It was easily among the worst days of my life.
I'd been walking down the stairs, carrying the baby, intent on feeding him on the couch and watching some TV. I tripped, fell backwards, and he flew out of my arms, knocking his head against the wooden banister before tumbling down seven steps.
The sounds that came out of my when I saw my precious baby lying facedown on the carpet - unreal. Every cell in my body screamed at the same time, and I couldn't believe the neighbors weren't at my door in seconds, demanding to know what had happened.
Ronen was dazed for only a second, then began to scream mightily. I later learned that his immediate tantrum was a good sign - he was in pain, not unconscious. Of course, at the time, my heart was bleeding and breaking and I made the mistake of picking him up, rather than letting him lie where he fell.
Naturally, motherly instinct trumped medical savvy. What self-respecting mom was going to let her shrieking, injured, terrified baby just lay on the floor? (Thankfully, I didn't cause him any further damage.)
I called 9-1-1 within seconds and was so hysterical that it took the dispatcher nearly a full minute to get my address correct. The pained cries of the baby I was holding surely made it harder for him, so whoever you are, thank you for your patience, sir. In under two minutes, two ambulances, four EMTs, a social worker and a police officer were in my living room.
It helps to live three streets away from a fire station.
En route to Children's Hospital, the female EMT chatted with me about her son (who, interestingly, shared my husband's birthday), and helped keep me calm. It didn't take long for the baby to cry himself into an exhausted sleep while firmly grabbing our thumbs in his tiny hands. After several hours, a battery of tests, and the exchange of many weary glances between my husband and me, we learned that the baby had a fractured skull.
The look on my face said it all as the attending pediatrician immediately moved towards me, sat down, and said that, in spite of the horrifying nature of head injuries, our son's accident was having the "best possible outcome". The fracture was long, but simple and clean. No bone had splintered in his soft, growing skull. There was no bleeding, no apparent brain damage. In fact, he had no other bruises, bleeding, or cuts whatsoever, despite the fall.
My poor hungry baby was denied food for an additional eight hours as he was poked, prodded, tested, and generally made to feel miserable. Of course the procedures were necessary, but I felt awful every time they had to take him out of my arms to draw blood or take his temperature. He was so worn out that the only energy he had, he used to keep his pacifier locked firmly in his mouth. He slept most of the day and quite little that night, waking up several times to feed, once he was allowed. I felt terrible for the little boy whose semi-private room we were sharing, as he must have been woken up every time the baby whimpered.
Still, never had Ronen's creepy goat noises made me so happy! He'd been nearly silent for almost 12 hours, but once he was wrapped up and put to bed, he soon began to make his customary "bleating" sounds, signifying contentment. What a comforting sign!After nearly 24 more hours of observation and visits from social workers, trauma team members, a neurosurgeon, and patient advocates, we were released with little more than a prescription for Tylenol. He only needed a few doses, in the end, and was back to his normal self in about two or three days.
It didn't matter, though. The damage had been done to me already. I, who at the time of this writing, have never broken a bone, sent my beloved and long-awaited baby boy to the hospital with a busted head. I felt guilty, but probably not as guilty as people thought I would. I knew the accident wasn't my fault. But I do, now, narrate my actions to the baby and they include, "Let's be extra careful on the steps, Ronen! Let's see if anything is sitting on them that shouldn't be!"
And every time I make the descent successfully, I announce, "WE DID IT!" and you would think I'd just won Olympic gold.
Look at his little face, though. Better than gold.
No comments:
Post a Comment