Thankful Tuesdays: Falling down, and getting up

The boy showing off his hospital bracelet, "just like Curious George"!

We were having one of our usual evening playground sessions yesterday, before heading to my mum's place for dinner (hubby had a work dinner to attend, so my mum offered to cook).  Since it was the playground near my mum's block, my dad happened to walk past on his way home from work, and decided to hang around with us.  Junior J was having a fun time running around, trying all the rocking animals and slides.  Then it happened.  One moment he was climbing and reaching the top of the stairs, the next moment he tripped.  Everything seemed to freeze and go in slow motion.  We watched in horror as the boy's head hit the side of the metal stairs.  Then he flipped, fell through the railing, onto the playground floor below, head-first.  I was just 3 steps away, so was my dad.

Usually I am the type to hover around my child anxiously while he is playing at the playground, ensuring I am at arm's length when he is climbing the various ladders/poles.  However, this time, I was further away since it was stairs he was climbing, stairs that he has never had a problem with.  And ironically, it was the stairs that caused it.  And I was just. not. near. enough.  Or just. not. fast. enough.

When my dad and I got to the boy, he was sprawled on the floor.  I picked him up, thinking that it would just be a shock to him, having fallen from such a height, only to see half his face covered in blood.  After wiping away some of the blood we saw a cut at the side of his head, deep and pouring fresh blood.  The boy is crying.  Deep breaths.  Apply pressure.  Call the hubby to check if he know's if our PD has a night clinic.  Yes, she's open today.  More deep breaths.  Check for broken bones.  Can he wriggle his fingers and toes?  The boy is too distraught to try.

My dad and I stumble, while trying to carry him, while maintaining pressure on the wound, all the way to the road to try to hail a cab.  We get one after awhile, and we get to the clinic.  We manage to see our PD rather quickly (guess all our bloodied clothes helped).  She takes a look and says we have to send him to the hospital to be stitched, but kindly gets her assistant to clean the wound with iodine.  I hold the boy, crying and struggling, as the assistant cleans him up.  

We try to call for a cab, but hubby calls me after about 10 minutes to say that he could leave work and fetch us.  We rush back to get the boy's clothes and some stuff, and head for the hospital.  Thankfully the A&E was not crowded, and little boy gets seen to fairly quickly.  They conclude it will require 2 layers of stitching since the cut was quite deep.  

After waiting for this and that, and being shuffled from this room to that, hubby manages to arrange for his friend (who was thankfully on call that night in the hospital) to stitch the boy up.  During our wait, we take turns reading to the boy (I brought along "Curious George goes to the Hospital"), while the other tries to eat some dinner (little boy had to fast for the procedure and we didn't want him asking for food).  Junior J had to be sedated for the job, and the surgeon does a nice job patching him up and stitching the muscle too (since it was also cut).  The boy slowly recovers from the anaesthesia, and we head home, and he falls asleep in the car (it was way past his bedtime).  

All this time, the hubby has been telling me it would have happened to anyone, and that it wasn't my fault.  Others have told me all their stories about childhood falls and stitches, that it is a part of growing up.  But I admit that I do feel that sense of guilt.  Of not being able to prevent your own child from getting injured.  Of just being not fast enough.  I think every mother would understand, seeing blood drip from your child and having it stain your clothes.  Your hands.  It may not be my fault, but I think the sight of that wound, the sound of his crying, will haunt me for awhile.

However, there is still much to be thankful for:

:: Things falling into place at the hospital, that the hubby's friend was on call and could attend to the boy.

:: That it wasn't more serious.  The cut was about an inch away from his eye, and things would have been worse if he had injured his eye.  So far, the boy also has not exhibited any signs of head injury from the fall too.

:: Friends and family who prayed for us.

:: And above all, a lesson learnt for me.  If I, a parent, should have a heart that aches so from a cut like this, how much more was it for God to see His Son nailed up to the cross?  Not an accidental fall, but an intentional sacrifice.  Amazing Grace.  Amazing love.