Tuesday, May 14, 2013

The Anguish In Her Voice...Sometimes You're Just The One...

She walked over to me tonight and asked me a question with a defeated look on her face.
      Isobel: "Daddy?"
      Daddy: "Yep?"
      Isobel: "Can I just ask you something?"
      Daddy: "You can always ASK anything."
      Isobel: "Can we go to the playground after supper?"
      Daddy: "We'll see."
      Isobel: "So probably no?"
      Daddy: "No, probably yes."
      Isobel: "Really!?!?!"
      Daddy: "Sure."
     

         Not the usual intro I know, but this has not bee the usual week. I am a health care worker. I have seen all the bodily fluids of all colours and descriptions and I have managed to keep a cool head through all manner of crises regardless of what they may be. None of them however, involved my children. I have to admit that where my children are involved, all senses of rationality go out the window and I become singular of purpose  and motivation and if you happen to be in the way when the situation occurs, be helpful or be elsewhere.
     Monday, I was looking very forward to seeing my daughter play in her first official soccer game. She was outside skipping and playing in my car and I opened the door to call her in for supper. She couldn't see me for the reflection on the car windshield so I went closer to the car to get her attention. She acknowledged that I was there and I motioned for her to come in. She got of the car and time stopped.
       I was about fifteen feet away from her and I could tell by the look on her face that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. I knew from my own experience that one or several of her fingers were now in the closed door of my car and I felt the sickness gurgle around my stomach and rise in my throat.
    Now Mrs. narrator and I (along with I'm certain a bazillion others) have been down this same path. I was being dropped off back at school after lunch and had a hockey stick and skates in one hand and not a lot of attention was being paid the the safest mechanics of closing a door. My thumb entered the door and the fear and the pain ripped it right back out. Mrs. Narrator has a similar history. I lost Thumbnail, a pair of ugly home made mittens and got a week off school. By comparison, I am a weakling. My daughter is no weakling...not by a damn stretch.
     I said before, once she had closed her finger in the door, we both knew instantly what she had done. Here is how tough my daughter is. She had the forethought to actually open the door, extricate her trapped thumb and then close the door properly. If i live to be a hundred and seven, I will never be that tough.
      After she freed herself, the panic set in...for both of us. I went into a flat out run trying to close the distance between us as quickly as I could. I picked her up and held her tight and turned to face the house, seemingly in one motion. I ran as hard as I could. It is only about fifty feet to the porch and the front door from where my car was parked but it may as well have been fifty miles. And here is the thing that killed me...still is killing me.
     By the time I picked her up, the initial shock had worn off and now the pain was coming on hog wild. Oh the terrible throbbing that just won't stop no matter what you do. She was in such agony that she just started screaming 'Daddy, Daddy. Daddy, Daddy...' over and over. My heart broke a little right there. I didn't know what to do but hold her and run for the house. I asked her about that when we went to the playground and she said it hurt so bad, that was all she could think to say, nothing else was making sense in her head.
      I barreled through the door and barked at Mrs. Narrator to get out of the way. I threw open the freezer door and started grasping at anything cold enough to put on her thumb... Thankfully Mrs. Narrator remained calm enough to actually find something frozen and useful. Note to self, while frozen dinners may be an outstanding taste treat, they are entirely useless as a first aid device.
      She was miserable for longer than I have seen her in a while and she absolutely did not want me to leave her side. I mentioned that I would go to the soccer field and get her uniform and then it was OK if I went for a while. By the time I got back, she was eating a little and already in better spirits. She ate mostly sweet junk but it all helped her feel better and what parent won't indulge a sweet tooth when a, decently serious, injury has occurred.? She was OK to go to school but was disappointed that she probably wouldn't be able to write.
      That night I didn't sleep well and I could hear her voice echoing in my ears, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." I woke more than a few times expecting her to be standing at the foot of the bed, in some catastrophic condition. She wasn't but the message was firmly in place...I see now why Mothers become Smothers in a heart beat...hell, I was afraid to let Isobel get into the car by herself after school.



    After she mashed her thumb, she didn't want me to let her go. Even after Mrs. Narrator made several offers of cuddles and even the offer to feed her her favourite food, she wanted to stay with me. I wasn't complaining but you know me, I was curious. I asked her why she wanted to stay with me after all that good stuff was going to come her way. She thought about it for a bit and said;
      "Your lap is more comfortable that Mummy's and sometimes you're just the one I need."

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