Tater learned it's best to keep a safe distance instead of getting as close as you can to something you can't have.
I don't have anything super-sentimental on my mind to blog for my big birthday (35). I shopped for a filing cabinet yesterday for my gift, felt sorry for myself that my hubby isn't with me, and ate too many Sweetart chicks, ducks, and bunnies. So you lucky readers get the conclusion of Tater's "I almost got killed by the dining bench" story.
This is a continuation from Waiting for Tater part II.
Just before 1 a.m. Danny called, "The doctor has been stitching Tater's foot for the last 40 minutes."
"Does this mean nothing's broken? I mean, since he's stitching it up," I said hopefully.
"No, the doctor said that he believes the bones are still 'good' but they have been severed. They decided not to amputate. I'll fill you in more in the morning. Try to get some sleep," he said. "I'm not sure how much longer we're going to be here."
"No, no! Wait! I need to know more! Why are they stitching him up if the bones are severed? Is he awake or did they put him out? Are they going to do surgery?" I asked desperately.
Danny replied, "Well, he was awake until about midnight. And then they woke him up when they started numbing his foot with shots about five after. They didn't put him out-- but they gave him a procedural sedative that was supposed to make him okay with the stitching and shots. But he wasn't really."
Then I had a flashback to my twin c-section when I was "supposed to be numb."
"Did you tell them to numb him more?!" I blurted outraged.
"They've given him more and they've reached the maximum amount. He cries out and pulls his foot away while they're stitching and in between his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out," Danny explained. "They HAD to stitch him. They couldn't just leave everything flapping apart all over the place. We'll probably be here until he fully comes out of the sedative. They've given me referral information for Tater to see an Orthopedic Surgeon. Try to get some sleep, I can fill you in more in the morning."
3:15 a.m. Danny and Tater came home. SEVEN HOURS!
Danny laid him on the toddler bed in our room so his buddy wouldn't accidentally roll on him in the night. I asked for more details, but Danny insisted he'd fill me in on the details in the morning.
Before Danny left for work he said, "Please put the bench on the curb with a sign that says, 'Bench: Free to a good home without small children.'"
The next day was a flurry of phone calls trying to get him into the Orthopedic Surgeon who couldn't see him until we got a referral. They didn't consider the ER visit the same referral since it wasn't the same day. I insisted that they were still in the ER until almost 3 a.m., but it didn't count since the check-in day was the day before.
So we called the Pediatrician to get the referral sent to insurance. That was 10 a.m. No news by noon. Still nothing by 2 p.m. When I called again I said, "My 2 year old has been badly injured and severed his toes and we need to get him into the Orthopedic Surgeon before his toes DIE. Why won't someone call me back?!" I finally got through to someone who spoke to me in calm tones and tried to reassure me that if the hospital felt it was so urgent, they would not have let him go last night before doing the surgery. That's when I said, "You can tell my husband that. Just a moment, he's right here."
Then I handed the phone to Danny. Now if any of you know Danny in real life you'll know he's non-confrontational. But this woman wasn't moving to help his Tater and she had clearly irritated his pregnant wife. So Danny put on his bossy pants and got results.
The first day Tater mostly slept. His buddy, Squdge was so happy to see him and gave him multiple hugs. Then sadly, Squdge sat on the couch next to Tater waiting for him to wake up and play. He waited all day. In the evening, Tater tried to get off the couch at one point. When the blood rushed down into his foot (that was in a splint half-way up to his knee), he cried out in pain and allowed me to return him to the couch.
The next day wasn't as easy. The painkiller was doing a pretty good job of keeping him from crying and Tater figured out he could crawl where he needed to go. But it was still painful for him to move around. Danny rented two movies for him and bought a third one. I bribed him with snacks to stay on the couch. That plan didn't work so well. He was still in too much pain to eat. Now if any of you know my Tater, he is a bottomless pit. He will eat and eat and eat. Sometimes I think he has no fullness-sensor. So to see my Tater reject food of all sorts was a sad sad thing. It was also difficult to give him meds on an empty stomach.
Three days after the bench-attack, Tater saw the Orthopedic Surgeon and they determined the tip of the second to smallest toe had hope of surviving. It had been "degloved" in the accident. The littlest toe was nearly removed from the foot-- and that was the toe with the severed bones. The bones looked hopeful to the doctor and were nicely alined-- so they didn't require surgery.
The doctor removed the splint and rewrapped Tater's foot. He put him in a shoe that has a hard foam base and canvas velcro sides and strap in back to hold it on. This did NOT work well with Tater's resolve to crawl everywhere. It meant his injured foot was upside-down and smacking into everything along the way. There were lots of tears. Danny called the doctor and he promised him that Tater would figure out quickly he could walk and it wouldn't be a problem much longer. Within a day and a half Tater was walking again.
On March 19th, they removed the stitches. I took Tater in myself (since Danny's deployed) and got to see his foot for the first time since the blood pouring off of it that painful night. It was scabby and stitched and smelly. They couldn't get half the stitches out because the scabbing over it. The doctor said that I should tell the doc that stitched him he should never use such fine stitches unless he's stitching someone's face. He said, "The body will probably eventually shed the skin and the remainder of the stitches will fall out-- or he'll absorb them and be part of him forever." hahaha
The doctor looked at the second to smallest toe and said, "It looks a little dusky, but there's still hope for it." The baby toe looked strong, pretty well-healed, and promising.
and we all lived happily ever after.
and when I Skype or email Danny again, I'll ask him where the picture is I took of the killer-bench got filed to. Then I'll stick it on this post. :P
I sadly put my Tater on the carseat that was affixed to the ambulance stretcher. The EMTs reassured me that they had plenty of blankets to keep him warm. But I asked if he could take his blanket for comfort especially since Danny wouldn't be riding in the ambulance alongside him- but following along in the little blue car. They agreed Tater's blanket would be a nice comfort for him.
(If Danny didn't follow in the blue car, he'd have no transportation home when they were all done.)
I stayed home with the other 6 kids. Squdge waved out the window saying, "Bye Buddy. Bye! Bye!" and continued standing there several minutes after watching the firetruck, ambulance, little blue car, and other emergency vehicles drive away.
Squdge had a hard time going to sleep that night not knowing why his buddy Tater wasn't back yet. We shared the following conversation three or four times:
"Buddy go way?" a big-eyed Squdge would ask me.
"Yes, your buddy went to the doctor." I'd reply.
"Bench fall Buddy's foot? Buddy owee?"
"Yep, the bench hurt his foot. Tater is going to doctor to get all better. The doctor will take care of him." I told him-- hopefully.
"Buddy need band-aid!" Squdge would say excitedly and pull me towards the garage where the first-aid kit is kept.
"Well, your buddy needs a sort of big band-aid. The doctors will make it better."
Then Squdge would play with Peach (who is often just a tagalong to the twins) until he'd think about his missing buddy and we'd start the conversation again. The other four children fell asleep relatively quickly following the excitement. But not Squdge and Peach. And definitely not me. I needed to know how my little guy was doing.
One hour after Danny arrived at the ER I tried to call him. That was 9:15 p.m. But his cellphone rang a few times and went to voicemail. Maybe it was on vibrate and maybe the doctor was with them at the moment, I reasoned.
I called again at 9:45 p.m. same thing. I called at 10:15 p.m. reasoning it had been 2 full hours. They must know something.
No answer.
10:45 p.m. the phone goes straight to voicemail. The battery must have died.
11:15 p.m. I try again anyway and it also goes directly to voicemail.
11:45 p.m. It's been 3 1/2 hours since they arrived at the ER. Surely they must have been released from the ER by now, fallen asleep at the wheel on the way home, and died.
I carried the sleeping babies to their beds and forced myself to tidy-up the living room.
I stared out the front window pleading to the heavens to bring my baby home! I prayed. I paced. I watched the clock.
I played Scramble with Friends on my phone. But no more friends were taking their turns. It was late and I didn't have anyone to call. I had called grandparents earlier to ask for their prayers on Tater's behalf. But they were an hour ahead of me and since I had no news, I couldn't call them at this late hour.
It was midnight. I had the house phone and my cellphone beside me. I stared at them, willing them to ring.
I prayed. I stared at the phones. I looked out the window. Nothing. nothing. and more nothing.
Then I decided I could live with the paranoid mother stigma and I called the hospital myself. It was about 10 minutes after midnight.
I said in one breath, "My 2 year old was brought into the ER by ambulance nearly four hours ago and I haven't heard anything. I'm wondering if they were released or if they're still there." Then I added, "My husband should be with him. He followed the ambulance."
She verified who she was talking with and started to explain that they were just giving Tater a procedural sedation so he could handle all the stitching they'd need to do.
I asked her, "Does this mean he didn't break any toes? Did they x-ray?"
She told me she'd pull my husband out of the room and have him give me a call right back. I asked her to tell him to call my cellphone instead of the house phone so the other kids wouldn't wake up.
And then I waited a few minutes. 12:15 a.m. Then I pondered what "a call right back" meant in ER-speak. 12:25 a.m. Then I wondered if they couldn't make an outbound call to a cellphone from the hospital.
12:45 a.m. I wondered why Danny wouldn't at that point just call the house phone. Surely he'd know I needed to know what was going on with my poor little guy!
But there was still no call.
to be continued...
