacket on him and we all got ready to go outside.
We went to the Emergency Room of the nearest hospital. The nurse/receptionist asked me for information and what happened to Ryland. I told her what Ryland told me, that he fell off the stairs. How far off did he fall? I couldn't tell. She asked Ryland, who was sitting on my lap, if it hurts anywhere else leg? arm? He said no. She wanted to make sure that he didn't break a leg or an arm.
After all the information was taken, we were asked to proceed to the waiting room. There were only two other people there. So I thought maybe it won't take that long to wait. But of course, it did. I sent Francis home as he had not finished his lunch. I told him that I would call him once we were done. We waited for what I think was close to two hours. Ryland was quiet and enjoyed watching the cartoons on the TV in the waiting room. After a long wait, the nurse called us in and we were directed to a room. A male doctor came in and looked at his wound. They had to give him a local anesthetic. I knew that it was not gonna be easy. We laid Ryland on the bed. He was scared and was wondering what the doctor was gonna do to him. He started to resist. I pinned him down with my body, holding his arms, while the doctor gave him the shot in the wound. Ryland was screaming at the top of his lungs and rapidly moving his legs up and down. I wanted to cry. When it was done, I got him up. I gave him a tight hug while he cried, "I want you, Mommy." "I'm right here, baby," I replied.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in to help the doctor stitch up Ryland's wound. I went to the other side of the bed. Ryland lay down on his side. They put a green blanket over the wound, you know, like the ones they use in operating rooms. The wound now frozen, they started stitching him up. I held on Ryland's hands. I couldn't look at what they were doing, so I just looked at Ryland's big brown eyes and assured him that everything's gonna be alright. He was shaking, but no longer screaming. He had four stitches. He had been a very brave boy. The nurse and doctor were kinda surprised. The nurse said that if that were her daughter, her child would be hysterical.
The nurse put a bandage on the wound. I was told that the stitches had to be removed after five days. I called Francis and he brought us back home. Now that Ryland was calm, I asked him what really happened. After he put his toys away, he came downstairs to follow me in the basement. (After I told him to wait for me in the kitchen.) He said that he needed to go to the bathroom and he wanted me. On his way down, he slipped and banged his head on the step. He went running to the living room and started crying. That was when I heard him.
And so I kept looking back to that fateful morning, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. Maybe I should have waited for him to finish putting his toys away before I came downstairs. Or maybe, I should have brought him with me in the basement. Or maybe I should not have done laundry that day. But you know what? No matter how much I beat myself up over this terrifying incident, I can't change anything. What's done is done. Accidents do happen. The next few days, I found myself being over-protective of him. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. I didn't want him to go up and down the stairs by himself. I kept telling him. "Be careful, Ryland! Don't fall!" To which he'd reply, "I know, Mommy. I'm not gonna fall." I know. It was ridiculous. But I couldn't help it. And I realized that we couldn't protect our children all the time. They're gonna go out there in the world and live life. We can only remind them to take precautions all the time and be there at their side when they fall. Of course, I don't only mean that literally.
After five days, we went to see Ryland's pediatrician to have the stitches removed. She, the doctor, had a hard time removing the bandage, as it was very sticky. And so Ryland started crying even before she had to take the stitches out. I was there beside him on the table, holding his arms, while he moved his legs up and down rapidly. The doctor started taking out the stitches one by one, while Ryland screamed at the top of his lungs. Déjà vu! I saw the wound was starting to heal. He will have a scar that will be a constant reminder of that cold winter day, when he was five years old, when he slipped on the stairs, and got a big boo-boo on his head. Yes, indeed, a day that I will never forget.
Ryland is doing fine now. He is back to normal. That means he is jumping and hopping again as if nothing happened. And if you should ask, I am feeling better myself.
