No Day At the Park

Warning: our day involved some not-so-fun medical drama. Please don't read on if you are super-squeamish.

We just needed something to do. The slightly surreal Dr. Seuss Storytime in our local Target was not riveting enough to serve as the day's requisite "activity". In an effort to get out of the house and get some fresh air into my two crazed little girlies, we headed to the park.

I probably should have turned around and gone home when I discovered, upon our arrival, that The Baby's sippy cup had leaked its entire watery juice contents all over her and her car seat on the ride over. Of course, I did not have an extra change of clothes in the diaper bag, because that would have been way too organized for me. So I assessed the dampness of her jeans, and decided it was not enough to abort the entire park mission. And it seemed like her coat was only wet on the outside, and Little Diva was itching to play, so on we went.

Little Diva has newly discovered her ability to swing hand over hand on the monkey bars, and was eager to try these out. She had made it all the way across on our last park visit, to the other park we go to, about a week before. I put The Baby into the swing and she was happy as a lark. She would spend all day swinging if you let her.

Little Diva called me over as she was about to embark on her monkey bar crossing. I stood right next to her and cheered as she confidently swung from the first rung to the second. But on the next rung, she lost her grip and came down on her rump with a thud. She was silent for one second, and I expected her usual, "I'm okay!!", but instead got an instant waterworks show. I picked her up and held her close. She cried and cried. I felt so bad, and was trying to process how this had happened, and why I was not able to grab her quickly enough. I was clearly no longer in the running for the "Best Mommy in a Comedy or Musical Number" award. She only cried, and would not say a word, as I said, "tell Mommy what hurts."

I figured that she may have bruised her tailbone (I can remember doing that a couple of times as a kid), so I asked if her bottom hurt. She murmured a yes, and just clung to me. After a couple of minutes, she said she wanted to go home. Taking The Baby by the hand, and carrying Little Diva, we walked back to the car. Once buckled in, we started driving home, and I glanced in my rear-view mirror, to see Little Diva looking very solemn.

I figured she was really pissed at me for not preventing this whole debacle, and wondered if her delicate ego was more bruised than her tailbone. I tried to tell her that it was no one's fault, and we could give her some medicine at home if she was still sore.

Five minutes later we were home. She wanted to be carried in and I deposited her on the couch. As I brought in The Baby and dumped our various coats and bags by the door, I saw that Little Diva was laying down with closed eyes. I thought I would give her a few minutes to rest while I got The Baby out of her wet clothes, and then give her some pain reliever.

But as I was leaned over her, to see if she had fallen asleep, she opened her eyes and said her tongue hurt. I had her sit up and open her mouth. I was not prepared for what I saw. She had bitten her tongue so severely that I cried out in shock and horror (this, by the way, is not very comforting to five year old, and I am usually able to keep it together, but I just wasn't expecting that). I will not go into the gory details, but let's just say I knew an Emergency Room visit was in order. My poor girl.

I could not believe she had suffered silently for the last twenty minutes with such a deep wound.

After my not-so-smooth-reaction, her guard was up, and when I mentioned visiting the hospital, she got really scared, saying, 'no, no, no!" She did agree to let me call our friend who is a nurse. I caught a small break, when it turned out my friend was nearby and was able to drive by, if for nothing else, but to take a look and confirm that I indeed needed to get Little Diva to the ER. She also, thankfully, was able to take The Baby so I would not have to drag her along to the hospital.

Of course, this involved me having to remove The Baby's car seat from my car, and facing the shame as a month's worth of cheerios and pretzels came showering down upon me in the process, but in this kind of situation, the hell with pride.

I quickly send Sweet Hubby a text at work to let him know what was going on, and headed to the hospital. I also called our Pediatrician to get their "yes, you should go to ER" blessing and cover my butt in case the insurance company tried to claim this was a non-essential ER trip, which they have been known to do from time-to-time.

The whole ER visit was actually pretty tolerable. On the few occasions that we have needed to visit the ER, I have gone to the children's hospital in the city. It is only takes another 10 minutes, and I feel like it is a much better environment for kids. Assuming it is not rush hour, and it is a non-life threatening situation, I think this is way better for both of our peaces of mind.

So they got us in and my Sweet Hubby, who is a rock, was able to get away from work for a little while to meet us there, and give his little girl a whole lot of comfort.

It turns out they don't do much for a badly bitten tongue, unless it is literally severed at the edge, so they gave us some info on how to care for the wound, and said we just have to wait for it to heal. Maybe a week to ten days.

So now my sweet Little Diva is home, and it is so quiet around here, because she, who usually provides an ongoing soundtrack to our day, is silent and stoic. She is also vomiting thanks to the upset stomach that you can get from swallowing blood.

I think it's going to be a long week.