New Mama Is Losing Her Cool

Warm Up

On our first weekend of potty-training we headed to local McCarren Park in Brooklyn, for a little muggy oxygen in these hot summer months. On our way we almost had a car accident because a grand-pa ran a red light. I sensed some odd energy but didn’t pay further attention to it. Because, ya know, sometimes my mom-mind tends to go a little paranoid for no reason. We set up on a grass patch by the baseball fields and seconds after laying our blanket down I only heard: “Watch out baaaall!” I frantically looked around and the baseball hit the tree trunk about 5 feet away from us, bouncing off into the direction of another family with a toddler. The baseball field was wide open without proper fencing, so anyone in the park could have been hit easily with someone swinging the bat too hard. Visions of my baby sister popped to mind when she came home from elementary school with a black eye, swollen shut after she got hit in the face with a baseball. I kept eyeing the players, ready to catch any ball being swung our way, but then decided to just run to a nearby Deli to grab some snacks planning to move us further down to the playground when back.

Heart Drops

Stepping out of the supermarket I saw my husband walking briskly toward me from the park, looking pale and sweat-drenched. Quickly scanning the situation, I quickly realized that there was something grotesquly wrong with this picture. My eyes then instantly focusing on little T seeing what just a few minutes earlier had been a yellow top, was now bright red. “Why are you not carrying your phone?!” my husband yelled at me. I couldn’t put the pieces together just yet. Was T hit by that stupid baseball?! While my husband was hurrying past me holding our toddler, I looked up and saw a deep gash releasing blood into what used to be a blue shirt. I almost fainted. Not because of the blood but because of the uncertainty of what needs to be done next. Images of horrendously unequipped images of nearby hospitals flashed in front of my eyes, but I had to keep it together and started to try calming my weeping baby down. All I could think about was getting him to the City MD in the least amount of time. “What happened?!” My husband responded like a robot: “Fell on the scooter.” I felt cold sweat running down my body even though it was close to 100F outside. At the City MD on North 7 we were seen right away and the doctor said: “What happened?” I had to really focus to understand these two words before my husband answered. I could tell he wasn’t quite there either when she asked “Did the boy lose consciousness?” and he confirmed. I knew this wasn’t the truth but my tongue was twisted and I stayed mute. Thankfully she repeated herself and he denied. I wanted to ask if she could administer an adrenaline shot for the both of us. In the meantime T was still screaming in pain. The Doctor excused herself to give us some time to calm down so she could examine T. I went primal and instructed everyone to take deep breaths and told little T that he will be getting two lollies after we get out here. The screams and tears stopped almost on command. Wow, this worked better than expected. We called the Doctor back in who inspected T’s chin and explained:” The laceration is a bit too deep for skin glue to be effective and its shape isn’t a straight clean cut. We have an excellent plastic surgeon on file. Would you like us to contact him to see if he is available?” When it comes to health care, I always think health comes first, so we agreed on moving forward with the surgeon as the City MD’s urgent care unit said they wouldn’t be equipped for this type of service. We got an appointment for three hours later in the city and I was out of my mind but kept it internal to not upset my family even more. My boy walked out double-fisting a blue and red lollipop and in his mind the day ended here. Bandaid on. Done. He said:”Mommy, go home?!”, while I tried to think about how to tell a two year old that he is about to get slaughtered. “Let’s grab some lunch first”, I suggested with my stomach tied in a knot. I couldn’t swallow one single kernel of couscous with the stitching scenario ahead…Finally – what seemed like an eternity later, we showed up at the office location on the Upper West Side. The plastic surgeon appeared like a gentle man trying to reassure us that this is the right decision: “I have kids myself that scooter around and see these type of accidents in my office all the time.” Phew, okay, so he is experienced. Check. Takeo was confused. Wait, didn’t we just come from a nice doctor who gave me two lollipops? Poor thing. Totally clueless. The surgeon put some numbing cream onto the wound and came back later to set up the “operating table” which included a straight jacket and blanket for little T. Once he was strapped in there he sensed something was up, that he wouldn’t like at all. The nurse held Takeo’s head in place while the Surgeon administered local anesthetics into the laceration and my poor little munchkin was crying his eyes out. The procedure probably took about 15-20 minutes what felt like the most torturous time of my life. Takeo walked out there with another two candy sticks, really ready to go home while I was reduced to a zombie, completely drained, ready for a nice never-ending hot bubble bath, but with a plan on how to take care of my baby. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the convenience of living the urban life. Help is around the corner.

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