The Doodle has a fine tradition of claiming the New Year for herself.
She was baptized on New Year’s day. The following year she celebrated her anniversary by suffering third degree burns over her head and face.
This year she fell backward down a flight of stairs.
I’ve been waiting for it to happen ever since we moved into this house. There’s almost no hallway on our teeny second floor, just a little landing with doorways for two bedrooms and a bathroom. We were talking in the bathroom doorway, Mare, Ren and I. Ren was gesturing and walking backward. I saw it coming, shot a hand out, but it was too late.
She was rolling, bang, bang, bang down 15 steep hardwood stairs. A sick thud and then silence.
Mare started screaming.
Remember you’re pregnant, don’t fall and hurt the other one. Don’t pick her up. Neck injury: in-line stabilization, look for bleeding in the ears, nose …
“Mary stop screaming. Mary stop screaming.”
“I can’t Momma I can’t is Renny dead is she dead?”
“She’s not dead. Stop screaming. You can do that after she’s okay. Right now I need you to go get a blanket. Go now.”
Ren was flat on her back, blinking up at the ceiling. No blood. She saw me and let out a shriek.
“Okay, Baby, you’re all right. Just lie here for second.” Best bet is to call 911 and let them backboard her. Man, I’d rather not put her through that if we don’t have to.
She was trying to sit up.
“Okay, babe, we’re not going to sit up just yet. First I need to know what hurts?”
“My leg!” she shrieked. I took a peek, horrified I would see a bone sticking out. Nothing but a scrape, the kind you would see after a playground fall. Mare brought the blanket, we tucked it around her, and sat for a minute. Then I put my hands on her feet, and squeezed lightly. Then her calves, her knees, her thighs, her hips.
“Does anything hurt?” I asked.
“My leg!” she repeated. I squeezed it, more firmly, and she didn’t react. I got to her shoulders, her chin, her neck. She never winced.
The little shit was completely fine.
“Okay, Ren, do you want to try to get yourself up?” I asked. She shrugged and got up and minutes later we were on the couch. She had an ice pack on her head and I had a phone to my ear.
“Can I have a band aid?” Ren asked.
“Renny,” Mare started. “If we give you a band aid, I am afraid the doctor can’t look at it. How about a scarf?”
Oh, yeah, ’cause this situation makes so much sense.
I was sure Dr. Sweetheart’s hold music was threatening to give me a psychotic episode. Finally –
“Family Medical Practice, can you hold?”
“No, no, look, I really can’ –”
“It’ll just be a minute, I have a doctor standing in front of me, just wait.”
A few more long minutes.
“Hi, I’m back, how can I help you?”
“I have a 3 year-old who has just fallen down a flight of stairs.” About, oh, say, thirty-freaking-minutes-and-a-techno-Beethoven ago.
“Oh, you have to take her to the pediatric ER.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, this happened to my kid a while ago. It’s horrible, you have to hold her down for the MRI and she’ll scream. It’s really bad.”
I. Don’t know what to say.
“… My kid has a speech delay and it was really awful, she spoke her first sentence ever that day, never had before. She said, ‘I want to go home, now.’”
Right, great, thanks. Hey, could I speak to someone with, I dunno a medical opinion?
“I’d rather skip the ER if at all possible. She doesn’t seem hurt. Could I maybe speak to a doctor about my options?”
“Oh, let me see if anyone is around.” Yeah, yeah, hey why don’t you do that??
Ohmagawd we’re back to Techno Bethoven.
“Momma, I o’tay,” Ren said, patting my arm comfortingly. “It’s no big deal.”
The woman was back on the line.
“Dr. Sweetheart is here. He wants to know if she lost conciousness?”
“No –” Now I’m all excited to show off. I’ve been a freaking superhero in the last 30 minutes and it’s about time someone over the age of six witnessed it. “Pupils are identical, no bleeding from her head, nose or mouth. She is sitting up and appears alert and oriented. There is a bruise on the front of her head. I’ve got ice on it and it hasn’t gotten any bigger in the last twenty minutes. I can’t find a bruise on the back of her head at all, and she’s not showing any pain when I touch her head and neck.”
I could hear her reporting it back to him, and hear him say, “They don’t have to go if she doesn’t want to.”
“He says you don’t have to go,” the woman said.
“Okay,” I said.
“The important thing,” she continued, “is to make as little fuss out of the whole thing as possible.”
Am I on camera?
“Okay, right, thanks,” I said.
“I o’tay, Momma,” Ren repeated. “Can I have some ice cream?”