“Mr. Coffee, there’s been an incident at school today…” said my son’s Pre-Kindergarten teacher on the phone while I was driving home from work.
I was an English major so I pay attention to how things are said. In my mind the word “incident” should be reserved for boiler explosions, terrorist attacks and most anything that happens in Japan these days. After I was able to calm her down she explained that Eddie had just tripped and smashed his nose into a table. There was some crying. There was a lot of swelling.
“He’ll be fine…” I told myself as drove into the parking lot of his school.
My son after slamming his nose into a table at school.
When I got to school he was holding an ice pack to his face but the crying had stopped and he was happily exploring the school office that doubled as a sick child holding pen. He was acting as though nothing happened. He took the ice pack away from his face and I winced.
My son now had a true Hollywood movie star nose. Unfortunately, that movie star he most resembled was Klingon Lieutenant Worf from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Above the bridge of his nose was a large purplish welt that apparently didn’t bother him but made my stomach turn when I looked at it. We now had to make a visit to our home-away-from-home: the emergency room.
I gave me son my iPhone and allowed him to play video games (a rare treat) while I went to sign in. When asked at the front desk if my son had ever been there before I just laughed uncontrollably. At the tender age of 4 and a half years old Eddie had managed to rack up good number of Hospital Gurney miles with more than one injury per year, always on the weekend or after our doctor’s office had closed for the night. He’d been to the emergency room for dehydration, a nasty stomach virus (followed by dehydration), a continuation of the stomach virus the next day, a swollen eye (no idea), and a gash on the chin requiring seven stitches.
When he’d received stitches on his chin the nurse told him how brave he was and told him she’d see him again soon.
“Oh, do we have to come back here for a follow-up?” my wife and I asked.
“Nope,” she cheerfully answered. “He’s a boy. He’ll be back.”
And, dammit, she was right.
“He’ll be fine…” I told myself as we sat together in the little examination room.
My son had gotten into a fight with a table and his nose was the big loser. He kept playing video games while the doctor checked him out, while we went for an X-ray and while the nurse brought him some ibuprofen. I started to wonder if my son was destined to be one of “those kids” who was always getting hurt and managing to have more and more elaborate accidents as he grew older. I wondered if all these little injuries would begin to affect him or scare him away from life
He didn’t seem to be in much pain and when we asked him if it hurt we got a “no” or a “yes” depending on our tone of voice. He clearly knew it was supposed to hurt, but it clearly wasn’t bothering him all that much. I couldn’t tell if Eddie was thinking about his nose or not as he played with my phone.
“He’ll be fine…”
Finally the verdict came in that it wasn’t broken, but it would probably swell a little more and turn more purple before it got better. A little ice, rest, and Tylenol was all the medicine he would need going forward. I thanked the doctor and told him we’d be back soon.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because he’s a boy,” I answered. He was a good doctor. He understood immediately and laughed.
Eddie kept playing video games on the ride home and when we walked in the door to see mommy. He kept playing video games while he kicked off his shoes and sat on the couch to relax. An hour and a half past his normal dinner time and it was finally time to eat and it was time to put the iPhone away.
Like any four-and-a-half-year old who has to stop playing video games, he finally cried.
And that’s when I knew he’d be fine.
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