Doc H walks that fine line beautifully at the hospital. It wasn't until our Little Buddy was in the first grade, we realized he must also choose his words carefully at home.
Back then, Doc H and I (or just I, if he was working late) would make the rounds to each of the kids' rooms to tuck them into bed and kiss them goodnight. (Nowadays, they tuck us into bed. Sad, but true.)
This particular night, we each visited LB's room and spoke to him, kissed him, tucked him in, turned out the light and shut the door. The kids were all well, all was good, they were safe.
It was Thanksgiving time and Little Buddy (LB) was asked to bring in a can a vegetables to school to make soup for the class Thanksgiving Feast. Doc H was given this bit of information at 10:30 the night before via email from his ex-wife. Now, this wouldn't have been such a big deal if I normally stocked my pantry with canned vegetables. However, as luck would have it...I don't. Call me crazy, but I just believe in eating fresh vegetables, especially since we live in an area where it is easy to get fantastic produce all year long.
So, it's 10:30pm and I'm in bed exhausted. I decide I'll wake up early and head over to the grocery store to pick up the can of veggies.
Early the next morning, Doc H is dressed and ready to head to the hospital. I am in my yoga pants and his over-sized medical school sweatshirt. The older girls are up dressing, doing their hair, and starting to come downstairs to chow down on the freshly baked cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I yell at Doc H to get LB down to the table. Next thing I know, Doc H is sternly asking me to look at LB's hand, "Look at what LB did to himself!" Doc H was not happy. I looked at his little hand and saw it.
We had gone on a vacation earlier that year and our girls had chosen toe mood rings as their souvenir. Apparently, after turning out the lights, LB had slipped out of bed, found one of the tiny rings and slipped it on his finger. He slept with it on all night. All night, his finger swelled from a lack of blood flow.
|LB's finger was worse than this...|
As soon as I walked back in house carrying the can of veggies, I knew we were in trouble. If LB were a little puppy, he would've had his tail wrapped down in between his legs. He looked miserable. He and Doc H were in the same exact place as when I left for the store. LB has a combination of oil and butter slathered on his hand. Doc H is washing it off. Looking at me in disgust and still washing LB's hand, Doc H irritably announces, "I can't get it off. I'm going to have to take him to the OR to cut if off!"
With that, Doc H quickly dried LB's hand and ran upstairs to call the OR to alert them he was coming in with LB. LB ran to me and buried his face in my stomach balling uncontrollably. I could feel the hot tears and snot soaking through my sweatshirt and it dawned on me. I pulled him off of me and crouched down to look him in the eyes. "Sweetie, you don't think Daddy means he's going to cut your finger off, do you?"
LB had the ugly cry going on. Poor kid couldn't even answer. He just nodded as as he howled in angst. "No, no, Sweetie. He's going to take you to the OR to use the ring cutter! Daddy's going to cut the ring off, not your finger."
When Doc H cut the ring off, it exploded into three pieces. LB proudly took the three pieces to school for show and tell....along with the can of veggies.